[I]Some 400 years before the event taking place aboard the 'Jester's Legacy'.... [/I]

Winter has set in harsh and early this year in the nation known as Eire. Boardering the majestic Typherious mountains to the north, the winds would sweep down, bringing feet of snow with them.

And with the cold, travellers from all over sought refuge and warmth in the many inns and taverns in the many towns of the country. Men could be seen drinking with the elves of the Bree forest, arm wrestling the the burly, yet short set dwarves on their way to the hills south of Eire, and trading stories and goods with the quiet, friendly and tough Giants, who usually stood around 9 feet tall.

An old man made his way through the streets of the medium sized town of Timsel. Bent with age and exhaustion, he muttered to himself about the cold. He stopped in front of a particularly loud and lively tavern and inn, the smell of food and fire calling to his nose. He looked to the sign hanging over the door. Depicting three men in kilts, backs turned towards the person viewing the sign, the had their kilts pulled up, and were relieving themselves on a wall. Below were the words "Nature's call." No doubt a tongue-in-cheek name telling you how you would be feeling when you left. The old man, using his cane to push open the door, walked in. Shuffling towards the fireplace, he picked a seat, smiling towards the fire like one would smile when seeing an old friend for the first time in years.

A couple pints and a plate of food later, the laughter and conversation died down, the stories of past battles, of adventures and lore, were running out. One man turned towards the old traveller and called out, "What about you, Old Sir? What kind of tales do your years have?" The old man smiled, showing that he had teeth missing. But more noticable was the physical glow in his eyes. Faint, but there. He turned, and reached his hand towards the fire. The roaring flames seemed to calm, and appeared more like a candle than a log fire.

[I]"Long ago..."[/I] He started, a voice deep and hoarse with age, an ominous undertone could be heard. [I]"The world was dark and barren, dust and rocks. Then, there was fire. The Father flame scorched the dirt. It brought warmth, and from the ashes grew life. The Father flame hid itself, a silent sentinal for the fledgling creation. No one understood it, much less knew of it, until a few centuries ago..."[/I]

He took a swig of his ale, before continuing [I]"That's when the kingdom of Pyromancers came about. Men who learned to harness, channel, the power of the Father flame. They were a great people, friendly to all nations. Builders of massive monoliths, castle and buildings, they were loved by all. Some say they could spout flames so hot, it could melt stone and steel with ease, and could wrought swords of flame that could cut through all sorts of armor like it was parchment. Despite this fearsome power, they chose to help people of all nations, bringing aide when there was disaster, and an army when called upon. Their king, a man named Harlithious, wouldn't have it any other way."[/I]

He accepted another pint with a smile, before turning back to the fire. [I]"With channeling the Father flame, though, there came a risk. All pyromancers were taught this lesson first when they came of age to learn. 'Fear consumption' they would be told. For pulling on the Father flame too much could lead to disastrous results. The luckier ones would be consumed physically, burst into flames like a moth who got too close to a camp fire, others were not so lucky. They would be consumed mentally, their minds and sanity burned away like bad cotton and wool. Such is the consequences of getting too greedy with the Father flame."[/I]

[I]"The king had a brother, a man named Lio, who was envious of the throne. He thouht that they should use their power to rule the world, enslave other kingdoms. One fateful day, Lio would have had enough. He betrayed the king, and with a handful of followers, stormed the castle. He threw a javelin of fire, one of the pyromancers most useful and powerful spells, and burned the king through the middle. With that, Lio became king."[/I]

As the old man spoke of this part, the flame in the fireplace seemed to grow, along with the old man's smile. [I]"War followed, as nation upon nation fell to Lio's unstoppable army. Entire cities burned to the ground as they marched, enslaving those they defeated, and slaying those who didn't conform. The elves, dwarves, giants, the elusive, nomadic people called they Plaens, who roam the deserts, and even the forces of evil, trolls, orcs, the shadow walking beings known as Whysps, joined their armies against King Lio, and brought the battle to his kingdom. In a fit of rage and desperation, he pulled the entirety of the Father flame into him, and was consumed mentally. He earned the name the Mad king."[/I]

The fire in the fireplace grew larger still, still calmly dancing in one singular flame. [I]"With the battle raging outside his walls, he joined the fray, swinging left and right, his claymore in one hand, a sword of flame in the other, but the pyromancer army didn't stand a chance against multiple nations at once"[/I] The fire began to grow and roar once again, even though the wood was burned up long ago.

[I]"With one final sct of pure hatred and anger, he pulled on the fsther flame in it's entirety, roaring loudly. He Immulated, set himself on fire, self-destructed with the full power of the Father flame. The battlefield disappeared in flames. Massive whirlwinds of fire raced outward, engulfing massive chunks of armies at once, and A firestorm hung over head, raining fire down upon the scortched ground. They say the fire was so hot, even the souls of those caught in the explosion, which also turned his city to ash, burned to cinders. Those on the outskirts of the battle were in awe. An entire city disappeared in a fireball, leaving few towers, building and plazas behind. [/I]

At the mention of the immulation, the fire in the fireplaced roared upward and outward, as if the old man threw in some oil, then it died back down. [I]"Unknown to the Mad king, and those not consumed by his fire, when he exploded, something happened to the Father flame. It split into pieces, invisible to the eye, and they raced outward. An idivisual from each nation felt a warmth in their heart that day, not of a happy feeling, but an actual warmth! The father flame chose new vessels, and binded to their souls. Some folks became pyromancers that day, but never knew it. And as generstions upon generstions came, the father flame was passed down and spread out. Some isolated incidents have happened over the years, fires starting out of nowhere on accident, the likes. Maybe the art of pyromancy can make a comeback, maybe people can learn it again....."[/I] He shrugged and leaned back in his chair, smiling mischiveously [I]"But it's just an old story, all made up..."[/I]

Or was it?

OoC// Hello! Welcome to another Rp of mine! Sorry for the long read, I hope you enioyed it! This is a prequel to another RP I have running. Go take a look at it!
Time for some rules:
1) No godmodding, PP'ing and the likes,unless it's something minor like "Bob slapped jim"
2) Semi lit and up, please. I understand writers block and all, but you can st least scrounge up a paragraph from somewhere deep in your brailn!
3) Cussing and fowl language is acceptableand welcome, but this is a time period where anything other than "Damn" is like shoveling dirt into your mouth, unpleasent for you! Keep that in mind
4) Romance welcome as well, just don't get us in trouble. Anything past kissing, time skip!
5) To show you have read the rules, tell me a song that would be the soundtrack to your life. Mine is "The sparrow" by Mastadon

(If I had to choose a song to represent my life it'd be Dollhouse by Melanie Martinez. Finally figured out who I wanna play~ Should I go ahead and post an intro?)

OoC// Yiss! After yours I'll post mine. Hopefully someone takes interest in this rp.

"All made up, my ass," a woman in the corner remarked to herself. If that's what the common folk wanted to believe, fine, but she and the rest of her class knew well enough the story was true. Ancient, but true, passed on down through the generations so that they knew the sort of thing that could happen, the sort of thing they might be called to help fix. Well, perhaps not this particular story. But things like it - mad kings and such. It was their duty to fix those things.

A powerful gust of wind suddenly hit the tavern accompanied with some rumbling noises. The woman stood and grabbed a thick leather jacket from the back of her chair, heading for the door. She was fairly tall, 5'10, and appeared to be mostly legs. Her hair was jet black, cut short and soft-looking. She was mostly clad in riding leathers, thick half chaps around her calves and covering the top of solid-soled boots. Whatever she did, she did some serious riding that even necessitated cutting her hair like a man's. She turned dark hazel eyes onto the old coot and gave him a small glare, thin lips pulling up into something of a sneer. "If you're going to tell stories to grown ups," she said in a sharp, commanding voice, "And pretend like it's a make believe story, then don't wait until the very end to mention it's make believe. Be thorough."

Outside, the rumbling happened again. This time it sounded almost annoyed, and a large black snout pushed the door impatiently open. "Kasia," the snout growled, "I do not like to be kept waiting. I want to go." Kasia, supposedly the woman, pushed the snout out of the doorway with a grunt. It was only replaced by the snout owner's eye - multifaceted, swirling angry reds and yellows. The only beasts with eyes like that, besides bugs, were dragons. And judging by the size of the eye, probably as big as if not bigger than the door, this dragon was absolutely huge. And he was irritated.

Kasia pointed a finger at the old man as she started to walk out. "Thorough continuity. Learn it," she hissed.

At first, the only footsteps to be heard echoing off the walls of this long forgotten temple, was his. At first.....

He came bounding around a corner, bouncing off the wall with his shoulder. His arms were full of treasure. Gold plates, some jeweled trinkets, and what this temple was built around, a golden chalice. At his side hung a mean looking hand axe, which , at some point, was probably designed to be a halbred instead of a hand axe, with it's 3-handlength crescent blade, a dirk length blade on top for stabbing movements, and a short spike on he back of he blade, for downward strikes to punch through helmets. Standard for the mountain dwelling heathens, who were vicious, big brutes, he wouldn't be surprised if in some battle one picked up a broken halbred and decided it would be good as an axe, and they weren't wrong!

At 5'8, and 150 pounds, Rous Al'Shineran was a small, compact man, who could swing said axe, as heavy as it was, with ease. Years of using it had made him efficient with the weapon. It made ugly, usually fatal wounds in whatever he struck. The small, round wooden shield he used for defense was slung on his back, the red jester cap on the face of it pointed outwards. Another item fancied by the mountain raiders, was light and sturdy, perfect for him, as his plan in a fight was to never get hit.

As he rounded another corner, he skidded to a stop. In front of him was a massive chasm, with an open room on the other side, the light from the exit, along with a massive hole in the celing, light he room. His green eyes searched for a bridge to cross, remembering that he had crossed one to get in. His long, shoulder length hair, a dark brown, almost black shade of color, was pulled into a ponytail, to keep out of his eyes. The treasure clanked against the small chestplate he wore over a tan ghille shirt, which showed fresh gouges and cuts from his run in with the things that guarded the place. Usually found with two shoulder coverings, one was lost to a sword, cut from it's bindings. His armor was solid enough to provide good protection in a fight, but light enough to not hinder his movement, a necessity as a temple crawling, mountain climbing adventurer. And, as tradition, and the need for free flowing movement dictated, he wore a kilt, with green, darker green and golden pattern to it, with steel rimmed, black riding boots. Good for kicking both the sides of a horse and the face of an enemy.

He turned his head, looking behind him as the sounds of howling, clanging armor and hundred of footsteps reached his ears. He looked back to the wide open room in front of him, took a couple steps back into the hallway, and ran as hard as he could towards the pit, and jumped. As he saild through the air, he forced his arms forward as hard as he could, tossing the loot to the floor. He hit the ground and rolled, turning to face the source of the ruckus behind him.

Because of their breakneck speed, and the fact that they were all still somewhat dead and lacking intelligence, the armored zombie-like guards came pouring through the doorway he just stood in, a good dozen or so flying headlong and howling into the abyss below. He laughed, picking up a rock and throwig it in their direction. [I]"Too slow, gentlemen!"[/I] He shouted, the highland accent that butchered the words of every Eire native heavy in his words. He began to gather up his loot, he just so happened to look up, the bridge he crossed just paces away. His grin vanished, as he remembered the bridge went somewhere else, and that he was an idiot.

Suddenly, the wall to his right shook, dust coming off in thick clouds, it began to rise into the ceiling. Behind it stood a massive, MASSIVE guard, heavily armored and carrying a mace twice the size of Rous' head. The knight stepped out, ducking under the door, he must have stood at around 10 foot tall. His arms were as big around as both of Rous' legs pressed together, it's massive chest heaving. Rous slowly stood up, holding a hand out, index finger extended [I]"Now, you're a big one... why don't we just..."[/I] The knight let out a roar, and charged forward, bringing the mace down where Rous once stood, but Rous had rolled, pulling his axe and shield free. He came up in a crouch, swinging the axe wide, his arm locked for a propper axe cut. The blade bounced off the armored leg, and the knight turned with a kick, booting Rous across the floor like a ball. Rous laid on the ground for a second, letting out a loud wheeze in response. His shield had been knocked free of his grasp, and laid across the way. So be it!

Rous got up in time to sidestep a downward swing from the mace and spun, swinging the axe once again at the open space between plates on the tree tunks of legs the knight had. This time he struck true, and the knight roared, but didn't fall. Rous grimmaced, jumping backwards as a fist, which surely would have taken his head off, came flying. He spun his axe around to the spike, dashed forward, and burried it into the thigh of the other leg, punching through the armor. That did it!

He wrenched the spike free as the knight collapsed to his knees with a groan, and took the handle in both hands. He brought his right foot back, and swinging the axe over head like he was splitting wood, drove the spike through the crested helmet of the knight, blackened blood fountaining through the hole. The mountain of a corpse collapsed, and Rous let out a WHEW! Of relief. He limped hurredly over to his spoils, scooping them up as the rest of the zombie guard horde neared. He limped from the temple, praying they wouldn't follow him far. Into town he'd go!

After parting with his loot for a rather harsh discounted price (come to find out later that the chalice brought eternal youth, should have done his research more thoroughly), he walked to one of his favorite hangouts, moments before the dragonrider and her steed showed, and sat. Ale was needed, ale, meat, and girls! That was, until the old man started to speak.

When he had finished his story, Rous sat, his food and drink forgotten. Isolated incidents of pyromancy? He rubbed his temples, could it be that he could learn? It would be useful in his adventures. He had once willed a candle to light on it's own, but figured it to be a dream....

The woman in the back spoke up, insulting the old man, who just smiled. That smile made Rous uneasy, what made it worse was the dragon peering in. He had slain his fair share of the beasts, they still msde him nervous. The old man spoke again "You have to tell people nowadays, with how superstitious they are, if a tale is real or not. I also didn't say it was totally false...."

Rous bit his tongue, for now...

-d-

In the front, a young man piped up, "You just said it's all made up! But that doesn't even matter. Do you really think people can learn it again? Do you really think pyromancy could be something real?" It was obvious by his tone of voice that the story spoke to him and he actually believed this sort of thing could happen. He sounded like he wanted it to happen, even, like he wanted it to happen to him. He leaned forward, completely enthralled with the old man.

His name was Bo. He had sandy blond hair and forest green eyes that shone with boyish enthusiasm. His face was even a bit round, nose and eyes included, but he had an attractive enough voice to make up for his bland features. His shoulders were broad, arms beefy and he had a little gut to him; probably a blacksmith's apprentice, judging by the callouses on his hands. He was already familiar with heat and working with it so naturally the tale of pyromancers excited him. He glanced toward the woman standing in the doorway, the two locking eyes. It was definitely an uncomfortable stare between them, almost angry.

((Hrm. Sorry it's short. Might spice it up a bit later))

[U]"I hear that the great forest is where the kingdom once stood, near the Perconi Mountains. That the ashes of the souls fertilized the trees, causing them to grow great sizes! I couldn't tell ya, can't go because I'm not so young and spry anymore..."[/u] The old man said, patting his back.

Rous spoke up [I]"Perconi mountains? That's across the world! Thousands of miles away!"[/I] He said, crossing his arms. [I]"It would take months to get there....I'd be willing to do it, for the sake of adventure. Might find some neat things along the way!"[/I] He said, smiling