So I became a God.Before you stands an army, a thousand men outfitted in armour of varying qualities. From the officers in shining steel, atop their war horses at the back of each regiment to the foot soldiers, in armour in iron and leather in varying states of disrepair. Archer, Footman and Mounted soldiers alike nervously fidget as they gaze upon you, the lone man standing at the outskirts of a recent battlefield. Soldiers litter the the plains behind you, standards once bright sullied with blood and broken.
You are unstoppable, and they know it.
You are the worst thing to have ever happened to this continent, the silent killer of armies. Many have fled the scene of battle over time, to report on your atrocities, from razing villages to slaughtering innocents. Diplomats have attempted to meet with you, time and time again. Like all men, they fall to your sword, never a word uttered as the last thing they experience, is to die at the hands of the perfect warrior.
Some have even sought you out to die by your hand, their expression one betraying that through the pain they feel as their fleeting last moments on this mortal coil come to an end, that they are honoured to have died to a greater warrior than them. Such men and women you feel a fluttering sense of envy toward, knowing that they have sought a warriors death. Death. Something you yourself are unable to experience.
Yet death, you still seek. You seek to die on the battle field, to finally be at rest, to escape the long centuries in what you have perpetuated this cycle, coming and going as you provoke war, as you seek to bring armies to stop you.
The army before you stand frozen, waiting for you to make the first move as they nervously shuffle, some of them knowing of the legends about you well enough to have the officers, while out of earshot, clearly yelling at them, barking orders to keep them in line, from fleeing the battlefield. Entire armies have fled before engaging you in the past, too afraid to fight an immortal and face certain death. The nations that have fielded those armies you have made to pay dearly for denying you what may have been your one last battle, your release from this world.
A step forward as you ready your sword and shield has the officers turn to the archers, yelling at them to ready themselves, prompting four hundred men to immediately assume a stance ready to fire from. Footfall after footfall follows, as you approach as you have over the centuries, heading straight for their forward line. No tactical approach is possible for a single man such as yourself, there is no way to carry out a pincer attack, or to strike their flank with the element of suprise.
A volley of arrows is loosed from one of the units of archers, falling short of you by a hundred feet as they panic, but order is quickly restored through the ranks of the army. They know they cannot possibly afford to panic, not when the safety of their homeland depends on it. If they fall in battle, history has said that you will spare them. If they flee, history has said that the consequences will be dire.
Footfall after footfall.
Nothing but the sound of your ever steady breathing and the rattle of your ancient armour in your ears.
As you draw ever closer, one of the officers screams the command for the archers to fire, his short sword waved forward in a bold guesture, the sound of hundreds of bowstrings and the whistle of arrows filling the air. You stop, almost disinterestedly looking up at the cloud of arrows as it arcs towards you, raising your shield above your head as you continue onwards with arrows clattering off that heavy shield. Volley after volley of arrows ineffectually rains down upon you, before the archers discard their bows, drawing sword and shield as they move behind the ranks of the infantry, soldiers with heavy shields forming the front of their line, men with pikes behind them.
In what appears to be a desperate gambit, the armies commander sends their small cavalry out first, determined to surround you with them. Horses ride fifty feet either side of you, but you do not slow. You have no reason to. You have been surrounded, attacked from all sides more times than you can count, this manouver is one that will cost them the lives of the men they sent out first.
All at once the cavalry converge, riding by in rapid succession, striking out at you as they attempt to catch you with a blow that will leave its mark. Each man's attack is parried with your blade or blocked with your shield as you effortlessly defend yourself against this attack, yet every time they make a pass like this a few of them are not so lucky. bodies, both of man and horse fall about you as you thin their numbers, staining the green grass red.
As man and horse tumble to the ground, there is pain. Sudden, unexpected pain. No blow has slipped past your guard and yet you feel pain. As this intense pain floods your being you stagger, the commander of the army running out from the ranks, motioning for her shocked troops to hold their ground as she sprints across the field. Sunlight gleams brilliantly off her polished bronze breastplate, sandal clad feet easily covering the flat expanse of the plain that lays between you both, while the simple white clothing and skirt beneath that sparse armour flutters.
"No!" comes her voice, a voice tinged with emotion as she rushes over, as you sink to one knee, your face feeling swollen beneath your helmet, blood running from your nose, from your lips as they split as if you had been struck violently. Sword and shield are cast off as the woman reaches your side. "It isn't supposed to end like this, you must ho.." comes her words, frantic and screaming as she shakes you, as your ears fill with the sound of ringing and your heartbeat, drowning out all other sound.
Your eyes slowly close as the woman, nameless as she is shakes you, tears streaming over her cheeks as you surrender to the darkness behind closed eyes and pain, unable to bear to keep your eyes open any longer. "I will call you... Love... For none has ever..." you whisper, yet your sentence is never completed as you topple backwards.
Falling...
For what seems like an eternity...
Only to stop abruptly as the pain you feel becomes all the more intense, your mouth filling with a coppery taste as you roll over and spit out blood.
Sharp pain courses through your body as you feel the sensation of a boot clad foot making contact with your ribs, your eyes opening, vision blurred as a hand grabs you by the collar, a fist connecting with your face as your assailant bring you face to face, your vision blurred as he yells at you...
"I asked you what your name was, and I expect an answer!"This game/story is one that focuses on the one character, seen through their eyes as they're guided by the players.
The game itself and the various interactions (combat, etc.) that happen will be carried out using an old freeform game system by the name of 'Everway'.
While at the start the Hero, if they may be called that, has their statistics undefined, they'll be revealed soon, and they'll be possible to build upon.
In addition to suggesting the name of the hero, the choice of style is open too. If you want a fantasy setting, then you'll get a world of magic and monsters. If you want a modern setting, you'll get a world of machineguns and monsters.
Author
Topic: They told me I could be anything... (Read 79822 times)