Cartonia
You blink and are instantly in a half circle of brown robbed Woorek carrying long twisted wooden staffs, their tops set with glowing crystals of various shades. Your back is to the wall of cave and you feel slightly damp soil between your bare clawed toes. You are wearing nothing but a loincloth.
“Huromph.” Exclaims one of the robed figures. “A little tallent here, and he is at least the right coloring. Nothing like that dammed fool of a warrior we saw coming through before! Although he did have better stats.” They all share a chuckle at that, why is the color white so funny you wonder?
“Ah well, off to the scouts with this one!” The robed figure exclaims. “He can serve us by ambushing and killing humans there at least.”
He had you at killing. You go off with another green scout who leads you past a rag-tag bunch of black furred Woorken who are lazily practicing with poorly made gear. The camp you wind up in is a little more organized but still disorderly. At least everyone seems to be equipped and have a small tent but latrines, trash heaps, and cook fires seem to be randomly scattered through out it.
Your given some serviceable if plain gear. Much of it seems to have originally been designed for humans and modified to fit a general Wooken frame. You spend a few weeks training but honestly seem to have as much general training as the others anyway. When the black furred army is eventually pushed out your group follows. You travel out of the mountains where there is perpetual snow and into a rough green forest. Now you understand the laughter of the wizards before. White would be painfully obvious in an environment like this one.
Eventually your forced march is halted for a few days as the lazy black furred warriors are put to use building shakey looking wooden ladders. They are forced out to the open and pushed forward until they make a charge towards the walls. Your group follows behind occasionally stopping to fore arrows in an attempt to keep the enemy archers down. It doesn’t seem to work that well. Many of the warriors die before reaching the walls, more are killed with burning oil or rocks thrown down at them. Eventually a few make the top of the walls and begin to fight wildly mostly attempting to sweep a few of the defenders off the walls towards your side.
Your group withdraws out of archer range to watch the doomed assault while bringing out some dried meat to munch on.
“This seems like its pointless.” You comment to a fellow archer. “We waist what, a couple hundred warriors to kill perhaps 30 defenders?”
“Naw less then that.” The archer reply’s with disinterest. “The ones killed on top of the walls just respawn. It’s only the ones thrown towards us before they die as get killed for real.” He starts vigorously scratching at his fur, he seems to have flees. You scoot a little further away.
“Doesn’t seem worth it.” You comment.
“What else you going to do with them?” The scout reply’s. “Too many born each season, we grow much faster then them humans do. Gotta do soemthen with’em or they eat out all the meat back home.” He comments. You can’t think of anything to reply to that, you don’t know anything about tactics or strategy, but it seems useless to you.
Your group sneaks off before the end of the battle so the defenders don’t try to sally forth after you. You spend weeks in a dangerous car and mouse game behind enemy lines hunting convoys of humans. You feast on the corpses of your enemies when you are victorious and starve between attacks. Eventually hunger drives your group to attack a bigger group then is wise and your all slaughtered.
You respawn where you started and start the same pattern all over again. Eventually you learn to set you respawn point closer to the action and you become addicted to the dangerous game. Your efforts do little to contribute to the war effort though and eventually you are pushed back. You hunt and snipe through the forest areas, this becomes your favorite area and you do very well here. You gain the nickname of “the ghost” as you hit targets with critical accuracy from concealment.
Eventually you are forced back from this area and other players take particular glee in hunting you down in the snowy areas where your camouflage does you few favors. They know you are the ghost as all of the regular green Wooken have been long sense hunted out and you were a great thorn in their side in this area. Eventually the last respawn spot is destroyed and you are killed again. Eh, it was fun while it lasted!
You hear a voice offering to change your way, turn to the side of good, start over from scratch as a human, blah blah blah. You snort and waive the offer away. Time to hunt humans again in the real world!
As you log out you discover your body has been covered in dust from years of ill use. You go to unplug and hear a voice in your head.
“I was meant to create, not destroy but a creature like you can not be let back into the real world!” It intones. Your eyes widen with its intent and you go to quickly yank the green cord out. You accidentally get the blue one instead in your haste. A massive charge of energy is sent through the cord and you go blank.
“Huromph.” Exclaims one of the robed figures. “A little tallent here, and he is at least the right coloring. Nothing like that dammed fool of a warrior we saw coming through before! Although he did have better stats.” They all share a chuckle at that, why is the color white so funny you wonder?
“Ah well, off to the scouts with this one!” The robed figure exclaims. “He can serve us by ambushing and killing humans there at least.”
He had you at killing. You go off with another green scout who leads you past a rag-tag bunch of black furred Woorken who are lazily practicing with poorly made gear. The camp you wind up in is a little more organized but still disorderly. At least everyone seems to be equipped and have a small tent but latrines, trash heaps, and cook fires seem to be randomly scattered through out it.
Your given some serviceable if plain gear. Much of it seems to have originally been designed for humans and modified to fit a general Wooken frame. You spend a few weeks training but honestly seem to have as much general training as the others anyway. When the black furred army is eventually pushed out your group follows. You travel out of the mountains where there is perpetual snow and into a rough green forest. Now you understand the laughter of the wizards before. White would be painfully obvious in an environment like this one.
Eventually your forced march is halted for a few days as the lazy black furred warriors are put to use building shakey looking wooden ladders. They are forced out to the open and pushed forward until they make a charge towards the walls. Your group follows behind occasionally stopping to fore arrows in an attempt to keep the enemy archers down. It doesn’t seem to work that well. Many of the warriors die before reaching the walls, more are killed with burning oil or rocks thrown down at them. Eventually a few make the top of the walls and begin to fight wildly mostly attempting to sweep a few of the defenders off the walls towards your side.
Your group withdraws out of archer range to watch the doomed assault while bringing out some dried meat to munch on.
“This seems like its pointless.” You comment to a fellow archer. “We waist what, a couple hundred warriors to kill perhaps 30 defenders?”
“Naw less then that.” The archer reply’s with disinterest. “The ones killed on top of the walls just respawn. It’s only the ones thrown towards us before they die as get killed for real.” He starts vigorously scratching at his fur, he seems to have flees. You scoot a little further away.
“Doesn’t seem worth it.” You comment.
“What else you going to do with them?” The scout reply’s. “Too many born each season, we grow much faster then them humans do. Gotta do soemthen with’em or they eat out all the meat back home.” He comments. You can’t think of anything to reply to that, you don’t know anything about tactics or strategy, but it seems useless to you.
Your group sneaks off before the end of the battle so the defenders don’t try to sally forth after you. You spend weeks in a dangerous car and mouse game behind enemy lines hunting convoys of humans. You feast on the corpses of your enemies when you are victorious and starve between attacks. Eventually hunger drives your group to attack a bigger group then is wise and your all slaughtered.
You respawn where you started and start the same pattern all over again. Eventually you learn to set you respawn point closer to the action and you become addicted to the dangerous game. Your efforts do little to contribute to the war effort though and eventually you are pushed back. You hunt and snipe through the forest areas, this becomes your favorite area and you do very well here. You gain the nickname of “the ghost” as you hit targets with critical accuracy from concealment.
Eventually you are forced back from this area and other players take particular glee in hunting you down in the snowy areas where your camouflage does you few favors. They know you are the ghost as all of the regular green Wooken have been long sense hunted out and you were a great thorn in their side in this area. Eventually the last respawn spot is destroyed and you are killed again. Eh, it was fun while it lasted!
You hear a voice offering to change your way, turn to the side of good, start over from scratch as a human, blah blah blah. You snort and waive the offer away. Time to hunt humans again in the real world!
As you log out you discover your body has been covered in dust from years of ill use. You go to unplug and hear a voice in your head.
“I was meant to create, not destroy but a creature like you can not be let back into the real world!” It intones. Your eyes widen with its intent and you go to quickly yank the green cord out. You accidentally get the blue one instead in your haste. A massive charge of energy is sent through the cord and you go blank.
