Group Writing Project
RPNation is a website where several group writing projects that I took place in are located. This site is a forum for writers to come together and create stories together. Writers are encouraged to create character sheets, which define the character's backstory and motives. Excerpts from character sheets and my post are included below. Each of these are from the same story and take place in a fantasy medieval world with magic, that has just begun advancing in technology.
Character Backgrounds
Kyro Script
Character context:
Kyro Script was the villain of this story. He banishes the main heroes for 5 years before the story takes place and rules over Albion, the country that is the setting of the story.
Backstory:
After several minutes, the roiling amber glow over the horizon settled down, from a furious blaze of otherworldly energy into a resting aura, slowly dissipating into the winds, into the leylines. Soon, that void energy would be filtered by the planet's nodes, and there'd be no trace.
As it completed, the Archlich turned around and stepped down the hill. Their decision was for maximum secrecy, so they'd performed it close to the desolate regions, where no country's law held absolute, and where there was a minimal presence of watchmen and heroes.
“There. My spell is complete. All who bore the Seal of the Guild of Heroes within the range of Melicau's atmosphere now rest within the Void Dimension. And that, I believe, concludes our business, scion of the Scripts.”
“Agreed. With the Guild crippled and the throne open, I will seize power.”
It seemed, for a moment, as if Turenval was about to leave - teleport away
“…Actually. I have one more thing that might be of use to you. Consider it a parting gift.”
“A parting gift?” Kyro stared at the undead, suspicious.
The lich merely chuckled. “Why so surprised? I have always liked to indulge in vain charity. Now listen well - north of Fairfax, within the deepest caves, beyond the seven rivers, there is an ancient shrine from a forgotten religion, deep, deep within the chasms and mountains. And within that shrine, you shall find a group of demons the Guildsmen had sealed away centuries ago. One, in particular, might help you. Ararigonterisa, the demon of knowledge.”
2 years before current events:
“Are you sure it’s going to work this time? I don’t want another repeat failure,” a clearly stressed and agitated Kyro asks. Affected by the lack of progress in the endeavor.
“Indeed, I believe this time it will work.” The woman dressed in a lab coat looked to another member of her team.
“Begin.” She slid the Script Crest into a key slot. A display of runes rose from the ground, and lines of faint light converged to a piece of paper in the center.
An unimaginable amount of magic energy flowed into the machine. As it started to shift gears, broaden the connection, the mana seemed to almost suffuse the air physically, a faint bluish-white tinge to everything, like a filter over the eyes. As his breath rose and fell, he could feel its sharpness in his throat, like an itch tickling the inner parts of his trachea. He coughed a little, cleared his throat.
After some time, the light dissipated, and the runes fell again.
Kyro collected the paper, which now showed a detailed blueprint. He looked up at it, a faint smile dancing on his lips. “With this machine, we will revolutionize the future. Albion shall advance beyond all other nations technologically. And then, we will assimilate them.”
3 years ago:
A single drop of blood falls to join an ocean of sacrifice. The stench of crying flesh poisons the air.
“How fascinating,” an overly eager voice of a woman exclaims. “With this, the last remaining rebels that opposed you have been eliminated.”
Within the center of the carnage stood a bloodstained Kyro Script. There were mutilated arms, and legs of different people around him; bodies hacked apart into thin displays of gore, almost phantasmagorical in their arrangement, like something from a fairy tale illustration. He snapped his hand and caught a floating deck of cards, and from the environment, more cards flew into it: cards that had been lodged in between eyes, cards that had cut into the walls with their razor-sharp edges, and cards that had fully pierced bodies. All of them bloodied.
The woman stood at a distance to avoid even a single drop of blood getting on her. Almost obsessive to keep every inch of her clean. “This will be useful when pursuing further knowledge. I am excited to see what your newfound authority will bring me.”
1 year ago:
“Allen.” Several men stand inside a massive room filled with boxes and artifacts. Goods to be sold at a market. There were runes carved across the floor and walls, minute and fine markings glimmering with subtle arcane power.
An older man, dressed in a very formal attire bowed at the Overlord's entry.
“Lord Script?”
“Since you oversee this endeavor more than anyone, this primarily concerns you. However, I have invited the remainder of your colleagues for this demonstration. You may begin.” Kyro signaled the woman in a lab coat. With the flip of a switch, the entire room lit up.
“Right now, we stand within the capital city of Bowerstone.” As a light enveloped them, the runes began spinning. The light grew so bright that it was impossible to see. The light subsided; each member looked around in question as to what happened.
“Gentlemen,” Kyro said leading them outside. In contrast to their previous location of warmth and summertime, snow covered the ground, and cool air stung their skin. In utter disbelief, the men looked to Kyro. “Welcome to Fairfax. You and all the goods within this building have been effortlessly transported here.” Each of the men showed a different reaction: shock, amusement, awe. “There is no limit to the distance of this spell. Although the rooms themselves are difficult to construct and require a fair amount of energy to use. It will be your job to ensure these are built in multiple cities around the country, and as soon as the other nations give their permission, the world. No longer shall we transport goods across difficult climates or risk being attacked. No more bandit raids.”
“Sir,” Allen replied. “It will take a long time to build and convince neighboring nations to use this ability.”
“For now, focus on getting teleportation networks around all major Albion cities, then each capital city of other nations as they agree.”
Several days ago:
As the sun rose on the horizon, a blazing molten disk of sunlight, Kyro stood on top of the palatial clock tower, looking down on the city of Bowerstone. Its stone-laden streets were surrounded on each side by variegated buildings and small residential houses in the suburbs, with large towers looming in the dense center; the thin roads were filled with abrupt motion, a sea of people of different races and origins, living together in harmony. He was reading a book; the topic and design of the book were seemingly not of the current time period.
“I knew you would be here. We have a problem.” A girl in a lab coat said as she entered up the stairs. “They are trying to bring them back.”
He regarded her with the side-eye.
“And Mephisto is alive.”
Kyro’s face changed. He closed the book with a grim clap.
“This time it will be our responsibility. Let’s go. There is much to be done,” Kyro said, regaining his composure before anything could be said about its brief absence. "I will need your help more than ever, Ararigonterisa.”
Ararigonterisa
Character context:
Ararigonterisa, also known as Eve, is the only survivor of a very old civilization called Zeiram that fell into an unknown disaster. She was imprisioned by the guild members some time ago before Kyro released her from the prision for his own personal gain.
Backstory:
When I was a little girl, my father used to play a game with me. The game was to build a castle that would survive the tide, and I had as many tries as I wanted.
I would spend all afternoon creating sandcastles on the shore, but each morning when the sun would rise, whatever I built was taken by the waves.
One particularly stubborn day, I put all my might into building something that would not fall. I gathered rocks to form a barrier, dug a trench to catch the water, and packed thick walls of sand. As the sun rose the next day, to my surprise, the castle had survived the night.
When I went to tell my father that I finally won, he said that the game was for it to survive the tide, not just one night. The next day, washed away by the inevitable fate of the waves, my castle was gone.
Many years ago
Light mist hovered in the air; the sun shimmered over the horizon. Six adepts of the Guild of Heroes stood covered in blood and dirt, the ground like a sponge for whatever liquid fell. Before them, pinned down to the ground by chains and swords stabbed through every part of her body, was a white-haired woman.
“Ararigonterisa, youngest of the five. For providing knowledge to all indiscriminately and aiding in the rise of many unnecessary acts of evil. For your obsessive devouring of all knowledge, even that which has been forbidden and most of all, for placing yourself upon the council of Archdemons. I condemn you to eternal imprisonment. You shall only be released when your bloodline is sacrificed upon the altar. May the other Archdemons meet the same fate. Your soul will never find peace.”
Night of the Zeiram Empires fall
A frontier of shadow swept across all that is Zeiram, enslaving and deforming every citizen within the inner city. The cities systems locked down the defensive walls; no one and nothing was getting out. All the horrors created inside the city would stay forever entombed. In the corridors of an underground tunnel, a nearly 7-year-old Eve was fated to be the only living thing to escape the lockdown.
“Dad? What’s going to happen to me?” Eve’s consciousness slowly faded. She felt sick, every part of her body hurt, but despite the pain, she could barely remain awake. Her father had done something to her, but she didn't understand. She held on with what little strength she had, in fear this would be the last time she would see him.
“You must listen to me. Everything I have done has been to better this world. As you live you shall see empires rise and fall, you will see the inevitable tide of fate. You alone can challenge this, rise up and rebuild the world with peace and prosperity. That path will lead back to this place, and when it does, remember the lessons I taught you.”
Eve's consciousness faded into emptiness. She would never see another Zeiram soul.
5 years ago
Blood covered the altar, paint on a canvas, each card a paintbrush. Swirling, spiraling, shimmering like glitter in the wind.
Deep beneath the ground, within with a long-forgotten shrine, from a long-forgotten religion, Kyro stood before the altar.
“Accept this sacrifice. With the death of Lisabeth Launa, the last remaining daughter of the Launa house of Fairfax, free this soul sentenced to eternal solitude!”
Wind erupted from thin air, blood devoured by the altar, and a blue flame lit the room. From the floor flesh reformed. Like shredded origami rewinding time, the flesh returned to its once prior state.
Ararigonterisa laid bare on the now devoid altar. Elevated above her, stood Kyro accompanied by a plethora of airborne cards.
Each card was meticulously floating. Shaped like wings expanding from him. Although there was no light that came from the surface, each card radiated hope from above.
Ararigonterisa rose her head for the first time in ages and spoke.
“The castle still stands.”
Story Excerpts
Black Ops Members
Story Context:
Argon, Baron, Syi, and Inir are members of Kyro Scripts military. Each member is a specialist in a type of magic. They attack the protagonists of the story while they are resting. Elismore, a character another writer created, attacks with a silver fire attack, which is unstoppable magic. This post represents the end of the fight.
Story:
"Syi, get us out of her--"
It was a spit second Agron had turned around. The weaved threads of flesh that connected his central body to his arm were separated. In one swift swing, Averza had robbed him of his right arm. Unable to maintain against her momentum, he collapsed with his right knee forward. Spinning the blade around she pierced clean through his knee into the ground beneath him in hopes this would chain him, rendering him unable to leave through Syi's portal for escape.
"Should've kept your eyes on me." She said as she grabbed his head with her free hand, keeping him in place.
Watery waves of flowing silver weaved in-between colors of blue and red, while the radiant heat bloomed spores of spiraling white, separating from its host before extinguishing. It was a beacon for those blinded by the winter fall of a storm created out of desperation. Tearing through the last hopes of the defenders of the Overlord's rule.
It was Baron who first rose to meet Elsimore's attack. Placing all he had into a defense that would hold against his foe's attack, he could never imagine how futile his attempt would be. Light Silverfire finely weaved in between his imperfect projections of the soul. As if a mother giving warmth to her child, a mature law of the world came to give him comfort that his inferior resistance would not, could not, exist next to the magnificence of the silver that flowed from its guide. The universe provided him a feeling of assurance, that should his muddly creations stand against the flow of such lovely swirls of shimmy creation, then this world was unfair.
As swift as Baron, unwillingly, accepted the loving laws of nature, the raw iron shield became the last thing between him and oblivion. Flames poured around, superheating his shield to ignite his hand and melt the shield to the molten rock from whence it came. Without even direct contact, the flames left permanent marks across all that which was Baron's whole. It was Inir's quick thinking that saved Baron from being free from the flesh prison his soul inhabited.
A click as the second rune lit up. There was no time to wait for the third, the railgun was not going to charge to completion. Like shockwaves of sound, the snow began mirroring the pressure the gun released. Like waves washed against walls of sand, the snow was dragged along, smashed against the outer ice walls, and the immense pressure created from the unstable firing of the railgun collapsed the dome.
And the release, a bolt whose outward energy would violently punish Baron unto the dirt below, rendering him unconscious as it passed by. Only a few seconds later, the bolt, which moments ago appeared to have limitless power, was cupped in the hands of the silver flame. In the dead center, the shot was alleviated of its momentum. Holding for a moment before it was freed from its struggle, dissolved into nothingness.
During the short time Inir's shot had created, Syi held his hand to the ground. Each Black Ops member was known for one ultimate technique which drained their mana. Although Agron had not shown his, Inir's was the railgun, Baron his barrier, and Syi was a mass teleport.
A shockwave of disconnect fell through the camp. As if, for a second, everyone felt they weren't in the right place at the right time, a familiar feeling for those trapped within the void. Black energy erupted from Syi as countless strings connected different erratic locations to the camp. It's impossible to create an untraceable portal, but it is possible to make so many your enemies won't know which one you took.
Unlike the other portals, this spell took all allies of the Black ops and removed them from their locations. As countless rifts littered the battlefield the Black Ops members and the doctor vanished to another location far away.
Agron got one last look at Averza and Jaunt before crying, "This isn't over!"
Black Ops Members
Story Context:
Cruz is the leader of a resistance that seeks to free her country from the oppression of the Order of the Golden Campaña. This paragraph serves to explain her background and why the resistance moved from one city to another.
Story:
Light bounced off the shaded air returning a hazed mirror of blood and within the fog's spiraling descent Cruz found her answer. "We all have to breathe eventually." This was the final thought that rampaged through the synapses in her brain. It would only take seconds for the agonizing loneliness within her mind to rest, the burning toxins pierced her lungs through the very pipes which she used daily. But the particles within the tinted poison she now inhaled would only cloud her mind, robing the last remaining right the Order hadn't taken from her, freewill.
Twelve hours earlier the Order had used the newly acquired location of the resistance's primary operations as a weapons test for leading developed tools of war. The weapon in question was a high-density compound that enforced a single overriding will over any who embraced it. This in itself wasn't the last unique property, packed within the fibers of magical essence was the ability to dissipate only when all life in the area had inhaled the concoction.
Within three hours of the attack, over eighty percent of the resistance had left their long incubated flesh behind to travel onward. The last remaining lifeforms used all available means to hold back their unconscious enemy. Under the city existed a series of networking tunnels used for secrecy. Placing several barriers at key points stalled for time, but after nine hours their magic reserves dried and all options fell to zero.
Three hundred lives prepared to close the curtains when the cloth walls fizzled out, the red shadow of their finale swarmed into the vacuum of their untouched lives. Those as unfortunate as Cruz, who were able to hold their breaths for quite some time, watched in horror of the more fortunate that were subjected to the ease of inability of choice. A chaotic grinder of human contortion formed upon the stage, while the shining light of heat lit the bodies of the actors into flame. The screams of the crowd erupted into fear of being forced one by one onto the stage of a single will...
Kill everyone.
The stage of wood and strings almost reached silence during the unique appearance of the puppet Cruz on the stage. A scream of fear echoed from shards of remaining will deep within her soul, as the last strings of the fog tightened on her.
The raw strength and prowess Cruz possessed were far beyond that of any other player. She silently bore witness to her body crushing the splintered wood of the other puppets with her hands, slicing through their soft strings before snapping their pinewood components into unrecognizable fragments. At the last moments of the performance within Cruz, after two hundred and fourteen wooden dolls had exited the stage, the director who was born of construct, and as mechanical as the toys it now controlled, disappeared.
Two hours later an insurgent team serving the Order would search the city to find eighty-six missing persons. A report filed from the major scientist explained that due to the weapon's heavy use of magic, the conditions set forth required, rather than optionally, dissipated the gas instantly upon all subjects within the area inhaling the toxin. The test was considered a partial success and the weapon was revised with proper specifications. The city of Libertad was reduced to nothing but ruins and the eighty-six souls have never been seen since.