Before The Dawn [OOC]

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Raja

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Woot another classical fantasy story!!!
now to understand this code...

Now i have one little question regarding race before i poke away at my keyboard.
I like variety and humans dominate the board. With one nosferyte, human half breed.
And i can't do dwarfs because Gimli has ruined me permanently in that *love the little sucker but all dwarfs tend to be like that thanks to Tolkien damn him!!*
So im thinking of making a Nosferyte. But being the kind of Rper i am the idea of a Nosferyte, Elf Halfbreed struck me. But i felt that i should ask first about that before i get all hyped about the idea of a blood sucking Bipolar Elf roaming the nearby woods.

It's natural that Humans would dominate the cast thus far, as they are the most populous race. I'm surprised less people are willing to play Dwarves; Tolkien did mould the Dwarves of most fantasy narratives, but I don't believe that to be a bad thing. Tolkien gave the Dwarves definitive characteristics that separated them from being just 'small humans'. I also like to think that I have given them enough history unique to my setting that anyone wishing to play a Dwarf would be able to play and experiment with. Being the second-most populous race, I'm actually hopeful that at least one Dwarf will join the cast.

Elves in any form is a no-go unless you can give me a really good reason via PM. Their 'race' is actually just a series of physical alterations caused by the magic of the island they live on, so I don't think there would even be a possibility of a half-Elf. The way I see it, they actually conceive Human babies, but the island's power affects the way they are formed in the womb. I imagine if two Elves ever left Falinstađ, they would birth a Human child.

As a side note, I'm not looking for any Nosferyte halfbloods as GreatWest is already playing a great one, and I want to give them space for Lucine to grow.

I will always be willing to accept Human characters. I'm potentially looking for one fullblood Nosferyte, but it's not a necessity given Lucine's lineage. And whilst I always encourage players to play things that interest them, I do think it would be ideal to have a Dwarf in the cast. You can also PM me with any alternate race ideas for discussion.

Alright so I have a character from an RP that up and died after a week or two that I really thought would keep on. But it didn't, if it were to be okay could I just adapt him to this?

And if that is alright I have to warn you, I'm active military currently going through schooling. So although my time is crunched a lot I tend to have enough time to get at least two to three posts in in any given week. Most of the time though it'd be safe to say I can get a post in every day if I manage my time well enough but I don't want to just straight up promise you that....

So it's up to you, being the GM. If you don't want me as a liability I get that fully and take no offense.
As long as it's a thorough adaptation, go for it. It would be good for you to continue using a character that you were invested in, but do make sure to really integrate him into the world of this roleplay. I think one of the key strengths of the cast so far is how much they delved into the background and tied their character into Tyrannia. It gives them a sense of reality and belonging, which I really like. I look forward to seeing the character.

Your military duties do not concern me. In an ideal world, we would all be able to post whenever! But this is a fantasy. I will not be setting a strict posting regime; rather, the roleplay will move at a natural speed. If more people a posting quickly, it will move quickly: if it takes the majority a while to post, it will move slowly. In events where I feel it is moving too slowly I will timeskip where possible. You are more than welcome here.

This world looks so beautiful and has so much potential. It's been a very long time since I role played, especially on this site its changed so much! And no i'm not super old just trying to get back my glory days or anything (Kind of am in a way...but not old still) but, the wheels in my dusty brain are turning for this thread and for a paper I am writing on role playing in general and it would be great to join you all.
Thank you so much! I went a long time without roleplaying, too. I came back to it a few months ago. You may feel a little rusty at first, but I'm sure that you will settle right back in easily. I'm sort of in a similar position in that I have not GM'd in a relatively long time, but it feels good to be back on the horse.

Just thought to put an update on Damian's spellbook. His support spell tree is more or less finished. His attack spell tree still needs work but as far as the RP is concerned it's more than enough to start. As I said before, feedback is always welcome!
I only had time to skim over it as writing these responses took longer than I expected, and I have a train to catch! However it is looking really good and I'm both thrilled and flattered by how much energy and thought you are putting into the roleplay. Thank you and well done! What tier do you imagine Damian will reach during the RP?
 
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Stuffies12

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It really depends on how long the adventure is! I highly doubt Damian would get into the really high tier spells. We'll just have to see.
 
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Ythania

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Your prayers are answered, provided you don't mind something which follows the characteristics of Tolkien. I am currently away from a computer, but will be able to pull together a Fusius-worshipping, Nosferyte-hunting, racist, aggressive, brutal and yet oddly pathos-inducing wreck of a dwarf, complete with a hopefully convincing Scots accent (Would be a shame if I couldn't manage it, what with a strong Scottish heritage...) Sometime next Sunday.

I don't have a name for her yet, but you can call her Marmite, 'cause you're going to love her or hate her. There is no in between. Whilst we wait, though, I'd like the stances on racism between the sentient species and the correct term for someone who worships Fusius. Fusite? Fusies? A Fusiuser?

Also, some beautilly coarse names for the other races and religious beliefs would be much appreciated. I want to begin adding colour to my dwarf's dialogue. Perhaps some native swear words? Can we invent our own expletives?
 
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Silvir

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Though prefer mostly action oriented ones.
Fantasy, Scifi, Magical, horror, Furry or bits and mixes ^^
Wow then there will be two Dwarfs joining in this. Since i for some reason started working on a Dwarf gal to. O_O
 
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Navi Jay

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  • BIRTHNAME:
    Feyre Rathisa Halleck
    Pronunciation: Feyre(Fay-Ruh)
    OTHER NAMES:
    Fey(Family) Rath(Client name)


    AGE:
    19 years of age


    GENDER:
    Female


    RACE:
    Human



    BIRTHPLACE:
    Amor, Amorynthia


    RELIGION:
    Adilah. Feyre came into this religion on her own, her immediate family is somewhat divided on the various religions.
[TABS]
Almost 20 years ago,Alistair Halleck a poor young man, born and raised in The Shambles of the great city of Amor, needed money to support his sickly father and aging mother. So the poor man traveled far from home to work for the rich merchant Lord Rathisa on his estate deep within in the inner circle of the city, as a gardener and stable hand. It was there in the rose garden of the estate some months after he arrived, he met the most beautiful maiden he’d ever seen. He would tell anyone whom asked that she was the fairest maiden of the realm, and indeed many agreed.

The graceful beauty that had captured Alistar’s heart was the Merchant’s youngest daughter, Ella. She was at the tender age of 17 and was about to undergo her first season in Amor high society. Every noble man and his mother knew of Ella’s captivating beauty, she had long light blonde hair and sun kissed skin. A very unusual trait for humans, as well as the Rathisa clan who are famously known for their coppery deep red hair and almost translucent skin. Ella’s season hadn’t even begun and she had dozens of offers from the richest families around and her father couldn’t have been prouder.

Of course young Ella had no say in the matter, nor did she care. For a long time she knew that her very life was in the hands of her father and her father was riding on her making a good marriage. Times were tough, even in Amorythia and if you did not have a good word in with the king it was hard to make any trade even in a long standing trading clan of Rathisa. In other words, the money was running out and Ella’s other sisters had married beneath they're standing and the one son her mother was able to have, was lame and could not make a suitable heir.

As her season grew closer Ella fell into a deep depression and that day in the garden she had a beautiful rose in her hand but was unable to feel anything about it or anything else for that matter. So she took the rose and pressed the thorn into her wrist drawing blood curious to see if the feeling of pain could take away the emptiness even just for a minute. Alistair saw was she was doing and snatched the rose from her hand then took the cleanest rag on him and pressed against the wound. Their eyes met…and it was almost as if the gods themselves unleashed an unconditional true love, the kind of love you only experience once in a lifetime.

Five months later when it was time for Ella’s season, her family discovered that she had been with child for two months prior. Ella would not give up the name of the father, nor did the family really care. As far as they were concerned Ella was their only chance at redemption, and now it they ruined. Then, Lord Rathisa hatched a brilliant plan. He had been discussing a potential marriage with a fabulously wealthy Duchess of Gard for the hand of her son The Young Duke of Gard. It was perfect, absolutely perfect so for the remainder of Ella’s pregnancy she was locked in a high tower deep in his forest property and when she gave birth they would leave it there to die and she would marry the Young Duke soon after.

So for the next seven months, Ella stayed in that tower the only time she could see her beloved Alistair was when he could bribe one of the maids to let him bring her meals and laundry. It was within that time that Ella hatched a plan of her own. She bribed the crocked midwife her father had hired to, instead of delivering her baby and dumping it in the woods, to take it to Alistair who would raise it as magic that was their love. So Ella gave birth with her father and mother present to a beautiful baby girl who looked like the spitting image of a member of the Rathisa Clan; straight red coppery hair, translucent skin, and her grandfather’s electric green eyes. Ella only held the baby for a moment before she was ripped away by the midwife but Ella had just enough time to slip a piece of paper in the soft blanket. The baby was given to Alistair who had quit his job as soon as it was known that Ella would soon give birth, then he and his daughter escaped in the dead of night back to The Shambles to his parents shack. It was then he finally looked at the slip of paper and he knew it was his loves handwriting,

“My love, please name her Feyre.”

The first six years of Feyre’s life were great at least for her. She didn’t care that she was growing up in the slums of Amor her family was living on the edge all the time but she still smiled no the least, she had no idea that she was even related to the Rathisa clan just that her middle name was such. When word that the clan had regained its status and their trades were everywhere in the country,that the Lord Rathisa was rolling in gold and his youngest daughter had given birth to the future heir of the clan, she didn’t understand why her Daddy locked himself in their barn for three days.

A few weeks later, sailors and merchants came in carriages and carts to their depressing market place looking any able men to unload a massive shipment of Rathisa boats, and were paying three gold pieces a day. To the people of The Shambles, that was money to buy enough rotting food for two weeks and Feyre had never seen a gold piece in her life. She had been with her father in the market on that day and despite her best efforts her father had no interest in joining the other men and wanted to leave the market right then and there. She didn’t understand. He went hungry last night and the night before last just to feed her and her grandmother, why didn’t he want this?

So Feyre in her six year old mentality thought, “If Daddy won’t work for the gold, then I will!” And as soon as she got the chance she let go of her daddy’s hand and ran into the crowd to find whoever was in charge. She could hear the faint yells of her father in the background but she had to get those gold pieces. She found one of the carts with men laughing with bottles of something that she’d seen her grandfather drink out of before but it never made her grandfather laugh, it’d just make him sadder and meaner then he’d fall asleep soon after. The men were dressed so beautifully and for a moment Feyre was mesmerized by the shinny metal around their necks.

She then pulled on one of the men’s soft cloaks, they turned and laughed at the sight of her, “Can I help you?” the man said with a slight slur. In that moment she almost lost all of her nerve but she mustered up her deepest most grownup sounding voice, even putting on a slight accent, “I need to speak to whomever is in charge.” The man’s eyes slightly widened at her dialect, it was her grandmother who taught her proper grammar. Her saying was, "Just because we are poor physically, does not mean we should be more mentally." The men giggled and pointed to a man in front the taking names of workers in a dark red cloak. “Thank you.” She then spun on her heel and tapped the man on the shoulder.

Slowly, the man turned around with heavy support on a cane Feyre didn’t notice earlier. She stared at the twisted look of his left leg, it was severely deformed. Her eyes traveled up to the man’s face and she took in a sharp breath. He looked exactly like her. Same straight red hair, yet his was up in a tight bun, deathly pale skin, and vibrant green eyes. He even had a pendent that looked similar to the gold one on her choker. It seemed like he noticed it too and stared at her face, but more so her neck. “Uh..I-I need work sir. I am as a-“ She was cut off as her father swooped her up into his arms and started back for home. The man followed calling after them. He did not make it very far before collapsing because of his leg, his face twisted in pain. Feyre somehow broke free from her father and ran back to the man grasping his hand, her face etched with concern,
“Are you ok?” Her father came up behind her looking very worried. “Fey we have to get out of here now.” He gripped her arm trying to drag her away, “But he…” “He will be fine.” The man gripped her arm and looked up at her father, “Al…Alistair? What..what happened to you?”

He never replied. Alistair swopped Feyre up and took off into the crowd, brought her home screaming. That next day, the same men came to their home, and beat her father near death, and permanently crippled him, he never found decent work after that. Then her grandfather died, and her father took to the drink soon after. He was even meaner than her grandfather ever been, called her all sorts of horrible names, blaming her for everything bad in her life and she did not even know why.

Someone had to keep the family above water, and her grandmother took to selling potions and charms to ignorant housewives and young school girls promising them beauty, love, and happiness at the cost of a little suffering. All she did was mix together enough tonics and water then a little magic enough to make them vomit profusely and enter a hallucinogenic state.

Soon after her 10th birthday, her father left, hopped on a boat and never returned, that same year she had her accident. She and her grandmother were starving, and the potions weren’t selling. Feyre did what she had to do,There were some neighborhood teenagers who would sneak into the homes of the rich and steal a trinket that wouldn’t be missed then sell it to shady merchants and spilt the earnings amongst themselves. Those boys were horrible and never took on anybody new, but somehow Feyre convinced them that if they took her on a job, she would use magic to take something so expensive that they would roll in enough bread for a lifetime. The six left in the cover of darkness and traveled to the inner circle of Amor to the estate of some man of the kings court who had a goblet made of pure silver and gold, just sitting in a case, unused. She managed a spell that allowed her to walk through a window into the study, where they said the goblet was. She lifted the glass on its magnificent case, she wrapped a dirty hand around its unbelievably shininess surface shivering at it's cold touch when a door opened and she heard a shrill gasp. "A burgler!?" She spun around to see whom she assumed was the lady of the house, "I am so sorry ma'am here.." She stepped forward and the lady shrieked, "Stay away you urchin! Humfry sick em!" A massive German Shepard came from behind her and bared its teeth letting out a fierce growl.


Feyre spun around and took off towards the back of the study towards the window and lifted it knowing full and well that she could not manage the spell again under this much stress and the dog followed after. The boys were gone from the bushes and Feyre was left alone being chased after by the animal, she managed to make it into the woods before the dog jumped her and tore into her ankle, she could of swore she heard a bone snap as she let out a bloody scream. She swong the goblet on the dogs head a few times until the beast let go. She did not know how she did it but she transported herself back to the market place of the Shambles. She could only lay there bleeding as she waited for the boys to get back. In her weakened state the boys did not have too much trouble beating her until she loosened her grip on the goblet and then stole it from her. Eventually her grandmother found her and even with all the magic her she used, the ankle never healed right.

Something happened to Feyre after that, she fell into herself. No longer did she wear a smile on her face walking through the poverty stricken neighborhood, the faith and love that she had for her father, her grandfather faded away and all the good times she remembered of them were overwhelmed by the seething rage she had for all the times they called her worthless, bastard, cursed and many many more. They laid in bed, too drunk to sit up as her poor grandmother uses her gifts to keep them alive and they took that money and wasted it on cheap hooch just like those boys did to her when they beat her and took the goblet, that woman who sent her dog after her even when she apologized and tried to return said goblet resulting in her ruined ankle.

People lie, they judge, they care about no one but themselves and Feyre swore that no one would ever hurt her or her grandmother again. She had some hunters teach her the basics of the bow and trained relentlessly with a retired general who was ruined by King Valdez and whom lived in the hut next to hers. She hunted for her and her grandmother, she beat up the group of boys, disbanding they're so called troupe of thieves. She took their clients as well, she only stole a few times throughout her adolescence and always from the ungrateful rich. She took just enough to save up to get out of The Shambles and bought a cabin in her grandmothers favorite part of the woods outside of Amor.

They were not at the cabin for long before Feyre began to feel restless. The urge to leave was almost overwhelming, they had made it out of the Shambles, she and her grandmother could live peacefully. Her grandmother was most content with practicing her magic and selling good spells and potions to the middle classed people who lived a few miles from their cabin. Feyre was not sure what she was supposed to do though. She had the gift of magic but was horrid at it. She could barely form the most basic of tonics let alone conjure spells.

So she left, in search of her purpose. Her grandmother did not blame her nor was she upset when she left, she supported Feyre in anything and almost everything. Feyre found herself accepting jobs from the rich and troubled. Someone stole something from them she got it back. Someone threatening them she stopped said threat. She even joined a few groups on their quests when they were in need of extra muscle or guided in certain areas. She never assisted in anything that was not of good intentions, it was against her code and very nature. Feyre was content with this lifestyle, visiting Amorynthia to see her grandmother every once in awhile then seeking adventure and helping people all the rest of the time. She still had that ache however but she ignored it. That was until the letter from King Valdez arrived. [/tabs]
 
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FrostedCaramel

God's in His Heaven, All's Right With the World.
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Alright well. I was literally on the last few parts of my characters history. And I hit something which sent me back a page, and I lost everything.

Everything.

I don't even know if I can make it close to what I just spent three hours on. Fuck.
 

FrostedCaramel

God's in His Heaven, All's Right With the World.
Invitation Status
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per day, 1-3 posts per week
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Whenever you're asleep, thanks time zones.
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Male, Female
Genres
Sci-Fi, Modern, and Horror.



  • BIRTHNAME:
    Ansley Norcott

    OTHER NAMES:
    None, he prefers to go by his first name.

    AGE:
    27

    GENDER:
    Male

    RACE:
    Human

    BIRTHPLACE:
    Amor, Amorynthia

    RELIGION:
    Destinite


  • HEIGHT:
    6' 1/2"

    WEIGHT:
    186 pounds


    APPEARANCE:
    Ansley Norcott

  • PERSONALITY:
    Ansley is a boisterous man, even on the battlefield it is said that his yells and deep laughter can be heard over that of battle, which is likely to be followed by the sickening crunch of the poor soul caught on the receiving end of his maul. When he isn't engaged in combat he is the kind of man to be found at the local inn quickly running dry the stores of beer and fresh meat, much to the dismay of the poor innkeeper unlucky enough to provide for him. Yet Ansley sees no problem with the way he goes about his life, for in his eyes, what he truly believes is that it is all preordained for him. Every battle won, every pint of ale downed, every single moment was planned out for Ansley when time itself began. But one day, when Destina reveals to Ansley his true fate, he will gladly follow it.

    SKILLS, STRENGTHS & TALENTS:
    Talented with the maul, Ansley's fighting style comes off almost as showmanship. His greatest strength does not come directly from the maul itself but from the fact that due to the many restrictions the maul impedes on Ansley's speed and ability to counter blows he has come to learn to read an opponents movements and reactions. This is what Ansley relies on most in combat, his ability to see an attack before it is manifested and as such counter appropriately, leading to victory with one short blow.

    WEAKNESSES & DRAWBACKS:
    Although Ansley's maul is a huge intimidation tool on the battlefield to most human opponents, it is also a crutch. The massive size of the maul makes it unwieldy at times, and impractical indoors. The shear amount of strength needed to get the maul moving makes for a slow wind up to most strikes Ansley takes, which leaves him vulnerable in the opening seconds of each strike as well as at the end when Ansley must reign in the massive maul of its momentum. On top of all this Ansley is forced to wear minimal armor in order to maximize movement and thus torque that he can put into each strike, which is then compounded by the weight of the maul itself into a devastating blow. However this leaves much of Ansley's body extremely vulnerable to attack.



  • ATTIRE:
    Ansley wears what most would consider to be an unfinished set of plate armor, and their assumption would indeed be correct. On his shoulders he wears three-tiered steel spaulders, that are hewed in a rugged bronze. On his forearms he wears a vambrace, foregoing the bulky gauntlets in order to better grip his maul, which leaves his hands and part of his wrists open to attack. The gauntlets are the same bronze as the spaulders. On his legs he wears a steel poleyn plate which joins near seamlessly into his schynbald armor plating that provides protection only for the front of his lower leg. HIs final pieces to his armor are his breastplate, which covers only his sterum and shoulders and three leather belts that are lined in steel around his abdomen. Ansleys armor gives up protection in favor of speed and ease of movement in order to allow Ansley the ability to twist and turn better in turn putting more toque on his Maul which makes a greater hit. Under all of this is his brown pants, and tan long sleeve shirt along with a long and tattered tan scarf he wears around his neck.

    WEAPONS:
    Ansley wields a massive two handed maul. The shaft is just over a meter in length of solid oak, and the head of the maul is solid steel. Fashioned in the shape of an hourglass but instead of the curved edges the mauls head is more straight-edged.

    TOOLS:
    A simple fishing kit and cooking kit that he carries along in a small rucksack.

    PERSONAL ITEMS:
    A leather bladder that is normally filled with mead or some other alcoholic beverage. Other than that Ansley travels light, carrying only a small bedroll and his ruck.


  • Born a bastard to one Barthel Freelyn; a well-off glass merchant; and his mother a well-known server at a local in located just a short walk from Mr. Freelyn's central warehouse, Isabelle Norcott. Being as his father did not want to recognize an illegitimate son Ansley was given his mothers surname of Norcott. And then the two were left out to dry by Mr. Freelyn who cut all ties with Isabelle soon after the birth. Left to raise Ansley on her own, with a job that paid just barely enough to keep herself fed, Isabelle was forced to work extra. Which left Ansley to be cared for by an Abbey not far down the road full of Sisters that worshiped Destina.

    __________________
    "ANSLEY! WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT KING OF THE HILL!" came Isabelle's voice from the bottom of the hill. In her arms she cradled a younger boy, as blood oozed from a jagged cut on his forehead. "Get down here this instant!" she yelled to her son, a tone of anger present. But Ansley paid no mind, for he was King, and no one could command a King.

    "But Ma! None of the other games are fun! They're all too easy for me!" he yelled down defiantly. As if spurred on by his defiance three boys printed past Isabelle and up the hill. The first was met head on by Ansley, only six years old, who let out a guttural roar as he landed a fist in the boys stomach, instantly toppling him over as he gasped for breath. Turning to the next of the remaining boys he began his charge "GET OFF MY HILL! I'M THE KI--" his speech was cut short as there was a twanging pain as his ear was lifted away from his head, threatening to give loose at any second.

    "Come now your Highness." Isabelle said as she grabbed Ansleys wrist tighter than any vice. "You're playtime is over. It's time for your duties." she said, the tone was dead serious and her eyes were furious. Ansley quickly averted his gaze as he squirmed in her grip. "Ow ma, it hurts!"
    __________________
    The drop had been a bit farther than Ansley had expected, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. As he rose to his feet he looked back up at the Abbey's fence and was met by none other than Sister Abbigail's voice. "Mr. Norcott! If you think you are going to sneak out of these Holy teachings of Destina you are sorely mistaken! You're still but a child, only ten years old!" she stated as she began her way down the Abbey's stairs as fast as her old and ailing body would allow.

    "But Sister." Ansley said in rebuttal, "If what I have learned is true, than everything that happens has been destined to happen, since the beginning of time. Even this right here and right now." he stated, slightly proud as the Sisters face began to flush.

    "Listen here boy, you don't know the lick of it. Go run along, see what good it does you." she said sadly. In her eyes all Ansley saw was sadness and pain. He turned and ran, tears welling in his eyes as he tried to forgot Sister Abbigails eyes.
    __________________
    "Come my love, let's go out. It's a beautiful night. The harvest is upon us and the festival will be at it's peak soon." a mans voice pleaded. "I'm not sure Gerald, Ansley is in and I need to keep on eye on him, he's always getting in to trouble you know." Isabelle said to him.

    Ansley lay motionless in his bed listening to the conversation, only 11 and too young to understand it's implications. "It'll be fine, it's just a few hours Isabelle." Gerald pleaded. "Oh I'm not to su--" her sentence was cut off with a shriek of laughter and a hint of pleasure. Suddenly there was the sound of a chair moving. "Come now it's almost time." the man said once more. "Fine, but let's make this quick. I have to be here for Ansley." Isabelle said reluctantly.

    "I'm sure he can wait the night." the man urged. The last thing Ansley heard was the door shutting to his apartment, then there was only silence.
    __________________
    "I will not have it!" an eighteen year old Ansley yelled to his mother. "I won't accept that you are marrying!" he said stubbornly. His mother sat still as could be in a chair at the dinner table. Slowly she put her glass down and wiped her mouth.

    "Now Ansley, whether you like it or not I am going to marry Gerald. He is a fantastic man, and he said that he'll raise you right. BE here for you unlike your father." she tried to hold back the tears as she watched Ansley's eyes build with rage.

    "FINE GET MARRIED, BUT I SURE AS HELL WON'T BE THERE FOR THE WEDDING!" he yelled as he stood from the table and ran for the door. Grabbing a green hood from the pegs at the door he swung the door open and bounded down the stairs, two or three at a time. At the bottom he looked back up, all he could hear was his mothers sobbing from the still open door to the apartment.
    _________________
    "Fuck oof" the man replied, his breath wreaked of alcohol and it was obvious by his motions he was very far gone. "I found the girl so she's mine, go get yer own!" he said to Ansley pointing an incredulous finger at him. Behind the man lay a girl, Ansley couldn't imagine she was any older than seventeen. Her blouse was torn open and she clutched her chest as she lay bloodied in the mud.

    The sky seemed to groan as the rain fell all around them, soaking Ansley and the two strangers to the bone. "Now I'll give you one chance here old man" Ansley said calmly, "Otherwise, you won't be leaving withh all your teeth." his outside was cool and composed, but his mind was racing. He'd been in plenty of fights but this was different and he knew it. As he waited for a response the drunkard reached into his pocket and pulled a small knife.

    "Listen 'ere boy, get lost or I gut you aaand the girl. Then I'll have my way with 'er" he said as he motioned toward the girl who seemed to stalk farther away from the man as he did. "Well then I guess I have to stay." Ansley said as he raised his fists, before he could however the man was already lunging at him, arm outstretched. Ansley barely side stepped in time to see the knife going flying past his forehead, and the rest of the drunkard with it.

    As quickly as it began it was over, the drunk lost his footing in the mud and crumpled to the ground. Ansley stood for a moment waiting for the man to get back up, and yet he didn't, instead the ground around him began to darken and Ansley realized that it was blood. "The fool must have fallen on his knife..." Ansley said eyes wide with adrenaline. HE turned to the girl and offered a hand, "Let me take you home now... You're safe" he said. She looked up eyes red with tears and scratches all over he face. Reluctantly she grabbed his hand releasing her clutch on her chest and stood.

    Ansley averted his eyes with a blush and turned fully around. "Thank you..." the girl said, choking back tears. "Thank you!" she cried as she once again fell to the floor, the crying came over ehr in bouts, never-ending waves as the sudden realization of what had almost happened hit her. All Ansley could do was stand in the rain, and wait.
    __________________
    Wincing at the blow, Ansley saw his chance and counter Patricks attack with a strong swing of his sword aimed directly at Patricks side. Patrick caught the blow and parried it, but in the moment he took a single step back which was exactly what Ansley had hoped would happen. Lunging forward Ansley dropped his weight down onto the wooden practice sword sending it full force into Patrick's left knee. The wooden sword snapped in two with a sickening crack.

    For a moment Patrick stood there, stunned. And then all at once he collapsed in howling agony as the confusion gave way to the pain of a broken knee. "Ansley stands the winner" Lieutenant Froel of the Amor City Guard said from his perch above the practice grounds. A few cheers were let out among the crowd, but many of the Amor Gaurd Trainees expected nothing less and were not the least bit surprised.

    From the crowd came the Amor Guard Armorer, Master Smith Hureole, a large brutish looking man, and in his hands he hefted a formidable looking maul. "Come over 'ere kid, I think something of this nature will do you a lot better than a sword!" he said bellowing out a laughter that filled the arena grounds. Unsure of what to do, Ansley took the maul. Struggling to hold its weight.
    __________________
    Ansley's screams could be heard over the shacks of the slums of Amor. All around him was a terrible scene, his patrol had been slaughtered in an ambush in teh most desolate lower parts of the city. BUt somehow Ansley had survived.

    "AHHHHHHHHHHH!" came his scream as his maul met its mark, a weak looking man, no older than thirty five that was running at Ansley with a rusted axe. The mans head burst into pink and red pieces as the maul made its way clean through both sides. The body fell limp to the ground gushing blood from where its head once was. Ansley turned to find one of his attackers, a young man, not more than eighteen attempting to crawl away from the scene. His leg was twisted and contorted, with a sharp piece of ebony white bone sticking through his calf. No doubt a victim of Ansleys maul.

    Ansley walked calmly to the boy, stepping on his back holding him in place. The boy squirmed under his boot, "Please I beg of you, mercy!" were the words that spit from his mouth, "Mercy?!" Ansley replied angrily. "What about my men...? Where was the mercy for them?!" he said in a low tone as he motioned with his maul to the bodies that lay strewn about the road. The boy turned his head against the road, peering up towards Ansley.

    Without remorse the maul fell on the boys skull, crushing it in an instant.
    __________________
    "Summoned?" Ansley said, stunned at the guards words. "Yeah some Knight from King Valdez's guard came through. Said they needed you. Something about the fight in the slums, how took on five guys at once... They needed your talent to hold your own for something..." the guard trailed off. Giving him a push Ansley insisted, "Go on then..."

    "I can't really say they just said that your were requested at the capitol as soon as possible, that there would be someone at the gates waiting for you. Doesn't matter which gate, the Knight had said, just show up" the guard recounted.

    Ansley couldn't help but be suspicious, perhaps they were going to hang him for his lack of mercy that day two months ago. "You're not fucking with me are you?"

    "Ansley come on! I'd be a goner if I messed with yah!" the guard said, his hands up in a gesture of innocence.

Alright so I mended it as best I could since it was still fresh in my mind. Rather sure I got everything I wanted to get.

Bring the criticism as you see fit, I'm always open to grow as a writer.
 
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Raja

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Your prayers are answered, provided you don't mind something which follows the characteristics of Tolkien. I am currently away from a computer, but will be able to pull together a Fusius-worshipping, Nosferyte-hunting, racist, aggressive, brutal and yet oddly pathos-inducing wreck of a dwarf, complete with a hopefully convincing Scots accent (Would be a shame if I couldn't manage it, what with a strong Scottish heritage...) Sometime next Sunday.

I don't have a name for her yet, but you can call her Marmite, 'cause you're going to love her or hate her. There is no in between. Whilst we wait, though, I'd like the stances on racism between the sentient species and the correct term for someone who worships Fusius. Fusite? Fusies? A Fusiuser?

Also, some beautilly coarse names for the other races and religious beliefs would be much appreciated. I want to begin adding colour to my dwarf's dialogue. Perhaps some native swear words? Can we invent our own expletives?
This must be some kind of miracle! I'm really excited to see Miss Marmite.

The correct term for a worshipper of Fusius is a Fusian. I thought I had mentioned this in all of the deities descriptions, but it appears I missed some. I'll go back and work these eponyms in. Thanks for bringing it to my attention. You are more than welcome to come up with any of your own expletives, racial slurs, etc. I encourage creativity like that and I'm sure it will bring 'Marmite' to life.

I just returned from my trip, it's 2am and I've been on a coach for the past two hours, so I'll be heading to bed now. I'll read over the character applications that have been submitted when I rise from my inevitable state of comatose come the morn (or, more likely, the afternoon...) Thanks so much for the applications and I appreciate you waiting a little extra time than normal for me to recuperate and review them. Things will return to a normal schedule tomorrow (Monday).

All the best,
Raja
 
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Raja

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FrostedCaramel FrostedCaramel
Ansley is just fantastic! I'm so sorry you had to start over, but maybe the redraft gave you more focus as the sheet is really well put together. I especially loved your backstory and the way it was written, it gave me a really good insight into Ansley as a character, but was also a pleasure to read and gave me a good idea of how you write narratively. All in all, an excellent sheet. Thank you for applying.

Ansley and that maul of his are most certainly accepted. Welcome aboard!
 
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Stein

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Ugh, I thought I had this shit subscribed. Lemme get on some CS shit
 
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Jakers

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Wow! I'm very much interested in this; it's a really well-crafted and intriguing world.

Before I create an application, I have a couple of perhaps obvious questions; just want to make sure the character I have in mind is okay. X)

Firstly, is alchemy a popular thing within Tyrannia? Or do not many people dabble in it? I'm thinking of creating a somewhat eccentric human alchemist who knows a bit of weak magic here and there, but focuses on finding a 'miracle cure' or some sort of extremely powerful elixir that could get him the fame and wealth he desires.

Also, where would be a good spot for alchemical ingredients without getting shanked by bandits, cultists, or filthy elves? I was thinking Woodsend would be a good place for trading for rare ingredients, but I might've missed one obvious place due to incompetence, heh.
 
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Raja

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Wow! I'm very much interested in this; it's a really well-crafted and intriguing world.

Before I create an application, I have a couple of perhaps obvious questions; just want to make sure the character I have in mind is okay. X)

Firstly, is alchemy a popular thing within Tyrannia? Or do not many people dabble in it? I'm thinking of creating a somewhat eccentric human alchemist who knows a bit of weak magic here and there, but focuses on finding a 'miracle cure' or some sort of extremely powerful elixir that could get him the fame and wealth he desires.

Also, where would be a good spot for alchemical ingredients without getting shanked by bandits, cultists, or filthy elves? I was thinking Woodsend would be a good place for trading for rare ingredients, but I might've missed one obvious place due to incompetence, heh.
Alchemy! Now, that's interesting. No, I don't imagine it would be popular. It might be nice to have a small, almost cult-like group of Alchemists, whose main aims are to make money; obsessed with transmuting items into gold etc, with no success thus far. But you character, being the eccentric type he is, has other ideas bigger than what the sect are comfortable with. He could leave, or be exiled by them, or whatever.

That's just an idea that came to me from what you proposed; I'm sure you have plenty of your own to go on regardless! I would say that Woodsend would be a good place to get your hands on most of your ingredients; though the more arcane rarities would be more difficult to come across. The Wizard's Tower doesn't teach alchemy (Archmage Tripoldi is a stern Ahimothian and is against the idea of upsetting the balance between life and death), but I'm sure some of the faculty don't share his religious leanings. They have access to a wealth of magical resources unmatched in Tyrrania, I'm sure that, should you be able to find a willing inside agent, some kind of deal could be arranged for your more... 'specific' needs.

I'm looking forward to seeing the sheet. This sounds like it will be interesting. I will advise you, however, to pay thought towards how he will be useful on the mission; give him a purpose on the quest.

Good luck!
 
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Ythania

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The original idea was a pacifist Nosteryte, but you've enough of those already. I also dabbled in a the concept of an elven introvert, only to quickly grow bored with the prospect of a 10 paragraph post devoted to exquisite detail on exactly how the character sneezes and grows too insecure to talk or do anything.

Marmite is shaping up nicely! I can already see how she would react to Ansley; the pair of them will get along just fine, provided he can look past her rough nature. Like I said, I cannot write anything down definitively but rest assured that by the week's end I'd have it so carefully laid out that I would be able to memorise the formatting.

I'm also shivering at the imminent conflict that Marmite will bring.
 

Jakers

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  • BIRTHNAME:
    Vancerith Rythian-Mill

    OTHER NAMES:
    Vance, Alchemist of Woodsend

    AGE:
    36

    GENDER:
    Male

    RACE:
    Human

    BIRTHPLACE:
    Dunnside, Amorynthia

    RELIGION:
    Zorion


  • HEIGHT:
    5ft 7'

    WEIGHT:
    138lbs


    APPEARANCE:


  • PERSONALITY:
    Vance is a somewhat eccentric man, who prefers the indoors of his study chambers to socialising in a tavern. He carries somewhat of an ego with him, believing that one day he'll create a 'miracle cure', though years of loneliness have given him somewhat of a desire to be recognised and appreciated by others. He has quite selfish intentions, though he does have a selfless side of him that desires to help others with his alchemical creations. Around rowdy types, he's anxious and cautious, and can be pretty paranoid and suspicious of others if they start asking about his work. Whilst Vance is usually seen as weird, unlikable and egotistic by most, he can still be seen as a friendly, bright and witty man - and is more talented and able in combat than one might originally think.

    SKILLS, STRENGTHS & TALENTS:
    Vance's abilities best reside in his vast knowledge of alchemical ingredients, and how to brew potions that can either cure or harm to a reasonable affect. Whilst most would consider alchemy a laughable skill within combat, Vance can create potions that can alter the tides of battle if used correctly. From flasks of heavily corrosive acid to a rapid-acting curative elixir, Vance stores a variety of potions within his coat and many pouches. Knowledge of a wide range of plants and his portable alchemical tools allow Vance to quickly whip up minor potions when travelling if he needs to. He also knows a small range of magical spells thanks to his short time at the Wizard Tower, mostly consisting of minor fire magic (usually to ignite flammable liquids), minor healing spells, and other little cantrips. Vance is patient and intelligent; able to devote a large amount of time to studying without getting distracted. Careful work with ingredients and alchemical tools has also given Vance good manual dexterity, making him quite good with throwing weapons or 'fiddly weapons' such as crossbows or slings. His creative nature makes him pretty able with crafting and tinkering with weapons or armour, too.

    WEAKNESSES & DRAWBACKS:
    Vance has been bullied in his younger ages due to his lack of muscle and physical ability. Though he carries a club, he can't hit particularly hard with it. Vance also lacks the courage of others, and will often act cowardly - he'll often try and save himself when everything goes wrong. He has somewhat of a selfish nature, and finds it somewhat hard to care about others - especially the big, brutish types - thanks to his past of mostly being mocked. He has a bit of an ego, and essentially can 'talk the talk', but half the time won't be able to 'walk the walk'. When studying or brewing, he can be irritable and neglective of others, thanks to the love of his work. Isolation in a room with various potion fumes has also made him a tiny bit wrong in the head, though it's nothing serious. He's also somewhat of a Hoarder, who feels better when he's stocked to the brim with ingredients, equipment, and potions - making him somewhat greedy. He's also organised to the point of being compulsive, which sometimes distracts or slows him down at times.


  • ATTIRE:
    Vance commonly wears a long, leather coat, with bright white cloth undergarments. His thick leather gloves and boots are resistant to acid burns or magical fire, in the case of a spill. A large amount of leather, buttoned-up pouches carry various ingredients and powders that are strapped around his body and waist, and he wears a belt with 'potion holsters' - where he can easily access vials or flasks for use in combat. He also carries a large pack on his back, filled to the brim with equipment. All of this stuff slows him down somewhat, which is why Vance steers clear of heavy, protective armour.

    WEAPONS:
    Vance carries a dagger in his pack, and a simple club at his side. He prefers to use his sling, however - crafted and shaped to securely hold potion flasks that can be hurled a long way - much further than his arm. He also carries a small hand crossbow at his side, with a few bolts that are dipped in pungent poisons. He usually a multitude of flasks filled with volatile liquids or acid, held in flasks with thin and easily-shattered glass.

    TOOLS:
    Vance carries a wide range of alchemical tools in his pack - such as a mortar and pestle, empty flasks for mixing and holding potions, many small & empty vials, heat-resistant flasks for heating potions, a calcinator, a small tinderbox, and delicate knives and spoons for separating and cutting ingredients with care. He also carries tight bags designed for carefully holding ingredients, stopping them from being crumpled and withered more than usual as he walks.

    PERSONAL ITEMS:
    Vance considers most of his alchemical tools 'personal', and would be devastated if he lost them. He keeps his stone mortar and pestle as his most prized possession, however, as it was given to him by his father at a young age - and was what got him so interested in the art of alchemy. Whilst the simple stone mortar and pestle is probably the cheapest and most worthless item in his pack, Vance holds it very dear.

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Around this time, Vance began to follow the ways of Zorion also, ignoring what others said about the God. He loved the idea of freedom - the idea to become anything he wanted to. He would be respected! Him - someone who was just a simple son of a brewing family: world-renowned! He could be popular, respected... maybe even loved!

But he knew he still had a long way to go.

<====+====>

After years of work, Vance eventually came to be recognised for his talents. Although people often steered clear of his somewhat crazy personality, many of Woodsend came for his cures when they were ill, or his powerful potions when they needed to battle. Using his creativity as power, Vance's mixtures allowed him to give him the edge in combat situations, as well as his decent ability with magic. He could work quickly and effectively, with a mind that could process and simulate what would happen if you mixed two properties together quickly.

"Unpredictable? Yes... but... really, quite brilliant. The man's a genius, if unapproachable." One of the higher-ups joked within a Woodsend tavern one day.


A party recruiting able adventurers to travel North overheard Vance's abilities, and when they overheard his other talents, they decided the man could prove useful to the party with his many aliments to cure inevitable diseases party members would contract.

The opportunity of recognition was what caused Vance to accept the offer - and he quickly set to work packing his things and brewing concoctions. This was the opportunity of a lifetime for him, and he was willing to take the risks. ...Though he'd need to learn to co-exist with his fellow members.
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Jakers

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Ugh, sorry about that weird formatting thing with the 'History' tab. Unsure how to fix it without completely messing up the CS. X(

Thankfully the history is still readable and in order, though. Hope you enjoy reading either way.
 
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Raja

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@RainyDays
I'm very excited! If you could possibly get a sheet submitted by Wednesday, that would be fantastic. I'm hoping to close to applications on Thursday and have the IC up and running in time for the weekend, where I expect most people will have more time to set aside to bring their characters into the roleplay. A space is reserved for you regardless if you can't make this deadline, as I have a really good feeling about you and your character. It would just be more convenient on my part if I could have a solid cast signed, sealed and delivered by Thursday.

Jakers Jakers
Vance is a brilliant character! Truly, I'm very impressed with how you've put him together - I was expecting to need to ask a lot of questions and challenge you on him (because the character is a bit 'out there'), but you've really justified all your decisions through his personality and backstory. I like him a lot and would love to have him in the roleplay - consider yourself and Vance to be very gladly accepted. Welcome aboard!

One thing I will say is that illusory magic is a very specialist strand, and it's not likely that Vance will have picked this up in his short stay at the Tower. Similarly, teleportation of any kind is considered a very 'high end' branch of magic, utilised even in the most basic forms by only the best mages. So, if you could remove these elements of the character, that would be preferable. I think he has enough combat potency without them, anyway. One thing you could do is for him to possess hallucinogenic powders to throw in the faces of his opponents. He would have control over what they 'saw', but it serves a similar purpose to the magic you intended for him to use.

Regarding your formatting issue; it's not your fault, Iwaku is very... 'Temperamental' when it comes to code. If you switch to the BB Code Editor (top right corner of the posting text area), you will likely find some rogue code (likely 'font', or 'left') that has inserted itself, messing up your format. It's probably between 'In time...' and 'Around this time' and deleting it would fix up your format!

Nevertheless, Vance is more than welcome in Tyrrania - thank you for bringing such an interesting character into the already fantastic cast!
 
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Ythania

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@Raja as I've already said, I simply cannot. I'm typing this all out on a phone since I'm in a foreign country doing work. The earliest you'll see any sheet from me is this Saturday, and I bet my wooly socks it won't be completed until Sunday. If you could grant me an extension, I'd be eternally in your debt.

As a side note, I found Marmite's face, all dusty and hidden in the corner of a sleavy bar.

http://pre04.deviantart.net/8e0d/th...zo___battling_giants_by_fdasuarez-d8cyewx.jpg
 
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Raja

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@Raja as I've already said, I simply cannot. I'm typing this all out on a phone since I'm in a foreign country doing work. The earliest you'll see any sheet from me is this Saturday, and I bet my wooly socks it won't be completed until Sunday. If you could grant me an extension, I'd be eternally in your debt.

As a side note, I found Marmite's face, all dusty and hidden in the corner of a sleavy bar.

http://pre04.deviantart.net/8e0d/th...zo___battling_giants_by_fdasuarez-d8cyewx.jpg
My apologies - someone else had mentioned they would not be able to submit until Wednesday, and I must have confused you. There's been a lot of interest via PM! Yes, as I said, I really like what you've discussed regarding Marmite thus far, an extension to accommodate your being overseas is absolutely fine. I expect people will still be posting their introduction posts come Sunday, anyway. It will not be an issue. I hope the rest of your time abroad is enjoyable and look forward to your sheet!

---

As a side note; COMPETITION TIME!

I've been struggling for quite a while to decide on an adjective for my character Avarielle in the cast list. Nothing seems to fit, and when I find something I do like it feels like I'm blowing my own trumpet. I think I need impartial suggestions. So, a prize* goes to whoever can suggest the adjective most fitting for the _____ sorceress.

*The prize in question is a metaphysical notion of reward that will take the shape of polite gratitude on behalf of Mr. Raja.
 

Jakers

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@Raja - Many thanks! I'll be sure to get rid of the illusionary/teleporting magic as requested; I was feeling a little iffy about it myself. As for the adjective...

The banished sorceress?
The outcast sorceress?

That's all I could think of that seems fitting, though you might've already thought of those.
 
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Stuffies12

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I have three suggestions:
  • The lone sorceress
  • The distrustful sorceress
  • The disgraced sorceress
On a side note, everyone in the cast has a bleak backstory! I know it creates room for conflict and character development but our party is going to be so dysfunctional at the start!
 
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