Post by sandragon13 on Oct 31, 2006 0:03:24 GMT -5
In honor of the best holiday of the year, today we celebrate with a Halloween Promo! This promo has a twist though, a trick if you will, as explained below.
All the members of Pharaohguy’s Desert Land stand clustered before a wrought-iron fence, huddled against the chill. It is sunset, dusk settling over the world as the sun is swallowed by the dark horizon. A gusty breeze swirls the dry leaves around your feet, whirling about in roving spirals, captured in stark orange and gold light. High above the full moon rises, veiled slightly by dark clouds. An unknown power has drawn you all here, guised as you are in forms ghoulish and dark, to this lone house atop the hill. From this high vantage point you can see the lights of town winking yellow through the trees, a pale mist flowing over lawns and down shadowy streets. Despite the late hour you have all assembled here, climbing the steep slope to this dead-end road at the edge of a bleak forest. Beyond the tangle of cold iron and chipped stone lies an overgrown lawn dotted with dead trees, creaking in the frigid wind.
The lone streetlight on the far side of the road casts an amber glow, a halo of light spreading across the cracked pavement like an oasis. A crow, black eyes reflecting the tawny radiance of the streetlight, perches high on a crooked branch, leering down on this assemblage of ghosts and goblins. Suddenly a sharp creak rips through the chilly air, the report as the iron gates before you hinge inward and hit the fence beyond with a crash.
A rough-hewn stone path extends beyond the gate and up to the house, a modest distance made laborious by the nature of the night. Weeds stick up through the cracks, withering in the night air. As if by some unheard, unseen signal, the group begins moving through the pass and into the windswept yard. The winding path seems miles long, and finally you all arrive at the end, where the path terminates at the porch, a rugged wooden structure before the dark door. As if on cue, numerous candles burst alight inside the dirty windows, casting an evil flickering light on the porch. A pair of jack-o-lanterns, moments before mere lumps in the gloom, blaze to life, embers leaping from their jagged, gaping maws. Shadows seem to dance across the wood, the stone, and the lawn beyond. One by one you ascend the creaking steps, the aged planks groaning of your assembled weight. Before you stands the door, ornately carved of some dark wood, and adorned with a large brass knocker. The one known as Kris, hidden in the guise of Scream, swallows hard and reaches a hand slowly forward, grasping the cold metal knocker, and raps it three times. The metallic cacophony seems to echo for miles, sharp reverberations rebounding off of trees and walls. Behind the door the sound ricochets, dulls, and ceases, leaving a crushing silence in its place. A long moment passes…all that can be heard is the rattle of the leaves, moaning of the trees, and the last echoes of the clanging metal dying away. The group sighs as one, realizing this endeavor has been in vain. You turn away, back towards the lawn, when you hear it: the distinct click of a doorknob being turned.
As if by some otherworldly power the heavy wooden door opens wide, flying inward with a boom. Inside the house you can see dozens of melting wax candles, shadows dancing in the firelight. Heavy oaken furniture lies around the room. However, you realize with a start what has drawn you here….Looking up from the ground you can distinguish a tall, dark figure standing in the doorway, wreathed from behind by the flickering candlelight. The figure seems far taller and leaner than a human being, but a dark, tattered cloak and hood mask its identity. All of the members, costumed, gasp in unison. A voice begins to speak, but not audibly…the words are coming from within your own mind.
“Welcome, travelers, to my home. You have come here, no doubt, in search of the “treats” that you so crave. I have what you seek, but it not such a cut-and-dry matter. I shall reward you for your bravery, but in the most uncommon of manners. Step forward, one by one, and receive your prize.” The hooded figure turns, seemingly without moving its legs, and reveals a heavy wooden table, laden with gifts wrapped in dark paper. The presents vary in shape and size, and no two are the same. From what you can see, you can discern:
A bulbous sphere, a roundish object with a pointed end, a flat circle, a small roundish object with a flat bottom, a tablet-shaped object with radiating bumps, a small curved object with a tapered end, a cylinder with flat ends, a small cube, a flat, round object with domed surfaces, a box the size of a Poptarts container, a long, thin object with a wide end, a lumpy object with a long cylindrical end, a thin, flat object the size of a TV remote, a bumpy object with two peaks and flat sides, a smallish object that stands upright, and a perfectly round sphere.
“Come forward, young travelers, and choose your gift. Once an object is chosen, it is gone, for of each, there is only one. However, note that these carry a curse: Once you choose your prize, you are destined to it, it can never be given away or tossed. Whatever you choose must stay with you until you use it up. Happy Halloween.” With that, the cloaked figure steps aside, and allows the first brave soul forward to claim their reward.
I'll take the roundish object with the pointed end
-sandragon13
All the members of Pharaohguy’s Desert Land stand clustered before a wrought-iron fence, huddled against the chill. It is sunset, dusk settling over the world as the sun is swallowed by the dark horizon. A gusty breeze swirls the dry leaves around your feet, whirling about in roving spirals, captured in stark orange and gold light. High above the full moon rises, veiled slightly by dark clouds. An unknown power has drawn you all here, guised as you are in forms ghoulish and dark, to this lone house atop the hill. From this high vantage point you can see the lights of town winking yellow through the trees, a pale mist flowing over lawns and down shadowy streets. Despite the late hour you have all assembled here, climbing the steep slope to this dead-end road at the edge of a bleak forest. Beyond the tangle of cold iron and chipped stone lies an overgrown lawn dotted with dead trees, creaking in the frigid wind.
The lone streetlight on the far side of the road casts an amber glow, a halo of light spreading across the cracked pavement like an oasis. A crow, black eyes reflecting the tawny radiance of the streetlight, perches high on a crooked branch, leering down on this assemblage of ghosts and goblins. Suddenly a sharp creak rips through the chilly air, the report as the iron gates before you hinge inward and hit the fence beyond with a crash.
A rough-hewn stone path extends beyond the gate and up to the house, a modest distance made laborious by the nature of the night. Weeds stick up through the cracks, withering in the night air. As if by some unheard, unseen signal, the group begins moving through the pass and into the windswept yard. The winding path seems miles long, and finally you all arrive at the end, where the path terminates at the porch, a rugged wooden structure before the dark door. As if on cue, numerous candles burst alight inside the dirty windows, casting an evil flickering light on the porch. A pair of jack-o-lanterns, moments before mere lumps in the gloom, blaze to life, embers leaping from their jagged, gaping maws. Shadows seem to dance across the wood, the stone, and the lawn beyond. One by one you ascend the creaking steps, the aged planks groaning of your assembled weight. Before you stands the door, ornately carved of some dark wood, and adorned with a large brass knocker. The one known as Kris, hidden in the guise of Scream, swallows hard and reaches a hand slowly forward, grasping the cold metal knocker, and raps it three times. The metallic cacophony seems to echo for miles, sharp reverberations rebounding off of trees and walls. Behind the door the sound ricochets, dulls, and ceases, leaving a crushing silence in its place. A long moment passes…all that can be heard is the rattle of the leaves, moaning of the trees, and the last echoes of the clanging metal dying away. The group sighs as one, realizing this endeavor has been in vain. You turn away, back towards the lawn, when you hear it: the distinct click of a doorknob being turned.
As if by some otherworldly power the heavy wooden door opens wide, flying inward with a boom. Inside the house you can see dozens of melting wax candles, shadows dancing in the firelight. Heavy oaken furniture lies around the room. However, you realize with a start what has drawn you here….Looking up from the ground you can distinguish a tall, dark figure standing in the doorway, wreathed from behind by the flickering candlelight. The figure seems far taller and leaner than a human being, but a dark, tattered cloak and hood mask its identity. All of the members, costumed, gasp in unison. A voice begins to speak, but not audibly…the words are coming from within your own mind.
“Welcome, travelers, to my home. You have come here, no doubt, in search of the “treats” that you so crave. I have what you seek, but it not such a cut-and-dry matter. I shall reward you for your bravery, but in the most uncommon of manners. Step forward, one by one, and receive your prize.” The hooded figure turns, seemingly without moving its legs, and reveals a heavy wooden table, laden with gifts wrapped in dark paper. The presents vary in shape and size, and no two are the same. From what you can see, you can discern:
“Come forward, young travelers, and choose your gift. Once an object is chosen, it is gone, for of each, there is only one. However, note that these carry a curse: Once you choose your prize, you are destined to it, it can never be given away or tossed. Whatever you choose must stay with you until you use it up. Happy Halloween.” With that, the cloaked figure steps aside, and allows the first brave soul forward to claim their reward.
I'll take the roundish object with the pointed end
-sandragon13