ROLEPLAY STARTER: (COMMENT A REPLY TO CONTINUE THE RP)
PLOT: THIS IS HOW BAS ARRIVES IN SKYRIEVERSE YOUR CHARACTER HAS STUMBLED FROM SKYRIEVERSE, INTO THE REALM OF THE PRIMORDIALS. BAS IS THE ONLY BEING THERE, AND UPON HEARING OF SKYRIEVERSE, ASKS YOU TO GET HIM THERE SO HE CAN FIND A WAY TO FREE HIS KIN AS HE IS CURRENTLY NOT STRONG ENOUGH TO CREATE A PORTAL AWAY FROM HIS REALM.
Down in a valley of endless mist, fir, and stone, upon a cliff, there rested a decrepit castle of immense proportions. The crumbling, towering walls were carved and layered blocks of once fine basalt and sandstone, held together with a gritty mortar of lime, soil and water. Ivy and vine crawled amongst the bleached rock, hiding ancient broken and rusted weapons, and emerging from the empty orifices of decayed skeletons, still housed in their twisted and stained armour.
To the south, lay a great expanse of oddly still black water. One might envision that they could see the pale skeletal figures of merpeople fluttering just beneath the cold surface, if they only looked hard enough. The north was overtaken by a wall of cavernous mountains, rising into the night blackened sky like jagged teeth aching, to swallow up the swollen sphere of the pale faced moon. Stretching around the collapsed western battlements of the structure, a forest took root. It was not a still place. And nor, was it a friendly place.
This particular forest was primordial and spectral. Centuries-old trees with sprawling limbs guarded the darkness, blotting out any moonlight. The leaf strewn ground stank of death and decay, and slime and fungus oozed from rotting trunk and branch alike. Beneath a massive, arching oak there lay a bloated and rotting deer carcass, maggots appearing as stark and ugly yellowed-white against the empty sockets and decaying tan hide, welcomed guests in such an untouched and timeworn place.
And in the bowels of this forest, wandered a lost and fearful traveller, . Their clothes were torn and dirty, smudged with muck and grime and their visible features were awash with silver in the broken bits of moonlight.
At midnight, when the moon was at its highest arc in the southern skies, stumbled upon the ruins of the once majestic castle.
And from the shadowed ruin of shattered stone and tangled infestation of weeds, there came a voice. It was quiet at first, only a soft murmuring whisper of sound, but swiftly escalated into a clear baritone that echoed all about, from all directions like the ringing of a death knell.
“—YES, HE/SHE/THEY ARE/ IS MOST CURIOUS… YOU ARE LOST, YOUNG ONE. YOU SHOULD NOT BE HERE.”
After a beat of chilling silence, the phantom voice chuckled, and the noise was like great marble slabs grinding and slamming against each other. The wanderer felt the very air chill and deaden, ivy withering and dying before his dumbstruck eyes.
There was a beat. And the voice spoke again with the solemn and saddened air of unnerving and frightening finality.
“THIS IS THE KINGDOM OF THE PRIMORDIAL BEINGS BRAVEHEART. AND OF THEM I AM THE LAST. WELCOME TO MY LAND, YOU CANNOT LEAVE.”