D
Daniel LeCavalier
Guest
Original poster
First off, I just wanted to say hello, and thank a good companion of mine for pointing me here. Now, long story short I've come here from a land called, 'Facebook'. I've fought many a rivals on pages, won glory in groups, and surrounded myself with a good lot of friends. Yet lately, it seems the facebook community isn't catching its appeal to me much these days. With the constant new updates, the forced information stealing, and all the other horrible things Facebook has done these last couple years. I figured I might adapt and try something new. So, here I am, ready and willing to start in on a new venture. Hopefully to make new friends and roleplay partners as well. I'm a very multi-enthused person, my tastes adapt, change, and grow. I do have a honest habit of late replying but, I assure you right now that its not you, I just have a short attention span and tend to wonder about YouTube or Steam, and if you don't mind any of that. I'd like to roleplay =)
Example of roleplay style:
"Long ago, there was a kingdom called the Anderfels, and my was it a beautiful kingdom. Its lands were fertile, the forest thick with game, the lakes and rivers flooding over with fish and even along its coast there were calm waters. Such a place is to be thought of as a mere folklore, sung to the tunes of traveling bards but, there is such a kingdom, and its tucked away far to the north west, beyond the Dragonback Mountains. Only possible way to reach this beautiful kingdom is by sea, and only a safe voyage if a captain can steer his way through the Dragon's Teeth Reef -a reef well known for its belly of sunken ships. In such a kingdom, there is no war, the barrels of sweet mead and ale never run short, no child is left to starve in the cold streets and the winters there are warm as-"
"But, grandfather, how do we travel to such a place?"
"Vilkas, I've told ya not to interrupt me when I was getting to the most important part."
"Oh, I'm sorry grandfather." Wiggling closer, the boy looked up at his grandfather with hope filled eyes, gleaming with an all too familiar gleam of adventure.
"Now, where was I…. oh yes. The winters there are warm as that of summer. The distinct smell of honey lilies fills the air of the streets and the cobblestone is run smooth by the shuffle of feet and carts filled with the softest of fabrics of islander lands of Seheron. The home of the Elvan. A race of-"
An older man in his early thirties interrupted the man as he entered the small shambled home. His face was dirty with earth and the smell of fish guts filled the small room. "Father, why are you filling the boy's head with such lies?"
"They are not lies! These are stories of our homeland, you should know better than any man what our homeland was."
"That's just it father, it 'was' our homeland but, we aren't exactly there now are we? Instead of filling his head with such nonsense, sing him the song of sorrow. That is our heritage, the story of our people and what we've become."
"Grandfather, what's the song of sorrows?" The young boy asked, so curious of what his father spoke of.
Kicking off his boots, the man looked to his son and said coldly. "That Varric, is the history of our people. Well, tell if father, the boy wishes to hear it, instead of those petty fairytales."
"He's too young to hear such things." The old man grumbled as he tried to regain his lost ground but, the other man looked at the two with cold eyes and said the song in a grimicing tone.
"A serpent lights the ancient sky
A threat of tainted stars
Evil stirs and in its wake
The souls of mortals sway
Sorrow reigns
Over fields of red
Spirits pace
Through the shadows cast by their graves
These are days and nights of venom and blood
Heroes will rise only to fall
Brave the strife, not reclaim a soul
That belongs to the fear of death
Darkness strikes to blind the strong
But Faith meant to guide our swords
Loyal hearts we'll stand as one
And fight with shields of Hope
Pride fuels the deadly fire
Only to leave us and devour our tower of gold
The drums of war will rage and roar
'Til we are left to be no more
These are days and nights of venom and blood
Heroes will rise only to fall
Brave the strife, never to reclaim a soul
Of what belongs to the Fear of Death
That Vilkas is the song of sorrows. Our damned king told us to fight for his gold, all that gold put into a single pile attracted a mighty dragon. With hide so thick not a sword could tear it, its fire so fierce it burned men alive, and we were left without a homeland. Without hope. Without pride. Comrades left there to wither and die. Those who did run, well we are cowards, and welcomed nowhere. Our king betrayed us, our homeland is taken, we are no mighty race of man but, cowards left to die in the dust. We will never see the Anderfels again, so stop asking your grandfather to tell you petty fairy tales, and learn something better. Here." Throwing the boy a small scroll, the lad felt the parchment, opening it to see no words but a symbol.
"Grandfather, what does this mean?"
Seeing the symbol, the old man grabbed it from his grandson's hands and threw it back at the other man. "You are not sending him there! We make our ends and you are not sending him to be a dog of the Emperor! We are a family, we stay together!"
"HE is my son, if it is my wish to send him to train to be something more than me than by the damned gods! HE WILL! He can be a knight to the emperor himself! Someone great! Something more than we are, look at us father, you crushed your leg working in a mill and I bring home fish the market doesn't want. We aren't anything but a faded story's ink on old paper. He can be something more than us! I'll be damned if I'm going to allow you to spoil his mind with petty fairytales any further!"
Snapping his eyes open, Vilkas sat straight up in his bed roll and rubbed his eyes. 'I hate those dreams.' He thought as he looked around the camp, once again waking up before the others, and too eager to fall back into his bedroll. Running a hand through his oil licked hair, the young man in his late teens got to his feet and walked off to wash himself. Those memories were so long ago, they felt like a different life time, but they were shadowing echos of his past -coming back to haunt him. Since then, Vilkas ran away from the crown, became an urchin of the streets, growing up into one fine thief and hired sword arm. Yet, never before had he thought that he would ever become an adventurer -well not so soon anyways. His small band of brothers in arms were on the search to rummage through the lost cities of Anderfels, on account that a rumor was going around that the dragon had left, being they were so young (and more or less stupid) and unsuperstitious -they wanted to be the first ones to gain all the riches of what was left behind. Old magic scrolls, texts of magic, and maybe finer things like silver and gold wares. Yet, the real reason Vilkas wanted to journey to the Anderfels was because of his grandfather's stories when he was just a pint sized lad. Those stories always sparked a burning gleam in his eyes to see not just his homeland but, to uncover what was left of a incredible kingdom.
"Come on you lazy lot. Get up, get ready and lets go. My pockets are burning boys! We're nearing the borderland, straight through the mountains, across the forest and we'll have more riches than the Emperor and his fat cousin together." Vilkas grinned as he gave a kick to his brothers in arms, filled with a burn to set eyes on the stories of his grandfather and to have all the riches in the world to have his own country-a country of freemen.
Example of roleplay style:
"Long ago, there was a kingdom called the Anderfels, and my was it a beautiful kingdom. Its lands were fertile, the forest thick with game, the lakes and rivers flooding over with fish and even along its coast there were calm waters. Such a place is to be thought of as a mere folklore, sung to the tunes of traveling bards but, there is such a kingdom, and its tucked away far to the north west, beyond the Dragonback Mountains. Only possible way to reach this beautiful kingdom is by sea, and only a safe voyage if a captain can steer his way through the Dragon's Teeth Reef -a reef well known for its belly of sunken ships. In such a kingdom, there is no war, the barrels of sweet mead and ale never run short, no child is left to starve in the cold streets and the winters there are warm as-"
"But, grandfather, how do we travel to such a place?"
"Vilkas, I've told ya not to interrupt me when I was getting to the most important part."
"Oh, I'm sorry grandfather." Wiggling closer, the boy looked up at his grandfather with hope filled eyes, gleaming with an all too familiar gleam of adventure.
"Now, where was I…. oh yes. The winters there are warm as that of summer. The distinct smell of honey lilies fills the air of the streets and the cobblestone is run smooth by the shuffle of feet and carts filled with the softest of fabrics of islander lands of Seheron. The home of the Elvan. A race of-"
An older man in his early thirties interrupted the man as he entered the small shambled home. His face was dirty with earth and the smell of fish guts filled the small room. "Father, why are you filling the boy's head with such lies?"
"They are not lies! These are stories of our homeland, you should know better than any man what our homeland was."
"That's just it father, it 'was' our homeland but, we aren't exactly there now are we? Instead of filling his head with such nonsense, sing him the song of sorrow. That is our heritage, the story of our people and what we've become."
"Grandfather, what's the song of sorrows?" The young boy asked, so curious of what his father spoke of.
Kicking off his boots, the man looked to his son and said coldly. "That Varric, is the history of our people. Well, tell if father, the boy wishes to hear it, instead of those petty fairytales."
"He's too young to hear such things." The old man grumbled as he tried to regain his lost ground but, the other man looked at the two with cold eyes and said the song in a grimicing tone.
"A serpent lights the ancient sky
A threat of tainted stars
Evil stirs and in its wake
The souls of mortals sway
Sorrow reigns
Over fields of red
Spirits pace
Through the shadows cast by their graves
These are days and nights of venom and blood
Heroes will rise only to fall
Brave the strife, not reclaim a soul
That belongs to the fear of death
Darkness strikes to blind the strong
But Faith meant to guide our swords
Loyal hearts we'll stand as one
And fight with shields of Hope
Pride fuels the deadly fire
Only to leave us and devour our tower of gold
The drums of war will rage and roar
'Til we are left to be no more
These are days and nights of venom and blood
Heroes will rise only to fall
Brave the strife, never to reclaim a soul
Of what belongs to the Fear of Death
That Vilkas is the song of sorrows. Our damned king told us to fight for his gold, all that gold put into a single pile attracted a mighty dragon. With hide so thick not a sword could tear it, its fire so fierce it burned men alive, and we were left without a homeland. Without hope. Without pride. Comrades left there to wither and die. Those who did run, well we are cowards, and welcomed nowhere. Our king betrayed us, our homeland is taken, we are no mighty race of man but, cowards left to die in the dust. We will never see the Anderfels again, so stop asking your grandfather to tell you petty fairy tales, and learn something better. Here." Throwing the boy a small scroll, the lad felt the parchment, opening it to see no words but a symbol.
"Grandfather, what does this mean?"
Seeing the symbol, the old man grabbed it from his grandson's hands and threw it back at the other man. "You are not sending him there! We make our ends and you are not sending him to be a dog of the Emperor! We are a family, we stay together!"
"HE is my son, if it is my wish to send him to train to be something more than me than by the damned gods! HE WILL! He can be a knight to the emperor himself! Someone great! Something more than we are, look at us father, you crushed your leg working in a mill and I bring home fish the market doesn't want. We aren't anything but a faded story's ink on old paper. He can be something more than us! I'll be damned if I'm going to allow you to spoil his mind with petty fairytales any further!"
Snapping his eyes open, Vilkas sat straight up in his bed roll and rubbed his eyes. 'I hate those dreams.' He thought as he looked around the camp, once again waking up before the others, and too eager to fall back into his bedroll. Running a hand through his oil licked hair, the young man in his late teens got to his feet and walked off to wash himself. Those memories were so long ago, they felt like a different life time, but they were shadowing echos of his past -coming back to haunt him. Since then, Vilkas ran away from the crown, became an urchin of the streets, growing up into one fine thief and hired sword arm. Yet, never before had he thought that he would ever become an adventurer -well not so soon anyways. His small band of brothers in arms were on the search to rummage through the lost cities of Anderfels, on account that a rumor was going around that the dragon had left, being they were so young (and more or less stupid) and unsuperstitious -they wanted to be the first ones to gain all the riches of what was left behind. Old magic scrolls, texts of magic, and maybe finer things like silver and gold wares. Yet, the real reason Vilkas wanted to journey to the Anderfels was because of his grandfather's stories when he was just a pint sized lad. Those stories always sparked a burning gleam in his eyes to see not just his homeland but, to uncover what was left of a incredible kingdom.
"Come on you lazy lot. Get up, get ready and lets go. My pockets are burning boys! We're nearing the borderland, straight through the mountains, across the forest and we'll have more riches than the Emperor and his fat cousin together." Vilkas grinned as he gave a kick to his brothers in arms, filled with a burn to set eyes on the stories of his grandfather and to have all the riches in the world to have his own country-a country of freemen.
