Age of Frost [RP]

thank you so much for doing my job

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sounds a LOT like a starchild, which I guess I can integrate into the story if we tweak some stuff and maybe combined brainstorm on a lot of specifics

and also, new Mexico is not a place

also also please post in the OOC

Could you give me an example?

gonna sound nitpicky here

like your backstory is doesn't line up with the lore much (but then again I didn't really clarify how starchildren were born sooo) starchildren are born from the fabric of the Everything

also, extremely nitpicky here, starchildren naming conventions are like titles, i.e: The Librarian, the Weaver, the Singer, etc.

Louis wandered throughout the frozen wastes of the far northeast, and pondered the circumstances that had brought him into this situation. It all began just a single, insignificant week ago. An Emissary, Himadut he called himself, had gathered him and several other Necromancer Lords together. How he had managed to him, let alone find them all, Louis had no clue. He had gathered them in his lair in a desolate mountain in the north to offer them a deal, a wager they couldn't refuse.

It sounded too good to be true, and although Louis was a newcomer to the petty struggles of the different immortal Necromancer Lords, he knew that this deal was undoubtedly something that was meant to draw them in, to entrap them in some scheme that benefited Himadut. Louis had no doubts that the rest of the Necromancer Lords in that stony hall knew that. But then he had demonstrated that spell, and that changed everything. That demonstration changed everything, flipped the balance of power completely. Suddenly, that impossible deal was now very possible.

Sure, a few of those in the room had held their reservations, and Louis would be lying if he said that he trusted Himadut completely, but there was nothing to lose in this gamble, and only things to gain if Himadut was telling the truth. Then, he had taught everyone else in the room the spell, that impossible spell that should not exist, and sent them out into the world to gather an army, and to dissuade their hesitations and doubts.

Snapping out of his musings, Louis looked about at his destination. A long forgotten battle from decades ago, where the Alammar Empire fought some tribal horseback raiders back from the twilight days of the empire. The tribal raiders were long since gone, but their dead were not. The corpses hadn't been buried, left there in the growing snow without a thought. Louis walked his way over to one of the corpse, an Alammaran soldier half clad in rusted bronze armor, wielding a rounded shield with a faded insignia, clutching a bronze sword in his death grip. The mouth of the rotted corpse was perched open in an eternal silent scream, half of the skull was open and exposed to the elements, the other half was covered in a thin sheen of rotting skin.

Now was the moment of truth, to see if Himadut truly was truthful. If he wasn't, then Louis would disappear into the continent. He may have found him once, but he wouldn't find Louis a second time. Now, if it was real, well, then that would change a lot of things. Calming himself, Louis reached his hand out to the forehead of the corpse, and whispered the spell under his breath, drawing the power of necromancy and cyromancy at the same time, and channeling them forth into a single, impossible, unlikely spell. For a single solitary second, time stood still. Then, the decomposed head of the undead lurched forward, and their skeletal hands started clawing the corpse out of the snowbank, the spine snapping into place with a series of sickening cracks.

Louis stood there for a few seconds, overcome by elation, his head spinning, staring at his hand. This, the ability to raise the dead in just a few seconds, this changed everything. Many necromancers before had attempted to raise armies of undead. All of them had failed, and ended up on the block, trying out the look of a noose around their necks. But this, this changed everything. This one impossible spell changed everything. He could raise hundreds of undead within just an hour or two. There were literal hundreds of battlefields full of potential soldiers, not to mention the myriad of graveyards around the continent. Within this spell he had the power to topple kingdoms. The corpse soldier stood in front of him, obedient, waiting for orders.

Louis let out a trembled laugh, laughing into the storm of ice and snow around him, surrounded by the remains of the living, and the potential of the dead.

And the world was never the same.

King Shikea shook with a barely suppressed anger in his throne, a gilded goblet in his left hand, half filled with wine. Petitioner after petitioner, all coming in one after another, lemmings off a cliff, all begging for him to accomplish the impossible, each saying the exact same ####ing thing one after another, hour after hour, day after day. All the fault of his father for gathering all these problems and then having the audacity to die of tuberculosis to leave his son to deal with all his problems.

The latest petitioner was a Vysokiyian, so that was certainly an upgrade from any unwanted Ravennan peasants from sneaking in to beg him about food and shelter. It was a peasant girl, ranting and sniveling about who knows what, something about the winter cold, like Shikea could do anything about it. And now she was talking about something in the north, like the tribal raiders of last century had risen from the dead or whatnot.

Every single word that came out of the girls mouth served only to anger Shikea further and further. She was the sixth such petitioner to cry about the cold of winter and something in the north. Many different such insane people came to him to tell Shikea what they thought it was. Undead, the Chosen returned to life, aliens, that sort of insane rambling. Just thinking about it made him clench the goblet in his hand so hard his knuckles turned white.

Now she was crying and sobbing over her starving family, like all the others before her. This was the last straw, the last goddamn thing Shikea could take before he broke. In a fit of temper he stood up quickly, and threw the gilded chalice straight at the peasant, shutting her up, as well causing her to be knocked back and bleed profusely from the head.

The girl scrambled back and ran out of the hall, still holding her bleeding head. Shikea took a breath to calm himself, before calling for his advisor, some remnant of the old guard that his father had left behind. He was the only good person that his father had managed to put into office, and that was the sole reason the advisor wasn't lying dead in a ditch somewhere.

The skinny, feeble grey haired man walked into the room, and answered Shikea's call.

"Yes, your grace? What do you require?"

"Organize an investigation party, hire whoever. Pay them two hundred coins. I don't care. Just get the ####ing peasants off my back. Send them into the north to investigate. I don't care whether they find anything or not."

"It shall be done, my lord."

Shikea sank back into his throne, leaning back into the uncomfortable wood. Hopefully this was a problem taken care of. If one more goddamn thing happened this year, he might genuinely lose it.

(Read it. I'm assuming we're the search party?)

(To those people who won't read it cause they're lazy, Ill give the run down. Some necromancer taught some other necromancers how to combine ice magic and necromancy to instantly raise the dead

(Not good. So now, this King has received reports of some peasants being attacked by ice monsters, and orders a search party to be assembled.)

All throughout the realm, messengers and couriers from Vysokiy journey throughout the continent, throughout every (major) town and city, spreading the word that the King of Vysokiy is organizing a investigation party to the northeast.

There are many who disregard the message as simply the machinations of a mad king, or the measly amount of reward money turned them off in ratio to the risk. But there are those who listened to these messengers and couriers, and would go forth to be recorded in the annals of history...