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Valhawk posted:Feedback: 'Dubious Teachings' is a somewhat broader take on heretical teachings, allowing for a wider range of responses. Essentially much of his tutor's work was grey area, considered dubious but just below the actionable threshold by peers and glossed over owing to his age and stature. Happy to tweak as necessary, as the wording is a tad ambiguous. Valhawk posted:Question: What is the most taboo experiment Magroth has ever performed? So far, he's been going at things rather gradually, with a selection of small plants he has been cultivating as his test subjects. As mundane as the targets are, what they have been subjected to is another matter. Magroth has been tweaking modifying runes to a concerning extent, and has eagerly observed the changes wrought by Life-Accelerate, Life-Decelerate, Life-Reverse, Life-Pause or Life-Stop on one batch of vegetative victims.
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Feb 8, 2017 03:00
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Valhawk posted:Question: The Hero's Order is a relatively new school and its membership is limited to Sigmund's inner-circle and their apprentices. Tell me about the time you encountered the Hero-King. This was… roughly a week or so, after my first encounter with Zan’Drel. I had met with the Formosian several times since then, sometimes discussing about his work, other times just simply making idle conversation about nothing in particular. Of course, my mentor to be had me assisting him all the while, saying that there was no room for idle hands in the Order. Considering that I hadn’t officially been accepted yet, he certainly had no issues running me ragged. Well, it made me a familiar face amongst the locals, so perhaps I shouldn’t complain. Establishing a good rapport is important, after all, especially when you are a stranger from far off lands. But yes, the Hero-King. I had just returned after finishing a few errands for Zan’Drel, when I found him conversing with an unfamiliar face. Having noticed that the Formosian was speaking in a much more subdued tone than normal, his usual lively mannerisms nowhere to be found, it was clear to me from the start that this stranger was someone of at least some importance. At the time, I wouldn’t have guessed that it’d be the Hero-King himself. An inclination, perhaps, but not a certainty. Regardless, I revealed and presented myself with all the dignity that I could muster. “This is the one, then?” Those were the first words I heard from the Hero-King, not even aimed at my direction. He sounded… unimpressed, to put it lightly. I admit, I was slightly annoyed by the way he seemed to immediately dismiss me. Only slightly, of course. “Aye, aye, that she is,” Zan’Drel replied with a grin on his face, and somehow, I had the impression he knew entirely what I was feeling. Not that I had long to think about that, as he threw me a practice sword. “Whether you keep your blade sheathed or not, best you learn how to handle it first,” my mentor-to-be said before beginning what he’d later call a ‘friendly spar,’ neither of which were terms that I’d describe that event. A ‘casual daytime murder’ might be more accurate, made only worse by Sigmund’s constant berating of my footwork, my technique, my… you get the idea. As Zan’Drel later told me, the Hero-King originally intended to test me in person, before my mentor politely suggested otherwise. Remembering how sore I was, it’s hard to imagine how much more painful it could have been. “I’ve seen enough,” eventually said the Hero-King, and never have I heard such angelic words. Bruised, battered, and thoroughly beaten, I felt more than ready to retire for the day. Showing no mercy, however, Sigmund launched into another attack on my swordsmanship. I was all too prepared to bite back when he gave a grudging “...But if Zan’Drel is willing to support you, then I imagine he must have some reason for doing so. I shall not protest your initiation into the Hero’s Order.” That was about the moment when I realized just who it was that had been criticizing me all this time, as it were. Still, if that was what he was planning to end his tirade on, I wish he had said as much from the start.
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Feb 8, 2017 03:47
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quote:Question: What sort of business has Bo come to Southport to run? The understaffed and still-flagging House Ruknamal outpost by the docks. It is pretty much a clerk and whoever is on the ship's crew, but Bo believes that he can build it into something far more while the rest of his family and the other Houses are distracted by the Tsar's failing health. Whether it be by exporting some goods found(byproxy) in the republics, or resources that he can import fr his Houses' holdings he is determined to get a foothold in "the market". Edit: And I imagine the clerk's first act is to jump on the ship and gtfo back to dwarfland, in keeping with the nobody and alone angle. Edit2: Feeling better, and I know you would ask: House Ruknamal Crest: A coiled, serpentine dragon on an orange crest with a silver edge gilding. Motto: Tellus et Verbum (Earth and Word) While never wielding major political power, House Ruknamal has been known since its founding by the glorious ancestor Ruk as one who honors its commitments and whose mines are always producing. In the current political climate its leader Ruk IX is seeking to join in an alliance of minor houses to consolidate their power in the potentially bloody time to come. Dwarves have long lives, and longer histories, and many of the honored ancestors have fallen in inter-dynastic conflicts. Notables: Ruk I is storied to have slain a dragon Known for having a surplus of daughters(many houses have maternal ties to Ruknamal) No real guile or stomach for politics. Known for general inability to bluff. JamezBfod fucked around with this message at 03:56 on Feb 12, 2017 |
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Feb 8, 2017 06:49
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Valhawk posted:Question: That the Tsar will die in the next few years is a virtual certainty. The likely claimants are all well known and have begun to quietly put the pieces to their own ascension in place, including lobbying for the support of the Eyes. Who is Natasha's preferred candidate? The answer here is not simple, for as might be expected from a person like Natasha, her apparent views often change in favor of convenience. So it is here too, for what she says in public (in public meaning 'what she argues to the other Eyes') and what is closely guarded in her own skull differ significantly. Peter of Essora, Duke of Norshen, is the current favorite, for he has proven a deft administrator, and extremely cunning in the ways of the court. He's viewed most favorably by the majority of the Eyes, and is the one Natasha claims to support as well. He's not the only one trying for succession however, for Duchess Agnessa of Srednanka is thought of as a good, indeed, a superior choice by many. However, her claim to the throne is not as strong, which many Eyes argue makes her a less optimal candidate for her ascension to the throne might as such increase discontent among nobility. But in secret, Natasha wishes for Lord Naum, Duke of Saskal, to take the throne. His vocal support is a small minority however, with fairly outlandish arguments. Natasha does not truly believe in any of those arguments, indeed she thinks them weak, and the Lord unsuitable for the throne. Now certainly he's no total fool, such tend to be swept from ducal thrones fairly quickly in the cutthroat world of Landsean court intrigue, but he certainly is the least of the three applicants, with the weakest claim to boot. And this is exactly why Natasha wants him to take the throne, in her private thoughts. For she needs a weaker ruler, someone more easily influenced, if she ever wants her dream to become reality. But she is fairly certain this will not come to pass, and she cares enough about the Tsarate to not needlessly topple it in pursuit of a pipe dream, not unless she thought she had a real shot of somehow bringing it to fruition. But who knows? Sometimes miracles happen. And the succession system of the Tsarate was excessively complicated. Indeed, some people though of Dwarves as inherently shifty due to the famous amounts of treachery going on in the Tsarate, but the truth of the matter was that the system was built to be manipulated due to its complexity, and humans would not have conducted themselves any better in such an environment. But regardless, in a system of so many moving pieces there were many chances for a great upset to present itself...
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Feb 8, 2017 18:53
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Valhawk posted:Quick Learner, while flavorful seems like it would apply to way too much. You'll get new qualities as you learn new skills anyways. I'd switch this out for something else. Other than that the rest of them seem fine. Switch out Quick Learner for Strong Willed[+2] Years on her own have taught Hajra that you have to stand for yourself because no one else will. Once she sets a goal for herself, it is exceedingly difficult to divert her from it. or Spirit Lore[+2] (appropriate but bland I guess) Convinced that her power comes from the spirits around her, Hajra has pestered her master with as many questions as she could before his death. The answers are etched into her very heart. For the drawbacks Outcast[-2] is still on the table I guess, leading to mistrust from people she hasn't yet seduced with her mysticism and presence or Need for acknowledgement[-2] (Yeah that name is even more boring than the other ones but I can't think of anything better right now) Hajra feels an extreme need to find allies and acknowledgement in this world. This might lead her to put her trust into the wrong people or to lash out at imagined wrongs. Valhawk posted:Question: The Desert Sages are greatly respected among all the orcish clans, and their advice is given great deference. Tell me about a time a Sage came to the village where Hajra is staying. Akil the Sage was brought to the village by his followers. The wise orc had fallen ill as he returned from Katran and his followers had heard of the Desert Witch, a lifebringer that was supposed to live nearby. They were taken aback upon seeing Hajra's youth, afraid of leaving their master in the hands of an inexperienced healer, but Akil looked at Hajra, at her pendants and her trinkets. He sat silently as he studied her witch's shack, the offerings to the good spirits and the wards against the evil ones. He was surprised to find a young orc, a lifebringer at that, so well versed in their old faith. Katran was becoming more cosmopolitan by the day and Akil was afraid that the orcish ways of old would fade out, driven away by other pantheons and the zealous missionaries from Djikstera. He told his followers to trust Hajra and let her perform her ritual on him. Knowing how important this one was, the young witch put her heart into making it the most impressive, elaborate and orthodox ritual she had ever performed, awe-inspiring but still in complete accord with the old faith. After the ritual, Hajra and Akil remained alone in the shack for a few hours. The witch used that time to talk about her beliefs with the Sage and in the end he advised her to travel to Katran, telling her that the people there needed guidance to return to the path of the spirits. The Sage's condition improved dramatically and his party resumed their travels a few days later, taking with them the rumor of the Desert Witch, a healer with the power of the spirits on her side. Hajra was left wondering about the Sage's advice.
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Feb 8, 2017 21:50
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Valhawk posted:Question: There are some non-humans that live in Djikstera, generally for them to be granted permanent residence they must prove to be true believers in the Faith of the One God to the Priesthood's satisfaction, this often involves questioning in the presence of a Justicar to ensure that there can be no deception. Tell me about a time when Catriona was involved in one such questioning, and what she did when she discovered that the non-human in question was a true zealot in his belief in the One God and the Church. Some days, it is easier to make the world a better place than others. One of my better days was when I was privileged to help Dalmatius join the Empire. Dalmatius, used to be known as Cricket. Before he found the One God, he was a Formosian slave. Before he escaped he picked cotton for his masters and sometimes entertained his fellow slaves with music on his flute. His flute playing upset his master and Cricket had two fingers on both his hands cut off. As soon as his stumps stopped bleeding Cricket escaped across the border. He'd been listening to the local Priest's sermons for two months before we arrived to interview him. He has a fervent desire to know more of the One God and his message of justice and the pursuit of honor. He had this strange notion that we were all slaves to the One God, but there was no flaw in his faith. I have no doubt he will serve the Empire loyally all his days; he swore as much to me. Citizens on the frontiers of the Empire often suffer at the hands of non-humans. Dalmatius would have not been given a fair chance if settled near any of the borders. Those further inside our borders rarely see people from other villagers, much less non-humans, and again he would not be given a fair chance. I arranged an escort for him to Origin with two soldiers who promised to die before harming him or letting others harm him. I received a letter from Dalmatius just the other day. He wrote that he can not play the flute anymore, but that the priests find his singing exotic and often ask him to perform for them.
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Feb 9, 2017 03:41
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Might be a little terse for my liking, but it's now or never. Name: Berke bin Jibril  Backstory: Backstory: As a child, Berke was groomed to be apprenticed to a shaman, or to a desert sage if he was lucky. Songs, herbs, knowledge of spirits, and courting the interest of sages were a common thing in his days. But Berke did not have the temperament as a shaman or sage, nor could he see the spirits the way her mother did. The mother was crestfallen and wailed for a night at Berke’s failings. Mother’s tutelages stopped, there would be no more learning of spirits and their domains, but Berke would remember the songs she taught him, as he grew up, and have a love for music and verse. As a veteran of the war against Djikstera, Berke had been through plenty of battle in his life. He came to adulthood as the war began in earnest. His tribe were among the first to answer the new Emir’s call to war, and Berke was in the thick, joining in night raids and skirmishes until the war came to a close. He learned much in the war - combat, archery, riding, and song - and put them to use keeping himself alive and claiming many in battle. Few enemies escaped his sights, and fewer still stood against him. But afterwards he was left restless and pondering his future, like many of the orcs his age who survived in the war. Qualities: [+4] - Veteran - Berke survived through the war, seen death and violence on a large scale and dealt it in return. As a result, he knows his way around combat and rarely wavers at the sight of a foe out for blood [+2] - Strong Voice - When he gets to singing or speaking in verse, Berke can be well spoken at times. What knowledge that lingered from his mother’s attempts to make him a shaman became a hobby of his. [+2] - Eagle Eyes - Berke’s vision is sharp; darkness and distance can only delay him finding his target and sticking an arrow in it. Drawback: [-2] - ‘Berserk’ - Essentially PTSD. The war desensitized Berke from violence and set in him triggers towards any intention towards violence. If a cook so much pointed a knife towards him on accident, his nerves would be on edge. [-2] - Ire of the Desert Sages - During his childhood he had angered the desert sages, the venerable figures of respect. The sages that approached him, Berke had bickered with, acted rude, and thought poorly of them. Berke had rightly been beaten by his father for doing the unthinkable, but the damage was done. Starting Location: Within the Emirate's lands bordering on Djikstera What do you want in this game?: Make a big name out of him; either do something that gets him remembered in history, founding a tribe, or perhaps a new kingdom by the bow or sword. AnAnonymousIdiot fucked around with this message at 02:39 on Feb 12, 2017 |
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Feb 10, 2017 06:24
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Hmm. Curious question, Valhawk; If each org keeps their rune secret, but using it involves very obviously drawing it in big glowing lines in the air or on random stuff, how exactly does it stay a secret?
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Feb 10, 2017 19:25
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Rhjamiz posted:Hmm. Curious question, Valhawk; I answered this in chat earlier, but I'll also put it here for everyone to see. Basically, it's not enough to just see the rune to copy it. The visible portion of the rune is sort of like the tip of the iceberg. Making the visual portion is a part of, but not the entirety of casting a rune. This is why it takes years of training to be able to cast a particular core rune, and it's why the schools are more concerned with people capturing items with active runes on them (because that'd let you study the whole thing, not just the visible part of it).
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Feb 11, 2017 21:27
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AnAnonymousIdiot posted:
Feedback:
Question: How does Berke feel about the Emir?
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Feb 12, 2017 01:53
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House Ruknamal Crest: A coiled, serpentine dragon on an orange crest with a silver edge gilding. Motto: Tellus et Verbum (Earth and Word) While never wielding major political power, House Ruknamal has been known since its founding by the glorious ancestor Ruk as one who honors its commitments, whose forges are never idle, and whose mines are always producing. In the current political climate its leader Ruk IX is seeking to join in an alliance of minor houses to consolidate their power in hopes of helping smooth the peaceful transition of power after the Tsar dies. Failing that, the House Council might still prove useful in the potentially bloody time to come. Dwarves have long lives, and longer histories, and many of the honored ancestors have fallen in inter-dynastic conflicts. The smaller houses face even greater dangers during such times for even if they are sworn to the service of one of the Great Houses they still could be stripped of home and hearth. They are considered moderates, and generally by the time House Ruknamal has accepted a new thing it is no longer taboo, but progressive. A saying of Ruk's applies here, "The way of the Honored Ancestors must make way for the needs of the Living Descendants." Notables: Ruk I is storied to have slain a dragon Known for having a surplus of daughters(many houses have maternal ties to Ruknamal) No real guile or stomach for politics. Known for general inability to bluff. OOC I would have to say I'm figuring for the reputation of Ned Stark, but not anywhere near in line for Tsardom but savvy enough to not be Red Wedding'd
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Feb 12, 2017 04:08
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Kain, Dark Knight, Resdisian Exile - Lands of Sidon https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L0bcRCCg01I  The Resdisians fled Leonis, the Leonian Archon-Hero King sealing the fate of its true rulers via the mastery of the War rune. Presently, the nobles and true men of Resdis held court and plotted in the lands of Sidon. Within a disused reliquary a figure kneeled before an altar. Helmet removed, his grey-black armor glinted in the half light, the scripts scratched and etched into every visible piece seeming to whisper it's secret history. The oaths of old. He was Kain, Dark Knight of Resdis. Lands and titles stripped, his power broken. He continued his absolutions and chanted his prayers. To ward off Kimir and to keep Kain's deeds from the light. To ask Deltai for time to bring his goals to fruition. Petitioning Ris to share his secrets like he had for the Leonian. Kain thanked Uste for her companionship in the darkness. Kain's chanting reached a crescendo when he reached out to Nyss. Patron of the Dark Knights of Resdis since their inception. Death to their enemies, darkness and destruction to Leonis and anyone who stood in the way. Upon this Kain finished and he donned his helm. As he rose and left, he made his way back to his quarters. He had few attendants and the Order of the Serpent was on the wane. The war had claimed many of its members, including Kain's own father; Lord Tome. In fact it was only Kain's status as a Dark Knight that he was even recognized in court. Other nobles had some wealth or influence they kept in the exodus from their lands. The Tome keep and lands were the first to be destroyed by Sigmund and his armies of peasants. Kain spat at the memory. Only being off as a Knight in training had spared him from that fate. Armsmen and women broke before Kain, creating a path for him. His brooding broken before arriving at the 'temporary' headquarters of the order. The old grey bearded veteran before Kain demanded the password and answers to questions only a member would know. "Well met Voltan." Kain said as he was admitted. "Is the Grand Master about?" Voltan coughed. "In his chambers. He is more lucid today than usual. The curse affecting his mind is weakening I think." Kain nodded. The visions the Grand Master experienced could be both blessing and curse. Kain found him in the meeting hall. "You wish to leave us." The Grand Master stated with roiling white eyes and a death's head grin. Kain paused, hand on his sword. This was bad. The Grand Master was entranced, how much of Kain's plans could he see? The Grand Master laughed. "Be not afraid. I have been shown a vision. We could not stop you, and the cost to the Order to stop you would finish us. No. You will leave, and you will seek your destiny. Nyss has shown me..." coughing the Grand Master sat heavily in his throne before falling asleep. Kain sighed in relief. He had planned to leave this night. It was why he prayed for guidance. He would seek the means to gain the power. Power to destroy and win that which was his birthright. That he wouldn't have to kill the other members of his brotherhood to leave made things easier. He gathered his belongings and mounted his horse, riding off to meet his destiny. Mortal Qualities: Warlord [+4]: The Dark Knight orders of Resdis train their Knights to be leaders able to exercise military, economic, and political control over their territories with great ability to mobilize their forces and do battle. The noble families highly sought to have their heirs at least complete some of this training. Only those that complete and master their training can assume the mantle of Dark Knight. Inquisitional Interview [+2]: Torment and Torture both physical and psychological will be applied if needed to gain Knowledge and Truth. Dread Presence [+4]: A supernatural aura of fear or dread. Used for Intimidation or to make people flee. Rich[+2] Kane now has the reputation: Shaper of Men: In Sidon, there’s a man who the gangs send people who are too difficult to deal with. They say a that men return from his care… different than who they were before. That he can make a man believe anything he wants, and do whatever their told. Drawbacks: Classist [-2] Resdisian nobles rarely see non-nobles as people. Those lesser dregs should know their place. The Grudge [-2] Currently the people of Leonis are on the list to experience the Vengeance and Grudge of Kain. His memory is long and will bear enmity to those that cross or wrong him. What I want out of the game?: Progress that is tangible and adventure. Find some artifacts, talk to some gods. Possibly make my own rune and more and or found my own order of knights. Starting Location Lands of Sidon Question: Most of your holdings were destroyed in the war. All you have left is a single item you managed to take with you when the ships fled Jadis for Sidon. What is it? Answer: Held within Kain's hand was but a single token. A petty thing really. But all he had left of home and what he once loved. The tiny arm of a stuffed bear. His youngest sister had handed it to him solemnly on the day he was to leave for his training. She had extracted from him a promise to return and in turn bring it back to her. She was so fierce for one so tiny. "Amberlyn..." He whispered as he clenched it tightly, a single tear shed for a promise he could never now fulfill. The ships sailed, taking him away from the ashes of memory and the ghosts of things never to be. I am Communist fucked around with this message at 02:23 on Apr 18, 2017 |
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Feb 12, 2017 04:33
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I am Communist posted:
Feedback:
Question: Most of your holdings were destroyed in the war. All you have left is a single item you managed to take with you when the ships fled Jadis for Sidon. What is it?
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Feb 12, 2017 04:42
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Valhawk posted:Feedback: Edited in changes. https://forums.somethingawful.com/showthread.php?threadid=3808848&pagenumber=2&perpage=40#post469314756
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Feb 12, 2017 05:04
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Valhawk posted:Question: How does Berke feel about the Emir? He feels respect and jealousy for Emir Arslan; an Orc somewhat his age with the power to bring the khans and Desert Sages together against their heathen neighbors was beyond what Berke had seen. The tribes did as they pleased as far as he knew. An idea stirs in him if he could become such an Orc to do as he did. On the other hand, he thinks the Emir is tainted by Katran; as someone who seen the breadth of the desert, staying in one single place seems foolishly stubborn, especially in a place with pretense and distraction like Katran.
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Feb 12, 2017 06:19
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Skaadi Dagmyrsdottir Daughter of her tribe's shaman guide, Skaadi was entrusted with the myths and history (one in the same) of her people. When the succession crises broke out, she was among the skaldic delegation pulled from the surrounding countryside to judge the claimants. With the contests threatening to spill out into open civil war at any moment, she feels compelled to try to keep the peace long enough for someone stable to gain the throne. She knows from her history a clan divided is easy pickings for its neighbors, and refuses to let stubborn Northern pride get in the way of her people's survival. Mortal Qualities: Skald and Shaman[+4] - Inheritor of the tribe's oral legacy, Skaadi is familiar with the orations and sacrifices needed to placate the ancestor spirits. Possessing the closest local equivalent to literacy, she is expected to advise her people in the proper historical solution. This requires certain creative interpretation in unprecedented situations, but the ancestors probably had a sound idea at some point, when they weren't clubbing mammoths with stone clubs. Daughter of the North [+2] - To survive to adulthood, especially in the smaller villages, is a feat unto itself, and Skaadi would not be a fully functioning member of her tribe if she didn't have the basics of combat and wilderness survival down. While not a champion, she nonetheless can hold her own when words fail. Diplomat[+2] - Being a shaman is to stand slightly aside from the tribe, in two worlds. Its from this place one can hold a position of neutrality to bring multiple sides to a mutually satisfying conclusion. Drawbacks: Brash[-2] - Ordinarily, Skaadi would have received around five years more training before being sent out into the world, but the demands of the kingdom come first. While knowledgeable, she lacks the sophistication and wisdom of age, and may act in an impetuous and rash manner. Country Cousin [-2] - Although skilled in reading people in general, Skaadi has yet to learn many of the traits and values of big city people, and may come across as unsophisticated and rural to a more cosmopolitan audience. Starting Location: Bjornhold, trying to aid in expediting the process to choose the new king. What do you want out of the game? Do a little peacemaking, with eventually switching to black metal   traditional Norse mayhem if/when the talky-feely parts eventually fail.
Ronwayne fucked around with this message at 05:44 on Feb 13, 2017 |
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Feb 12, 2017 23:30
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 Ingrid Ragnarsdottir Description: The Northern Kingdom breeds hard people and harder warriors, and nowhere is this truer than in the shadow of the Jagged Peaks. Between the dwarves of Landse across the border and the monsters lurking in the wilderness, threats are ever-present in such communities – as are opportunities to test one’s mettle. Ingrid Ragnarsdottir was born into one such community, the daughter of the most prominent huskarl to a rather obscure jarl. Her father Ragnar had long been the most respected warrior in their small town, and it was no surprise that Ingrid followed in his footsteps. She developed a particular interest in tracking and hunting the monsters that plagued the outlying regions of her jarl’s territory, and by the time she had come of age she had already gained a local reputation as a monster-slayer. It was thus no surprise when Jarl Gunnar named her one of his huskarls. It was shortly after this that a monumental discovery was made – a hitherto-unknown vein of copper was discovered in Jarl Gunnar’s territory. Preliminary exploration suggests that it may be the largest such deposit discovered in decades, though the true extent is still uncertain. Regardless, the discovery meant an immediate increase in wealth and influence for the once-obscure jarl, and thus for those who serve him as well. It also meant increased threat of attacks by the dwarves of Landse – something driven home by a raid on the jarl’s territory that Ingrid helped defeat. Now, with the king dead and the jarls soon to convene to choose a successor, Ingrid has already been informed that she will accompany the jarl to Bjornhold when the time comes. While Jarl Gunnar is not considered a plausible candidate, his newfound status means that he may have a role to play in the election. Ingrid and the other huskarls will see to their jarl’s protection, of course, but will also have a role to play in the endless shows of strength and prestige that occur whenever jarls convene. Mortal Qualities: Northern Warrior [+4] – To be a consummate warrior of the Northern Kingdoms requires not only strength and agility, but the ability to use all the weapons of the land – spear, sword, axe, bow, and shield. This is especially true when one must be prepared to fight not only men and dwarves but also the great variety of monsters that roam the uninhabited wilds. Ingrid has trained with all of them, and knows how to use them to great effect in combat. Hunter of Monsters [+2] – Hunting animals is difficult enough for most, but hunting monsters is another thing entirely. Tracking and survival skills are not enough; one must also know the strengths and weaknesses of the creatures one hunts, whether from lore or, preferably, experience. Ingrid has hunted and killed a great variety of monsters, and knows a great deal about other kinds as well. Tough Talker [+2] – In some parts of the world, charm and flattery are the keys to social interaction. In the north, though, they often play second fiddle to boasts and insults. To be able to praise oneself and belittle others – often, but not always, in good humour – will often get one further than sycophancy can. Ingrid knows this well, and while she lacks southern social graces, her ability to boast, insult, intimidate and speak bluntly is well-developed. Drawbacks: Code of Honour [-2] – Southerners often have difficulty understanding Northern conceptions of honour, imagining Northerners to be nothing but boastful, short-tempered brutes. While it is true that Northerners do not generally bind themselves to clear-cut codes of conduct, honour still means a great deal to most. Ingrid is no exception, and in fact is perhaps more rigid – or even naďve – than most, holding herself to a high standard of behaviour at all times. Looking for a Challenge [-2] – From a young age, Ingrid has always tended to bite off more than she could chew. Though her monster-slaying exploits were impressive, at least by local standards, many of them were the result of rather foolhardy actions that happened to work out. So far, Ingrid has managed to avoid major repercussions for her recklessness, but a bigger stage means bigger stakes. Starting Location: Jarl Gunnar’s lands or Bjornhold, probably. What do you want out of the game? Like I said, I like politics and mystery (though Ingrid is a bit more combat-focused). Ingrid mostly just wants to take on whatever challenges present themselves to her, starting with doing whatever she can to advance her jarl’s interests at the royal election. Taking those dwarves/Djiksterans down a notch might also be fun. Viscardus fucked around with this message at 08:05 on Feb 13, 2017 |
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Feb 13, 2017 07:11
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Ok, since I only got 13 apps which is 3 more than the 10 I was originally planning to take, and I've given people the chance to rework the apps I thought didn't fit, I'm going to provisionally accept all of them, on the assumption that like most PbP games about half of them will flake within the first 10 pages or so. Please note, if I find out this is too many people, or your character just isn't working out, I reserve the right to drop you at any time. Now, I'm going to work on getting the thread up in the next few days, but in the meantime I'm going to ask one last round of questions, and ask that you post with additional detail about where exactly your character is starting. Berke - The invasion was repulsed several years ago. What have you been doing since the end of the war? Bo Ruknamal - You've managed to sniff out a potentially lucrative trading opportunity in Southport, what is it? Cassandra - Tell me about the sibling who currently stands to inherit the family fortune. What's your relationship with them? Catriona - Tell me about your hardest case. Hajra - What were you doing when the Emir called the clans to war against the Djiksteran invasion several years ago? Hildegard ‘Weiss’ Schultz - Tell me about your family back in the north. Ingrid - What was your most difficult hunt? Jian - What memory from your training lingers the strongest? Kain - The relationship between the Sidonese nobility and the Resdisian exiles isn't always so great. Tell me about a moment of tension that Kain was involved with. Magroth - What was Fenstrom's most important lesson? Meat - You've served as bait for the hunts conducted by several nobles. Who did you hate the most, and why? Natasha - What is the darkest deed you've ever had to do for the Eyes, and who else knows about it? Skadi - What is the thing that surprised you most about Bjornhold?
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Feb 14, 2017 01:23
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Thanks again Val, and quote:Skadi - What is the thing that surprised you most about Bjornhold?  The sheer number of people, and also the smell. Not even at the local clan moots has she seen so many humans walking around. Neither had she smelled so many humans and livestock cooped up together. The old Northern phrase "Stinks on ice" comes to mind.It had been two weeks, and she had settled into the inn commandeered to house the majority of the shaman brought into judge the claimants. Skaadi had learned a great deal from them already, including several new songs and histories unknown to her. Also communicated to her was the sheer size of the kingdom itself; growing up in a village, you heard of places beyond the horizon, it was quite another to see, and smell them. The walls, the finery and goods in quantities she had never seen before were certainly a new experience. Also found in quantities unheard of before: drunks, weirdos, pickpockets, etc. All in all a mixed-leaning-positive experience. Ronwayne fucked around with this message at 00:19 on Feb 16, 2017 |
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Feb 14, 2017 03:09
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Kain - The relationship between the Sidonese nobility and the Resdisian exiles isn't always so great. Tell me about a moment of tension that Kain was involved with. Kain - The border of the Resdisian Quarter While the Resdis government in exile allowed for the more prominent to be headquartered in the Resdis Quarter itself, lesser personages and the lesser known Knightly orders were on the fringe. While not slovenly it did show the pecking order of political power, as the buildings were older and often converted from another use. Not quite the estates of the peerage but they would have to do until fortune favored Kain or his order... While not a great house, and the Order not as well known as in its heyday, Knights often were pulled into disputes and guarded other nobles and noteables to advance Resdisian agendas. The selections weren't based on favor but more on availability. In Sidon, this included the annoying duty of attending ostentatious Sidon garden parties. The naked slave pyramids and orgies intrigued some of the Resdis peerage and repulsed others. Outwardly at least. This was nothing so grand but the wine was flowing at dinner. Kain had been "invited" as a show of power with a few knights of orders of lesser reputation by a middling Resdis Count with an inflated sense of self worth. The usual Sidon posturing and envy of those with true power combined with the Count's polite but veiled sniping led to an inevitable conclusion. The Sidon slave lord Taskar sloshed his wine drunkenly about as he declared, "If Resdis was so great, why did Leonis defeat you so soundly! You come begging at our door for asylum. Show some respect and take care not to bite the hand that feeds you, and enjoy the scraps from my table!" He then lewdly turned and made a sound of flatulence. "Another scrap for you Resdisian dogs!" To say that every Resdisian sword had erupted from each scabbard in the room would be an understatement. That no one had killed every Sidon and slave present was in no small part a miracle. One that emanated from Kain. <"Hold."> The Dark Knight stated with a deathly calmness. An aura of dread creeping into everyone's soul. The other knights resisted, but barely. Their swords returning to their sheaths as the momentary pause let them remember what was important here. Kain sighed. No favor with the count would be gained in upholding the peace. But he could not let this be an(another) incident between Resdis and Sidon. "Peace. The agreement between Sidon and Resdis must be upheld." Those not fortified against such an effect shivered and held still, in some cases even soiled themselves. The Sidon Lord and Resdis Count were among the latter. Pathetic. "Too much wine and drink can make even the wisest say things we do not mean...my sword master once told me that." Kain sheathed his sword. The aura faded. He bowed. "Apologies to our hosts for any...misunderstandings. Thank you for your continued hospitality, but we shall take our leave now." As the Resdisian party collected itself the Sidon slave lord spoke out again. "Yes, see that you do." Gesturing dismissively. Kain stiffened but said nothing. It was killing him that this lesser foreigner speak to any of his people this way. Gritting his teeth at the indignity the Resdisians left. It was a scene that didn't always have a good outcome, and restitution had been paid in the more extreme instances. Kain would be leaving soon, just hold out a bit longer he told himself... I am Communist fucked around with this message at 03:25 on Feb 14, 2017 |
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Feb 14, 2017 03:10
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Valhawk posted:Now, I'm going to work on getting the thread up in the next few days, but in the meantime I'm going to ask one last round of questions, and ask that you post with additional detail about where exactly your character is starting. He can still hear it in the old man's voice, the one thing he always insisted upon, beginning, middle and towards the end of his time spent learning, before he'd ever learnt to etch the simplest aspect of the life rune, and long after he'd started freeforming modifiers, "Listen. It's all too easy to let power over life itself go to your head. It's easy to realise you can heal or harm with a gesture and a little Anima, and think that that makes you better than those you bring weal or woe to. Don't! That's the biggest trap of all, the path of hubris, the path to becoming a monster. When you deal with living, intelligent beings, never, ever make the mistake of thinking of them as anything less than that, like an experimental subject, or a mere target, or even, Gods forbid, a plaything. Once you go down that path, you begin to lose that which makes you an intelligent being and become, in the eyes of everyone else, a monster, something to be hounded out and ended. Your Brothers and Sisters in the Lifebringers most of all. Yes, use the rune. Yes, bring health and heartiness, and by all means take the recompense due your service. Yes, there are those, as you know full well, whose dark hearts can only be met with an equally dark response, if you absolutely have to, your life or theirs. But never use it just to aggrandize yourself, to treat others as less than who they are. Always respect them, even your enemies, and never forget the life and the mind within them." Fenstrom's quarters, Magroth's inheritance, are in one of the middling districts of the great city of Aum. Far better appointed than the slums in which Magroth grew up, but not a patch on the illustrious academy districts, especially not the famed water gardens surrounding Evylnn Biartes' veritable palace of learning. This district is most often home to rune-casters from far afield, refugees, mendicant mages, those passing through or seeking asylum, or just the proximity of their own talented kind. The zeitgeist is one of impermanence, of bags still packed. There are relatively few native-born citizens here, and some resent that. AJ_Impy fucked around with this message at 03:18 on Feb 14, 2017 |
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Feb 14, 2017 03:16
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 Valhawk posted:Hildegard ‘Weiss’ Schultz - Tell me about your family back in the north. My family, is it? There is of course my father, Dietrich, and my mother, Astrid. As well, I have two brothers. One older, Leonhard, and one younger, Gunther. My parents were nomads, of a sort, travelling merchants who wandered from one end of the Northern Kingdom to the other, up until Leonhard was born. That was around the time they settled down in Sangjyor, a hamlet a few days off from Bjornhold, starting a small store with what money and supplies they had leftover. It was the same village where my mother was raised, actually. It was a peaceful enough childhood for the three of us, though too much so for my older brother. He struck out for Arjborn close to two years ago now, seeking to make a name for himself as a warrior. Been hoping for the best for him, but none of us have heard word from him in awhile. Not sure if the fool got himself killed, or if he’s simply too busy to visit. Gunther, on the other hand, seems just fine taking up in our father’s footsteps. A sly one, and a real charmer at that, he’ll make for a much less honest merchant than our parents. Likely to be more successful in the end though. He was still in Sangjyor before I left for Leonis, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he started travelling about the land since then. As for me, I originally set out for Esperas. Figured the capital was the best place to learn more about the Hero’s Order, even if the city wasn’t fully constructed yet. Along the way, however, I came across the village of Valion, which runs alongside the Galik River. That’s where I met Zan’Drel, who I later learned was sent by Sigmund to help rebuild the place from the damages of the war, and well… the rest is history, more or less. We chatted, I got unofficially drafted into the Order, and I’ve been here since. Of course, I’d still prefer to continue on my way to one of the more notable cities, but I’m stuck until my mentor feels our work is done here, or we get assigned another task. Valion isn’t all that bad, admittedly. The land here is more fertile than Sangjyor, and the people are lively enough company. Good deal of that is due to Zan’Drel’s efforts, in all honesty; I think the mood would drop quite quickly if he wasn’t around. Nevertheless, I’m hoping we leave for grander sights sooner rather than later. TheFireMagi fucked around with this message at 21:17 on Feb 16, 2017 |
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Feb 14, 2017 04:07
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Valhawk posted:Ingrid - What was your most difficult hunt? Ingrid has had a few hunts that might qualify for the title of “most difficult”, but the one that stands out the most is her second wyvern hunt. The first wyvern she’d killed had been a juvenile – still dangerous, but within the capabilities of a hunter of basic competence. A full-grown wyvern, on the other hand, was a truly dangerous foe, and one that, in truth, Ingrid had not been entirely prepared for at the time. Wyverns are not entirely uncommon in the Jagged Peaks, but their preference for nesting at higher elevations means that they do not often become regular nuisances for human settlements in the area. An unlucky sheep or goat may be picked off now and then, but that is typically the extent of it. So it began in this case, except that the attacks on livestock did not cease, and the local farmers began to suspect that a wyvern was nesting unusually close by. Things finally came to a head when the creature attacked a young boy – it was driven off without its prey, but it was sadly too late to save the boy’s life. Several local hunters and warriors volunteered themselves to avenge the boy and destroy the creature for good, Ingrid among them. For days they scoured the nearby mountains without success. Finally, by pure chance, Ingrid and an older hunter by the name of Snorre stumbled upon what was clearly a wyvern nest, well-hidden beneath a large overhang. Hoping to take the creature by surprise, the two of them hid themselves nearby and awaited its return. Hours later, their patience was rewarded. The pair sprang into action, intending to first disable the creature enough to prevent its taking flight, then to quickly deliver the killing blow. Things did not go to plan, however, and the wyvern was able to take off again, leaving the two of them trapped in a disadvantageous position. With the element of surprise lost, they were at the mercy of the monster’s much greater mobility. Escape was impossible, and so they were forced to stay on their guard while the creature circled overhead, waiting for their opportunity to counterattack. Finally, the wyvern struck, plunging toward Snorre. The hunter managed to bury an axe deep in the beast’s shoulder, but was not fast enough to dodge its strike. The wyvern’s talons ripped into his side and the force of the blow knocked Snorre down onto the shallow but rocky incline below. Whether dead or alive, Ingrid knew that her partner would be of no more assistance, though his final blow had clearly caused the wyvern some pain. As it began to take flight once more, its left wing was obviously weakened, and it did not stay aloft for long before lunging back towards Ingrid. Though not as strong as Snorre, Ingrid was much faster, sidestepping the creature’s first attack before driving her spear into its side. Enraged, the beast threw itself at her clumsily, knocking her over but failing to cut into her with its teeth or claws. It did, however, manage to catch her leg in its talons – and rather than try to maul her, seemed to decide that the safer strategy was to try to take flight again and bite at her in midair. Reacting quickly, Ingrid grabbed hold of Snorre’s axe, still buried in the wyvern’s shoulder, and wrapped her arm around its neck. The end result was a situation that Ingrid would look back on as almost comedic, despite its life-or-death nature: Ingrid half-strangling the wyvern in mid-air while it alternately tried to bite at her and throw her off. Ingrid was acutely aware that even killing the wyvern too quickly was likely to result in her death, and instead did what she could to further injure its wounded wing until it was forced to try to land. Finally, as they neared the ground, Ingrid stabbed into the monster’s neck with her knife, sending them both tumbling down the last few feet. A few minutes later, Ingrid held the wyvern’s severed head in her hands, miraculously unharmed but for an extensive array of bruises. Even more miraculously, she found that Snorre had also survived, albeit unconscious and in significantly worse condition. The successful hunt was celebrated upon their return, and the stuffed wyvern’s head presented to Jarl Gunnar later on as a gift. For Snorre, it was the end of his monster-hunting career, but for Ingrid, it was the hunt that truly cemented her local reputation as a monster slayer. Valhawk posted:I'm going to... ask that you post with additional detail about where exactly your character is starting. Jarl Gunnar's caravan – and Ingrid along with it – has been making the long westward trek to Bjornhold. They are only a day or two out of the city now, and they are hoping that the good fortune they've been blessed with so far will continue. They are currently travelling with another eastern jarl they met on their way, combining their caravans for additional protection, but the roads have been mercifully free of monsters – as well as any bandits brave or foolish enough to attack a group of well-armed warriors. For her part, Ingrid has found the trip rather more dull than she expected and wouldn't mind a chance to demonstrate her skills, but she's also quite looking forward to finally seeing the capital.
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Feb 14, 2017 04:42
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quote:Bo Ruknamal - You've managed to sniff out a potentially lucrative trading opportunity in Southport, what is it? Bo Ruknamal - Southport Bo was having a hard time explaining the plan to the ship's captain, for several reasons. "Yes, realgar and orpiment. I know they're toxic! That is the entire point! The grain stores here and in Ceriston were overrun by rats last winter and they are desperate to ward them off by any means necessary." The Captain huffed. "The barrels will be sealed. Our miners know how to handle it. I have no fear for them. Handle the cargo carefully, take twice as long to get here if the sea gets choppy, just get here with it before the harvest and we will have enough grain to feed the whole House this winter on this deal alone." The Captain said nothing, but stared at the sea. This was the eighth round trip this year, and it was a few moons to go. "Hazard pay, then? If you follow through I'll let you and your boys have a barrel each of the House Beer I'm having brought in." The Captain gave a slight smirk. The beer had been much improved by the ingredients this last-born had been bringing in from the South. But it was still taxing, he rubbed his arm thinking about how much rowing had been done. Bo finally picked up on the reason for Captain and Crew's discontent. "And I'll put your crew up for the Harvest Festival this year - *if* everything goes as I expect it to." The extra negotiation settled, Bo began to think on hiring on a second ship. I'm starting in Southport, Merchant Republics. Ruknamal House Imports. Big red "R" on the sign.
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Feb 14, 2017 09:08
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Valhawk posted:Cassandra - Tell me about the sibling who currently stands to inherit the family fortune. What's your relationship with them? Ah. You wish to hear of my brother, Marcus. Hmph. Everyone does. Though "inherit the wreckage of the family" is more apt. He is my oldest sibling, nearing thirty. If I am the black sheep, he is as white as Northern snow. I am not entirely convinced that he was birthed rather than walking out of a flattering painting in the Hall of Ancestors. Dignified eyes, sharp goatee, wide shoulders clad in gleaming bronze - a noble figure if there ever was one. Having received the most funds and attention from our parents, he is the best educated and least incompetent of the bunch. He... was kind to me. Is, rather. I'm getting ahead of myself. When I was a girl, he spent a lot of time with me, telling me amazing stories about the world. With him, I imagined the godlike mountains of the North and the deep halls of the dwarves. Most of all, he spoke of golden deserts and the jewel-cities of the Emirate. He had a high opinion of the Orcs and their culture. I believe he saw - or wished to see - himself in their steadfast strength. At the same time, he cautioned me not to think of them like many of us do. They are not "noble savages" - their culture is, if anything, more advanced than ours. He did bring back some art from his travels, and his words ring true. I hope to visit the desert cities one day and see more for myself. He told me of the dwarven miracle of iron, though he could not explain it adequately. He told me of the great devotion of Djikstera and of the Hero King in the west. I remember those moments fondly. Unfortunately, he is unfit for this world. He belongs in a fairy tale, or an idealised play. His heart and spirit are strong and good. He always sees the best in people. That's why he is doomed to fail. He has no stomach for politics, and his mind is feeble, poisoned by the foolish teachings of our father and mother. We couldn't be more different, but he understands my desire to rid myself of the family name and make my own way. I think I understand him, too; the burden of preserving crumbling legacy rests heavily on his shoulders. I truly wish him luck. Valhawk posted:additional detail about where exactly your character is starting The House Visieri is a fitting metaphor for House Visieri. It is an old, grand mansion located in the heart of the city, where other great Houses live in old, grand mansions. The inside is richly decorated with items from all the nations in the world. Thick Orcish carpets muffle all footsteps, fires burn in Dwarven braziers. The beds are covered in the best Sidonian silk. The wood is intricately carved and wonderfully inlaid with gold... but that is only part of the house. The outside is a patchwork of a dozen short-lived fashions. What started out as classic Southport architecture, timeless in it's simplicity, has been transformed by the last two Patriarchs into a tasteless mess. Where repairs were called for, they always pursued the latest fad. Like the vain fools they were, they focused on the façade while the foundations crack - there is only so much money left now, and they wished to be seen. As their incompetence drove income lower and lower, sections of the house first became neglected, then abandoned. The servants are told not to go there and the family pretends they do not exist anymore. I often walk the east wing. I do not enjoy it. The dust and mould disgust me. The waste makes me angry. And that is exactly why I go. I need fuel for my struggle to sharpen myself. Contentment is the enemy. I will not allow comfort to dull my mind and blind me to the world. I cannot - must not - settle for mediocrity like the rest.
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Feb 14, 2017 11:59
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Valhawk posted:Natasha - What is the darkest deed you've ever had to do for the Eyes, and who else knows about it? Natasha - Norgrad The winter of the North was long, dark, and cold. All things that made the sensible dwarf avoid the street and seek the warmth of the hearth. Yet none of them caused curtains to close or for people to bow down their heads and seek shelter quite like the sight of a lonely contingent of the Eyes making their way down the street. A small group of merely four, not in disguise but clad in their distinctive, dyed black winter furs. Not many enough for a raid or a bust. No, such a small group acting in such a way spoke of something much more malignant... The freshly fallen snow squeaked softly underfoot as Natasha made her way, flanked by two members of the blackguard, the pale light of the Moon the lone source of light on her face, for the night watch was not spared to patrol and light torches on these poorer slum districts at the outskirts of the great city. Not to mention such would have been a huge fire hazard in such a maze of wooden buildings, for the poor could afford no building material other than what conifers they could chop from the expansive forests around the city with the blessings of the Crown. "Mikhail", she spoke in an even, quiet tone as she addressed the junior commissar assigned to her, "It is a known thing that the Tsar is an exemplar of his people, yes?" The young dwarf said nothing as his superior talked, "He finds comfort in the stable stone of his hearth, and in the bosom of his wife, as a good man of honor ought", she continued, her face making no effort to form any sort of expression as she did, "For unlike the humans of the South who have no problem running around with a dozen ratty bastards, what sort of dwarf would respect a ruler without virtue?" She stopped walking for just a moment, turning to face her charge. "And the Tsar is virtuous, is he not?" The young dwarf merely nodded. Seemingly satisfied, Natasha continued her trek without further word or expression. Soon the group arrived at a fairly nondescript building, only recognizable from the buildings around it by a small, faded sign above the door marking it as an inn. The door was unlocked, even though it was midnight, as was by her design. The dining hall was empty, except for the proprietor sitting behind the counter in the soft light of a single candle. He was facing the wall, paying the group no apparent attention, and indeed, neither did the group pay attention to him. The only interaction that occurred was Natasha swiping a key with a tag reading '5' conspicuously placed on the counter, and placing a few tarnished silver coins on its place. Then the group made its way upstairs in silence. The room was dark, and largely silent, the soft breathing of those asleep the only sound of note. Natasha's eyes scanned the room, noting a jeweled brooch on the nightstand. A reminder of a better life. A life in the richer districts, amidst luxury. A life of which no records could be found any longer. She pocketed the brooch, and approached the figure on the master bed, her step silent. It was a woman, fairly young, her belly swollen. Natasha merely stared, just for a second, before drawing her knife and performing her task. Once again, she turned to Mikhail, once again the non-expression of cold detachment the only thing on her face. "The Tsar is virtuous", she whispered as she handed the now slick knife to the young man, her eyes locked onto a crib slightly to the side, with a child-sized bundle just about visible in it "is he not?" Mikhail was quiet for a moment. Then he performed his task also. Theantero fucked around with this message at 16:14 on Feb 14, 2017 |
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Feb 14, 2017 12:39
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Can I add double-secret Tsar bastard to my backstory?
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Feb 14, 2017 14:50
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JamezBfod posted:Can I add double-secret Tsar bastard to my backstory? That works for me, at least 
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Feb 14, 2017 16:04
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Valhawk posted:Hajra - What were you doing when the Emir called the clans to war against the Djiksteran invasion several years ago?  Hajra, the Desert WitchAn excited youngling had carried the news all the way to her clan. He had been dispatched by a neighboring clan and now the head of Hajra’s clan had given his son their fastest horse so that he might carry the news further into the desert. There was to be a war and the Emir had called upon them to help their brethren in the fight against a human invader. The little village was abuzz with activity, young orcs were excited about the opportunity to prover their worth and old ones only hoped they’d be able to stay behind. The decision would lie with the Sheikh of their clan, he would pick the warriors and take them to join up with the Emir’s forces. Hajra burst into the shack she shared with her master, telling him about the call to arms. He was furious. “Why do the humans want this war, it will only bring pain to both our people. Pain now, when our sons and daughters will fight and die, and pain later, when our hearts will harden and hate. War, Hajra, war is an ugly business and I won’t have any part in it, never again!” And with that the conversation was over. Hajra agreed with her master that war seemed to be a tragic business, but she figured that refusing to help was pointless. The Spirits had willed this war, else why would it take place? The least she could do for her brethren was to help protect them from the evil Spirits that would doubtlessly scour the battlefields. She looked at the moon chart on the wall and noticed that it was the fifth day of the week, the day of magic. This was a good omen and she knew what she had to do. She had told the young soldiers to meet her after sundown, at the summit of the cliff that provided their village with shelter from the sandstorms that swept across these parts of the desert. Hajra double checked her bag, making sure she had not forgotten anything. Her master would be furious about her taking these ingredients but it had to be done, such was the will of the Spirits. She left the village by noon, steering well clear of the Sheikh’s hut in which her master and the elders were having a heated discussion. Having climbed the steep cliff she started setting up a small fire before sitting down, facing west. In a small bowl she dissolved her powders in water from the oasis, her clan’s home, the water that kept them alive. First the Henna, then the other cosmetics. She dipped her nail in the Henna and started to trace the names of the Spirits on her arms. They were old names, far older than any of them and no one remembered what they were or how to pronounce them, but they still carried power. The names of the evil Spirits on the left, the good Spirits on the right. Over her heart she wrote the name of the Spirit of water, who brings life to the dry sand, who lives in the blood of everything alive. On her throat she wrote the name of the Spirit of wind, who gives breath and voice to living things, but who is fickle and can take your life just as easily. The sun was almost setting as she finished the colored markings on her hand. The pigments had come from far away, but these were the most important markings. The open eye on the palm of the right hand, blue and white, the closed one on the left. The right is watchful and protects, the left is blind and condemns. Hajra sat cross-legged and turned her palms up to the sun so that it might dry the pigments. The warriors found her still facing the desert to the west as they climbed atop the hill. Hajra was gathering her will, feeling the Spirits around them and listening to their whispers. Slowly she stood up and lit the fire she had prepared. She threw some incense on the flames, turning them blue and conjuring a thick scented smoke. The flames made her eyes glint. Hajra’s eyes were blue, a rare color among orcs, marking her as a Spirit witch. She weaved around the warriors, staring straight into their eyes and calling out to the spirits, begging them for protection. After this first incantation she mixed the remaining henna with the blood of the fennec, the fox of the desert. She drew five red lines on each warriors face, the magical number. A vertical one across the forehead to give them a fox’s cunning. A horizontal one below each eye, to sharpen their vision. Two vertical lines below their tusks to render them as savage as wild beasts. As the markings dried she lead them in prayer and while they asked the spirits for help she circled around the little congregation, right palm stretched out towards the night, keeping the bad spirits at bay. Finally as the fire grew dim she uncorked a water-skin and drew the name of the water Spirit over their hearts, so that He would bring them back to the oasis, their home. The war party left the next morning, their spirits bolstered and their bodies marked. As Hajra had expected her master was furious but she knew she had done as the Spirits expected of her. There really had been no choice. --- The village of the clan Hajra's staying in doesn't have a name, there has never been a need for it. It lays in an oasis to the south of Katran, about half-way to the mountain range. This part of the desert bears isolated rocky formations and the village was built in the shade of a big cliff, sheltering it from the afternoon sun and the western wind that brings sandstorms across the desert. She lives in a small shack that is filled with arcane tools and ingredients, a bit off to the side from the other shacks and tents. Fathis Munk fucked around with this message at 23:11 on Feb 14, 2017 |
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Feb 14, 2017 22:28
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Quick and dirty pogs, use them if you want to, feel free to ask for other frame colors or something I guess http://imgur.com/a/tN6bP
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Feb 14, 2017 23:12
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JamezBfod posted:Can I add double-secret Tsar bastard to my backstory? No.
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Feb 15, 2017 04:26
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 Valhawk posted:I'm going to... ask that you post with additional detail about where exactly your character is starting. Berke's tribe - the Selimids - are in the west, staring out at the Empire and a few day's ride to the Shield Mountains. Where Berke stands is at a yam - a way station, resting point, and watch post rolled into one - for orcs and the odd travelers who come this way. A horsetail banner is planted five miles along the beaten path from the yam, meant to be a message for safety and indicator of which tribe owns the yam. Northwest of the yam lies a watering hole, though it is very close to bordering Djikstera lands. A large yurt and hearth belonging to a clan chief is built with several smaller yurts gathering around it. Horses are tended to by a couple orcs. Valhawk posted:Berke - The invasion was repulsed several years ago. What have you been doing since the end of the war? He kept himself busy in duels and archery games, but he had been keeping a list of powerful Orcs from memory - 'rivals' as he calls them - for him to challenge for glory and greatness. Most of them were veterans of the war just like him, though a few of them advanced within the authorities of their Khan, and the Emir for some lucky ones. Others still left the tribal lands for their fortune wherever they would find it. Recently he had ridden to the Southlands bordering the mountains to challenge one of his rivals to a duel - a war hero named Talal who claimed the crests of twelve of Djikstera' elite knights in battle. The battle was fierce lasted for an hour before Talal yielded to Berke. Coming back home with pride in tow, he was surprised to hear that the Selimids were being challenged for the yam they hold by a neighboring tribe, the Gul. So fresh from his expedition south, he rode to the yam to meet the raid along with many similar youths. AnAnonymousIdiot fucked around with this message at 18:33 on Feb 17, 2017 |
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Feb 15, 2017 06:55
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 The first year of Initiate Training consisted of traditional strength and fitness-building exercises coupled with meditation and study of the First Forms of Anima-Ka. At the end, those who did not quit advanced to Year Two. Those who could last the full ten years, and pass all nine trials, advanced to the full rank of Brother or Sister. Above these were the Masters. And above them were the Old Masters. Finally, there were the Dreamers and the Honored Dead. The Honored Dead were those killed before their time, and were interred in the Catacombs beneath the Halls of Dreaming, where lay the Dreamers; Yueh who, at the end of their life, drank a special herbal tea and entered a deep state of meditation before they were sealed into an alcove in the Halls. There, only the Old Masters knew for what they lay waiting. Jian was in Year Two of his training. His group sat in the Training Yard; a courtyard paved with large flagstones easily a yard on either side in which Initiates trained and worked. Master Dimm stood before them. Beside him were stacked dozens of thick stone slabs, roughy the length and width of a human torso, and each weighing at least hundred pounds if they were an ounce. "Each of you," he began, gesturing to the stack, "will be given a stone. You will take it with you everywhere you go; you will train with it, you will eat with it, and you will sleep with it. Those who forget or misplace their stone will be placed back in Year One. By the end of Year Two, you will be asked to break the stone," he gestured to a demonstration stone at his feet, "with one blow." There was an intake of breath, then a shout as Master Dimm drove his fist straight down into the stone. The slab shattered almost effortlessly, and to the shock of the students, the flagstone beneath it had also fractured into numerous pieces, cratering into the ground beneath it. "Those who succeed will advance to Year Three. Those who do not will remain in Year Two. Now, come and receive your stone." Ever since that moment, Jian has believed that anything is possible. --- Jian fled Northwest after the razing of the Temple, away from the retreating Resdisian front. Since then he has followed a westerly path, using the Tower as a guide. The road he is on is a dirt road, once well-used but now fallen into disrepair. Ahead is the city of Tir, visible in the distance, where his path will turn south toward the new capital. Behind is a small village populated mostly by farmers, an innkeep and a smithy. Farmland in various states of use border the road on either side. Rhjamiz fucked around with this message at 14:01 on Feb 16, 2017 |
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Feb 16, 2017 03:14
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Valhawk posted:No. I can see how that might be a bit much. Love the pogs.
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Feb 16, 2017 06:12
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Thank you for the pogs!Valhawk posted:Now, I'm going to work on getting the thread up in the next few days, but in the meantime I'm going to ask one last round of questions, and ask that you post with additional detail about where exactly your character is starting.  Justicar training begins at a young age. I was brought to the Hall of Justice at the age of 4. Together, with my fellow hopefuls I spent the first 3 years of my life in the common dormitory. Until the time I was 7, I labored as a servant; working in the kitchens, stables, and wherever else a young pair of hands could be of help. We all do. The Archon thinks it helps us to understand the truth we elicit if we have some knowledge of the lives that motivate those beliefs. Later we learned that it also helps keep costs down. In this fashion I was taught the first limit of the rune of truth. A partial truth is still the truth, but it can easily mislead. Never settle for a single answer, always inquire from multiple angles and use slight variations of the same question to reduce the ways a suspect can avoid incriminating themselves. Those hopefuls who failed to find friends with others in their dorm during this time were weeded out. A Justicar's empathy must be as keen as any spear point, for only by knowing others, can we find the truth. I had many friends and so was allowed to stay. When I turned 7, I was paired with sister-trainee, Honoria. We were long since friends from our years in the dorm. We were given our own room, just the two of us, and later were given private study rooms. Mastering a rune is a long and grueling process requiring intense study, so the privacy was not a luxury, but a necessity. We did almost everything together. We were even assigned to serve as pages to the same Justicar-Instructor together. Those years of working, studying, and even rarely playing together were some of the happiest years of my life. I was lucky to be paired with Honoria, she was the best candidate from our year. I likely would have never passed our class in Dwarvish if not for her help. She was faster and stronger than me too. Her example inspired me, inspired all of us to be more than we thought we could be. In the sixteenth year of my life, we were separated. We would each serve as squires and assistants to the Justicars who would become our life-long mentors. For two years, we traveled with our mentors. Helping them and learning from them. Afterwards, we returned to Origin, to the Hall of Justice where we would receive our tattoos and our roles would be reversed. We would be given assignments, and our mentors would follow us for a year. Helping and teaching us. Just before my final initiation, I was asked to interview my sister-trainee to determine if she was fit to be a Justicar. I thought it was just a formality, Honoria had always been the best of us. I was nervous about passing my own final interview, but I had no doubts about her. To my horror, my interview with her was not a formality. Not only she, but also her mentor, had been lax in their duties. They had accepted stories that even I, once removed, could see obvious holes in. They had been quick to pass judgement, hasty in their conclusions. Much mischief had been allowed to continue unchecked by their actions and it was likely that many they had punished had been innocent. I could not believe it. I left the Hall, my mind in turmoil, and walked for I do not know how long, wrestling with this decision. Should I do my duty and report their laxity, or should I protect the best friend I'd ever had? I have nightmares from my year defending the Shield Mountain, but this was the hardest decision I ever had to make. In the end, there was only one thing I could do. I betrayed my BFF to the Justicars. Justicar Bronzeheart, my mentor, told me he already knew and had captured them while I was away, but he was proud of me for passing his test. I helped interrogate them. Both of them, even though Honoria had been led into error by her mentor, she too had to pay the price. Afterwards, Honoria was allowed a funeral pyre, that her soul might find its way back to the One God. Her mentor's beheaded body I left in the woods for a wandering monster to devour. Beheaded because though we are servants of Truth, we do not wish any to know that even we sometimes fall short of our duties. Since then, I have felt a hollowness within my own chest. I believe it is the empty spot where my mercy found a home before it was burned out of me by betraying Honoria, my best and oldest friend. *** I am currently rooting out evil and injustice in the NorthEastern part of the Empire. I was told to be especially thorough because an army might soon be passing through here to capture the Golden Mountain Tower at long last.
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Feb 16, 2017 22:04
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Valhawk posted:Now, I'm going to work on getting the thread up in the next few days, but in the meantime I'm going to ask one last round of questions, and ask that you post with additional detail about where exactly your character is starting. The Harrowers camp lies in a town north of the Spire in the jungles of Sidon. Our camp is on the edge of town, although not so close that we have to worry about monsters all the time. Just when the seasons are particularly bad, and the beasts particularly hungry. Karnath is not necessarily an important town, but it is a crossroads so we get a lot of traffic heading to and from Djikstera and the mountains to the north. Most of its industries are service related and agricultural, being in the densest and most exotic parts of the jungles and marshes means that there are many strange and exotic plants that grow. Actual farming suffers though as a result of the dense jungles. Every couple of years people make a fuss about clearing some of the jungle to make room for more farm land and once in a while it does actually happen. But Karnath still imports a lot of actual food. Meat's most hated noble belongs to the house of Astaron, one Lady Malvak. Physically she is capable enough although hardly imposing, but her cunning and cruelty are legendary. Whenever she hires us for hunts, slaves die. There is a way she drives them that puts them in danger, or puts those she does not like in danger. Whether it be due to blood payment for the injury of a noble in the course of the hunt, or slaves dying to beasts, she is a harbinger of death. Meat has a scar along his chest that he got thanks to lady Malvak. When she remembers that he exists, she seems almost disgusted that he has not die yet. But in truth she has little time to waste on something as inconsequential and worthless as the life of a slave. An attitude that does nothing to assuage the burning fires of hate in Meat's heat. She is second only to Guarl of House Indus, owner of the plantation and original master to Meat and his mother, in people that he would like to visit retribution upon.
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Feb 17, 2017 02:38
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Am I the only one that isn't grimdark and bloodthirsty? Am I missing a theme here?
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Feb 17, 2017 05:59
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JamezBfod posted:Am I the only one that isn't grimdark and bloodthirsty? Am I missing a theme here? Well I started in an area that just saw the end of a Scorched-Earth war only a year ago; I don't have a choice! Also I'm not bloodthirsty, I just like punching things.
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Feb 17, 2017 06:01
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JamezBfod posted:Am I the only one that isn't grimdark and bloodthirsty? Am I missing a theme here? I specifically made a non grim and anti excessive violent pc and went embarrassingly folk metal over death metal.
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Feb 17, 2017 06:09
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JamezBfod posted:Am I the only one that isn't grimdark and bloodthirsty? Am I missing a theme here? Meat really only wants to kill two people in particular, slaves generally don't have a good lot. Besides Valhawk is also the one that keeps pushing me in this direction!
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Feb 17, 2017 07:24
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