Alright folks, the RP thread is here, and you know what that means! The killer has been selected and messaged, and the game will officially kick off tomorrow, although you're welcome to start RPing now. So, here is your thread. Your characters are travelers, stuck in Willowvale for the time being, all staying in the town's one inn. This thread adheres to the time-line of the main stories. In other words, the first murder will happen at whatever point the RP is at when the first story is posted. Once a character is dead, they are dead, and can no longer post in this thread. Since everyone in the group is 18+, if you wish to write mature content with another character, ask the writer. However, any sexual content (besides some flirting, and maybe a little bit of making out) must be taken to a pm. Violence and swearing are allowed here. If anyone wants to write 1x1 or in a small group with other characters, you can ask the authors and start a separate thread in this forum for you guys. These threads do not have to follow the timeline of this thread, or the main story, if you all agree on this (in other words, dead characters can still participate here if everyone involved is okay with this.)
And, as another note, Mnemosyne and I are running the game, not the RP. Neither of us have characters, nor will we be writing as the NPCs. Those are up to you guys to write as you wish. So we won't be writing in this thread/forum. However, I will be keeping an eye here to make sure everything runs smoothly, and that rules are followed. If you have an issue come up, message me and I'll take a look at it. I will step in to this if you guys need me to, but I prefer to leave it up to you. After all, the game part will probably keep my hands full by itself. But I will do whatever I need to to make sure the RP parts works too, if it comes to that.
Willowvale is a sleepy little town, perched along the edge of the foreboding Wysae Mountains. Arranged along the winding Delias River, just above one of the river's many falls. The quaint stone buildings with thatched roofs cover almost the entire area of the ledge the village is perched on. The town has one small inn, with a tavern on the bottom floor. During the summer months travelers stop here before or after journeying through a nearby pass. However, the rest of the year the pass is blocked by fierce storms, and the route in impassible. During these times of the year, the villagers are left to themselves, nestled in an area few ever journey to.
The village is a small one, the kind where all of the inhabitants know each other. Gossip abounds, but it is for the most part a tight-knit community, for their isolation makes them rely on each other. Their main tie to the outside world is their lumber industry. Logs cut in the mountains are floated down the river and sold at markett downs farther down stream. Many citizens catch the abundant fish found in the river, and herdsmen raise sheep and goats in the surrounding mountains.
Dangers lurk higher up in the mountains. Raging storms, fierce mountain cats, and bandits who ambush travelers crossing the range abound in higher elevations, but the town is untouched by these things. However, this years things are about to change. A fall storm has blocked the pass earlier than usual, leaving travelers stranded in the town as they wait for the snow to clear from the pass. But when things in the town take a dangerous turn, these travelers be the first suspects. How long will they be stranded here, forced to live with the townsfolk's suspicions? And who is really behind these murders?
And, as another note, Mnemosyne and I are running the game, not the RP. Neither of us have characters, nor will we be writing as the NPCs. Those are up to you guys to write as you wish. So we won't be writing in this thread/forum. However, I will be keeping an eye here to make sure everything runs smoothly, and that rules are followed. If you have an issue come up, message me and I'll take a look at it. I will step in to this if you guys need me to, but I prefer to leave it up to you. After all, the game part will probably keep my hands full by itself. But I will do whatever I need to to make sure the RP parts works too, if it comes to that.
Willowvale is a sleepy little town, perched along the edge of the foreboding Wysae Mountains. Arranged along the winding Delias River, just above one of the river's many falls. The quaint stone buildings with thatched roofs cover almost the entire area of the ledge the village is perched on. The town has one small inn, with a tavern on the bottom floor. During the summer months travelers stop here before or after journeying through a nearby pass. However, the rest of the year the pass is blocked by fierce storms, and the route in impassible. During these times of the year, the villagers are left to themselves, nestled in an area few ever journey to.
The village is a small one, the kind where all of the inhabitants know each other. Gossip abounds, but it is for the most part a tight-knit community, for their isolation makes them rely on each other. Their main tie to the outside world is their lumber industry. Logs cut in the mountains are floated down the river and sold at markett downs farther down stream. Many citizens catch the abundant fish found in the river, and herdsmen raise sheep and goats in the surrounding mountains.
Dangers lurk higher up in the mountains. Raging storms, fierce mountain cats, and bandits who ambush travelers crossing the range abound in higher elevations, but the town is untouched by these things. However, this years things are about to change. A fall storm has blocked the pass earlier than usual, leaving travelers stranded in the town as they wait for the snow to clear from the pass. But when things in the town take a dangerous turn, these travelers be the first suspects. How long will they be stranded here, forced to live with the townsfolk's suspicions? And who is really behind these murders?
The storm raged on, relentlessly, as the thunder pounded against the soundwaves of the tired little town, as the lightning’s currents grazed through the rain. The winds blew like the breath of a dragon, picking up leaves, water, and any light, loose objects through the rain. Of course, two travelers were kept here by this very storm, sitting across from each other. The first was bound in a commoner’s clothes; laughing, making a commotion, and being all around rowdy. The other one remained quiet, studiously writing in a notebook, making general observations.
To focus in on the first; the drunken mess of a slob, pouring ale down his throat like a fish filters water through its gills, the bloke was an absolute sight for sore eyes. Messy, oil-black hair, hazel, bloodshot eyes, and two crooked front teeth. A very large build, the not-so-riveting man stood at about six feet tall, and he did, quite, insist on standing, with his chest puffed out a bit; his muscles were huge, he knew it, and he wanted everyone else to know it, too. “You see, I was fucking good back in the day!” the boisterous, less-than-charming voice would echo throughout the inn, as his face flushed a vibrant red. “Reeeaaall fuckin’ good! I was the god damn best! I hail from a big city down east, Dawnset. See, that city is fuckin’ huge. Now, I was gonna train to be an Olympian entertainer. People come across the whole continent to see that shit, man! Gather in arenas, fight lions, throw spears, swim, I was the whole package! I could do fucking everything! I still can, for the most part. You should fucking see it! I bet like, five piece I can throw this fuckin’ stool across the inn and land it on its legs from the other side!”
Meanwhile, in contrast to this larger-than-life character, was a more quiet, calculated girl. Indeed, she was incredibly beautiful. With a pair of specs around her light blue eyes, the dark-skinned, red headed girl was clearly not from anywhere around here, as her genetic combination wasn’t typical to any native locals. Nay, she was evidently a traveler, perhaps from a prestigious land, gathered by the noble clothes she wore. She was taking notes on the inn, and wasn’t interested in being in a dull little place like this; but there was an interesting aspect to the environment, especially in this small town. Why would the storm be so concentrated on a small, sleepy little place like this? Anyone who was to get through had to make it through this pass, and it was quite inconvenient for travelers to come through. Anyone knew that; but something was off about it, and this girl knew it. Her expression was suspicious through and through, and everyone in the inn, to her, was here for a reason. There should be no reason why so many people all get stuck in a storm in one inn...but there was much to be observed. She knew that. For now, she would continue to sit back, take notes, and make observations.
To focus in on the first; the drunken mess of a slob, pouring ale down his throat like a fish filters water through its gills, the bloke was an absolute sight for sore eyes. Messy, oil-black hair, hazel, bloodshot eyes, and two crooked front teeth. A very large build, the not-so-riveting man stood at about six feet tall, and he did, quite, insist on standing, with his chest puffed out a bit; his muscles were huge, he knew it, and he wanted everyone else to know it, too. “You see, I was fucking good back in the day!” the boisterous, less-than-charming voice would echo throughout the inn, as his face flushed a vibrant red. “Reeeaaall fuckin’ good! I was the god damn best! I hail from a big city down east, Dawnset. See, that city is fuckin’ huge. Now, I was gonna train to be an Olympian entertainer. People come across the whole continent to see that shit, man! Gather in arenas, fight lions, throw spears, swim, I was the whole package! I could do fucking everything! I still can, for the most part. You should fucking see it! I bet like, five piece I can throw this fuckin’ stool across the inn and land it on its legs from the other side!”
Meanwhile, in contrast to this larger-than-life character, was a more quiet, calculated girl. Indeed, she was incredibly beautiful. With a pair of specs around her light blue eyes, the dark-skinned, red headed girl was clearly not from anywhere around here, as her genetic combination wasn’t typical to any native locals. Nay, she was evidently a traveler, perhaps from a prestigious land, gathered by the noble clothes she wore. She was taking notes on the inn, and wasn’t interested in being in a dull little place like this; but there was an interesting aspect to the environment, especially in this small town. Why would the storm be so concentrated on a small, sleepy little place like this? Anyone who was to get through had to make it through this pass, and it was quite inconvenient for travelers to come through. Anyone knew that; but something was off about it, and this girl knew it. Her expression was suspicious through and through, and everyone in the inn, to her, was here for a reason. There should be no reason why so many people all get stuck in a storm in one inn...but there was much to be observed. She knew that. For now, she would continue to sit back, take notes, and make observations.
Driven into the very same inn by the very same storm, Sombris inevitably heard the tale delivered by the monster of a man sitting three stools southward. Of course, there was no way he could have missed it, considering it was delivered exclusively through shouts and was quite accessible to the entire room, if not to the floor immediately above as well. Sombris turned to watch along with listen, but he wasn't spurred by annoyance. Rather raw intrigue compelled his head to swivel, though it didn't seem to take hold of his countenance quite as strongly, manifesting only in the ghost of a grin.
The storm had dropped like a thief in the night... or perhaps rather like a murderer. The townspeople donned a guise of false interest for each traveler, imploring all to stay in the safety of their keep, the shell of their reasoning being that the storm was simply too fearsome to venture into. What they really wanted was to catch the culpable party who was responsible for the demise of another traveler, and though they would never put words to it, they were convinced that a fellow traveler was to blame. The storm simply struck at a time convenient enough to utilize it as an excuse. So while the populated gave halfhearted warnings, they also glared, whispered, pointed. All of Willowvale's wanderers, vagabonds, and visitors were kept under watchful and suspicious eye. None were to be trusted.
So what better way to wait out the storms-- of both weather and of accusational varieties--than to listen to a yarn or seven at the tavern? Sombris cared not for the validity, but for the entertainment value the stories, and he claimed the brief gap in the man's roaring with a sound of his own; hands meeting together in slow, incremented claps.
"Bravo, bravo," he offered a tepid-at-best cheer, his tone still deciding between amusement or puckish skepticism. "But anyone with a bit of mind can tell a story and a bit of mass can throw a chair. Let's see some proof of your stories."
Fluid as the rain itself, the heavily hooded Sombris glided to the pair, which he admittedly only recognized as a pair now due to the contrasting quietness of the loud man's counterpart. She was smart, guarding against garnering more wariness from the town by keeping a low profile. But Sombris had never preferred smart. He preferred easy to toy with.
"Anything will do. Battle scars, brands, spoils... Maybe your friend there could even vouch for you." The gentle, unimposing challenge was intended for the both of them.
The storm had dropped like a thief in the night... or perhaps rather like a murderer. The townspeople donned a guise of false interest for each traveler, imploring all to stay in the safety of their keep, the shell of their reasoning being that the storm was simply too fearsome to venture into. What they really wanted was to catch the culpable party who was responsible for the demise of another traveler, and though they would never put words to it, they were convinced that a fellow traveler was to blame. The storm simply struck at a time convenient enough to utilize it as an excuse. So while the populated gave halfhearted warnings, they also glared, whispered, pointed. All of Willowvale's wanderers, vagabonds, and visitors were kept under watchful and suspicious eye. None were to be trusted.
So what better way to wait out the storms-- of both weather and of accusational varieties--than to listen to a yarn or seven at the tavern? Sombris cared not for the validity, but for the entertainment value the stories, and he claimed the brief gap in the man's roaring with a sound of his own; hands meeting together in slow, incremented claps.
"Bravo, bravo," he offered a tepid-at-best cheer, his tone still deciding between amusement or puckish skepticism. "But anyone with a bit of mind can tell a story and a bit of mass can throw a chair. Let's see some proof of your stories."
Fluid as the rain itself, the heavily hooded Sombris glided to the pair, which he admittedly only recognized as a pair now due to the contrasting quietness of the loud man's counterpart. She was smart, guarding against garnering more wariness from the town by keeping a low profile. But Sombris had never preferred smart. He preferred easy to toy with.
"Anything will do. Battle scars, brands, spoils... Maybe your friend there could even vouch for you." The gentle, unimposing challenge was intended for the both of them.
The mixed elf stepped into the common area of the inn looking irritable, having woken up and come out of her room recently. This was not the first time that the weather had interfered with her traveling plans, and she knew it likely wouldn't be the last. A delay in her travels was going to cost her some money, and that always made her pensive. There was also the issue of having to pay for a room during her stay. Idiotic surface world and it's lousy weather, she thought to herself.
Janella was used to some suspicion, and had shrugged off the stares and whispers that followed her in light of the murders. She was going low profile at the moment, not wearing any armor, just her usual violet tunic and trousers. The elf still wore her belt with some pouches, her trousers lined with a few pockets. There were no visible weapons on her frame, a rare occurrence for her. Due to the murders that were going on, she didn't want to invite any more misgivings than she had to.
Janella was visibly unimpressed with the loud male's claims, looking bored with them. Even if her hearing wasn't exceptionally good, she still would have been able to hear them coming down the hall and stairs.
"I agree," she said after Sombris challenged them, sitting down at a nearby table. Her low, melodic voice continued, "You can offer us your proof, your prowess will be confirmed, and then you can shut up about it." Her tone was completely neutral as she said it, leaned back in her chair so that it balanced on the back two legs, one of her arms draped over the back. She talked a lot of shit for someone who was so petite, her manner completely calm and confident even if she was slender and only five and a half feet tall. The half-breed wanted to have a drink and relax, not have her ears assailed by loud, alcohol-fueled exaggerations.
Janella was used to some suspicion, and had shrugged off the stares and whispers that followed her in light of the murders. She was going low profile at the moment, not wearing any armor, just her usual violet tunic and trousers. The elf still wore her belt with some pouches, her trousers lined with a few pockets. There were no visible weapons on her frame, a rare occurrence for her. Due to the murders that were going on, she didn't want to invite any more misgivings than she had to.
Janella was visibly unimpressed with the loud male's claims, looking bored with them. Even if her hearing wasn't exceptionally good, she still would have been able to hear them coming down the hall and stairs.
"I agree," she said after Sombris challenged them, sitting down at a nearby table. Her low, melodic voice continued, "You can offer us your proof, your prowess will be confirmed, and then you can shut up about it." Her tone was completely neutral as she said it, leaned back in her chair so that it balanced on the back two legs, one of her arms draped over the back. She talked a lot of shit for someone who was so petite, her manner completely calm and confident even if she was slender and only five and a half feet tall. The half-breed wanted to have a drink and relax, not have her ears assailed by loud, alcohol-fueled exaggerations.
Ehen was another traveler that was set back by the weather - though her plans did not cause her too much grief in being set back, unlike the halfing, it was a nuisance that brought about a sour mood. The elf wore far more comfortable clothing than usual, opting in for a brown tunic over black trousers in leu of her usual fancy attire. Though that slightly overly fancy necklace was still latched around her neck, it was hidden under the neckline of her tunic for now. She was stuck here - may as well be somewhat comfortable in the meantime. She could do without the judging, accusatory stares as well, though she was certain that she received far fewer than her pointy ear'd cousin might. (The likes of whom the player is uncertain if in this setting she would recognize or not)
She observed the going ons of the obnoxious drunk, and those who heckled him about his stories from a distance of a few tables - the commotion impossible to overlook, no matter how hard she tried to bury herself into her food and drink. Admittedly, she visibly shifted a bit to view the loud mouthed drunk a bit better, trying to catch what the end result would be. In this time she took the chance to look over the drunk's quiet counterpart, the heckling mage, and the dark skinned elf woman as well. None of them screamed murderer specifically, but what if?
She observed the going ons of the obnoxious drunk, and those who heckled him about his stories from a distance of a few tables - the commotion impossible to overlook, no matter how hard she tried to bury herself into her food and drink. Admittedly, she visibly shifted a bit to view the loud mouthed drunk a bit better, trying to catch what the end result would be. In this time she took the chance to look over the drunk's quiet counterpart, the heckling mage, and the dark skinned elf woman as well. None of them screamed murderer specifically, but what if?
Seated in a fairly secluded corner of the inn were two figures.
One seemed to be resting, head slightly leaning against the wall, fingers lax around a mug of water and mouth in a soft, neutral line- though it was hard to tell if the figure was indeed asleep, let alone the gender, for the hood of the traveler's cloak covered most of their face. The bottom half that the hood failed to conceal only revealed brown skin and a youthful complexion.
The face of the companion of the youthful traveler, however, was not shrouded in mystery. Hood down, an air of volatile irritation clearly visible in his face and actions, the traveler's companion seemed to be a bit older than the youth- a few inches taller even with both of them sitting- with the same color skin. Relatives, perhaps?
Not that anyone would dare ask. His scowling demeanor would put off any timid soul who was even thinking about striking up a conversation with him. Every now and again he would pause, jot something down in a worn but obviously well-cared for tome, furrow his eyebrows, and glare out at the nearby window, which showed the wild and raging storm outside- like it was the weather's fault that he was stuck here, and not in his destination.
Yes, the cause of his irritation was very, very clear.
And now there was a murderer on the loose.
Just his luck.
Just their luck, actually.
"Stupid storm, stupid murderer, stupid drunk, stupid rain..." he muttered, writing down a few more things almost violently, miraculously managing to not rattle the table.
The hooded figure beside him snickered- ah, so not asleep- before shrugging almost carelessly, taking a gulp of hot water. "Could be worse," they nonchalantly replied, voice taking on a mild, easy tone. "Could be stuck outside."
"I'd rather be in a cave," he shot back grumpily- then sighed, dropping the pen and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I need to work-"
"You need to rest, actually," the hooded traveler said, poking the shoulder of the stressed man. "Sleeep. Sleep in feaar. The murderer might kill youu..."
"And what? Take my book?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "Damn killer wouldn't even know what I wrote. Since it's in code. My code. And I'd curse the killer from the grave. Hah-hah." He swiped up his pen, hummed a bit, then wrote in the margins. "You sleep."
"Sleep is for the weeaak."
"All the more reason why you should."
"...
... Iiiii hate you."
"Love you too, son."
One seemed to be resting, head slightly leaning against the wall, fingers lax around a mug of water and mouth in a soft, neutral line- though it was hard to tell if the figure was indeed asleep, let alone the gender, for the hood of the traveler's cloak covered most of their face. The bottom half that the hood failed to conceal only revealed brown skin and a youthful complexion.
The face of the companion of the youthful traveler, however, was not shrouded in mystery. Hood down, an air of volatile irritation clearly visible in his face and actions, the traveler's companion seemed to be a bit older than the youth- a few inches taller even with both of them sitting- with the same color skin. Relatives, perhaps?
Not that anyone would dare ask. His scowling demeanor would put off any timid soul who was even thinking about striking up a conversation with him. Every now and again he would pause, jot something down in a worn but obviously well-cared for tome, furrow his eyebrows, and glare out at the nearby window, which showed the wild and raging storm outside- like it was the weather's fault that he was stuck here, and not in his destination.
Yes, the cause of his irritation was very, very clear.
And now there was a murderer on the loose.
Just his luck.
Just their luck, actually.
"Stupid storm, stupid murderer, stupid drunk, stupid rain..." he muttered, writing down a few more things almost violently, miraculously managing to not rattle the table.
The hooded figure beside him snickered- ah, so not asleep- before shrugging almost carelessly, taking a gulp of hot water. "Could be worse," they nonchalantly replied, voice taking on a mild, easy tone. "Could be stuck outside."
"I'd rather be in a cave," he shot back grumpily- then sighed, dropping the pen and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I need to work-"
"You need to rest, actually," the hooded traveler said, poking the shoulder of the stressed man. "Sleeep. Sleep in feaar. The murderer might kill youu..."
"And what? Take my book?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "Damn killer wouldn't even know what I wrote. Since it's in code. My code. And I'd curse the killer from the grave. Hah-hah." He swiped up his pen, hummed a bit, then wrote in the margins. "You sleep."
"Sleep is for the weeaak."
"All the more reason why you should."
"...
... Iiiii hate you."
"Love you too, son."