The Story of JCPMP

    • The Story of JCPMP

      Chapter One – The beginning

      JC was born in the frigid icelands of the Royal Continent. Born into a community of wandering gypsies, the caravan of nomads that JC would call his family made their living mining ore, often travelling miles and miles around the zones of Fort Sterling. They would collect low grade ore, smelt them at the local forges, and then sell their wares at Fort Sterling. It was a humble existence, but not short of adventure. His name, as was customary in Gypsy tradition, was an amalgam of his grandparents’ and parents’ initials. However, ever since he was a young child, JC knew he was different from the other children that grew up around him. He could always feel a source of power, deep within himself, that none of his friends could. And it was in the harsh winter of ’17 that he first witnessed an example of this mysterious power.

      JC was 8 years old, and it was one of the toughest winters of his young life. The winds howled relentlessly, and the temperature dropped to a level that even the woolly oxen that pulled the caravan’s luggage begin to die. As people started to panic, tragedy struck. A roving Heretic group, starved and freezing, made a desperate attempt to raid the caravan’s supplies, killing any innocent miners that stood in the way. JC watched from a peephole in his tent as his Gypsy Chief desperately tried to hold them off with a pickaxe, only to be cut down effortlessly by a bandit’s dagger. As his mother pulled him out of the tent and screamed at him to run, a huge bandit clothed in black rags charged towards him. That memory was seared forever in JC’s young mind as the bandit lifted his huge claymore, ready to unleash death upon him and his mother, when he spied his father unsheathe a pair of sickles a few steps behind the bandit. They looked like ordinary sickles, until his father touched their hilts. Then, they turned a deep glowing shade of green. Faster than the eye can see, his father stepped forward, and a ghostly green apparition appeared beside JC. And then, a flash! His father had astonishingly appeared alongside him, as if he teleported through the bandit and took the place of the apparition. The bandit stopped in his tracks, a look of surprise on his face as he toppled in a huge crash on the ground.

      “Hurry!” his father exclaimed, and pulled JC into his arms. He then grabbed Mother’s arm and they made a frantic dash towards the few remaining oxen. JC could see most of the gypises had fled, mounting their oxen and fleeing towards the next zone. JC hurtled on the back of the oxen, and his father picked up the reins and urged the oxen forward. As JC glanced back, he could see the dead corpses of his fallen brethren lying in the snow, blood staining the pristine white snow like red lilies on a pond. The bandits were pillaging their food stores, and ransacking the tents, choosing to ignore the fleeing gypises and turning their attention to what they came for – the valuables and food supplies.

      They lost over a dozen gypsies that day, and the community never forgot the tragedy that struck them. However, they were a hardy folk, conditioned with the steel of surviving a hundred winters, and they rebuilt. JC however, never forgot the brutality of the incident, nor the curious ability of his father.
    • Chapter Two – The Discovery of Magic Part I

      Even the long winters of the icelands have an end, and JC was a youth of fifteen when he finally experienced his first summer. The thaw began gradually, just a melting icicle here, and a pool of freshly melted snow there. But in a few weeks, half of the snow had melted, and the once white landscape was transformed into a tundra of color. JC himself had blossomed like the flowers that now dot the landscape. He was tall of stature and graceful of structure, with jet black hair and blue eyes that were the color of the sky. He had a strong chiselled face that his mother claimed resembled the Greek Gods of fable. It was no wonder that he had attracted the attention of the gypsy girls, who often followed him around in groups trying to get his attention. Beauty however, is a double edged sword, and he drew the ire and jealousy of some of the gypsy boys, most dangerous of all a boy named CUNT.

      After the Chief had died in the skirmish with the Heretics many moons ago, a new chief was elected, a brutish, cunning man who was the father of CUNT. And it was this fact that gave CU an air of entitlement. He had also inherited his father’s monstrous strength and coarse features, a fact that did little to endear himself to the gypsy girls. He had threatened and beaten most of the boys in the caravan, and inducted them into a gang he named “the Bloody Axes”. As chief of the gang, he had set his sights on making JC’s life a living hell out of jealousy and spite. And it was in this glorious summer that things came to a head.

      The longstanding tradition of the Gypsies was to have a hare hunting festival when summer had reached its peak. Youths and adults alike competed for the title of Great Huntsman, awarded to the person who had managed to catch the rare Ice Hare. Ice Hares were extremely rare, and different from the snow bunnies that are common to the icelands. They were bigger, smarter, faster, and had eyes that were the color of the most brilliant gold. As such, they fetched a fortune in the markets. They were notoriously hard to catch, and almost impossible to spot during winter due to their large network of underground snow tunnels, which was why they were only catchable in summer.

      As the sound of the mistcaller reverberated throughout their small campsite, hunters old and young rose from their positions and fanned out into the age-old hunting ground of Malwar Gorge. JC glanced at his father, who gave him a quick thumbs up before vanishing in between the rocky outcrops that dotted the zone. JC took a moment to survey the surroundings. Campfire stories often foretold that icehares liked to nap in the most precarious of places, where predators would be unable to get them. His instinctively moved towards the huge abandoned mineshaft in the center of the gorge, despite warnings from the elders that that place was too dangerous for all but the most experienced. He loped in a steady gait towards the centre, making sure to control his breathing and conserve his energy by running in long graceful strides. Once or twice he heard the crunch of snow or the rustling of the undergrowth behind him, but when he turned, only the expanse of the gorge greeted him. Nonetheless, he made good time, and by midday he had reached the centre of the gorge, which resembled a huge crater.

      Pausing to drink from a melting stream of ice cold water, he studied the mineshaft. It resembled a giant dungeon, a stairway into the pits of hell. A great endless darkness seemed to envelop the shaft, and he shuddered instinctively at the thought of going down the shaft. And yet, that would have been the perfect place for an icehare to nest at. The sheer steepness of the walls would prevent any predator from climbing down to reach them, whereas the icehare’s rough footpads were perfect for scaling near vertical cliffs. The problem was, there was also no way for JC to get down. He spied a small entrance to the mineshaft. “There must have been a stairwell of sorts for the miners long ago” he thought as he approached the entrance. As he stepped forward, he spied a great mass hurtling towards him with great force, striking his side like a battle rhino.
    • Chapter Two – The Discovery of Magic Part II

      As he tumbled to the snow, he spied a mass of red hair and the brutish features of CUNT snarling at him. His lungs cried for air, and he was sure he had shattered a rib. As he shakily stood up, CUNT sneered at him. “Well, if it aint the local pretty boy. Why, ye don’t look so pretty with blood running down ye face” he grated in a nasally voice.

      “What was that for, you brutish scum?!”

      “Oh I know ye have set ye grimy sights on EGIRL, and im smart enough to see that she has a thing for ye. Problem is lout, EGIRL is mine and mine alone!”

      “I have never had any relations with her apart from friendship!”

      “Ye lie lout! Ye are a problem, and I’ve heard the elders talk about ye as havin da potential to be the next chief. Ye?! A lousy snowflea?! Only I have what it takes ta be Chief!”

      “Oh go piss yourself you stupid ugly cunt. Your name is literally cunt you idiot”

      In a heat of rage, JC had mistakenly goaded CUNT into a dangerous rage. A murderous glint entered his eye, and in that moment, JC knew that he might have bitten off more than he could chew. CU roared like a direbear, and charged towards him, a terrifying mix of strength and speed. JC tried to roll out of the way, but winced at the pain that flared up in his ribs. CUNT thundered into him, sending him flying back. He felt his head hit a rock, and everything spun. He tried to focus his eyes, and made out a blurry image of CUNT walking towards him, a massive rock held in his hands.

      “Begone fool, and know ye crossed the wrong man!” CUNT gloated as he lifted the rock over his head. Every part of JC hurt. He felt as though he had just been trampled upon by a herd of mammoths. “Is this how I die? To the hand of a jealous, jilted brutish scum?” JC pondered as he laid in the snow, his body refusing to move. Out of desperation, he reached towards the mysterious source of power that had been long dormant within him. It felt warm, strange, and enveloped his mind like a bog of quicksand. He sank deeper into it, willing it to perform some miracle, but he was drowning, sinking deeper into the source like a frog in a whirlpool. He mentally screamed and willed himself to float to the top, and staring into the crevice of death, he remembered his father’s words long ago. “One day when you discover a mysterious power enveloping you, don’t try to fight it. Let it wash over you. Submerge yourself into it, clear your mind, and drink deep”.

      And drink deep JC did. Immediately, he felt a rush of power and his vision clear. As he grasped a handful of the source with his mind, he saw the air around him shimmer, and a thrum of power reverberated in his ears. CUNT, with the stone above his head, paused and gasped in astonishment. For where JC once lay, there was nothing but snow and rock.

      JC saw it clearly. The air around him seemed to shimmer, and in an instant, it was as if light bent around him. He looked at his arms, and realized at once that he had become invisible to the naked eye. It was as if a cloak was wrapped around him, bending all beams of light around his frame. JC gingerly stood up, hoping that he would not make any noise or trace, and moved out of the way of the stone’s potential trajectory. He was surprised to discover that he made no noise at all, nor any footprints in the snow. It was as if the great cloak around him concealed all sound, and hid any trace of him. To the eyes of CUNT, it was as if JC had phased out of existence.

      CUNT dropped the stone in shock, and proceeded to back away. There was a look of fear in his eyes, an instinctive fear of the unknown and the incomprehensible. To be fair, JC himself did not know what had just happened. He knew it was similar to what his father did with the heretic bandit all those years ago, but he had absolutely no idea on how to return to normal. He felt panic rise in his chest. To be a ghost wandering the icelands was not part of his dreams. As CUNT backed away and ran towards the camp, JC let out a breath that he had been subconsciously holding in, and willed his mind to release that handful of power he grasped. Immediately, the thrum in his ears subsided, and he shimmered back into existence. The pain came back as well, and JC slumped into the ground, wheezing.
    • Write for you. Have fun with it and don't worry about pleasing anyone w/ your story except yourself. The only other feedback I would give is to stay grounded in the lore and keep continuity in mind as you tell your story and how it interacts with the lore and other players.
    • Chapter Three – The Fundamentals of Magic

      As JC stumbled back into the Gypsy campsite, a hushed whisper fell across the gypsies gathered there. “He’s just like his father, strange magic runs in his blood..” JC heard a few hunters whisper to each other. At the centre of the camp, he spied CUNT fervently talking to a group of officers, the centre of which was CU’s father.

      “There he is! That’s the bastard that tried to kill me!” CUNT made a beeline towards JC, the rest of the hunters in tow.

      “He is lying, he’s the one that tried to kill me!” JC spat out, anger blooming like a wildfire in his chest.

      “Look at my injuries, and then look at him. You can clearly tell who is trying to kill whom!”

      “Are you calling my son a liar, you conniving weasel! CU was just too strong for weaklings like you!” thundered the Chief.

      As the rest of the Chieftain’s underlings surrounded JC menacingly, he heard an old raspy voice call out; “Begone you louts. The poor boy is clearly injured! Get your thick heads elsewhere for now, and get this boy some medical attention!”. It was the gypsy elder, an old woman nearly eighty years of age. Even though the Chieftain was the leader of the caravan, all gypsies highly respected the elder, who had guided them through many tough winters.

      As the group sourly disbanded, the Chieftain called out “We will decide the fate of this would-be murderer later. He doesn’t deserve medical attention Madam!”
      “Hush it! Oh there are his parents. You know nothing of this world, you peanut brained oaf!” the Elder countered, and shooed the Chieftain and his band of idiots away.

      JC spied his parents rushing over to him. “Oh my poor boy! Whatever happened to you? When we heard the message, we were so worried!” his mother fussed, as she ushered him into a nearby tent with a satchel of medical supplies. His father was silent, a dark stormy look in his eyes as he followed JC into the tent.

      As his mother dressed his wounds, his father spoke. “We heard that you performed a strange feat, an act of witchcraft that turned you invisible. Is this true?”, his father said quietly.

      “Father, i don’t know what happened. It was completely unintentional and CU was trying to kill me. One minute I was there, the next…” JC garbled out.

      “Hush now JC. Im not mad at you. What you did was to use an ability called “Ambush”. Only people born with magic can use abilities. It seems that the blood does run strongly in you.”


      “Listen son. Approximately one percent of the human population can use magic. We call them Heroes. Gypsies are close minded, traditional folks. They don’t understand it, and therefore they shun it, believing it to be a supernatural power that will threaten their safety. Magic isn’t that. It’s a tool, to be used for good in the right hands.”

      “Now pay attention. Most magical users are born with a unique ability that can manifest without any training. Your grandfather was born with the same ability as you, Ambush. In essence, you can erase your presence for a short span of time, approximately eight seconds. Magic runs strong in our bloodline, and I knew that sooner or later the Gypsies would find out.”

      “Wait, what do you mean? How did they not know about you or grandfather?”

      “Your mother’s side of the family are the ones who are gypsies. I settled in only when I fell in love with her”. His father rolled up his sleeve, and JC gasped. On his upper arm, was a white Fort Sterling tattoo, a white hammer surrounded by 5 stars – the mark of a hero of Fort Sterling.

      “Why didn’t you tell me?” JC gasped.

      “I didn’t want your life to be filled with blood and battle. A peaceful existence was all I wanted for our family. I had hoped that the magic would skip your generation, and you would live a simple life as a miner. Unfortunately, I knew since you were born that magic flowed strongly through your veins.”

      “What is your ability? How can I control mine? Do I have any other abilities? What was the ability you used with the pair of sickles when you killed that bandit many years ago?” Questions poured out of JC. He had so many. His understanding of the world had been turned upside down by this revelation.

      “I have a unique ability known as “Purge”. It allows me to purge some of the magical abilities of others. Your uncle had an extremely useful ability known as “Bloodlust”. As long as he was hitting an enemy, he would steal their lifeforce, and regenerate any damage that he had taken. Im sure you would have heard stories about him. He was known as the Leech of Creag Morr.”

      JC gasped. Anyone in the icelands would have heard the story of the Leech. A villain who ambushed travellers on the roads with a pair of custom made claws, he would regularly decimate whole caravans of transporters making their way in between cities. Gypsy mothers used to frighten their children with stories of the Leech, and eventually the Lord of Fort Sterling sent out his best knights to deal with the Leech. Legend has it that it took 20 knights, armed with the best steel, and a powerful ice wizard, before the Leech was finally slayed.

      “Uncle was a villain?” JC choked out.

      “Not at the start he was not. But when the mining community he joined found out about his powers, they executed his wife and children, thinking that he was a ganker and a thief. He always had a low reputation, that fool. Never tried to make friends, was rude and overbearing on all around him. Frankly speaking, when we were kids, I couldn’t stand him myself” Father uttered.

      “But he was a good man at heart, God rest his soul. The loss of his family destroyed him, and he was consumed with hatred. He became the very thing the miners accused him of, and in a fit of rage, slaughtered the entire mining camp that night. Their pickaxes were no match for the might of his bloodlust ability and the power of his rage - he killed thirty that night, even the women and children, and walked away without a single injury”.

      “But that did not quench his sense of loss, and he turned to the dark side, slaughtering any miners who came across his path. Was he wrong? Yes. But was he evil? No. His deeds were shaped by the very people he had murdered, driven down that dark path by the hands of these innocents”.

      The tent was quiet, and JC could hear flickering of the candlelight as his father sat back and pondered, a dark cloud over his eyes as he revisited those dark memories. He wondered what sort of life his father had, what those dark eyes had seen in the years before JC was born. His mother was silent as well, but JC could tell that she had heard this story before. She silently wrapped up the bandages and finished the last of the wounds.

      “Father, if I may.. I want to learn these abilities that I have, to master them”.

      “Yes, I thought you might say that. Did you know that you can learn more than one ability? Ambush was the ability you were born with, but with sufficient training and studying, you could master another ability. Your uncle, the Leech, also mastered an ability known as Retaliate, where he would be able to reflect a portion of the damage dealt to him back at his attacker. That was what made him such a formidable opponent”.

      “Now listen son, we cant stay here for long. The Chief will be out for your head now, and the Gypsies will fear you. They will fear your power, what they cannot understand. We will have to make our way to Fort Sterling, to seek out a new community, and a new way of life. But first, I need you to deliver a message to Fort Sterling for me, while I make preparations for our departure”.

      And so, within the space of a day, JC found himself riding hard for Fort Sterling, his father’s mysterious letter tucked safely within his robe, and his world entirely upended