A new era in original, fantasy RP. Four populated nations surround the ruins at the center of the known world - each with their own, strong culture. This original tale is woven around lush forests, dangerous city slums, raging seas, and endless valleys. A writer's greatest adventure is an application away.
Be it advanced technology, a knightly order, the way of a hunter, or the strength of a gang as your shield.. the land's new-born darkness will tear away at anything in its path. Fight for the gods? Fight for you nation? Fight for yourself?
WHO WILL YOU BLAME.
That's right. Be wary. Each thread the desecrants show up in will have a maximum amount of players allowed to enter to fight it. Though they may not be defeated right away, you might make them think twice about facing mankind... and could very well find them somewhere else in the world later on trying to get better luck.
A competition has been set up to create your very own NPCs! Create up to five for around the world of From Dust and you have a chance to get them accepted into the site's beastiary! This expands on our member-created base as an original site, so have at it!
Post by William Tenacar on Jun 22, 2014 20:18:07 GMT -6
William, as always, was in the tavern of the small coastal village he called home. Even from outside, his voice could be heard, booming and laughing, every few hours or so announcing another round on him. As always, he was collecting quite the tab. Not that he minded, with the money he made from his work, he had plenty to pay off his daily tabs. At least for another month anyway, not counting the shipment of minerals he was going to receive to work with. He knew it was supposed to arrive any day now but he had made sure to save his money.
The small town would know if anyone came for him where they could direct the messenger. And they’d be able to tell them how to figure out who he was, too. He was the one at the tavern with the loudest voice and the biggest laugh. It was always obvious which one he was and it was more likely that Will would find you rather than the other way around. The moment someone new in town walked in he would always take the time to greet them and ask them what they were doing in town, even going so far as to buy them a drink.
William had been very smart in making his workshop across the street from the tavern. The sign on the front said “William’s Smithgineering” showing that it was the right place. However, there was also, another sigh that was hanging on the door saying “Out drinking”, meaning that he was at the tavern. His house was, actually, right above his workshop so the set up was brilliant for him. He’d go home drunk, as always, and sleep for a few hours then wake up and do it all the next day.
Post by Gareth MacKay on Jun 22, 2014 22:31:12 GMT -6
Lazily, Gareth walked stride for stride with his camel, who towed behind him a jury-rigged, fully-loaded cart that rocked to and fro loudly whenever the road was uneven. And in such out-of-the-way trails as this, the road was often uneven. He would have been annoyed with it, but as of now the rickety banging was the war drum that kept him marching. His eyes were drooped and seemingly uninterested in the world around him; however, he was intently following the small beacons dancing all around him. The fireflies cast ambient lighting along the road that was enough, for the moment, that Gareth felt comfortable extinguishing the flame that covered his hand. It was a cool night, and Gareth could smell the ocean breezes begin to signal their domain. It was then that he noticed the lanterns begin to creep into his view. That must be it. There's no way it couldn't be, he thought, hopeful that he had not been too foolish in not stopping to make camp. His stride picked up, reinvigorated by the finish line. The fireflies that had been lightly dancing near Gareth now flew away from him, as if they knew that he would have no more distractions. A small ball of fire reappeared in his left hand, lighting the way.
When he reached the radius of the lamps, he extinguished his flame. Once he found the main road, it wasn't hard to find anything in the town--the benefit of not having too much in the first place. He continued down the arterial road, now noticing his cart growing more quiet as the road became better maintained. It wasn't his longest journey lately, but this part of Hryst was foreign to him--a little farther west than he was used to. He wasn't stressed any more than usual because of it, in fact, he seemed to enjoy it. The rolling plains pretty much rolled the same way across the country, but Gareth still enjoyed the rush of discovery. He walked past houses and shops, leaning in to look through each window. The only light came from the street lamps but Gareth could pick out the silhouette of the occasional cake or tapestry. He stopped when he caught the rough outline of smelting equipment. He looked up above the window and saw the sign. This is the place. He had missed the note on the door during his first sweep: Out Drinking. Well, in a town as large as this one, there was usually only one bar around--and this one was across the street.
He clicked his tongue and pulled on the reigns toward the bar, which seemed lively. He secured the camel to a post outside and double checked the cargo boxes before heading in. Opening the door, he was assaulted with mirth. This bar wasn't like the edge-of-the-world bars that he found around the Deadsands, whose gritty laughs and fragile camaraderie obscured a tense feeling that violence could break out. This tavern seemed genuine. Gareth dug into one of the pockets in his vest and pulled out a paper that had been folded and refolded over and over again. He looked down the worn sheet until he found the scrawled note that hadn't been crossed off yet: William Tenacar, various ores. He looked around, scanning the room for a sign that said "William Tenacar" to illuminate over the customers head. But none appeared. Gareth walked over to the bartender and, finding it difficult to communicate with him given the noise, simply showed him the paper. The man nodded and took long enough of a break from drying a glass to point to one of the louder patrons. Gareth nodded in response before walking toward William. "William Tenacar? I'm here with your ores." he said, with his sandpaper voice slightly muffled from underneath his bandages.
Post by William Tenacar on Jun 23, 2014 14:34:05 GMT -6
The moment the door opened, William turned his head toward the door and smiled broadly. “Welcome, good sir,” he called over before getting pulled over to a conversation and a chugging contest. Once he had downed his whole ale, he looked around for the person that had just come in. He made his way through the Tavern, smiling at almost everyone. When he was approached by the man and heard what he was doing there, his eyes changed a little. “Ah welcome traveler, I’ll get your payment from my workshop but first! A drink! Next round’s on me!” His call was met with cheers from all around.
He patted the traveler on the back, softly, before walking over to the bar and sitting down. “Have a seat, stranger,” he said. “Let me buy you a drink and a meal and then we can talk business.” He smiled to the man, a kind smile. Then, he looked at the bartender and gestured to the man. “Whatever he wants is on me. Just add it to my tab.”
With that taken care of, he turned back to the stranger and smiled, letting him say what he wanted, whether to eat or drink. Once he had it in front of him, William turned fully and took a swig from his ale. “So where’s this shipment from, huh? I like to know what area my ores come from. That way I know how much metal I get from them.” He paused long enough to take another swig of ale, looking the man over.
“You look like you've been through hell and back. And not with the right armor, at that! If you want, I’d be willing to make you some armor and fix up your weapons free of charge! Think of it as a gift for bringing me the materials I need.” He smiled over his mug at the man, obviously very happy that he got a shipment. “Mind you, if you do want some armor, you’ll have to stay in town for a few days. It takes time to make quality armor. Not to mention I’ll need your measurements. So what do you say? Do we have a deal?” He held his hand out for the man to shake, an excited glint to his eyes.
Post by Gareth MacKay on Jun 23, 2014 22:00:52 GMT -6
Never one to turn down a free meal, Gareth took a seat next to his customer. He hadn't planned on staying any longer than he had to in this bar--all of the joviality did not sit too well in his stomach. But food did, and free food did even more. He looked at the bartender and asked for the most filling meal he had, as well as a pint of water. William seemed genuine enough, but Gareth knew his track record with reading people (it ran poorly). He kept a healthy bit of skepticism about his customers generosity as his food came out. Apparently efficiency was a virtue in this bar. A large plate of chicken and potatoes that looked like it would fill the whole in his stomach that was only getting deeper. A long cool glass of water whose condensation was only matched by his salivation. An appetite to match all of the above. Gareth could hardly get his mouth free of his bandages before he began eating. The food had a ruggedly bland flavor about it, but Gareth didn't mind. It was better than the salted meats and preserves he was used to eating when out on the road whenever game wasn't available. He could hardly have taken more than three breaths before the plate was finished, his cup empty, and his hunger sated for the time-being.
It was down to business now. "Thomand Kurt, of Bertka. Says they're the best mines in western Hryst." Gareth was out of his element with ore. He shifted a bit in his seat before adjusting his bandages to cover his mouth once again. He noticed William looking him over and grew a bit uneasy about it. His muscles began to tense, his eyes tightened, and one hand slowly moved toward his knife, until he had said what he was going to say. What William saw as an Eurydician voyage Gareth viewed as his daily life. Baths were few and far between, often coming in the form of a quick dip in a stream or lake. Food was sometimes a luxury. His demeanor was something thrown together out of necessity rather than forged in comfort. Still, the man had a point. His scabbard was worse for wear--a beaten brown skin that had been cobbled together during his days training with his father. His sword was even worse off. While the edge was sharp, the sword itself was wearing down. The grip's leather was unwinding. The blade was also far too heavy. It could have been fullered much better than it was, but that would have required smithing skill not worthy of a mass-produced sword. His knife had a new set of issues; the blade was beginning to work its way out of the hilt of the knife, and unless Gareth wanted to hold it by the blade, it would need to be fixed soon.
But armor? He didn't not particularly care for the metal plate armor that he had seen in the Knight Academy. It was loud, it was cumbersome, and it was far too much trouble to take on and off. Gareth preferred the adaptability provided to him with his leather. He relied more on skill than armor to protect him in combat anyway. The only thing he really worried about were bullets, but that fear was mitigated with the bulletproof vest he had acquired from another mercenary from Aquavia. He doubted that it could be augmented any further. "I don't want my armor changed. It's still working well. My weapons on the other hand--" Gareth grabbed the grip of the sword on his back gingerly, as if touching a flower rather than a weapon of war, "they could probably use some tuning up. I'll take the repairs off of my fee, but I expect the rest." He wouldn't let himself be taken advantage of--it had been a hearty order he brought into town. He had to hobble together a cart to take everything, and his camel had to pull it, which was a significant amount of load for it to taken on. Besides, he couldn't just sit in town, Gareth had other jobs he would need to get to soon, lest he lose the business. He extended his hand as well to shake Will's. "I only have until the morning."
Post by William Tenacar on Jun 25, 2014 14:51:25 GMT -6
William smiled to the man, patting him on the back. “Ah yes, Thomand Kurt,” he said with a smile. “Good to see those mines still have minerals in them! He does have some pretty good ores! Now, let’s discuss your price for the delivery. I know you will need to, possibly, bring a cut of it back to your employer so I will give you a little extra for yourself, as a tip.” He smiled and watched as he ate, taking a large swig and ordering himself up a bowl of stew to eat. Once the stew was ready and served up, the ‘smithgineer’, as he called himself, began to chow down while the bartender refilled his drink.
In the meantime, he paid attention to what the traveler had to say, glad to have given him some comfort. He considered the time frame carefully and sighed. “Well, depending on the work I need to do, I might need you to stay longer,” he said, regarding the weapons he had. “How about this; once I’ve finished with my meal, here, I’ll take you to the workshop and look over these weapons of yours. I’ll give you an estimated time I can give them back and, in the meantime, you’d be welcome to stay in my guest room above the workshop. As for price: I will give you the full amount for the ores and yourself and the repairs will be my tip to you.” He smiled broadly at the man. He knew that the man probably had a place to head to in the morning but the problem with repairing weapons was that it might take an entire re-forging in order to keep the weapons integral strength.
Post by Gareth MacKay on Jun 27, 2014 13:56:12 GMT -6
"Just get it done as fast as possible," Gareth grunted as if ungrateful for his tip. He understood that the forging process could be lengthy, but that didn't mean that he still wouldn't press William to work as fast as possible. His eyes were starting to droop in the noise and revelry. He looked at William's broad smile before turning back toward the bartender. This wasn't his scene--the laughs, the friendship, everything seemed too light for him. Even the damn bartender had an upbeat skip cleaning dishware. These were people who had lived a relatively comfortable life, he had to remember. Sure, they had hard days of work. But did they know stealing in order to live? Did they know having no place to go at the end of the day? The promise of continual violence? Gareth had been dealt these things from an early age, but it was his fault that they still had a foothold in his life.
"Hey buddy, whaswiththe bandages? You sick or summin'?" stumbled some drunk from behind, a thin layer of dirt from the day before covering his skin. A head taller than Gareth but drunker.
Gareth turned his head slowly toward the man, his eyes slanting with intensity. Maybe he would get to scratch the itch tonight? "Shut up about the bandages and turn around." His burns had healed years ago, but the scars were verbally sensitive. A childhood of abuse and neglect saw to that.
"Who the hell do you thin' you are? How abou' I loo' under those bandages--" he said as he slowly fell toward Gareth, hand outstretched to grab onto his bandages.
Gareth had already given his warning. He would not give a second one. Before his better instincts could take over, Gareth grabbed the hand that was coming over his left shoulder with his right and pulled it over his shoulder with the drunk's momentum. Simultaneously his left elbow came up, hitting the man square in the chin, and causing him to stumble backwards the length of his other arm that Gareth still had in his grasp. Gareth stood up from his seat, throwing the bar stool behind the drunk's whose shoulder's were now perpendicular to his own. Gareth doubled up on the man's hand and slid underneath of it, to the drunkard's front, twisting the wrist as he did so and finished by letting go and kicking the man squarely in the chest, causing him to fall backwards over the bar stool. He looked down--the height difference was neutralized. He clenched his fist, ready to jump on top of him and punch and punch and punch until he ran out of breath and the man's face was nothing more than a canvas of blood and broken bones. But he knew he shouldn't do it. As much as he wanted to explode, the fire had to stay at a controlled burn. He had already let out too much. "Try it again and I won't stop hitting after you fall down," Gareth said. He wasn't full, but he was sated for the moment. His eyes were a serene combination of rage and contentness as they looked down. This bar may not have had the same tense happiness that Gareth was used to, but he had certainly brought it with him.
The man got up and walked away, one hand on his head and the other rubbing his chin. Gareth picked up his bar stool and put it back in it's original place, choosing to stand for a moment to calm himself.
Post by William Tenacar on Jun 27, 2014 14:46:03 GMT -6
William watched the man and sighed. Unlike almost everyone in this town, he knew that edgy look. He had seen and been in that position before. The tense happiness never suited him. In fact, when he got to this town, everyone was exactly the same as he was. It took several months before William got them all relaxed. He continued to watch the man with a steady interest, studying him as he would a weapon or piece of armor. He couldn’t say he was very good at people but he did know a thing or two about what a man should and shouldn’t do in a certain situation. He almost stepped in when he saw the drunkard approach and then reach toward his client. Before he could react, the traveler was already at it, knocking the drunk down and beating him. He saw the fear in the drunk’s eyes and heard the collective gasps from the other people.
Once the traveler had finished and stood up, William gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Now now, there’s no need to get upset,” he said, a very slight warning in his voice. He looked down at the drunk and shook his head. “Haven’t we spoken about this, Bert? You need to keep your hands off people! Or else you’ll end up getting your ass kicked like you just did.” He looked up to the man’s wife and smiled. “Enita why don’t you take your husband home and get him cleaned and patched up? The doctor will help you out with that.” He nodded to one of the other men in the bar who nodded back and moved to assist Bert to his feet.
Meanwhile, William turned back to the traveler and sighed. “I know you’re used to a tense atmosphere but, around here, we’re much more protected than closer to the Dead Sands. It’s best to try and relax while you’re here. Now I’m not going to ask about the bandages but a word of warning: If you come to a town like this, they will be a little unsettling. Around here, I keep everyone relaxed and happy. It helps me forget the days when I traveled the more dangerous areas of the world.” He gave a kind smile before gesturing toward the door.
“Let’s head on over to my workshop, now. I’ll take a look at what needs to be done and tell you my estimate on time.” He smiled and, without another word or checking to make sure that he was following, walked out of the tavern, a path clearing ahead of him. The whole tavern was silent and everyone could see why. When the newcomer attacked the drunk, a change had come over Will. Instead of his joyful self, he had calmed down and this created a very slightly intimidating air about him. Particularly to the people of the town who had never seen him like this.
Once out of the tavern, he walked up to his shop and switched the sign to the “Open” side. He, then, turned to the man again. “Move your cart of ores around to the back. There’s an alley behind this workship. I’ll open the back entrance for you to get the cart in.” His smile was there but it had a slightly tense look to it. Once again he didn’t wait for a reply before turning and walking inside to open the back up. This one was much larger than his front entrance and, as such, was where he usually had his ore deliveries and larger works go through.
Post by Gareth MacKay on Jun 30, 2014 12:22:19 GMT -6
Gareth knew his second skin was unsettling to most, but his own was unsettling to him. It had been a long time since he could look at half of his body without feeling uneasy about it. Society had given him the gift of self-consciousness. "How do you know what's under them isn't worse?" he asked plainly in response. Was beating the man unnecessary? Probably. He was drunk, which isn't a great time to measure character. But he had drunkenly stumbled onto Gareth's sore spot, and he did not leave too much space for sorry around those scars.
Would it have surprised Will to know that Gareth's on-edge feel did not come from the Deadsands, but from the heart of Hryst? Relaxation wasn't in Gareth's nature; it was anesthesia that numbed life. Will shouldn't have been forgetting those days; he should be embracing them. Gareth could not comprehend why someone would leave a life of danger for a life of comfort. He, unlike most people, needed the adrenaline. But he supposed that Will was in the right. This was a small town and nobody seemed to live opulently, once he had scratched the surface he might have enjoyed the occasional stay here. Gareth followed Will out of the tavern, following in his wake between the parted crowd. He had changed, now. Angry, maybe. Or just tapping into that previous life he had mentioned. Gareth didn't know. People were not his strong suit.
Freeing his camel from the post, he grabbed the reins and clicked his tongue in his mouth, commanding it to come. He nodded at Will's instructions, and led the cargo around to the back door. He unhooked the cart from the camel and picked it up by the two extended posts like a wheelbarrow and moved it in, giving an initial grunt as he picked it up and a sigh of relief when he put it down inside of the shop. "Beating him was excessive. But I won't apologize for my reasons," Gareth said, his voice hanging halfway between shame and apathy. He stretched his arms forward and then back around in a circle. "I need a place to keep my camel," Gareth said. There was enough grass and stray vegetation for it to graze on throughout the night--he just needed a place he felt it would be safe.
Post by William Tenacar on Jul 1, 2014 17:05:43 GMT -6
William sighed as he gestured to a small stable-like area near the door. “There’s a stable there with hay and water,” he said. “I keep it well supplied so that the clients who come in with horses can keep them in a safe area. Now, let me take care of these ores real quick.” He seemed to be very uptight, his normally good-natured mood ruined by the scene in the tavern. As he spoke, he moved to the back of the cart, examining the ores. He picked one up and nodded his satisfaction for them before moving over to a special crane he had set up to move large quantities of heavy objects.
The crane operated on basic principles, using part of William’s strength and part ingenuity. He turned it so that the scoop was above the cart of ores and lowered the scoop so that it opened and could grab the ores he needed. He cranked a wheel that was used to close the scoop and it grabbed a bunch of the ores. Once the scoop was completely closed, William locked it so that it wouldn’t open before lifting it again, this time actually using a little of his strength as a blacksmith, and turned the crane so that it was facing over the area he kept his ores before releasing the scoop’s latch and letting the ores tumble inside.
He repeated this process only a few ores were left. These he grabbed and moved by hand. Once this was done, he went into a small room that seemed to serve as an office, of sorts. When he returned, he moved over to the traveler and handed him a sack of gold. “Here is your payment for the ores.” Working seemed to have lifted his spirits again as he smiled. “Now, let me see these weapons of yours so I can get to work on them as soon as possible.” He smiled as he held his hand out toward the man, waiting to be handed the weapons.
Post by Gareth MacKay on Jul 4, 2014 18:40:36 GMT -6
Gareth led his camel into the stable and began unpacking it. He stacked the worn packs against the outside of the stable wall like a cairn to his delivery's success. He looked up at the crane and took a second to appreciate the skill required to create it. He looked back at his cart--hastily held together with spit and mud--and noted the significant difference in craftsmanship. The man seemed to be good at what he did.
When Will had finished, he seemed to be in a significantly better mood. Will seemed to wear his emotions with pride--or so Gareth had thought. He was never exceptionally skilled at reading people. But this work seemed cathartic for Will, just as fighting was for Gareth. It didn't seem as universally physically demanding as a fist fight and he had a tough time understanding exactly why it helped his attitude. But to each his own, he supposed.
He accepted the gold and nodded in approval upon feeling its weight--he wasn't actually able to measure gold accurately this way; Gareth didn't want to count it at the moment. When Will asked for Gareth's weapon, he seemed to be taken by surprise before he remembered their deal. His hand moved to the grip of his sword, gingerly touching it and flirting with a grip. Reluctantly he unsheathed it--the beaten, rough, beautiful thing. He flipped around the sword, keeping the sword on his palms with hilt outstretched toward Will. "One at a time," he said. Relinquishing his weapons felt as shameful as stripping down in front of strangers. After Will had taken the sword, Gareth quickly put one hand on his knife. His safety blanket. He was placing a decent amount of faith in the man by giving up his sword to him and just wanted to be prepared for that trust to be broken. He had known a smiling face to be a mask for something ugly underneath. It was more ingrained paranoia then Will's behavior that caused his austere reactions.