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 Name: Henrig Dimorgen Alias: Jones Archetype: Whisper Look: Androgynous Man; Bright, Handsome, Weathered; Collared Shirt, Vest or Waistcoat, Loose Silks Heritage: Tycheros (Third-generation resident, raised in squalor and taught to be self-reliant) Telltale: Mirrored irises, shark-like teeth Background: Underworld (Pickpockets nobility, mugs laborers) Vice / Purveyor: Luxury (Dundridge & Sons; sells Henrig whatever odd garments he can afford) Insight •• Hunt Study • Survey • Tinker Prowess • Finesse Prowl Skirmish • Wreck Resolve ••• Attune •• Command • Consort • Sway Special Abilities
Friends ▲ Fedir Dimorgen: The ghost of Henrig's grandfather, who still holds lofty dreams of Doskvol's glory days. He likes to hang around Jones, recounting stories and guiding him through the city. ▼ Setarra: A demon who promised Fedir safe travels to Doskvol in exchange for a favor which has not yet been called upon. Henrig is obsessed with Doskvol. It began with his grandfather's stories, painting grand tales of the city's splendor, clinging onto that dream to his death bed. Years later, Henrig now insists that Doskvol speaks to him, telling him where wealth and other prospects can be found. Wandering through his city, he feels the "jones" to pull this and that from passers-by and affix his haul to his outfit; he fancies himself a patchwork noble from a legacy of rags. He was drawn to the crew the way he's drawn to many things: by the murmured pull of the city's bricks. He hopes to amass a fortune his grandfather would be proud of, and perhaps raise his name to something worthy of respect. Double May Care fucked around with this message at 02:36 on Aug 21, 2019 |
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Aug 8, 2019 22:30
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Tricky Dick Nixon posted:Feedback: I notice that in your background you discriminate on your victims, picking the pockets of nobles but using violence and mugging laborers. The difference in degrees is interesting to me. Is there an intent there in expressing how Henrig relates with the rest of the underclass he is a part of? If intentional, I'd like to see that play out a bit, it's interesting to me. If unintentional, it might be worth thinking about it as a potential element for your character. This is simple... Laborers do not wear their wealth; they must be pried like nuts, where nobles simply let their fruit hang. And is it not my role in noble society to exploit the workers for my own gain? Especially when the city seems so insistent that someone must lose their coin. Who am I to deny destiny? It does require me to dirty my hands, but the income is much more consistent... I do understand that I'm not yet a noble, but once I've ascended I can overlook a trifle as such. Again... destiny. I am always where I need to be at that moment. quote:Prompt: Pick any two districts in Duskwall and describe for us Henrig following their "jones" there. They could be adjacent neighborhoods or far apart, that's up to you. I'd like to see you express Jones' relationship to the city in this way, how they navigate and find their means of travel, and what it "looks" like to us the reader when the city speaks back. I do most of my transactions at The Docks. Everyone is so drawn to the boats and all their larceny that there's no room to look out for the little people. That's where I strike... The city radiates out from Saltford's in its omniscience. Somewhere a coin ticks the bricks, the rattle vibrating through the alleys to my ears. Someone lost it, I hear in Doskvol's broken whispers. It's breathy like shifting waves, but low like a foghorn. To your right, behind the brothel, it conveys to me, and of course I follow its instruction. Ahead of me stones in the pavement hum in reverence, pointing the way to the dropped coin. Here, Doskvol drones as I eye someone stumbling over themselves grasping for change. They're drunk. As they crawl, I stamp my foot on their ankle and draw my knife. "Drop your purse on the ground and lay where you are," I growl at them. They look up at me--yes, a drunk man, probably a sailor. "I n't got one!" He says, head rocking. Of course he would say that. I lean onto his leg, watching him buck around until he gives it up. Thankfully, I hear it. Three gasps, sounding like his treasure. Left coat pocket. I rest my knife on the back of his neck and rifle through his coat. Sure enough, he keeps his purse within reach, the telltale sign of a laborer living above his means. I tell him to stay silent and prone until he counts to twenty, then be on my way. After a few such victims, I feel confident enough to return to Nightmarket, where I've recently acquired some meager housing--my intent is to buy out the whole building once I've secured my family's fortune. It puts me off that the area is so full of nouveau riche, but they make nice scenery. Here, Doskvol takes on a more playful tone. Look! Look! It calls out at many things, like the tapping feet on the boardwalk. Passers-by are so lenient about their wealth here... Ohh, cufflinks, it tells me as I approach a noble. I've become adept at removing them without arousing too much suspicion. I prefer when they wear things on their hips--hands are used too often to go unnoticed--but cufflinks are manageable. I raise my hand above my head and arc it down as I bow my head. "Good day, sir," I tell the fortunate noble. He tries not to make eye contact--must not enjoy the sight of himself--but grants me a bow as we pass. He stops paying attention to me as he continues, which is what I expect. I quietly follow behind him, recall what I've observed of his cuff, and free the item from his possession. Nice, pretty, Doskvol remarks. I assumed it expects my gratitude for calling my attention to it, but I assure it that its day will come. As I ascend a stairway, I appraise my finding. Onyx set in silver, no discerning markers... He won't miss it, and black goes with almost anything. If I see him again, I might shake his hand and try for the matching set, but as it stands this can be repurposed or fenced. I pocket it and continue home... quote:With an anecdote, tell us when your character realized they needed a crew. Maybe it was a score they tried to put on that was bad. Maybe it was something more introspective, but there was a moment where it clicked that you needed to band together. It's possible this isn't the first crew or gang you've run along with, and maybe you even had partnerships (potentially with other PCs, we'll have a chance to build on those connections later) with individuals, but you've never really been a "founder" before of a real venture. This is something special, so tell us what brought your character to that decision and how they look at it. I was short on my payment to the Bluecoats and spent an unpleasant amount of time in Dunvil "repaying" them. If I have to do that again I'm sure my family's reputation would be tarnished beyond recognition. I did learn more about teamwork while hauling such delicious-looking stones, and so I asked the city to find me someone who shares my passion for accumulating wealth... And then narrowed my search to people who might have need of me, as the usual whispers of Doskvol became cacophonous. Finally, I did what I always do and let the walls guide me... here. quote:Describe a score the crew might undertake, and the role your character would play. It can be from your character's perspective, or more detached. It can be relatively simple and straightforward, or have many twists and turns along the way. The important thing to communicate is where you (and the character) would see themselves fitting in with a team dynamic. When the spotlight is on them, how do they perform? What is the one unique thing they bring to the crew that no one else quite has? (tbc) Double May Care fucked around with this message at 23:47 on Aug 18, 2019 |
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Aug 15, 2019 04:01
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