Forgemourn RP Interest Thread [1x1][mxf]

[LookingGlass]

Hello and Welcome to Forgemourn [General Audiences Version]!
First and foremost, thank you for taking a bit of time out of your day to stop by my thread! While I could go on and on about how happy I am to see you here, I figure it's probably better to jump right into why we're both here; Forgemourn. Forgemourn is a grim-dark-esque fantasy that is set in a technologically advanced city that exists in an "Underdark". The story will follow the adventures of our characters as they live, explore, adventure and survive within and beyond the city walls. The overarching narrative is (again, in the broad strokes) that the denizens of the deepest and darkest caverns of the Underdark have set their eyes on city and have, at the start of the story, begun their incursion.

About The City
Forgemourn is a techno-metropolis draped in the shadow of the underdark and illuminated by dusky neon and humming lamplight encircled by great metallic walls that tower above the lower districts. From the labyrinthine like streets nestled against the walls of Forgemourn, to the the slag and spark sputtering workshops and further still to the clamor of storefronts that haven't shuttered once (so far as anyone can remember), the city is constantly alive with activity. At the highest point, overlooking all of the districts laid out in rings below it, is a gated building known simply as The Factory that houses the unseen overseer of Forgemourn.

About the Technology
As mentioned above, the technology of Forgemourn is far advanced from ours and as such, you should feel free to get creative with whatever that means to you. Let your imagination have some fun with it! That being said, there are two things that I feel are central to the setting and are as follows:

• Cybernetics: Ranging from the most minimal enhancements or repairs to full body replacement, cybernetics are commonplace in Forgemourn and range in quality, design and efficiency (depending on how deep your pockets are). At base level, all persons with cybernetics also has a surgically implanted integrated control module that links the components with their brain and nervous system. Like the external tech, these internal components range in complexity and comprehensiveness depending on need. Importantly, like any mechanical component, these require regular maintenance. While most can be done by mechanics living in the city, any and all control module repairs must be done where they were created and installed, The Factory. Failure to maintain components can result in glitches ranging from the mildly inconvenient, to total system failure (brain death). Symptoms can be managed with medication but in all cases, maintenance is strongly advised.
• Way Gates: Because Forgemourn is walled in and has limited resources, the Way Gates, a translocation system, was created to allow for resource gathering into the lands beyond the city walls. A few dozen have been constructed at regular intervals along the inner wall and are closely monitored and guarded at all times. Normally, the only people who have access to these critically important modes of transit are known as Divers. The Divers are chiefly responsible for resource gathering and have been fitted with a unique component that allows them to be pulled back through the Way Gate without aid of an additional Way Gate in the field at a moment's notice.

About Characters
When it comes to characters, I encourage you to be creative. That being said, there is no magic in this setting. Also, no character can be from The Factory or has knowledge of its inner workings. Aside from that, have fun with it! If you have any questions. Don't hesitate to ask!

Thanks for Reading!
Thank you so much for reading this far! I really do appreciate it. At this point, the finer details of plot, setting, so on and so forth, are still developing and I welcome questions and input and all that good stuff! I look forward to hearing from you soon! Feel free to Send me a PM or Reply in thread with questions, comments, etc.

[LookingGlass]

Writing Sample

The scent of flowers and oils from distant shores cut through the heavier tones of fire-roasted meats and spices just as Amalthea snatched the parchment from between his fingers. Ramiel turned about to see that Adelion's employee had not spared on the luxuries in considering their guest's comfort for the evening as Amalthea's change in clothing had given her an air of refined beauty that belonged far from the dregs of Low Town. For a moment, he wondered if someone had taken quite a shine to Amalthea when they pulled that dress from it's form-fitted mannequin or, if they'd misunderstood the nature of their relationship, having assumed a few unsaid things on their joint arrival. Not realizing that she'd already moved to hand the parchment back to him, Ramiel had reached to take it back and, in his haste, their hands partially overlapped and her soft warmth passed from the top of her hand to his fingertips in the albeit brief exchange. “It's more accurate to say that this is the first chance at a proper heading,” Ramiel softly cleared his throat as he rolled up the parchment and tossed it to the near-side of the desk, “at this point, it's fair to say our map is left largely uncharted. We're picking up at the most defined of the fading lines at the edge of their wanderings. Hopefully, by the end of whatever this turns out to be, we'll know just a bit more about what they didn't know and maybe, if we're lucky, more about what this particular mystic hoped to know.”


Behind a faint yet knowing smile, Adelion chuckled under his breath as he read a new chapter in the young man's life unfold in a fraction of a second. To most, the slight and momentary shift in Ramiel's usually collected manner would have either gone completely unnoticed or chalked up to little more than the usual surprise from a man's surprise at a woman's ability to clean up quite nicely, Adelion knew that this was quite the reaction. Quite pleased with whomever had chosen that dress for Amalthea, Adelion made note that he'd have to add a few coins on the week's pay. Bonus for the bit of dinner theater. Adelion clapped his hands and smiled broadly at Ramiel and Amalthes, “Ghost...busting, was it? Call it whatever you like, what's important is that we've got ourselves a deal. Provisions will be packed and left by the door. You'll have to meet the man at the manor grounds to be let in. Cagey one, that. Last I laid eyes on him, he looked like he had one foot in the grave already so, try not to mistake him for having just crawled out from it,” Adelion said with a full-bellied laugh. “Now, off with you two. Adventure is just on the other side of the rising sun!”

By the time Ramiel had closed his eyes that night, it felt like barely a moment before the morning sun had pulled the blanket of stars from the sky and replaced it with the bright blue of a new day. Ramiel sat at the top of the small set of stairs that lead to the fire-pit which now, only held the ashen reminder of the previous night, a half-eaten plate of breakfast sat beside him. The sound of Amalthea's footsteps brought his attention to the stairs as she came into view. “Adelion has already left for the morning. Said that he had some business to attend to and that we're welcome to however much food that we can eat and carry. Take your time,” Ramiel added as he tugged firmly at the boot laces wrapped around his fingers, the leather coming together obediently around his pants that were tucked in along his calves, “from what I've been told, the client probably won't be ready to receive us for a few hours and the walk to the manor isn't really all that far from here...if it were a straight shot. Lots of stairs though. Those lot enjoy having a view from high up on the proverbial hill.” Ramiel thumped the flat of his fists against the leather walls of his boots and, satisfied that they were properly seen to, picked up the plate as he stood before shoving the last bit of buttered bread into his mouth. After returning the still-not-quite-finished plate of breakfast on the serving cart, Ramiel opened one of the packs that had been left for the pair near the door and took to rummaging through the contents. “Bandage, gauze, packed and parceled food...a compass?” Ramiel spoke softly to himself as he took stock of the contents. A compass was certainly a curious inclusion...it wasn't as if they had to navigate the grand plains before they got to the manor, so why did Adelion have it included. With furrowed brow, Ramiel returned the contents to their place and, mostly satisfied with all that been dutifully packed away, refastened it.


---Travel skip to the manor---


Sigurd Gulfrey the III shivered as the morning breeze passed over the retaining wall, ruffling the loose fitting clothes that he'd barely managed through the haze of sleepless nights and fright-filled days. He winced at the distant clang of a door far below and clasped his hands so tightly that his knuckles took a red-pink tone beneath his fingers. Still, there he stood, waiting at the the chest-high retaining wall, his arms folded and resting on the cool, smooth, carefully maintained brick, his gaze flung far beyond the kingdom's walls and into the distance as far away from the manor which loomed behind him. The wrought iron gate that once stood as monument to the enduring wealth and legacy of his family no longer held such esteem with him. Now, they looked a twisted mockery of luxury, keeping him trapped inside as much as it kept prying eyes and nimble fingers barred outside. Even now, in the light of the morning, he felt as if the gate bars had dug into his shoulders and could, in a moment, fling him back behind the tall manor doors that had been chained shut in a fit of hysteria some nights ago. Peeking over the edge and down at sprawl of Low Town, Sigurd wondered how long the fall was. Would it hurt? Maybe a second or two. But what if, by some incredible stroke of misfortune, instead of perish, simply be seriously hurt? Only to be returned to the manor, bed-ridden. Shuddering at the thought, Sigurd's fingers fumbled at the bronze key-ring that hung loosely around his neck. “Soon. It'll be over soon...” Sigurd was so consumed by his jumbled thoughts, that he didn't even notice that Ramiel and Amalthea had arrived and now stood between him and the manor.


“Quite the view, isn't it. Low Town might not look like much when all around you, but it does have a kind of...mural quality to it from all the way up here. But compared to this,” as he spoke, Ramiel walked across the well-kept grass and stood the gate, looking up beyond the spiked wrought iron tips and at what looked to him, more like a miniature fortress than a manor. Compared to the estates that the two had passed along their way to this particular landing, their painted wooden facades an expression of audacious wealth, the heavy brick, rectangular windows with woven metal reinforced frames and hulking front door seemed to have been carved out of the imagination of someone who aspired to one day be wealthy but likely, as those often lost to lofty dreams found, never actually became that. It towered over all three of them, the sun partially obscured by a grand circular spire that stood out against the sky beyond the brick rampart like walls that comprised the manor's primary structures, casting a long shadow just beyond where Ramiel now stood. “Adelion sent us,” retrieving the contract from his pouch, Ramiel held it out for Sigurd's verification.


Sigurd had nearly leapt out of his skin when Ramiel first spoke and, had he been even slightly more startled, would have soon tested the impact of a sudden plunge over the wall. He wheeled around suddenly, his house slippers kicking up a cloud of dust that hung around his mismatched socks. Frazzled as he may have been, a long life lead as an aristocrat hurriedly cast those trained and familiar mannerisms around him like a reassuring blanket, forcing his wild-eyed visage into one that was, as he imagined it, one more fitting a lord of his stature, “Adelion, was it? About time he sent,” Sigurd cast an appraising gaze over the both of them with upturned 'nose and slightly flared nostrils as if their very presence, though necessary, was most objectionable, “well, whatever he managed to pull from the bottom of barrel or two.”


Hurrying across the path and onto the grass, house slippers flopping noisily against his heels, Sigurd barely looked at the parchment as he pushed it back toward Ramiel, bumped past him and, with the key-ring still around his neck, stooped towards the lock as he rattled the key into the keyhole, unlocked the gate and pushed it open. “Follow me,” he said, forcing the tip of his slippers beyond the gate, “Now, though the urge to steal might be welling up in your chests as you'll be working alone, I suggest you leave everything to its rightful place,” he sneered through his quivering voice. Though he'd not speak it, Sigurd hadn't stepped foot on the inner grounds since that night he'd run screaming from the manor halls. And now, facing the door chained shut, his hands shook like thin branches against the wind, the keys jingled like a wind chime. The lines in the old aristocrat's face deepened as he forced his eyes closed and took a slow breath in an attempt to steady his hands and quiet the keys that, like an eager servant at the end of a dinner course, made to whisk away the remnants of his confident facade. With some effort, Sigurd undid the lock and allowed the chains to fall to the brick pavement in a clang. The door slowly swung open on its own, revealing a dimly lit entry way beyond. Sigurd jumped to the side and out of the doorway and with both hands, gestured to the entryway. “Well, there you have it. In you go.”


Ramiel stepped over the threshold and into the considerably sized foyer of the manor. “So, are you going to show us around or,” he asked, turning back towards the clearly petrified man, “can we just start anywhere?”


“Anywhere. It doesn't matter. I'll return in the morning,” Sigurd trembled, his back now pressed against the outside wall, his eyes fixed on the seams of his slippers, “I uh...I don't have the time to show you around. Just do what you've been paid to do. And,” he looked up for a moment at Amalthea and, unable to maintain anything that resembled composure, quickly looked back down at his slippers, “uh...well, in the morning. Right here. We will meet...RIGHT...HERE.”