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Or it would, if there were some people participating. =) As of yet, nobody is. Of course, I just got all my stuff up recently, so that could be part of the problem, too. Since nobody has, I have gone ahead and put up some of an off-line "joint-story" to give people the general idea. If you are interested in starting, then fill out the form on the rules page.
Intro: The realms of the forgotten is a fantasy/sci-fi world. It is set on earth at approximately three hundred years in the future. In that time, great advances and "degressions" occured simultaneously. some people pursued science and technology, creating more andmore weapons, of greater degrees of power. Others, however, tired of hte rat race and began to Pursue the "ancient arts". Soo, science was competing against magic, with neither one gaining the upper hand. Additionally, each side began to let parts of the other creep into them (ie Magic forces may use computers/weapons, and science has a few sorecerors, etc.). There are predominately two main groups: the tyreleans (pronounced tear LEANS), and the Ulans (YOU luns). These two represent the largest demographic loyalties of people, tyreleans being magic users and Ulans being science. However, there are smaller loyalties seperate from these, and even within either of the large groups are "sub" groups (ie within the tyrelenes is the group Black Rooks, who are almost purely evil). There are also people that are in no particular loyalty, although these incidences are by far the most rare.
There are also a few races besides human; some are genetic defects, some are experiments gone awry, and some are permanent spells that took a nasty twist.
In addition to mentalities, etc. being different, the geographic nature of the world is different due to mass destruction by both sides of the spectrum. The North American continent is currently about halfway under water, including the entire east and west coast, up to several states in depending on such natural borders as mountains. Eurasia has also undergone considerable change, as has South America. Australia no longer exists above ground, but is currently an underwater megalopolis/continent.
Explicit geographic differences, weapons, spells, races, etc. are determined according to the whims of the writer and the whims of myself. I doubt that I will do any modifying to spells, weapons, etc. created, but there is that slight possibility. Ideally I won't have to. I want this to pretty much be as free of a format as possible. You are now ready to take your newfound knowledge and apply it to the test. Have fun creating!
Wraith glanced back coldly. They were still following him, but that didn't concern him for the moment. Rather, they were the ones who should be concered. Why ther were following him he knew not, nor did he care. They were food, for they were magical beings, or some of them were. He swung from his current resting spot to another, his prehensile tail serving him well, as did his other strange physical attributes. He moved through the trees at a pace unequalled by even the swiftes of monkeys, pausing occasionally to make sure they were still following. He was waiting, biding his time until it was right.
Soon, he was out of the jungle perimeter and into the heart. Here he was at home, here in teh darkness, away from the hated sun. And here, his pursuers would die. He stopped himself suddenly, and held completely still, virtually invisible in the darkness. He could hear them now, crashing through the underbrush noisily, and a smile crossed his face. It wasn't a particularly nice smile, but Wraith wasn't a particularly nice creature, especially when provoked as these had.
In a few moments more, they were within sight. There wer efour of them all told. They were all tall, dark haird, and dark skinned, and all wer wielding large blasters. Two of them glowed with a strange aura that was a soft white. They had slowed, now, no longer hearing their prey, but sensing he was near. The first two passed by, and Wraith let them go. It was not them he was interested in, but the glowing two. As the first of these walked under this tree, Wraith dropped on top of him, knocking the hunter sprawling, and sending his weapon flying. Wraith could feel the magical energy draining from the man as soon as he touched him, and as he ripped into the flesh, the speed of the drain only increased.
Suddenly, he felt a scorching pain in his side, and he slammed into a tree. One of the men had regained sense enough to fire at him, and had scored a beautiful hit. Wraith was hurting, and he knew it. Now all wer eup and firing at him, with the exception of the man he had first knodcked down. He would be out for some time.
Wraith wasn't sure whether to flee of fight. Obviously, these beings were trained warriors, adn one of the remaining was hightly skilled in magic. Another direct hit and he decided . . .
Adelfa Cutura woke up in the east plot of the city park. She turned over to fall on the ground. Her stomache turned as she took a deep breath of the heavily polluted air. The soot of the city ahd settled on her as she slept and her skin was nearly black with it. She pushed her hand into the bag bound closely at her hip. She fumbled past her other belongings before grasping a bttle of assorted pills. She dumped a portion of the pills into her palm and selected two pills from them. She swallowed the first, a charcoal black sort, to calm her heaving stomache. The second was a capsule, half white and half fred, for her pounding headache.
Adelfa gripped the armrest of the park bench and pulled herself up to full height. She knew that she needed to get inside before the sun was very high, and the city came alive and heated. The radiation became exceedingly poisonous, and sometimes fatal in the heat of the day. Her feet tumbled the rest of her towards the dingy brick building to the north of her bench.
She stumbled through the single door into the dank and ill-lit hall. Vagrants were bent over tables feasting on measly portions of foul gruel. The whole room smelled of rotting, disease, and waste. The shelter may have kept them out of the hars elements outside, but it hardly protected them from the most destructive forces of the time: disease and poverty.
Adelfa pushed past her dirty fellows to the facilities. The co-ed showers were in the next room over. The showers ran with brownish-yellow water continually, as people walked in and out of them. Wetted clothing hung over stalls, sinks, and overhead beams. She saw the sad condition of these people as th3ey pulled clothes over open radiation burns, chemical welts, rashes, and one even, waht appeared to be, leaprosy.
Adelfa stepped close enough to one of the sommunity showers that she could reach out and put her hand in it. She shuffled through her purse again to find a bottle of soft soap. She put a drop of it in her palm and then held the bottle between her teeth while she washed her hands in the water. She knew if she set the precious liquid down that the bottle would disappear in seconds. She wet her shoulder length black hair under the water and added soap to lather it up. She swatched the brownsh bubbles flow away as she rinsed the soap off. She flicked back her hair in a broad spray and combed through it with her fingers. She used the bottom of her shirt and a little soap to wash clean the grayish skin of her face.
She turned to look into the mirror, where her reflection was nearly obliterated by graffiti. Adelfa Cutura was not pretty by a stretch. Her eyes were a color violet that was too dark to be handsome, and too bored to be sparkling. Her cheeks and eyes were sunken a bit from the habits she kept. Her features were all too pointed, and created the mixed look of a starving aristocrat. Even the way she dressed was unbecoming. Her clothes were dark, dreary, old, and often unwashed, and she wore them large and baggy on her boney frame.
Adelfa carefully applied a layer of bright lipstick on her pale lips, and with her fingers rubbed a tiny bit into her emaciated cheeks. She put a black velvet choker around her thin neck and strung a violet feather onto the loop of her earring. She caressed the soft charm lightly, but then cast a look at her reflection that demanded that she didn't ever rely on luck.
Adelfa put her soap back into her bag and wrapped her dirty overcoat around her clothes. She gave the homeless around her one more look and the left to conduct business with the most infuential people in the city.
The man paced unceasingly around the room, like a wild animal trapped in a cage. He grew increasingly agitated as the seconds ticked on, for he was not one who liked a late appointment. As he turned to make another pass across the small room, there was a buzz from an object on his desk. His pacing stoped abruptly and he sat down in the large, black, cushioned chair that set in front of the immaculate oak desk.
Placing a thumb on a small black box which was on the desk, and image appeared above his desk. It was of a woman, though perhaps girl would be a better work to describe her. The man, known simply as Quill, breathed a sigh of relief, an emotion which was soon replaced with anger as he mentally signalled the open of the door.
"You're late," he lashed out at Adulfa after the door closed behind her.
She looked at him through her sunken eyes almost in contempt. "What's your point? You need my services, so I'll choose my time."
Quill almost snapped back another remark, but bit his tongue, knowing that he did, indeed, need her, and that she was prone to anger and stuborness. "You are right."
"So what is it this time?" she asked, almost bored.
"An assassination."
"Oh? Again? Please don't tell me it's another one of those blow off jobs. I need a challenge."
"No, no, I don't think it is that. Your target is a man of many names and personages. He commonly calls himself Paul Silas, but has gone by the names Brett Mavin, Reagan White, and Thomas Olson, among others."
"Who is he?"
"That's what I was telling you."
Adulfa snorted in disgust. "Not his name. I want to know who he is."
"That is of no concern of yours at this time. Right now all that matters is that he needs to be dead, and I'll pay you to do it."
"How much is it worth to you?"
"A million credits."
"A million? That's it? Make it two and a half million and we're even.
"Alright, alright, twol and a half million it is," responded Quill through slightly clenched teeth.
How do you want him killed?"
"Do you think that matters to me? You're the one doing the killing, you decide how."
"Alright," she responded, then turned and walked out the door. Some day, she thought to herself, I'm going to have to kill Quill. He knows about too many of my jobs, and can put my face with them. What she didn't realize was that Quill was thinking exactly the same thing. She shrugged the thought off and set to work on finding this . . . Paul Silas.
Now that you've seen some examples of how it works and have decided that you want to become a part, go back to the rules page and fill out the form. ;)
Note: The above material is part of an offline story currently in progress. It has no affect on the online story, and is only placed here as an example, with the exception of the intro. The world described in the intro is what you will be working in.
Return to the Joint-story "entrance" page
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