The Chosen of Creation

Game Masters

Game Information
  • Created Jul 17 '10
  • Last Post Nov 1 '10 at 4:23pm
  • Status Aborted
  • System Exalted

Game Description

The winds of the North blow hard in the night across the battlefield. Silence fell on the battlefield as the last barabarian fell. Faraden looks around as the barabarian at his feet lay choking on the blade through its throat. The snow is covered with bodies, the brave men and women of half a dozen villages lay dead or dying. Only a handful of the warriors remain standing, and all of them waried from the hard battle, like Faraden, his arms heavy and his body aching with promises of pain to come. The barabarians of the wyld had fought fiercely and not one of their number had been soldiers, they had been hunters, blacksmiths, potters. Any hand strong enough and brave enough to stand against the coming horde to protect their homes and their families. Faraden had answered the call all too willingly. How could he not. He wasn't born to these people, a babe found abandoned in the snow. This close to the Wyld, and the child had obviously been touched by the Wylds, they would not have been blamed to leave him, for fear of the Fae and whenever other manner of creature that might wander south from the northern borders of the world, but they took him in, and gave him a home and called him family. They had fought and won. A weak, exhausted but victorious cheer broke over the field as the survivors rejoiced. They could return to their homes and proclaim the invaders defeated. Not more villages would be lost to this horde.

A horn sounded, half heard over the cries. The cheers died away, the horn sounded again, distance, just over the hills towards the Wyld. The sounds of battle cries charging feet as a new wave wyld barabarians raise up over the hills and rushed towards the snowcovered field. Every warrior was spent as death charged towards them, for that was what every north man and woman saw approaching, they deaths. Some turned, hoping to outrun their fate, others simply dropped to their knees, either crying or silently hopeless. Faraden stared at the coming sea of barabarians, and he too saw his own death. His body protested with fatigue and cold as he took a step forward, then another and another, till his force himself to run, not away, but towards the horde. His hand reached out and pulled a sword from a fallen body and he ran. If this was his death, he would gladly meet it. Every barabarian he could kill before his fall would be one less that would fall upon his home, and the man he had come to call father. The horde roared. He tighted his clawed fingers around the hilt of his sword, and roared back.

And he exploded in light. The night turning into day, with oranges and reds, like a glorious sunrise as Faraden collided with the horde. His limbs no longer heavy, his strong restored he fell upon the horde like a blacksmith's hammer. When the last of the horde fell, the those who had not run stared in mixed fear and awe. A great wolf of orange, red and golden light loomed over battlefield, at it's feet, writhed in light, Faraden stood alone, victorious, and reborn.

Exalted, a game of gods and god-kings.

Based 10 years after the disappearance of the Scarlet Empress, the Imperial Realm is on the very edge of civil war, and many forces stand to destroy or claim creation as their own. There are rumors of another Deathlord has gained a foot hold in Creation, in it's southern regions.

A game of high adventure and drama, and only the gods know what else. The world is full of possiblities. As one of the Exalted, chosen by divine sparks to be the guardians, wardens and protectors of Creation, this will be your story.

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