un_known
2010-07-13, 03:56 PM
Track for while reading the Prologue cut-scene:
http://www.youtube.com/watch#!v=1-J42NUrP9Q&feature=related
Shadows Descend, By Midnight Syndicate
The OOC Thread is here: OOC Thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?p=8915093#post8915093)
Cut-Scene Prologue
Oland peered out through the window in the tower overlooking the north gate. He had a simple job that paid well. He would watch for people, monsters, or well anything that wanted to get into the town and if they were human let them in and if they weren’t, sound the alarm and hope that the guards could get to the North Gate in time.
The trees of the forest twisted and swayed in the non-existent wind. The flag didn’t move yet the trees swayed from side to side, twisting and turning. The rustling of their leaves was almost like voices calling out to hapless travelers, inviting them into the dark embrace of their forest. A forest filled with evil and darkness. Why someone so long ago had decided to start a lumber industry in this forest was nigh impossible to figure out. The lumber wasn’t that good and the forest was too much trouble. Even the mine just outside of town was a disaster. Day in and day out workers would mine away at the rocks only to find they’d dug into the lair of something and now people talk about a hidden temple that was found beneath the earth in the mine. Some say that the owner of the mine who never gets seen in town performs dark rituals in the evil that is whatever was found there. But that is just an old wives tale and Oland doesn’t gossip.
But he does like stories. In the forest creatures are said to stalk through the twisted trees and in the dead of night you are said to be able to hear the screams of travelers being mauled to death. Legends spoke of cities that had appeared before travelers in these dark woods and only after the travelers had checked in and went to bed did they notice they were simply being preyed upon by dream creatures. Their worst nightmares would be given flesh. But those weren’t the worst things in the forest. Even more obscured in myth and mists were ancient creatures, things that could drain the very life from someone.
Oland could imagine the creatures sinking their claws and teeth into his body. Whilst shivering a quick rap on the door to the guard post brought Oland back to the land of the wakeful. He seemed to have nodded off staring out that window. Quickly glancing at it he noticed what looked almost like a group of shadows moving across the field towards the town. But quickly dismissed it and opened the door. It was Justin Lefayne, the other night watchman and after exchanging some brief words Oland grabbed him cloak and drawing it around himself on the chilly autumn evening he strode out from his guard post at the south gate.
Oland was a middle aged human from a pure bloodline. Pure being that it had never mixed with any of the other race or those mysterious Vistani, the outcast gypsies. His wife Illandya and his two sons were out of town with the children at their aunt’s estate, near Vallaki, on the shores of Lake Zarovich. And so he was free to do whatever he wanted. He’d decided that it was best to go to the tavern tonight maybe the town bard Lyck Hon Nightsong would be there. Not that he liked the music as he told everyone, even though he did, but because he wanted to hear the gruesomely grisly tales of everything that went bump in the night.
He’d walked down the windswept streets of Berez many times during the night, but he could feel something different in the air. Maybe it was that the dark streets and shadowy alleyways weren’t illuminated by the light of the moon. Tonight there was no moon, it was a dark moon night or as astronomers called it, a new moon. He wasn’t afraid of the dark; here there were many things to be afraid of, but as a rule inside the town you were safe.
As he steadily strode towards the inn he could hear the sounds of wings flapping. He’d once heard about a group of flying demons that had attacked a town not far from here and a look of terror filled his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t as safe as he’d thought he’d always be. He skirted beneath the eve of a nearby house and looking above himself he saw nothing. No silhouettes in the night sky save the stars above and a few stray clouds. And then out corner of his eye he saw something land upon the belfry of the town chapel. The sight filled him with dread and then the light of the stars fell upon it, a cloud must have drifted away. For revealed with its head cocked to one side and eyes glinting maliciously was a raven; a sign of good luck. He clutched his chest the fear leaving him and he stepped out from under the eve.
He moved into the town square looking at the lone raven and then something caught his attention. The sound of a shuffling in the alley beside the chapel and a strange shadow had momentarily been there in full vision. He moved closer to the alleyway. The shadows cast down by the chapel and tall townhouses on either side blanketed the alley in darkness. The alley was dark and there was no one there, but being of a curious nature he took a step into the darkness of the alley. But no one was there; he felt wind brush his shoulder and flutter his cloak. It was picking up, and clouds were gathering. A storm was brewing and so he decided to move along at a quicker pace.
Turning out from the ally he could see the Tavern’s sign swinging in the breeze. Strolling towards the tavern the wind began to rise even more. The soft breeze ripped up into a gale tossing the colouring leaves from the autumn trees a chill permeated into this wind and suddenly Oland felt he was being watched. He turned to look behind him but no one was there and then he saw it. A shadow flickered across his vision. The visage of a cloaked man flitted across the shadowed street, towards him.
Without looking back he turned and ran; barrelling past the tavern just intent on getting away from whatever was now chasing him. He scooted down through an ally and came to the courtyard of his house. The windows were dark. Striding forward he walked past the small brook that gurgled next to his house.
Putting the key into the lock two hands reached out and gripped him from behind. He attempted to scream but the sound caught in his throat and wouldn’t come out. He had been trained to fight rogues and he quickly utilized his training flipping his assailant over him but as tried to the assailant simply wasn’t their. Oland tumbled forward crashing into his door before jumping up and staggering towards where he though his assailant was, blood flying from his nose.
He saw a dark shape standing behind a crate and he lunged crashing into the crate. It should of made a sound, the cracking of wood. But it was silent like this assailant. He struggled to rise from the wooden debris but then a foot came down upon his chest and from the shadows in front of him stepped a cloaked figure holding a sickle. Next to this cloaked was another one both wearing long dark cloaks. He looked at where the face of his assailants should be and he simply saw darkness; fear enveloped him. He attempted to scream as the sickle came down but couldn’t. So the only sounds in the night were the lone raven’s call in the distance and then utter silence. The silence of a New Moons dark night stained with blood.
From the tall bell tower of the town chapel one would have a spectacular view of the entire town including the Square with its fountain sitting right there in the midst of it all. Looking out from the chapel it would seem that the square was designed like a star. And to be true it was designed like a star. The main road going to the North and South cut along the far side of the square and right in the center of that road was another going east. These three roads where the only avenues that cart or wagon could fit through. The road going north and south would reach the walls and go on through the tall iron gates but the one to the east just rambled on past the few shops there was and simply ending at the wall. The other two points of this five pointed star were the north-western alley and south-western one. It was here at the north-western alley that the crowd was gathering. The sheriff had blocked off the area and a white sheet was lying across a body. The fact you could call the sheet was white was a miracle in itself since the poor person who’d died had been ripped or sliced right open through the stomach.
Sheriff Desmond had the town Crier of to one side. Their hushed whispers the few details he was prepared to share. The look of disgust and terror on the Criers face was a testament to just what had happened to the individual. As they part ways the Crier looks at the Sheriff his eyes alight with morbid fascination as he saw the Sheriff raising the white sheet for a moment but then his face fell. His look became that of a man who had lost his own child, the Sheriff walked back to him and from the snip someone in crowd caught they heard the name, ‘Annabeth’.
The Crier calls out from the steps of the Chapel for those there to gather before him and as they do he speaks, “My friends and colleagues a dreadful thing has happened here last night. You all knew Annabeth the apothecaries apprentice or at least of you who got sick during the recent bought of Scarlet Fever did. She… she is no more.” The cries and gasps of shock from the crowd are heart wrenching. But the Crier continues, “I am sad to say this but we do not know what has killed her and in the manner that she died it is quite possible we never will. I only hope that all of you will pay your respects this afternoon as we bury her next to her mother’s grave.”
A man cries out, “No my daughter! Why?” He crumples to the ground and an old priest who no one had noticed was standing there steps forward.
“Come my child, in the arms of the Morninglord you will solace. And on a much lighter note be happy with this death, for our town will not suffer again today. For this fateful day the Collector will be coming and you know he does not take money,” the old priest says unemotionally.
“No not my daughter, the collector will not have her blood. I don’t care about anything except my daughter. She was all I had. You said she would be safe there Priest! You said that the morning lord would protect us all! Look what you have done!” The man, presumably Annabeth’s father, screams. He turns towards the north and runs like a mad man, crying as he goes.
A heart wrenching scream fills the air like the wail of a banshee. To the east a woman stumbles out of an alley. She’s screaming and crying, and on her hands is blood...
What to do now?
This adventure begins with the thought that the characters would decide to investigate these brutal murders. Anything learned from the Prologue is not actually known by the characters. You can begin with anything. Introducing your characters would be the bestign thing to start with before searching out what happened.
http://www.youtube.com/watch#!v=1-J42NUrP9Q&feature=related
Shadows Descend, By Midnight Syndicate
The OOC Thread is here: OOC Thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?p=8915093#post8915093)
Cut-Scene Prologue
Oland peered out through the window in the tower overlooking the north gate. He had a simple job that paid well. He would watch for people, monsters, or well anything that wanted to get into the town and if they were human let them in and if they weren’t, sound the alarm and hope that the guards could get to the North Gate in time.
The trees of the forest twisted and swayed in the non-existent wind. The flag didn’t move yet the trees swayed from side to side, twisting and turning. The rustling of their leaves was almost like voices calling out to hapless travelers, inviting them into the dark embrace of their forest. A forest filled with evil and darkness. Why someone so long ago had decided to start a lumber industry in this forest was nigh impossible to figure out. The lumber wasn’t that good and the forest was too much trouble. Even the mine just outside of town was a disaster. Day in and day out workers would mine away at the rocks only to find they’d dug into the lair of something and now people talk about a hidden temple that was found beneath the earth in the mine. Some say that the owner of the mine who never gets seen in town performs dark rituals in the evil that is whatever was found there. But that is just an old wives tale and Oland doesn’t gossip.
But he does like stories. In the forest creatures are said to stalk through the twisted trees and in the dead of night you are said to be able to hear the screams of travelers being mauled to death. Legends spoke of cities that had appeared before travelers in these dark woods and only after the travelers had checked in and went to bed did they notice they were simply being preyed upon by dream creatures. Their worst nightmares would be given flesh. But those weren’t the worst things in the forest. Even more obscured in myth and mists were ancient creatures, things that could drain the very life from someone.
Oland could imagine the creatures sinking their claws and teeth into his body. Whilst shivering a quick rap on the door to the guard post brought Oland back to the land of the wakeful. He seemed to have nodded off staring out that window. Quickly glancing at it he noticed what looked almost like a group of shadows moving across the field towards the town. But quickly dismissed it and opened the door. It was Justin Lefayne, the other night watchman and after exchanging some brief words Oland grabbed him cloak and drawing it around himself on the chilly autumn evening he strode out from his guard post at the south gate.
Oland was a middle aged human from a pure bloodline. Pure being that it had never mixed with any of the other race or those mysterious Vistani, the outcast gypsies. His wife Illandya and his two sons were out of town with the children at their aunt’s estate, near Vallaki, on the shores of Lake Zarovich. And so he was free to do whatever he wanted. He’d decided that it was best to go to the tavern tonight maybe the town bard Lyck Hon Nightsong would be there. Not that he liked the music as he told everyone, even though he did, but because he wanted to hear the gruesomely grisly tales of everything that went bump in the night.
He’d walked down the windswept streets of Berez many times during the night, but he could feel something different in the air. Maybe it was that the dark streets and shadowy alleyways weren’t illuminated by the light of the moon. Tonight there was no moon, it was a dark moon night or as astronomers called it, a new moon. He wasn’t afraid of the dark; here there were many things to be afraid of, but as a rule inside the town you were safe.
As he steadily strode towards the inn he could hear the sounds of wings flapping. He’d once heard about a group of flying demons that had attacked a town not far from here and a look of terror filled his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t as safe as he’d thought he’d always be. He skirted beneath the eve of a nearby house and looking above himself he saw nothing. No silhouettes in the night sky save the stars above and a few stray clouds. And then out corner of his eye he saw something land upon the belfry of the town chapel. The sight filled him with dread and then the light of the stars fell upon it, a cloud must have drifted away. For revealed with its head cocked to one side and eyes glinting maliciously was a raven; a sign of good luck. He clutched his chest the fear leaving him and he stepped out from under the eve.
He moved into the town square looking at the lone raven and then something caught his attention. The sound of a shuffling in the alley beside the chapel and a strange shadow had momentarily been there in full vision. He moved closer to the alleyway. The shadows cast down by the chapel and tall townhouses on either side blanketed the alley in darkness. The alley was dark and there was no one there, but being of a curious nature he took a step into the darkness of the alley. But no one was there; he felt wind brush his shoulder and flutter his cloak. It was picking up, and clouds were gathering. A storm was brewing and so he decided to move along at a quicker pace.
Turning out from the ally he could see the Tavern’s sign swinging in the breeze. Strolling towards the tavern the wind began to rise even more. The soft breeze ripped up into a gale tossing the colouring leaves from the autumn trees a chill permeated into this wind and suddenly Oland felt he was being watched. He turned to look behind him but no one was there and then he saw it. A shadow flickered across his vision. The visage of a cloaked man flitted across the shadowed street, towards him.
Without looking back he turned and ran; barrelling past the tavern just intent on getting away from whatever was now chasing him. He scooted down through an ally and came to the courtyard of his house. The windows were dark. Striding forward he walked past the small brook that gurgled next to his house.
Putting the key into the lock two hands reached out and gripped him from behind. He attempted to scream but the sound caught in his throat and wouldn’t come out. He had been trained to fight rogues and he quickly utilized his training flipping his assailant over him but as tried to the assailant simply wasn’t their. Oland tumbled forward crashing into his door before jumping up and staggering towards where he though his assailant was, blood flying from his nose.
He saw a dark shape standing behind a crate and he lunged crashing into the crate. It should of made a sound, the cracking of wood. But it was silent like this assailant. He struggled to rise from the wooden debris but then a foot came down upon his chest and from the shadows in front of him stepped a cloaked figure holding a sickle. Next to this cloaked was another one both wearing long dark cloaks. He looked at where the face of his assailants should be and he simply saw darkness; fear enveloped him. He attempted to scream as the sickle came down but couldn’t. So the only sounds in the night were the lone raven’s call in the distance and then utter silence. The silence of a New Moons dark night stained with blood.
From the tall bell tower of the town chapel one would have a spectacular view of the entire town including the Square with its fountain sitting right there in the midst of it all. Looking out from the chapel it would seem that the square was designed like a star. And to be true it was designed like a star. The main road going to the North and South cut along the far side of the square and right in the center of that road was another going east. These three roads where the only avenues that cart or wagon could fit through. The road going north and south would reach the walls and go on through the tall iron gates but the one to the east just rambled on past the few shops there was and simply ending at the wall. The other two points of this five pointed star were the north-western alley and south-western one. It was here at the north-western alley that the crowd was gathering. The sheriff had blocked off the area and a white sheet was lying across a body. The fact you could call the sheet was white was a miracle in itself since the poor person who’d died had been ripped or sliced right open through the stomach.
Sheriff Desmond had the town Crier of to one side. Their hushed whispers the few details he was prepared to share. The look of disgust and terror on the Criers face was a testament to just what had happened to the individual. As they part ways the Crier looks at the Sheriff his eyes alight with morbid fascination as he saw the Sheriff raising the white sheet for a moment but then his face fell. His look became that of a man who had lost his own child, the Sheriff walked back to him and from the snip someone in crowd caught they heard the name, ‘Annabeth’.
The Crier calls out from the steps of the Chapel for those there to gather before him and as they do he speaks, “My friends and colleagues a dreadful thing has happened here last night. You all knew Annabeth the apothecaries apprentice or at least of you who got sick during the recent bought of Scarlet Fever did. She… she is no more.” The cries and gasps of shock from the crowd are heart wrenching. But the Crier continues, “I am sad to say this but we do not know what has killed her and in the manner that she died it is quite possible we never will. I only hope that all of you will pay your respects this afternoon as we bury her next to her mother’s grave.”
A man cries out, “No my daughter! Why?” He crumples to the ground and an old priest who no one had noticed was standing there steps forward.
“Come my child, in the arms of the Morninglord you will solace. And on a much lighter note be happy with this death, for our town will not suffer again today. For this fateful day the Collector will be coming and you know he does not take money,” the old priest says unemotionally.
“No not my daughter, the collector will not have her blood. I don’t care about anything except my daughter. She was all I had. You said she would be safe there Priest! You said that the morning lord would protect us all! Look what you have done!” The man, presumably Annabeth’s father, screams. He turns towards the north and runs like a mad man, crying as he goes.
A heart wrenching scream fills the air like the wail of a banshee. To the east a woman stumbles out of an alley. She’s screaming and crying, and on her hands is blood...
What to do now?
This adventure begins with the thought that the characters would decide to investigate these brutal murders. Anything learned from the Prologue is not actually known by the characters. You can begin with anything. Introducing your characters would be the bestign thing to start with before searching out what happened.