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Open Chronicles "Wrong"
- Thread starter demonz-r-us
- Start date
A roleplay open for anyone to join
Vorath Hiendakre
Member
- Messages
- 2
The fog hung low over the western marshlands, curling through the reeds like smoke from a long-dead fire. Morning light struggled to pierce the mist, casting the shallow waters in a pale gray glow.
From that gloom, a figure emerged. Pale as bleached bone, draped in a dark cloak that seemed to drink the light around it. He moved with measured, deliberate steps, the weight of centuries in his posture, though his face could have belonged to any man in his late thirties.
The locals called him a shadow-walker, a ghost of stories told to scare children. They did not know him. They did not understand that he was Arethilian born, not from some distant or forbidden realm. Born of the Null Womb beneath the Infernal Maw, yes—but part of the same world they lived in, shaped by the same despair, the same darkness that festered in human hearts.
Vorath Hiendakre paused at the edge of the marsh, planting his Taffeg into the mud. The staff-like object pulsed faintly, its energy contained and deliberate—enough to stir fear, to mark the land, but not enough to tear Alliria apart.
He spoke, his voice layered like two echoes in one:
"The marsh has grown restless. So have I."
The reeds shifted as though answering him. He did not call forth fire or storm. He did not command armies of demons—at least, not yet. What he did was simpler, subtler: he observed, tested, and waited. Every traveler, every villager, every careless soul stepping too close might find themselves caught in a web of curses, pacts, or quiet terror.
And yet, there was an invitation in his presence. Anyone bold—or foolish—enough to enter the marsh might meet him. They might bargain, fight, flee… or perhaps learn, in whispers, why life in Arethil could be so fragile.
Vorath’s dark eyes scanned the horizon, lingering on the faint glimmer of distant villages. A smile, almost imperceptible, brushed his lips.
"Let us see who dares to step closer."
(Here are some easy hooks if you’re looking for a reason to enter the scene:
Passing Through the Marsh:
Your character is traveling the western routes near Alliria and notices the fog behaving strangely, or hears whispers carried on the wind.
Villager Seeking Help:
Someone from a nearby settlement is investigating missing livestock, strange lights, or curses spreading around farms and homes.
Hunter or Ranger:
You’re tracking an injured creature or bandit into the marsh—only to find Vorath instead.
Mage or Scholar:
You detect an unusual but contained magical disturbance in the area and come to study or challenge its source.
Mercenary or Sellsword:
A local offers coin for someone brave enough to figure out what’s happening in the marshlands.
Cleric or Priest:
You feel a spiritual disturbance—something dark but not overwhelming—and follow it into the fog.
Rogue or Thief:
You heard rumors that someone in the marsh carries a strange artifact (the Taffeg), and curiosity or greed drives you forward.
Monster or Creature:
The subtle magic Vorath releases draws you like a scent trail; you approach to investigate, bargain, or challenge him.
A Curious Wanderer:
Your character simply sees someone strange standing in a forbidden patch of marsh and decides that’s worth a closer look.
Looking for Shelter:
The weather worsens, and the marsh offers the only cover—bringing your character directly into Vorath’s path.)
From that gloom, a figure emerged. Pale as bleached bone, draped in a dark cloak that seemed to drink the light around it. He moved with measured, deliberate steps, the weight of centuries in his posture, though his face could have belonged to any man in his late thirties.
The locals called him a shadow-walker, a ghost of stories told to scare children. They did not know him. They did not understand that he was Arethilian born, not from some distant or forbidden realm. Born of the Null Womb beneath the Infernal Maw, yes—but part of the same world they lived in, shaped by the same despair, the same darkness that festered in human hearts.
Vorath Hiendakre paused at the edge of the marsh, planting his Taffeg into the mud. The staff-like object pulsed faintly, its energy contained and deliberate—enough to stir fear, to mark the land, but not enough to tear Alliria apart.
He spoke, his voice layered like two echoes in one:
"The marsh has grown restless. So have I."
The reeds shifted as though answering him. He did not call forth fire or storm. He did not command armies of demons—at least, not yet. What he did was simpler, subtler: he observed, tested, and waited. Every traveler, every villager, every careless soul stepping too close might find themselves caught in a web of curses, pacts, or quiet terror.
And yet, there was an invitation in his presence. Anyone bold—or foolish—enough to enter the marsh might meet him. They might bargain, fight, flee… or perhaps learn, in whispers, why life in Arethil could be so fragile.
Vorath’s dark eyes scanned the horizon, lingering on the faint glimmer of distant villages. A smile, almost imperceptible, brushed his lips.
"Let us see who dares to step closer."
(Here are some easy hooks if you’re looking for a reason to enter the scene:
Passing Through the Marsh:
Your character is traveling the western routes near Alliria and notices the fog behaving strangely, or hears whispers carried on the wind.
Villager Seeking Help:
Someone from a nearby settlement is investigating missing livestock, strange lights, or curses spreading around farms and homes.
Hunter or Ranger:
You’re tracking an injured creature or bandit into the marsh—only to find Vorath instead.
Mage or Scholar:
You detect an unusual but contained magical disturbance in the area and come to study or challenge its source.
Mercenary or Sellsword:
A local offers coin for someone brave enough to figure out what’s happening in the marshlands.
Cleric or Priest:
You feel a spiritual disturbance—something dark but not overwhelming—and follow it into the fog.
Rogue or Thief:
You heard rumors that someone in the marsh carries a strange artifact (the Taffeg), and curiosity or greed drives you forward.
Monster or Creature:
The subtle magic Vorath releases draws you like a scent trail; you approach to investigate, bargain, or challenge him.
A Curious Wanderer:
Your character simply sees someone strange standing in a forbidden patch of marsh and decides that’s worth a closer look.
Looking for Shelter:
The weather worsens, and the marsh offers the only cover—bringing your character directly into Vorath’s path.)
- Messages
- 15
- Character Biography
- Link
There were only two occasions when Rae'twyn would ever want to be in water this deep. When he was bathing in a Zar'ahal hot spring or when luxuriating in Lady Estrenna's royal baths, kissing the feet of said lady.
Neither applied to this predicament.
Flung into the most boorish and colour-bleached of human territories, with several leagues between him and the nearest stone building not made from ramshackle timber and thatch, he wondered how far he would have to travel to make it back to the bosom of Allirian civilisation.
The fog here was so thick he could scarcely pierce the darkness with his drow sight. Good. It might throw off his pursuers as well.
"Over here! I saw him slip through there!"
"Ready the javelins. We'll catch the eel soon enough!"
Torchlight and shouting voices penetrated the fog. Rae'twyn submitted himself more to the marsh, tentacles of mud slithering into his vest. He strained a smile, teeth clenched painfully together, still persuading his body to immerse itself fully in the cold, dirty water. Well, never let it be said that he wasn't willing to get his hands dirty. Along with all the rest of him, of course. Clothes could be washed. Rubies polished, weapons cleaned and oiled. But a dozen javelins in the back? No amount of maintenance could sort that out.
As the hunting party spread out, following the faint slurping sounds of mud and quickened breaths, Rae'twyn's strands of hair disappeared below the surface like a halo of white eels.
Last edited:
Vorath Hiendakre
Member
- Messages
- 2
The marsh shifted slowly as something unseen pulled at the water. Vorath had sensed the disturbance long before the hunters arrived. Their shouting broke through the fog in sharp bursts. Each voice sounded strained, like men trying to convince themselves that the darkness still belonged to them.
He waited a moment, listening. There was splashing, javelins clinking together, and the breath of someone who thought they were alone.
Then the pale figure stepped out from the thicker cluster of reeds. His cloak trailed patterns across the water that did not match the current. Vorath’s eyes landed on the faint outline of Rae'twyn beneath the surface. He could see the lines of tension in the drow’s form as clearly as if the fog were not choking the marsh. Vorath tilted his head, studying him like a puzzle piece out of place.
"You hide with effort," he said quietly. His voice carried just enough to reach Rae'twyn without alerting the hunters. "If you want to survive, don’t stay where they expect you to drown."
The torchlight drew closer. One of the hunters splashed through the mud, muttering curses as he scanned the water’s edge. Vorath did not move to help or hinder. He simply watched Rae'twyn with calm curiosity. "I can draw them away," he added. "Or you can stay buried and let them find you. Decide quickly. They have nearly reached you." A faint pulse flickered through the Taffeg at his side, but Vorath kept its magic contained.
He did not need magic to shift the balance here.
He only needed the fog, the hunters’ fear, and a drow who had stumbled into a place he did not understand.
Vorath’s pale hand hovered above the water, waiting for Rae'twyn to choose a direction.
He waited a moment, listening. There was splashing, javelins clinking together, and the breath of someone who thought they were alone.
Then the pale figure stepped out from the thicker cluster of reeds. His cloak trailed patterns across the water that did not match the current. Vorath’s eyes landed on the faint outline of Rae'twyn beneath the surface. He could see the lines of tension in the drow’s form as clearly as if the fog were not choking the marsh. Vorath tilted his head, studying him like a puzzle piece out of place.
"You hide with effort," he said quietly. His voice carried just enough to reach Rae'twyn without alerting the hunters. "If you want to survive, don’t stay where they expect you to drown."
The torchlight drew closer. One of the hunters splashed through the mud, muttering curses as he scanned the water’s edge. Vorath did not move to help or hinder. He simply watched Rae'twyn with calm curiosity. "I can draw them away," he added. "Or you can stay buried and let them find you. Decide quickly. They have nearly reached you." A faint pulse flickered through the Taffeg at his side, but Vorath kept its magic contained.
He did not need magic to shift the balance here.
He only needed the fog, the hunters’ fear, and a drow who had stumbled into a place he did not understand.
Vorath’s pale hand hovered above the water, waiting for Rae'twyn to choose a direction.
- Messages
- 15
- Character Biography
- Link
He could swear he was hearing voices. Well, in all his almost four-hundred centuries of living, that was a new one. When the whispering voice grew more insistent, however, strangely clear and crystalline through the warped sounds of water, it steadily gave way for the idea that it might not have been his imagination at work.
Being still underwater, responding in the affirmative proved difficult. He tried to vigorously nod, slowed by the water's resistance, but hopefully clear enough. Soon enough, he would have to swim to the surface for air, regardless.
What was the harm in trying? Even if he was going mad, at least he would be the only witness to this silly display.
Vorath Hiendakre
Being still underwater, responding in the affirmative proved difficult. He tried to vigorously nod, slowed by the water's resistance, but hopefully clear enough. Soon enough, he would have to swim to the surface for air, regardless.
What was the harm in trying? Even if he was going mad, at least he would be the only witness to this silly display.
Vorath Hiendakre