Bik Britelite
Jan 20th, '06, 07:57 AM
Okay, first off let me say this. Call it a disclaimer if you wish. When it comes to writing, I suck. I sucked in high school (many, many years ago), I sucked in college (also many years ago). I don't pretend to be some literary genius. There are run-on sentences, bad punctuation, etc. So read at your own risk. :o
That being said, a little background. A group of us have been playing Hero for as long as I can remember, and have played many systems as I am sure you have as well. One of our favorite settings has been planescape and basing ourselves in Sigil. I'll let you discover what you can about it, I imagine there would be some copyright law infingement if I posted anything. :hush:
Last night was our first night playing and I hope to bring you a journal of what has happened each week we play. What will follow in this post is my characters background. Criticism is accepted (although I hope I don't get too much) and comments also will be welcomed.
Galeel Shire, the jewel of the Telphan empire was a trade hub that held 20,000 souls. Its gleaming stone walls towered 25 feet into the air defending its occupants from any army that wished to cripple the Telphan trade. Galeel Shire had a standing army of 2,000 well trained men, and a militia that raised the total strength of the army to well over 8,000 men. For more than 300 years the town stood as solid as the stone walls that protected it. Until Cyrus Kreele came to town.
Cyrus Kreele was a worshipper of Nehrull, and a devout one at that. All his time was spent perfecting poisons, combining anything and everything to make all manners of vile potables. For 40 years Cyrus perfected his craft, his name became synonymous with death itself. It was at this time that Cyrus decided to please his god with the ultimate ritual in Nehrulls name, and with it a place by his side for all immortality.
Cyrus worked with maniacal precision and focus, the drive for his ascension fueling every waking moment. For five years Cyrus brewed concoction after concoction, and when enough had been made, Cyrus made good his plan. One early summer day before the heat of the sun baked the inhabitants of Galeel Shire a message was sent to the capital talking of a terrible plague that had befallen the town. The message claimed that hundreds were dying with each passing night and the rotting bodies and corpses were filling the streets causing the plague to spread faster. More information eluded to a lack of direction from its ruling family and military. This lack of communication was causing small riots in the streets and whole sections of the great city were burning unchecked.
The journey would take 3 days for the message to arrive in the Lord Regents hands and with this time, Cyrus began the systematic assassination of the ruling family. Foods and water were poisoned, the well in the castle was poisoned as well. Bottles of wine were coated with a contact poison to give the illusion that the very wine itself was poisoned. Livestock and their feed were not safe either. Within the 3 days most of the royal family of Galeel Shire was either dead or dying, no doctor was able to save them, no spell cured them. Fearing mass panic at the loss of the royal family, the captain of the guard took the reins of governing until word could be sent to the Lord Regent. At the very time that the Lord Regent was assembling his armies to enclose and surround Galeel Shire to prevent the plague from spreading, Cyrus began poisoning the food stores of the enlisted men. Cyrus made careful plans to keep the Captain alive until it was time for his blessing from Nehrull.
One week after the message had been sent, the Lord Regents armies was approaching the walls of Galeel Shire, with orders to kill anyone from the Shire and to burn the bodies. All livestock was to be killed and burned, with all outlining crops and farms razed. It was at this time that the poisons were released into the towns wells and grain stores. The panic of the general populace began soon after the army of the Lord Regent set up. Cyrus set a few fires in the poorer sections of town and these quickly spread outwards. Any towns person that tried to escape Galeel Shire was cut down and quickly burned by the surrounding army. This is also when the Captains usefulness had run out and was removed by Cyrus personally.
For three weeks the poisons took hold and killed off the populace, the bodies that littered the streets eventually caused a plague to arise and Cyrus watched it all unfold from the very balcony of the royal families keep. When the plague had finally killed the last of Galeel Shire’s populace did Cyrus begin to feel the effects of the plague. His skin began to rot away, his breath became labored, even clumps of his own hair began to fall out. With the final soul in this now dead city soon to be taken, Cyrus made his pledge aloud to Nehrull.
“All that I have done here is for you lord Nehrull, master of death, hater of life. With this sacrifice I ask for your blessings and to be given a place at your side where I may do your bidding until the end of time.” Soon after the proclamation Cyrus died, and Typhus was born.
For two days, Cyrus’ body laid on the balcony decaying in the heat of the summer before Typhus willed his eyes open. When he sat up, he realized that the plague no longer ravaged his body, but the damage was done and he was soon going to be dead. Disoriented, Typhus willed his body to stand, only to realize that crawling was all he was capable of. When Typhus rolled over, his eyes came upon a suit of armor laid out on the floor behind him.
A whisper on the wind said, “Wear the armor of Nehrull, and with it you will be immortal. Pick up the scythe, and with it do my bidding.”
Typhus did as his god demanded and donned the armor. When the last piece of armor was equipped the feeling of death overtaking him left. His vision cleared, no longer blurry from the exertion of putting on the heavy plate armor. The dull green armor was extremely heavy and cumbersome for Typhus, but with the removal of any piece the feelings of death returned. A dark cloud seemed to move within the armor, pulsing as if the armor itself had a heart beat.
When Typhus grabbed up the scythe he found it to be lighter than expected. The scythe’s haft made of a strange dark wood with faces in pain etched into its bark.
Pleased at his success, Typhus grabbed one trophy from all that remained of Galeel Shire, a stein from its lord. With this he traveled through the town marveling at the destruction wrought by his own hand. The walls that were so confidently built to keep enemies out, kept the people in and allowed the plague to fester. A very fitting deed for his god, Typhus thought and so he left to open the gates of the city and release the plague onto the army still camped outside. But as Typhus moved through the wicket in the gate house door, a flash of brilliant magic erupted from the doors edges and Typhus found himself stepping into a new world.
That being said, a little background. A group of us have been playing Hero for as long as I can remember, and have played many systems as I am sure you have as well. One of our favorite settings has been planescape and basing ourselves in Sigil. I'll let you discover what you can about it, I imagine there would be some copyright law infingement if I posted anything. :hush:
Last night was our first night playing and I hope to bring you a journal of what has happened each week we play. What will follow in this post is my characters background. Criticism is accepted (although I hope I don't get too much) and comments also will be welcomed.
Galeel Shire, the jewel of the Telphan empire was a trade hub that held 20,000 souls. Its gleaming stone walls towered 25 feet into the air defending its occupants from any army that wished to cripple the Telphan trade. Galeel Shire had a standing army of 2,000 well trained men, and a militia that raised the total strength of the army to well over 8,000 men. For more than 300 years the town stood as solid as the stone walls that protected it. Until Cyrus Kreele came to town.
Cyrus Kreele was a worshipper of Nehrull, and a devout one at that. All his time was spent perfecting poisons, combining anything and everything to make all manners of vile potables. For 40 years Cyrus perfected his craft, his name became synonymous with death itself. It was at this time that Cyrus decided to please his god with the ultimate ritual in Nehrulls name, and with it a place by his side for all immortality.
Cyrus worked with maniacal precision and focus, the drive for his ascension fueling every waking moment. For five years Cyrus brewed concoction after concoction, and when enough had been made, Cyrus made good his plan. One early summer day before the heat of the sun baked the inhabitants of Galeel Shire a message was sent to the capital talking of a terrible plague that had befallen the town. The message claimed that hundreds were dying with each passing night and the rotting bodies and corpses were filling the streets causing the plague to spread faster. More information eluded to a lack of direction from its ruling family and military. This lack of communication was causing small riots in the streets and whole sections of the great city were burning unchecked.
The journey would take 3 days for the message to arrive in the Lord Regents hands and with this time, Cyrus began the systematic assassination of the ruling family. Foods and water were poisoned, the well in the castle was poisoned as well. Bottles of wine were coated with a contact poison to give the illusion that the very wine itself was poisoned. Livestock and their feed were not safe either. Within the 3 days most of the royal family of Galeel Shire was either dead or dying, no doctor was able to save them, no spell cured them. Fearing mass panic at the loss of the royal family, the captain of the guard took the reins of governing until word could be sent to the Lord Regent. At the very time that the Lord Regent was assembling his armies to enclose and surround Galeel Shire to prevent the plague from spreading, Cyrus began poisoning the food stores of the enlisted men. Cyrus made careful plans to keep the Captain alive until it was time for his blessing from Nehrull.
One week after the message had been sent, the Lord Regents armies was approaching the walls of Galeel Shire, with orders to kill anyone from the Shire and to burn the bodies. All livestock was to be killed and burned, with all outlining crops and farms razed. It was at this time that the poisons were released into the towns wells and grain stores. The panic of the general populace began soon after the army of the Lord Regent set up. Cyrus set a few fires in the poorer sections of town and these quickly spread outwards. Any towns person that tried to escape Galeel Shire was cut down and quickly burned by the surrounding army. This is also when the Captains usefulness had run out and was removed by Cyrus personally.
For three weeks the poisons took hold and killed off the populace, the bodies that littered the streets eventually caused a plague to arise and Cyrus watched it all unfold from the very balcony of the royal families keep. When the plague had finally killed the last of Galeel Shire’s populace did Cyrus begin to feel the effects of the plague. His skin began to rot away, his breath became labored, even clumps of his own hair began to fall out. With the final soul in this now dead city soon to be taken, Cyrus made his pledge aloud to Nehrull.
“All that I have done here is for you lord Nehrull, master of death, hater of life. With this sacrifice I ask for your blessings and to be given a place at your side where I may do your bidding until the end of time.” Soon after the proclamation Cyrus died, and Typhus was born.
For two days, Cyrus’ body laid on the balcony decaying in the heat of the summer before Typhus willed his eyes open. When he sat up, he realized that the plague no longer ravaged his body, but the damage was done and he was soon going to be dead. Disoriented, Typhus willed his body to stand, only to realize that crawling was all he was capable of. When Typhus rolled over, his eyes came upon a suit of armor laid out on the floor behind him.
A whisper on the wind said, “Wear the armor of Nehrull, and with it you will be immortal. Pick up the scythe, and with it do my bidding.”
Typhus did as his god demanded and donned the armor. When the last piece of armor was equipped the feeling of death overtaking him left. His vision cleared, no longer blurry from the exertion of putting on the heavy plate armor. The dull green armor was extremely heavy and cumbersome for Typhus, but with the removal of any piece the feelings of death returned. A dark cloud seemed to move within the armor, pulsing as if the armor itself had a heart beat.
When Typhus grabbed up the scythe he found it to be lighter than expected. The scythe’s haft made of a strange dark wood with faces in pain etched into its bark.
Pleased at his success, Typhus grabbed one trophy from all that remained of Galeel Shire, a stein from its lord. With this he traveled through the town marveling at the destruction wrought by his own hand. The walls that were so confidently built to keep enemies out, kept the people in and allowed the plague to fester. A very fitting deed for his god, Typhus thought and so he left to open the gates of the city and release the plague onto the army still camped outside. But as Typhus moved through the wicket in the gate house door, a flash of brilliant magic erupted from the doors edges and Typhus found himself stepping into a new world.