Out of curiosity, why not keep the membership to say, 10 at most? Probably could of avoided dilution and compromise if that was an issue?
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With the guild’s sandbox structure, it means that it very much depends on what the playerbase can provide, be it in the form of storylines or character interactions.
There’s no gurantee everyone we pick up is going to be capable or willing of providing those on a regular basis, so having a larger pool increases the chances of contribution, in the same way an organism with many cells that live and die is more resilient than an amoeba.
Of course, as with all things, there’s a balance to be struck.
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A new chapter unfolds.
Bound by fate, the Fellowship embarks on a journey fraught with peril and promise. The road ahead is shrouded in mystery. With hearts steeled by resolve and spirits hardened by trials, the Blades - a gathering of unique souls, each shaped by different fates - plunges into the abyss. The darkness is a vast and relentless entity, yet their resolve pierces through, a delicate yet unbreakable thread of hope in the suffocating black.
06.07.2024
Northern Stranglethorn
Ruins of Zul’kunda
A Crescendo Of Darkness, pt. I
Summary
The skiffs slice through the inky waters, lone vessels in a sea of whispers and secrets. The rhythmic creak of wood and the soft splash of oars are the only sounds, a haunting melody in the moonlit silence. Ahead, the shore looms — an ominous silhouette of crumbling ruins and ancient shadows.
We scrape against the shore, boots sinking into the wet sand. The air here is thick, heavy with the scent of salt and decay. Above, the jungle canopy sways gently. The ruins stand silent, but their silence speaks volumes — a foreboding quiet that presses against your senses, urging caution.
There, on the remnants of the shore ruins… faces frozen in rictuses of agony stare blankly into the void of the night. Eyes, once fierce and full of primal strength, are now empty voids, reflecting the abyss that took them. Their mouths hang open, silent screams forever etched into their features, echoing the final moments of torment and despair. The discarded, forgotten bodies of these trolls are a testament to the fatal cost of their ambitions.
A low, mechanical hum is heard. It vibrates through the air, an unnatural sound that sets our teeth on edge. Somewhere, deep in the ruins. Goblin shredders. But these aren’t just machines. Flesh, torn and mangled, trapped within their cabins. The remains of their unfortunate pilots, now fused with the machinery in a grotesque mockery of life. They wait.
The air, thick with the jungle’s suffocating embrace, clung to our skin like an unwelcome memory. Fresh grappling hooks, purchased from The Meridian Edict, bit into the soft shore rock. We moved with a swiftness born of necessity, the creaking ropes and scraping metal making for a symphony of survival.
At the ruins on top of the hills, the grotesque guardians awaited: six shredders, twisted amalgamations of flesh and corrupted machinery. Their dormant menace was palpable. Rusted gears pulsed with a quiet, silent rhythm… what a perverse fusion of metal and flesh. Without rough precision, explosive charges were deftly rigged to their volatile engines.
The Fellowship moved through the ruins. We have reached the ritual site without interruption. There, in the darkness: the trolls are arrayed in a rough circle, their bodies flaring with glowing sigils. The wind crackled with the tension of the abyss, thick and oppressive, a cloak of malevolence draped over the scene. Each troll chanted in a guttural, ancient tongue, their voices merging into a discord, a symphony that reverberated through the ruins. The words are a summoning, a plea, and a command all at once, calling forth something from the deepest dark. The Priest, a towering figure of twisted composure, clutched his monolithic staff… His eyes of malice, scanned the air as if sensing their approach. Fifteen acolytes, warped by their devotion, chanted in Zandali, their voices rising and falling in hypnotic cadence.
“The Great Mother…”
The Fellowship descended upon them like avenging specters.
Blades flashed in the dim light, spells crackled with raw energy, and the air was filled with the final, desperate cries of the damned. The Priest fought with a fury born of abyss, and with his dying breath he barked a command: “Activate the shredders.”
And an acolyte obeyed.
The confrontation was shattered by a sudden, deafening explosion. Behind, in the ruins, the shredders have been activated. They erupted in a cacophony of fire and metal. The blasts went one by one, a melody of destruction orchestrated by the Blades! Each Shredder became a blinding flash of light and sound, a ferocious exhalation of their corrupted essence!
The air would be filled with the sharp tang of burning oil and the acrid smoke of charred flesh and metal. Shrapnel teared through the darkness, jagged pieces of twisted steel whistling through the air embedded themselves into the ancient stone walls. The sound of tearing metal and the roar of flames had combined into a chaotic chorus that drowned out all thought.
Cracks webed through the walls and columns, and with a thunderous roar, the first pieces of rubble began to fall. Massive stone blocks, dislodged by the concussive force, plummeted to the ground, smashing into the earth with bone-jarring impact.
With the help of a fiery distraction and the combined might of the Fellowship The Priest’s defenses crumbled. The acolytes, bereft of their leader, fell swiftly, dropping their large axes to the ground, their bodies collapsing like puppets with severed strings.
Part of the ruins would become a treacherous landscape of rubble and debris, every step a potential hazard. Dark, oily stains mark the spots where the Shredders once stood, their twisted remains now nothing more than smoldering wreckage. Craters, deep and jagged, mark the earth, their edges still smoking from the blasts.
The Fellowship, weary but resolute, retraced their steps to the shore. Each stride was a defiance against the encroaching darkness, every breath a stolen moment of respite. The skiffs awaited, their wooden frames a fragile sanctuary against the vastness of the night. We pushed off from the sands of Zul’Kunda.
As the dust settled and the echoes of distant battle faded, a chill crept into the sea air. The Many Armed Mother, an abomination of void and flesh, stirred within the shadows, somewhere deep in the planes of the abyss. Her whispers seeped through the wind, a malignant caress that promised ruin and despair. Each word was a blade, slicing through the veneer of triumph, reminding them that the void’s gaze was inescapable and ever-watchful.
She knows.
The night was long and filled with fears, but within each heart, a spark of defiance burned brightly, a testament to the Blades’ shared resolve and unyielding spirit.
The road ahead is shrouded in shadow. But united in purpose, the Fellowship faces the future with determination, ready to challenge the void and whatever horrors it would unleash upon their dear world.
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I’d also wish to announce that while I continue to serve in the role of Bladeguard, I have ceded the position of First Blade (guild leader) to Rushin.
May the Blades strike true!
5 Likes
13.07.2024
Stranglethorn Vale
The Spirit Den
A Crescendo Of Darkness, pt. II
Summary
The jungle of Stranglethorn Vale is an oppressive entity, the canopy above casting long, dappled shadows over the Fellowship as they treaded cautiously through the undergrowth. Usually, cries of unseen creatures echo in the distance, but this trek was almost silent.
As we neared the Den, the atmosphere grew more tense. The cries of the quiet jungle faded into an eerie silence, broken only by the rustling of leaves and stone. The path became narrower, flanked by ancient, moss-covered stones that seem to pulse with a faint, malevolent energy.
In the shadowed depths of the Spirit Den, a group of Bloodscalp troll refugees huddled together. Their eyes, wide with fear, darted around the damp, earthen walls. These were not the fierce warriors the Bloodscalp tribe was known for, but their women and children, the innocents caught in the crossfire of an unending struggle.
The air was thick with tension and the pungent scent of damp earth mingled with the faint aroma of medicinal herbs. Makeshift shelters crafted from leaves and branches offered scant protection against the elements.
Mothers held their children close, their faces etched with a weariness that spoke of many sleepless nights. The children, though quiet, bore the signs of their ordeal: hollow cheeks, wide eyes, and an underlying current of fear that belied their youth. The older ones tried to maintain a brave facade, but the cracks in their composure were evident.
Whispers filled the air, hushed conversations in the troll tongue, heavy with worry and uncertainty. The Den, once a place of mystical reverence, had become their refuge, its sacred energies now a fragile shield against the threats that lurked beyond.
While all of the refugees seemed to bear little clothing, one stood out, cuddled in a thick tarp cloth, only his short fangs peered out: one of the youngsters, waddling behind, now stopped, his eyes gazing into The Fellowship.
A young adolescent troll, draped in tarp, came forth, glaring furiously. He started talking in perfect common. It sounded trained, came naturally, like our own.
“Those explosions. Your handiwork, yes? Monsters – I had thought better of your ‘civilization.’ Why?” - he asked.
The refugees hushed, their eyes marble in horror, expectation. The troll came forth, dropped his drape down and revealed a bold, scarred figure, arms and legs littered with void tattoos, his skin patched with dark, corrupted spots. His hands came ready, clenching his fists, his eyes flickered with violet. They were windows to an inner turmoil, a soul caught in the grip of forces beyond his control. A look of anguish etched itself across his face. Shadows lengthened, our ears clogged, pressure changed.
Having no answer to the young troll’s question, the Fellowship stood. A mild buzz dropped in our heads. Shadows stopped. We heard the worried breathing of the refugees: they kept hushed. The Youngster had not moved from his spot, nor had he parted his lips to speak. He was not there. The draped figure was merely one of the troll grandmothers, clinging to the tarp drape with her frail hands, warming herself and her grandson underneath the thick cover. She looked at the Fellowship as well as the rest, blinking, like she did before. A trick of the void.
Something made its approach. Behind, in the canopy, bones rattled, flesh stretched.
A tall entity emerged from the trees, a nightmarish figure composed entirely of bones and rotten skin. Its form was a grotesque assembly of skeletal fragments, bound together by the sinister energies of the void. Each bone pulsed with a faint, malevolent void shadow. The thing stood awing tall, its elongated limbs and jagged spine creating a silhouette of dread. Hollow eye sockets burned with an unnatural, violet light, like windows into an abyss where you couldn’t make it out. It gazed upon the Fellowship with a menacing intensity, its eyeless stare piercing through the veil of darkness. And it stood, not flinching a bit. Staring.
Without further ado, The Fellowship sprang into action, a blur of steel and magic against the nightmarish silhouette. The entity’s towering form loomed over, its skeletal limbs creaking and pulsing with malevolent energy.
Blades sang through the air, aiming for the entity’s elongated limbs. The sound of metal striking bone sang through the ruins. Each blow was swift, each strike aimed to dismantle the grotesque assembly of skeletal fragments that held the void’s dark power.
The entity recoiled, its hollow eye sockets flaring with violet light. But it did not falter. Its other limbs swung in retaliation, a flurry of bone and shadow. Shards of void energy crackled and hissed, struggling against the rough of the assault. The entity’s movements grew more erratic, its form beginning to falter under the relentless assault. The ground beneath it was stained with the residue of void magic.
With a final rallying strike, the Fellowship aimed for the entity’s legs. The Blades converged, a concentrated force of will and power. The entity’s fleshy structure buckled, its legs shattering, spraying black blood. The entity collapsed, its towering form crashing to the ground in a heap of bones and shadow.
For a moment, the entity thrashed, its claws digging deep gouges into the earth as it struggles against its inevitable demise. The violet glow in its eyes flickered, dimming with each passing second. The dark magic that held it together unravels, dispersing into the ground like a rotting heap.
The entity’s chest cavity heaved one last time, and the lattice of ribs shattered, revealing a young troll’s body. Once a vessel of dark power, now lied still and fragile. The violet glow in his eyes had faded, replaced by the pallor of unconsciousness. His breaths were shallow, lost in his slumber. He was alive. There, a conduit of the void’s malevolence.
Murmurs of dissent rippled through the Fellowship: “We have all faced darkness. Some of us have came back from the brink. If we can save him, we must try!”
One by one, the members of the Fellowship voiced their opinions. Some spoke of honor and duty, they argued passionately for the boy’s life, but some considered the risk too great. “If we fail, we might unleash a greater terror. Think of the greater good!”
The vote was not unanimous, but it leaned towards mercy. The Fellowship had chosen to spare the young troll’s life, to attempt to purge the void from his soul and offer him a chance at redemption.
The Fellowship entered Booty Bay under watchful eyes, the sight of the void troll drawing curious and wary glances. They made their way through, past taverns filled with raucous laughter and markets bustling with activity, until they reached the HQ, a secure holding area where the boy would be kept under guard.
The Youngster’s body, marred by the jagged scars of void corruption, shivered weakly. His breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, lingering on fresh air. His skin, now pallid and clammy, glistened with a sheen of cold sweat. The boy’s tangled hair fell over his face, partially obscuring his features, but the dull pain etched into his expression was unmistakable. He clutched his arms around his torso, seeking warmth and comfort in a world that offers neither, refusing to come into reality.
The void’s remnants still pulsed within him, a constant, insidious presence that gnawed at his strength and will. Despite the layers of misery and despair, a flicker of resilience remained in his eyes, a testament to the boy he once was or, at least, wishes to be.
Each shiver, each weak tremor, spoke of a battle raging within him, a struggle against the darkness that seeks to consume him entirely. The young troll’s form, so small and vulnerable in the vastness of his prison, evoked a sense of profound sorrow.
To be continued.
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'Ate Trolls
'Ate the void
'Ate the jungle
Love me Blades
Love me goats
Love me grog
Simple as
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Baldur’s Gate 3 = a very small, D&D-esque group with the individual characters in focus.
This guild = a massive organization of people, where you are bound tp become ‘one od the crowd’ because everyone is this big, powerful character.
How can you draw a comparison to BG3 with a good conscience?
Maybe there’s something I’m not seeing but people seem way too harsh on this guild. They’re not breaking the lore, they’ve got a solid thing going on, why be so dour?
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We’ve had pleasant encounters with these cool players, so much so that we officially struck an Alliance between the Fellowship and the Dawnsworn.
They’re an amazing bunch IC and OOC.
Can’t wait to see what our future brings! 
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I can appreciate the prospect of this guild and I’ve read through the tumultuous development you had. I believe there is a lot substance to these ideas I’ve seen in terms of story and I would hope things have become stable enough.
I’d be interested to meet IC! The idea of slapping shadowspawn on their wrists is always compatible.
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Are there any games, films, or pieces of music you think’d be more fitting for our thread title?
Edit: In lieu of anything more conscience-appeasing, I’ve gone with a placeholder.
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Please speak IC with Rushin, Zhilin, Aeriadne, or Aucheknight.
Any of them would be glad to assist you, I’m certain.
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Something with a lot of characters, that is well written and hardcore?
The Old Rainbow Six games comes to mind.
Shame you are not an aerial group or I would have suggested Ace Combat
My other suggestions wouldn’t sound nearly as cool I think.
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Don’t knock yourself down, every piece of media is cool to someone, somewhere.
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No what I mean is, I don’t think Pillers of Eternity, Dragons Dogma and Pathfinder for instance, sounds nearly as cool in context of your guilds tagline.
Ooh, good selection though! They’re all cool games.
What I can say is, (in response to the ‘one of the crowd’ criticism), it was initially intended that even with the numbers, they could still be treated as individuals, through a process of organisation. Data, baby!
I wrote up an entire spreadsheet listing our members and tying them in with any mentioned in-universe factions, cosmic forces, and past alliances or adversaries. Even if one event or storyline didn’t touch upon them, a future one could, and so on.
The intent was that the stories would in that sense directly tie in with the backstories of the characters joining, interweaving each character into one another’s struggles. The dark past of one would become the tumultous present of the many.
The hope was (and remains, as our guild has an internal event style guide) to feature unlikely alliances, strange realms, and exotic adversaries. The aim was to, in a similar way to the Dark Tower series, or the Planescape D&D setting, play with genre, setting and tone, seeing what strange and unusual results would spiral off from our eclectic collection of characters and the fun that’d result as they wandered across a febrile and weird-gothic universe.
On that note, to anyone who may be reading. If that sort of storytelling appeals to you, we’re always after new storytellers, so feel free to make your interest known!
I’ll have a word with the other officers.
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Since we can’t name our thread after good video games any more, I’ve decided to draw upon Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. The physiological desire for all living creatures to consume should hopefully act as a good metaphor for how satisfying roleplaying in this guild can be.
This guild is like a lovely bit of crispy belly pork marinaded in lemon juice with oregano and white wine.
Our guild’s still alive and active! We’ve cemented an alliance with our friends the Dawnsworn, and are preparing to journey to the Eastern Plaguelands to aid them in their quest to vanquish evil!
What’s stopping you from joining? Come along, and fight chaos together!
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An augur of ending. The depths of darkness, despair, and pain hold no candle to this one. Once a soldier of the holy kingdom of Lordaeron, he is now only a survivor, fighting against the craving to devour and defile a world he can no longer truly know or touch. Bearing a blade etched with runes of domination and cruelty, and followed by the ghostly, graven scent of somnus and formaldehyde, comes an eldritch warrior of The Damned.
He is…
The Poppyseed Knight
I’ve updated the forum thread to mark a few changes.
After deliberation, we’ve returned to a flat hierarchy. Members are encouraged to cooperatively contribute what they can for the benefit of those around them, whilst Bladeguards are there if anyone needs someone to turn to for advice and guidance.
By extension, I have stepped down from representing the Fellowship and am now satisfied with the position of Blade. This means I’ll no longer be posting updates in this thread. I vouch for those who’ll guide the Fellowship forwards!
~
The Fellowship is active, and is filled now not just with a guild, but a solid community of kind, creative, and imaginative players and characters who I’m certain would be glad to meet you and your creations. They’ve helped bring Booty Bay back to life, and you’ll scarcely find a cooler collection of people.
Need some monsters hunting, want to negotiate a deal with us? Come along and talk. If you want to roleplay with us, you’re very welcome to. A very warm thank you to the entire Fellowship! Come and join our wonderful society of monster hunters, heroes, and oddities!
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