"See the TURTLE of enormous girth!
On his shell he holds the earth.
His thought is slow but always kind;
He holds us all within his mind.
On his back all vows are made;
He sees the truth but mayn't aid.
He loves the land and loves the sea,
And even loves a child like me."
As told by Roland Deschain,
Son of Stephen,
last of the line of Eld
You awake in the dead of night covered in a thick, dark, sweat that feels like raw fear dripping from your pores. As you madly grope for the light, you feel a warm wet sensation between your legs and realize, only in the part of your brain that cares about such things, that you have just wet the bed for the first time since childhood. Shear, utter terror grips your mind, blind images darkly pass in front of you, reaching for you, gaping mouths with teeth silently scream in front of your closed eyes as you turn on the light, at the same time tipping it off the bedside table. It's light penetrates the room, and you open your eyes to a world of dancing, shadows, which make you jump instinctively in fright until you realize it's only the lamp casting the light on a swinging cord, halfway to the floor. Grasping for reality, the fear quickly abates, and you soon have no idea why you were scared in the first place. You don't even remember having a bad dream, but you do feel somewhat unnerved.
Rising from bed, you cross the floor to the small, white switch on the eastern wall. Hoping a little more light will bring some comfort to your uneasiness, you flip the switch and turn around. Your bedroom fills with a white-light, "to the Energy Saver brand lightbulbs, we say thank-ye". This thought surprises you out of what might have been left of your grogginess. It is so alien, as if someone else had put it in your mind, and yet so fundamentally familiar, it makes you feel almost like you have just been reunited with a long-lost friend or mentor.
At the same moment, you turn around and, to your utter amazement, a large Oaken door stands directly opposite you in the wall. Curiously enough, you are somehow not as surprised to see it. It's as if some part of you, buried deep down, expected it to be there. And maybe it... yes, definitely; you are absolutely sure that it was there the entire time. For whatever reason, it was hidden from you in plane sight, you just have not "seen" it until just now. Upon further inspection, you realize that the door, which you assumed to be made of darkly varnished Oak, was as hard as metal. "Ironwood", you say to yourself, unaware that you are doing so. Placing a hand on the varnished Ironwood door, you realize that you can make out a barely audible humming sound. Listening more closely you can make out what you can only assume to be chugging noises from some large machine on it's last legs and in desperate need of a lube job coming from just on the other side.
Taking your ear from the surface of the door, you notice large, blocky letters carved haphazardly into the face, each about a half-inch deep and roughly hewn with what looks like a very dull chisel, "Greenhill" and in well-defined, yellow letters printed neatly on the top frame of the door, you can read clearly, "Property of Sombra Corporation, Authorized Personnel Only". Further inspection reveals nothing more about the door, there is no space between the door and the frame, and no keyhole.
Curious as to why this door is in your bedroom, and even more curious as to why you have never noticed it in all the years you have lived in this house, you try the knob. Finding it unlocked and turned easily enough, though like the machine behind the door, you find it needing a polish and perhaps an oil, you open the door, not knowing what you will see on the other side.
The fear is back. You suddenly remember what terrified you so badly you pissed yourself, though you would not remember it for some time, and even then, you will have long forgotten all about this night. Your efforts to struggle away from the door are futile, you try grasping the edges to prevent yourself entering, but your legs just keep carrying you numbly through the open doorway. You feel your finger nails scraping against and slipping on the hard wooden frame as your body is dragged by your own treacherous legs into the open maw.
A single chime rolls off into the distance as the door slams shut behind you...
"Ka is a wheel".
This is a campaign based in the world of the Dark Tower, a series of novels written by Stephen King. As a player, your character is a "Gunslinger" in a world that has "moved on". A Gunslinger is the real-world equivalent of a police officer, a Federal Marshal, and a Knight all rolled into one. Further details on the story will be made clear as it progresses, but I will tell you this much: This is a world of uncertainty, where not even time runs the right direction, so expect anything.
If you're unfamiliar with the world, please read at least the Wiki (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Dar...r_%28series%29
) for more information before you apply.
I'm looking for 3-5 players.