Roleplay Online with RolePlayGateway

Basic plot: you are a commander of x amount soldiers. you are soon to march upon the army of the undead, armies of spririts that have occupied dead bodies. these spirits were so evil that they were rejected even from hell itself. when all hope seems lost, one of the commanders remembers talk of mighty people to the south. now, in desperation, a group of five select men are chosen to go and find this ally.

Rules:

1) No magic. your weapons can be magical, in that you can throw them and control were they go and things, but no magic as in bringing down lightening and stuff.
2) No Godmodding
3) keep swearing to a minimum. irregular and mild swearing is ok.
4) try to make your Grammer correct
5) no text longuage.

Ranks:
1) officer- commands a small group of five hundred soldiers. needs to be at least twenty-five
2) Sergeant- commands one thouisand men. needs to be at least thrity
3) commander- Controls up to five thousand men, but may be less. neeeds to be at least thirty-five

Chracter sheets:

1) name
2) age
3) appearance
4) weapon [you are issued with a sword, but may carry another weapon of your choosing]
5) rank


my character sheet:

1) Cassius
2) 34
3) black hair, blue eyes, tall and muscular, black boots and chain mail armour, a black symbol on the breastplate of his armour, the standard armour that a Soldier would wear.
4) A bow, that has sharpened metal ends.
5) Sergeant
6) where do they go- to seek alliance or stay at the battle.


please dont everyone go for Commander.


that onslaught starts when a group of ten thousand undead appear. all hope seems to be lost, so five of the officers, sergaents and commanders go to seek an alliance.



I want more than five people, maybe seven. the other two stay behind at the battle.

1) Micah Parth
2) 22
3) Brown hair that falls to just below the jaw and green eyes. He wears leather armor and a steel helmet.
4) Longsword and dagger, carries a standard issue wooden shield
5) Infantry soldier

Micah is a character staying behind during the battle.

Oh dear.

this is popular isnt it!

Prologue:

Judith cursed her age as she tried to force the bucket over the top of the well. Time was she had a strong lad to help her with such things. The war had taken him, pulled away in service for his king. Drawing water in the dead of night. What a king to speed a woman to elder follies. She could no longer spend life on her own.
Finally she had the bucket in hand and turned back towards the cabin. A figure stepped from the trees onto the path, the glint of dark armor in pale starlight. "Aven?" Judith said quietly and rubbed her eyes with one pocked hand. The clouds broke and the moon shone through. Its flesh was trapped in a state of eternal decay. The things mouth was sewn shut and the jaw worked to force out words from its mutilated lips. "You are not my Aven," she whispered and made the sign of the Father across her breast. Yet the thing which had once been her son continued to lurch forward. Eyes, swimming in pools of yellow pus, darted desperately even as it reached its hands for her, its fingers twisted and broken. Other cold fingers wrapped about her throat from behind and a warm line began to trace its way down her back. She felt her life begin to slip towards the grave and as her world grew dark, she began to hear the screaming of babes.

Like mercury, the evil began to pool, congeal within ruined graveyards and darkened woods. Within the black, the spirits spoke to one another. They rediscovered their anger and nurtured the hate which kept them from the afterlife. When one amongst them rose up, they gained a purpose. They began to move.

"Any ideas, anyone?" asked Frederick. The captain had carefully positioned himself to avoid the blood which continued to drip from the body. Hung in a tree, the old woman swung from a noosed fashioned of her own intestines. Her back was split and the spine removed. One man still continued to gag in the bushes. Micah could barely control his own stomach and tried not to look at the horrific sight. The smell was bad enough. The whole town was like this, its citizens slaughtered and left about in a macabre display of violence. They had searched half-heartedly for survivors but in a state such as this, it was only in fained hope.
"Sir," Micah began, his voice breaking, "I'm going to guess that were not looking at bandits, sir."
The captain stared at him, his face blank. "Thanks," he said. "I'm glad we have someone of your inspired intelligence along." He spun on a heel and tromped back towards the bulk of the village. "Someone get Quince from the bushes," he shouted over his shoulder. "We're heading out."
"Should we bury them, sir?" one man called.
Frederick stopped and stared at his feet. "No," he finally answered. "We're burning the village. I don't want a scrape of this mess remaining by sundown."

Two years now. Two years Micah had been in the King's service, traveling in the squad known as Frederick's Fools. The name was apt, he had come to realize. The Fools was truly one of the more rag-tag groups the army had ever put together. Most were conscripts pulled, perhaps lured, from the local farms. Some were criminals, pardoned to serve their lives in the army. Some, Micah figured, were kitchen boys brought up the fill the vacant spots.
The squad continued down the road, leaving the village behind. Try as they might, few could bring their thoughts away from the scene they had just left. Anthony reckoned it was some mystical beast, unleashed upon an unsuspecting people by some quiet horror committed within. Ren had thought it may have been some newly invading army, a vanguard force sent to leave a message. Soon, it had practically become a wager as they rode. See who could invent the most imaginative reason. It was a weak attempt at humor, and it brought few men comfort. Especially when the occasional breeze drove the lingering smell deeper into their nostrils and mind.
The men grew even more sour as the weather continued to turn against them. It had been a harsh winter. Now, as the snow had only begun to melt, springs rains had arrived with a vengeance. The men eyed the thick shadows which loomed on the horizon ahead as they rode. Behind them, a cloud of smoke traced it's way up to the sky. Micah could only hope that the souls of the village found their way up to heaven with it. At the head of the column, Frederick began to shout more curses at his men and so Micah, along with the other Fools, spurred his horses and continued towards the storm.

"What do you mean nothing?"
"Just that," Micah answered. "Nothing in village was taken. It's like they did it just...just to do it." He sat in the stables taking his supper with Ben, one of the many stable hands. Not a soldier, Ben wasn't privy to many of the privileges Micah had. However, their mutual upbringing and love for horses had made them fast friends and Micah made it a point to come and spend time in the stables often. It was a retreat, to linger in the comforting smell of horse and straw. Besides, Ben was some years younger and enchanted by many of the stories Micah brought back from his squad's travels. Now, from the look on Ben's face, Micah wondered if he had made a mistake by telling this story.
They continued to eat their meals in subdued silence. Outside, the rain poured steadily through the night. Men occasionally rushed past, bundled deeply in thick cloaks for their turn at the watch. Micah, freshly back and given break, could only pity the men sent to stand in the rain.
"Micah?" Ben asked softly. "Who do you think would do something like that?"
Micah's answer was long in coming. "I don't know, Ben. But I hope I never have to find out."

Life had almost returned to normal at Fort Winterwatch. The few days since Micah returned had seen him back to his normal schedule of watch and drills. When not walking the walls, he found himself crossing swords with others under the watchful eye of Haust, who paced about yelling instructions amongst other discourteous remarks. The fort's weapon master continued to view it his duty to force some sense of skill into the men he so obviously considered dull-witted straw shovelers. Micah's shoulders still hurt from his lessons.
One evening, he had only just retired, eager to spend the night nursing a mug of mulled cider with his peers, when he heard the trumpet call sounding his unit. Pausing only to grab his cloak, he rushed to the courtyard. Arriving in the center of the fortress of stone, he fell into rank amongst the other soldiers. From the looks cast about and the quiet mutters, few knew why they were being assembled at such a late hour. Frederick emerged from a nearby doorway and they quickly hide their curiosity.
"Fools," their captain shouted. "Earlier today, a rider arrived. Another village fell under attack, similar to what we've seen before." There was a paused as he paced up the line, watching his men's faces. "It's fallen to us to find out what or whom is the cause of this." When voices began to rise within the ranks, Frederick's face took on new lines of anger. "Oh, don't get me wrong; I argued against them. I told them a bunch of whore-sons like you weren't worth anything. Couldn't even do such a task. But no, they felt the need to burden me with this. Now I've got to shepherd a group of helpless infants along, too scared to leave their mother's tit." Frederick's voice rang against the stone of the courtyard. "Well, so help me, we are going to go out there and do this as only the Fool's can. And I don't want to hear anyone say that in the end, we weren't man enough to do it."
He stepped back and crossed his hands behind him. No sound came from the men assembled in rows before him. "We leave tomorrow," Frederick said, softer than before. "You are to be packed and ready at sun-up, no later. For now, you are dismissed. Any business you need to take care of is your own." Finished, he turned and walked back through the doorway from which he had entered.
Only when his back was out of sight did the men finally break rank and risk words amongst themselves. Micah, apart from the others, felt a cold pit settle within the depths of his stomach. Warm cider abandoned, he made his way to the barracks, destined for a night of restless sleep.

Sleep was indeed restless. Micah had found himself once more beneath the lady in the tree, only now she wailed and spit curses at him. He pleaded and begged, watching the flesh slowly slide from her bones. Around him, shadows moved through the trees, circling closer.
He woke shivering despite the sweat which coated his body. Gasping for air, he tried to calm his racing pulse. The only comfort Micah found, as he shook in the darkness, was the other troubled moans from bunks around him as other soldiers faced their own nightmares.
When morning came, he was already well packed, having been unable to find sleep again. Ben and his peers had already saddled and brought out the horses. When Micah had told the boy where they were going, Ben had fallen quiet. He could only whisper a quiet "good luck" before fleeing back into the stables. Now, as Micah threw his bags across the horse, his comrades began to emerge and ready their own horses. Most looked just as haggard as Micah. Finally, Frederick gave the order and the troop rode through the gate and out into the morning.

The road from Winterwatch ran east through Cambar. The town ticked in time to the passage of the King's men, and the Fool's found the bars well stocked and they contributed their tithe of coin. From there, the road turned back to the forests of the north and farms grew thinner and far between. The mountains told Micah they were south of the first village and from the looks of the captain, destined to arrive sooner. And so it was, on the morning of the eighth day, the trees parted and they beheld the town.
The quiet was painful. A snapped twig would send a man scrambling for his sword while the whisper of the wind rose hair on one's neck. There was no-one. No bodies to greet them. To some relief, there was no smell. As Micah picked his way through the village, searching in groups through empty homes, he found his nerves drawn to a stretch. Door after door, they were greeted by only silence, finding food rotting on set plates and the only tracks left by mice. "It doesn't make sense," Samuel finally complained, kicking over a chair in outlet of building energy. "The poor bastard who brought us this news spoke of horrors, of a crows feast on twisted and burned corpses. Devan was in the damned room with him."
"People invent what they can't explain," Anthony said. "Maybe the emptiness was just too much for him." The grizzled veteran closed the door on the cabinet he had been searching. "Come on, we're due back up for rendezvous."
While the teams had been busy in the town, Quince had been on it's borders. The army had brought the kid up from the southern plains; gave him to the unit as a tracker. Word had it that he had been making a living bringing down game. The kind that usually didn't want to be found. As Micah and crew returned to the central square, Quince was already reporting to Frederick and gesturing to the east. "Shit," Anthony muttered as he saw the movement. "Nothing that way but more forest." But the damage had been done and no sooner than Quince walked away then Frederick's voice rose, shouting at them to saddle and get ready to move.

Sunset found them deep within the trees, surrounded by a living darkness. Some men constructed a crude corral for the horses while others built up fires to drive away the gloom. It was a worthless effort, Micah thought as he watched the glow get swallowed in the black. He rummaged through his pack and withdrew an evenings rations. His two years had taught him that man could, in fact, live off bread alone. He sat at a fire, joining Sean, Riz, and Navarre. Together, they munched their dinner and eyed the shadows. "So," Riz started at one point, "have I told you guys about that girl I met outside Trifork?" Of course they had heard but the other men shook their heads just the same. Any noise was better than no noise. The stories eased their nerves until sleep found them.
Whether it was a noise or another soldier who woke Micah, he came out of sleep just the same. Men were whispering about the glowing embers of their fires as more and more came awake. There was a chill in the air and water ran from where it had condensed on Micah's armor. He rose, dressed fully, and strapped his sword at his belt. Next to him, Sean did the same. "Anyone know what the hell is going on?" he muttered.
Micah didn't and said so. "Something just doesn't feel right."
A man shouted from one direction and everyone turned. A thick fog moved through the trees towards them, snaking about the branches with blood-like consistency. Within seconds, the Fools found themselves adrift in the gray sea, unable to see past their closest brothers. Micah's grip on his sword grew tighter. Suddenly, there was a scream and men began to call out. Within the fog, shadows began to move.