Post by Daine on Aug 28, 2006 8:40:15 GMT -5
Name of Site: Aelgrytham
Url of Site: aelgrytham.proboards104.com/index.cgi
Banner:
Difficulty: Intermediate
History:
Activity of Site: Just opened 5 minutes ago
Extra Information: A plot is in the makings!
Url of Site: aelgrytham.proboards104.com/index.cgi
Banner:
<a href="http://aelgrytham.proboards104.com/index.cgi" Target="_blank">
<img src="http://i47.photobucket.com/albums/f184/triborochick/forest.gif" width=88 height=31 border=0 alt="Aelgrytham"></a></center>Difficulty: Intermediate
History:
Welcome to the world of Aelgrytham. Our history was shrouded in the fog of many millenia, other than I, no one knows the story, it is not romantic, nor story of great bravery or courage, it is one of impatience, death, and understanding. Sit down by the fire, or kick the resident cat off the chair over there. Just relax and I will tell...
The gods of the world were unamused. The land of Aelgrytham was empty, as well as their imagination. Many a millennium was spent thinking, yet coming up with nothing. As the gods grew more and more desperate, they cast out a few races each, all matching the personality of the god in one way, all in hope one god's race would rule them all...
Artimak the Pure, God of the Sky and Heavens, cast down the elves, a race in a spitting image of him. Graceful, regal, immortal, and deadly. Along with them, he sent down the humans, strange, and short-lived, but strong-willed.
Thre-rhu the Mysterious, God of the RaggedFang-she-cat tortie id, the place between sky and heaven, sent down the dragons and shape shifters, both strange and few.
The God of all Earthly, Grengar, sent down the dwarfs, a race meant to live within the earth, to forever mine the rich contents of the land, and the Centaurs, a peace loving race.
The God of Hell sent down the last of the races, the Werewolves, a different, vicious race, the Vampyrs, an immortal, darker race, and the Dragoons, a cross between two races, with a thick, complex personality.
All races thrived, staying in their own plentiful lands. Their population soared, as well as their hunger, so their land grew, filling the needs of their people.
The land was soon taken, every tree, every river, was needed. The races soon needed more supplies, yet there was no land, so they starved, hungry and weak. In pure desperation, a battle was started. As the war raged between the races, the gods watched in dismay, helpless as their creations fought one another.
As the races battled, they were devastated by heavy losses. Soon the races took sides, needing both supplies, and a large army. The Elven people joined the Dragons, conjoining their forces, and land. The Humans joined the Dragoons and Dwarfs, combining what was left of their meager forces. As the two armies gathered, the rest of the races, the vampyrs and werewolves fled to the marshes of the west, seemingly disappearing from Aelgrytham itself.
The centaurs left to a small island off the coast, sick of the war, death, and brutalities of the other races.
The shape shifters split, living unknown amongst the ranks of the two armies.
As the two armies met, they attacked, creatures fell at both sides. The battle raged for days, each army reduced to half its normal size, and the battlefield littered in bodies of dead friends, family, and enemies.
Neither armies could withstand such a great loss. Their followers deserted, and what was left of the army was left with a choice. Sign a treaty, assuring the deserters an actual life, as well as the people who stayed, or fight, which would surely mean a certain end to all races.
Three days were spent thinking, and recovering. The leaders met, all weary, hurt, and starving. Upon reaching a unanimous agreement, they created a treaty, and went their separate ways. The races split, each taking a small portion of land. Prospering, the races stayed within the confines of their borders, thriving, and living happily.
The gods of the world were unamused. The land of Aelgrytham was empty, as well as their imagination. Many a millennium was spent thinking, yet coming up with nothing. As the gods grew more and more desperate, they cast out a few races each, all matching the personality of the god in one way, all in hope one god's race would rule them all...
Artimak the Pure, God of the Sky and Heavens, cast down the elves, a race in a spitting image of him. Graceful, regal, immortal, and deadly. Along with them, he sent down the humans, strange, and short-lived, but strong-willed.
Thre-rhu the Mysterious, God of the RaggedFang-she-cat tortie id, the place between sky and heaven, sent down the dragons and shape shifters, both strange and few.
The God of all Earthly, Grengar, sent down the dwarfs, a race meant to live within the earth, to forever mine the rich contents of the land, and the Centaurs, a peace loving race.
The God of Hell sent down the last of the races, the Werewolves, a different, vicious race, the Vampyrs, an immortal, darker race, and the Dragoons, a cross between two races, with a thick, complex personality.
All races thrived, staying in their own plentiful lands. Their population soared, as well as their hunger, so their land grew, filling the needs of their people.
The land was soon taken, every tree, every river, was needed. The races soon needed more supplies, yet there was no land, so they starved, hungry and weak. In pure desperation, a battle was started. As the war raged between the races, the gods watched in dismay, helpless as their creations fought one another.
As the races battled, they were devastated by heavy losses. Soon the races took sides, needing both supplies, and a large army. The Elven people joined the Dragons, conjoining their forces, and land. The Humans joined the Dragoons and Dwarfs, combining what was left of their meager forces. As the two armies gathered, the rest of the races, the vampyrs and werewolves fled to the marshes of the west, seemingly disappearing from Aelgrytham itself.
The centaurs left to a small island off the coast, sick of the war, death, and brutalities of the other races.
The shape shifters split, living unknown amongst the ranks of the two armies.
As the two armies met, they attacked, creatures fell at both sides. The battle raged for days, each army reduced to half its normal size, and the battlefield littered in bodies of dead friends, family, and enemies.
Neither armies could withstand such a great loss. Their followers deserted, and what was left of the army was left with a choice. Sign a treaty, assuring the deserters an actual life, as well as the people who stayed, or fight, which would surely mean a certain end to all races.
Three days were spent thinking, and recovering. The leaders met, all weary, hurt, and starving. Upon reaching a unanimous agreement, they created a treaty, and went their separate ways. The races split, each taking a small portion of land. Prospering, the races stayed within the confines of their borders, thriving, and living happily.
Until now...
Activity of Site: Just opened 5 minutes ago
Extra Information: A plot is in the makings!