This will be a quickly paced, psionics only game that I will be running for the next few months (the goal is to be completed by Thanksgiving, but this may not come to pass.). Please apply if you are interested and can adhere to the following requirements.
* - The game would need to be at a moderate posting speed (at least once every other day, preferably more)
* - It would be mandatory for the characters to be Psionic. It would be ideal for the classes to be chosen from Dream Scarred Press's SRD and/or Website (play-testing a beta class is fine). I will probably accept your favorite 3.5 class as well (many of them need little to no conversion).
* - We will be starting at first level.
Submissions will be taken until Sept 21. The game will begin on the 24th.
The journey was exceedingly difficult to reach the butte; the lower foot hills are littered with the warrens of hostile forces. These creatures have still to be categorized, but upon their initial attack you and any other psionically sensitive defender took immediate note that their preferred targets were those that were ungifted. The few of you that were able to manifest even the most minor of abilities were able to drive off nearby assailants upon the initiation of your power.
You were harried up the switchback that granted passage to the elevated town of Jace’s Stanchion, but the attacks ended as the first obelisk came into site. These unadorned, crude pillars of mortar and rock mark the boundaries of the town, but they are found within the perimeter as well. They stand isolated in open fields as well as in pastures and within plowed acres filled with crops. They have stood here since the town’s inception and the resident’s claim no knowledge of their origin.
While friendly, there is a pall that seems to settle upon the shoulders of the townsfolk. They smile, but there is sadness in their eyes. They still laugh but when questioned on the matter, they simply shrug inexplicitly and manage to change the subject.
What is the secret within Jace’s Stanchion that none will speak of? Does fear hold their lips pressed or have they forgotten the source of their depression?