User blog:Alador1666/Epoch of Murk: Unsung Assemblage

The trees loomed in the distance, mighty wooden monuments strung across the barren landscape, devoid of the colourful leaves that would normally pop up around this time of the year. Every time one of these giants were felled none would take its place - a result of the detoriating state of the world caused by the incompetence of beings that were once regarded as paragons and deities, now doomed to have waves of enemies thrown at them in an endless and repetitive cycle of events that would hopefully lead to their death. A small spark of light emerged from in between the pine trees, as it eventually grew in size. Figures sat around the small fire, surrounded by the grim woodland. The region they were currently residing in was surrounded by a few other biomes - their borders clearly defined by green grass at the base of hills which eventually lead to white snow at the foot of mountains, unchanging and grand as they were, or burnt remains paired with ancient weapons which were neatly arranged in small mounds from which these figures spawned. Fate was not on their side, and was apathetic as to who they spit out in this rotten and murky world, be it knights of yore or fateless nobodies such as orphans or cutthroats. They had but a single purpose, driven by an intense despair and the ramblings of beings who were out for blood, convincing them that they had but one thing worth fighting for. Undead, they were called, doomed to throw themselves at enemies until they had to submit or wait for the next batch of so called heroes to deal the finishing blow against their much stronger and capable foes. Their efforts would never be noticed or praised by those that came after them. They conversed about the current happenings between their small group. Adults and children - a jovial knight, a merry sellsword, a grieving but indifferent knightess who cared little about anything. They were accompanied by a loud mouthed teen nearing his adult years and an assemblage of youngsters. They warmed themselves at the flames, regaining their strength before they had to tackle their next foe. Aimlessly wandering around the biomes, hoping to bring an end to the current conflict. Unbeknownst to them, only a few would survive to live out this cycle, and their supposed holy task would be passed down to those who would surpass them in the far or near future. It was all the same to them. Wandering, fighting, fleeing, hiding, resting and going about their business yet again. This went on for mere months before they would serve as the catalyst for those destined to finally break the curse, or whatever they were hoping to achieve. Some were aware of them being only one of the many to support the next generation, and some others were confident they would bring an end to what was going on. Some of them sung, told tales to instill some hope in the youngsters or to amuse them in hope of perhaps briefly distracting them of their inevitable deaths in the neat future of which they were unaware of. One was more talkative than most; a young adult wearing stained green rags concealing black plate armor with elegant golden streaks in a swirly motif across the chestplate and bracers. Above all, he wore a large hood of the same colour and underneath a plate helmet, although the eye slit in the helmet seemed to have burst open, hinting that the armor had probably seen better days. He sat atop a fallen tree between the youngsters and the aforementioned adults, rubbing his hands together as he conversed with the knight that sat across him. His spear lay in front of him upon which a few initials were crudely carved - 'GS'. The two were reciting tales and poems, making them up as they go in an attempt to pass the time. The other knight looked much more knightly and elegant than Ghastly. In fact, his armor seemed brand new and shone brightly, and a fine shortsword dangled on his belt. On top of his shoulders he wore a piece of blue and white cloth, emblazoned withnsome sort of sigil or crest. His face as well was covered by a silver bascinet, and the only thing the headpiece revealed were the bright blue eyes underneath. He sounded slightly older than Ghastly, but just as merry as the young adult. They recalled the tale of Gwynplaine, Jest of the West and member of the house of royals in Lord's Abode, also known as Jehanna in the province of High rock to common people. ''"Why, the man who - supposably - fooled the Lionheart in partaking in a foolish errand to the province of Skyrim, tore the royal family apart with his tricks, lies and deceit, imprisoned Lord Leofrick in his own inescapable dungeons and rival of the Dismal Saint that wanders the High Wall! Small gent, you did not know this? Pity, my lads! I pity thee!" ''Abello, the fine knight said as he responded to one of the youngsters who asked who this Jester was. Although, both to Abello's dismay and annoyance, his explanation spawned only more questions from the youngsters. Seemingly they had not heard of the Lionheart, Leofrick or this supposed Saint. Ghastly Simon snickered under his breath as he turned to the children. Some of them wore rags and bits and pieces of armor, or were armed with daggers, although they looked little like true fighters or warriors. In fact, it was a sad and pitiful sight, although the adults had grown accustomed to it after some time. They were more than met the eye, according to them. '''Why, the tale is such a long one I shan't be able to recall on this cold night alone. I shall speak Lord Leofrick if you so wish. A vile man, or a valorous hero to others - depending on who you might ask. He was, or perhaps still is, the king who ruled over his empire. A true monarchy, so they say. He had no known successors that came to be with his marriage to the even more vile queen that agreed to rule beside him. The black queen she was called, known for her rather common and recognizable motif that she wore nearly all the time. Even her undergarments were supposed to be black!" ''Abello pointed out with a mischievous grin. He had expected the last comment to be met with laughter or snickers, although the children sat by rather inattentively, and some cocked their head at the jest of the amicable poet. Well, continuing.. there was little to no doubt they wer not exactly the most appreciated people of their own monarchy. Hate and resentment were harbored against them, although the people feared them and dare not oppose them. His reign was challenged many times, and his oppponents only managed to grasp the city of Jehanna from their clutches once their glory days were counted, while the dictators sat idly by on their golden thrones while their kingdom rotted and their monarchy was already decrepit and destitute. Who were the people that managed to overthrow him then? Ghastly asked, as curious as always, paying close attention to the tale. '''I cannot recall their names, although their commander in chief was supposed to be an Undead, and his name was forgotten. He himself would probably not recall it. He had ties to witches, armies, Undead and so on, although that is another tale by itself.Regardless, back to our lord Leofrick. Supposably this Jester, Gwynplaine, had a major part in allowing rivals and opponents to take over his kingdom. I do not know what he hoped to achieve by it. The man was mad, I say. He - or she, as the jester's gender was often disputed, harbored some hate for the royal family and their pompous nobles. This jester threw the king in his own inescapable dungeon running below his own castle. This dungeon was said to be a gateway for creatures not belonging to this world, and petty thieves and cutthroats - lowest of the low were thrown into it. So were his political rivals and opponents, and anyone else who he wasn't all too fond of. The Deep Place, it was called. Something to do with Deep, yes, I'm sure of it. A void, an abyss, a dark and murky place with no source of light or hope for its inhabitants, populated by horrendous and terrible abominations and creatures, a place with no end or exit, and only a single entrance - a well or a pit of some sort that the prisoners were thrown in. This jester threw the king himself in with a clever ruse.. One day, the jester threw a golden coin down this pit, telling the king that he could even see it all the way from were they were standing if he only looked over this pit. Leofrick was unsuspicious of the jester and did as he was asked. One simple shove was all it took and Leofrick was gone. The black queen was in control of the monarchy for a brief period of time afterwards, although her reign ended as swiftly as it began, also due to the Jester's deceit. Apparently the jester poisoned her garbs and her crown with crushed nightshade, obtained by bargaining with the black witches inhabiting a steel tower, somewhere here in the woodlands.  After the monarchy was overthrown and Jehanna bended the knee to the cruel, unknown warlord - or warlords, the jester fled. Some say that in a mad frenzy he ate the garments of the queen right after the act. Other accounts say he jumped after the king, perhaps out of regret or merely another final jest on his part. Truly, this jester was cunning and cruel. Alas, I shall end the tale here. Thy eyes seem to be weary, and so am I. I shall continue this tale later on once I find the strength and willpower to do so.''' ___ ((Well, that was another brief build up to the RP. Happy new year everyone, by the way. I shall continue this short story later, and the RP will be released either during these blog posts or perhaps after. I still can't say for sure, so I do apologize for that. I hope you had some fun reading it - I had to write this pie on vacation and I only finished it today after returning home. Sorry for ending it on such an abrupt manner but I'm tired as shit.)) ( ‾ʖ̫‾) Alador ( ‾ʖ̫‾) (talk) 21:29, January 2, 2017 (UTC)