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A Man in Love with the Sea and the Ships that Sail
Trying to get back on the horse... Hello there, you, reader. It's been an indecent amount of time since I was last on this site, gave a couple of dedicated partners a real bum run too, dropping off the edge of existence like I did. I've had the worse case of writer's block. So here I am, got a nice little Plot to try out. Hope you all'll read it and maybe I'll get this lead zeppelin off the ground? This story draws inspiration from the various faerie stories from around the world, be it Arthurian Legend, Grimm Tales, French Fairy Stories, or almost any other of the sort. We have room for four characters, two magic users and two non-magic users. The magic users can have a great deal of freedom with what they can be, rather than imposing rules I'll simply wait to see what is submitted when it comes to posting the thread. The non-magic users fall into two categories, one can either be a soldier of the Chancellor of Magyar, a rank and file swordsman/lancer type under strict orders to the mission, in this you must be either human or an elf. One could otherwise be a mercenary/treasure hunter either hired for the job or inviting themselves along, you can be just about any sort of character you'd like so long as you don't use magic. The technology is to mirror that of the mid 19th century.
It is appropriate to say that magic once ruled this world. Once an immortal witch king took the whole continent in his stride with armies fashioned from naught but clay and whispered promises. Once dragons would immolate the countryside and hoard the wealth of the land should a noble knight fail to ride against them. Once a princess was put to sleep on the prick of a magic spinning wheel, and was never awakened. Once. That was an age of magic, when the goal of the common person was survival and one's blood dictated all, when the world seemed much bigger, before those without magic learned a worth.
Now is not an age of magic, today is an age of machinery, gunpowder, steam-engines, textiles, Chancellors and Presidents rule the world now, and the field of war has not seen a suit of armor in hundreds of years. Magic exists, but only in small pockets. A witch here, casting charms and healing wounds for the townsfolk. The wealthy dwarf communities in the mountains, producing crafts from their enchanted hands, manipulating metals like soft clay. Tall and fair elves wandering from town to town, seeking acceptance. In the dark of sentient forests still sit the cottages of child-eating hags, some empty, others not so. For most, magic is a commodity for the rich, an advantage they can send treasure-hunters into old ruins and dark forests and to the ends of the earth to fetch for them.
Such is this story, the Chancellor of the land of Magyar seeks a most dangerous item, the tears of a faerie. The faeries are the oldest and longest surviving magical beings, hiding away on their enchanted island, away from their mortal playthings, weaving the ways of the world in what ways they can. These beings, older than gods, the breath and soul of the world, love to have affairs with mortals, and to make one weep one must break her heart; to break the heart of such an immortal means certain death, and it will hurt a great deal as it happens. To acquire these tears of immortality and secure his reign not as Chancellor, but as Emperor, he has sent forth his best men to seek out one who could guide them to the secret isle and retrieve his tears.
It is appropriate to say that magic once ruled this world. Once an immortal witch king took the whole continent in his stride with armies fashioned from naught but clay and whispered promises. Once dragons would immolate the countryside and hoard the wealth of the land should a noble knight fail to ride against them. Once a princess was put to sleep on the prick of a magic spinning wheel, and was never awakened. Once. That was an age of magic, when the goal of the common person was survival and one's blood dictated all, when the world seemed much bigger, before those without magic learned a worth.
Now is not an age of magic, today is an age of machinery, gunpowder, steam-engines, textiles, Chancellors and Presidents rule the world now, and the field of war has not seen a suit of armor in hundreds of years. Magic exists, but only in small pockets. A witch here, casting charms and healing wounds for the townsfolk. The wealthy dwarf communities in the mountains, producing crafts from their enchanted hands, manipulating metals like soft clay. Tall and fair elves wandering from town to town, seeking acceptance. In the dark of sentient forests still sit the cottages of child-eating hags, some empty, others not so. For most, magic is a commodity for the rich, an advantage they can send treasure-hunters into old ruins and dark forests and to the ends of the earth to fetch for them.
Such is this story, the Chancellor of the land of Magyar seeks a most dangerous item, the tears of a faerie. The faeries are the oldest and longest surviving magical beings, hiding away on their enchanted island, away from their mortal playthings, weaving the ways of the world in what ways they can. These beings, older than gods, the breath and soul of the world, love to have affairs with mortals, and to make one weep one must break her heart; to break the heart of such an immortal means certain death, and it will hurt a great deal as it happens. To acquire these tears of immortality and secure his reign not as Chancellor, but as Emperor, he has sent forth his best men to seek out one who could guide them to the secret isle and retrieve his tears.
I'm thinking that I'll probably be an elf. That cool with you?
