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3,500 | 78 | 54 | 901 | 1,545 | Iabor awoke with a mighty yawn, the warm blankets filled with their warmth made it hard to move. Not to mention the fact that he could never return, for once he left he was officially banished. He heaved a heavy sigh mixed with another yawn, and got out of bed the cold floor stinging at his bare feet, but he tried to ignore it.
"By the gods it is freezing," Iaborsaid shivering.
He quickly began to don his armor, and did a few squats as to get his blood flowing again. Then grabbed his large black fur, and putting it on. He wrapped it close to himself, and grabbed his heavy bag. Before heading outside his helmet quickly getting covered in a thin layer of frost.
He walked up to the gate to be surprise by not only Hardel,but Allistairas well.
"Well what did us lowly rookies do. To earn such great company as your own," Iabor said laughing.
His muscles tightening as Iabor looked upon Allistair. He had no regrets, and he wasn't sour about his banishment from the order.
"By the gods its cold isn't it," Iabor said as he felt a great chill seep through his armor. | Name: Iabor
Race: Daemon
Age: 250
Gender: male
Iabor's demon form is 15 feet high on his hands, and feet; while 16 feet while standing upright. With a neck reaching to about half a foot. Coming in with a weight of a whopping 1000 pounds of pure muscle. He has three tails that are about 4 feet long with hidden spines all along them that can shoot out at his enemies, and two huge smooth horns that start at the top of his head, and shoot straight back with a slight curve pointing up at the ends. He has a long head with a muzzle his lips look, and feel like hard curved teeth, inside is another set a little further back that makes him look like he has two sets of teeth. He has several markings on his face including the dark outline around his eyes that goes straight back before curling under, and pointing out in between the curves are sort of curved charm dots. His skin is smooth, and scaled most of his body is a snow white color, while his stomach down to in between his back legs is a ridged pure black color. His massive paws have three curved talon like toes, while his hands also have three thick fingers with an opposable thumb that end in curved talons. He has a wingspan of 2133cm, and are as soft as a baby chicks feathers.
Human Form
Bio:
Iabor was born a Daemon in the human world, his own mother did not wish to keep him. On the day of his birth he was abandoned to die out in the cold, he was the perfect little monster with teeth, and scales as white as snow. With wings so fluffy and soft the only one to show Iabor any kindness was a young woman, she wrapped him up in a bundle of soft cloth. Their belly was large heavy with pregnancy of her own, instead of worrying about herself she took Iabor with her to her home in the woods on the outskirts of the village. She fed Iabor scraps of meat, and milk helping the young daemon to grow. One thing Iabor was quick to notice was that the woman had no husband. On the day of his sisters birth, Iabor managed to shift into his human form for the fist time. The woman was surprised by this, but was happy as she would raise both of them to be just people.
Iabor grew up being picked on not only because of his hair, and eyes. But, because they called his adopted mother a whore. Which caused him to more often then not to get into fights, more often then not he was chased away by the men of the village. As he grew he began to developed great control over the basic elements. One rainy day, his mother his sister, and himself traveled to the city the wind and the slick road saw them hurtling off the cliff. Before they struck the floor Iabor shifted into his demon form a massive beast with white scales, and huge horns that flowed from his brow to the sky his snout massive with revealed teeth, his purple eyes glowed as he flew the carriage they traveled in back up to the road. He was the size of a horse, though as gentle as a summer breeze. His tail swished as he roared out the skies clearing as if by command. It was then that his mother understood, that Iabor was a daemon of incredible strength, one that could bring great change to the world.
It was ten years after his mothers death of old age, that the event with the demons occurred. His sister who'd grown older looking then his brother thought of what the villagers would do, so she quickly attempted to hide Iabor. Though he refused to go into hiding, he decided to fight for the humans. Even though those in the village hated him, he knew their were others like his adopted mother and sister. So using his skills over metal he created a suit of armor, and sword as to hide his true identity. Before leaving to join the fight the villagers came when Iabor was training alone in the woods. They destroyed everything they tore his sister from her home. Cursing her as a warlock, they didn't give her a fair trial before burning her at the stake. Iabor came running when he saw the smoke, his eyes widened behind his helmet, and he roared in anger shifting into his demon form the cowards ran he chased them down. He tore those he caught apart, the only reason he stopped was because he heard his families voices. They told him to keep his promise, and he agreed in return they joined him he would never be alone again.
Over the years Iabor kept his face hidden, all the while not using any of his elemental abilities. Which as he grew older began to diminish in place of pure physical strength, every human lifetime he'd vanish from the battlefield as to ensure he would not be detected. Not wishing for a repeat he would work in a secret forge providing the humans with strong weapons to slay demons with. All the while practicing his elemental magics so they wouldn't completely disappear. During the great war Iabor made himself a prominent member of the Templar, and has plans of revealing his true form. |
3,501 | 78 | 55 | 2,558 | 6 | Kaedas rose early, washed and donned his black robes. Today was exceptionally cold so he chose one of his warmer robes; one with fur trim and extra padding to keep in the warmth. He headed to the upper floor food hall; where he claimed a few slices of grain bread and a bowl of local fruits mixed into a porridge. Once he'd had his fill he placed his bowl into a basket, that would be collected later and cleaned by the kitchen servants, and headed to the main courtyard.
Once outside, Kaedas was forced to raise his hood to protect against the biting wind and headed towards the Main Gate where, he was sure, some of the recruits were already waiting.
He was pleasantly surprised by the small group of templars, warlocks and demons present. The one thing he did not expect was to see the Grand Warlock standing there, resolute against the chill air, not blinking but staring at the wrought-iron gate. No wait, he's not staring at it - he's staring BEYOND it! | Name: Kaedas
Race: Human
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Bio: Kaedas is the son of a merchant, from a family not blessed with magical ability - Until Kaedas developed his powers at the tender age of eight. His father was so proud an wanted his only son to become a templar and bring glory to the family name. But Kaedas had other ideas... he trained himself and developed his skills to the point where he could safely cast a few basic spells and thoroughly understood Daemon lore. He soon caught the attention of the Order and has been trained as a full-fledged warlock. His skill and power grew and so did his ambition. It may take him years but he has his mind set on becoming the next Master Warlock. |
3,502 | 78 | 56 | 2,513 | 714 | Jason rolled over he was having a nightmare that wouldn't let him go. The demons were there and fire was everywhere, then a swarm of disease. He ran from them soon finding a door he quickly shut it. He was now in a dark room with a table and a chair. But someone was already in the chair they looked at him and smirked. He then recognized them it was Herunes they sat there in silence for a minute before saying. "I'm watching" then the dream went to black as Jason woke up.
He looked around as he breathed heavy as he looked around "I'm late and its cold" he said. He knew the weather will get worse when he goes out side. He could hear the howling of the wind in the barracks. He gathered everything he had which wasn't much and got his thick coat on. He then went to the mess hall getting some bread. He was eating it as he walked down the hall to the main corridor. He saw a lot of Templars, Wizards, and Demons. "Morning routines must have been cancelled" he said to himself as he walked out of the main doors. He covered his face with his arms as he was met with the harsh winds.
He then saw the Master Warlock, Hardel, Kaedas, and Iabor standing in this harsh wind. He walked up to them and bowed to them "Grand Warlock and Master Hardel sorry I am late." He said then stood up and stood straight up before he went and stood by Hardel not sure why he was here. He just new it felt like to cold of a morning for these two older men. | Name:Jason Blades
Race: Human
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Description:
Bio: Jason was born to two Templar knights who fell in love even though it was forbidden among them to do so. They had Jason in secret and raised him to be a knight as well. Though they never really wanted it for him, but they knew having the skills would save him in the future. When he was ten the commander found out and his parent's where punished. He was thrown into the training program as his parents were sent on missions mostly for recon. By his thirteenth birthday he was one of the best among his group.
But when his parents didn't return from a mission did he realize that the world he was told about was true. Death, sorrow, greed, and destruction was all that was left. After that day he vowed to be as great as his parents and to try and change the world somehow.
He trained hard and mastered in short ranged weapons mainly swords. He never leaves without one on his hip and a dagger in a boot.
(I just now saw the link DX) |
3,503 | 78 | 57 | 245 | 26 | Herunes opened his eyes, he felt the immediate chill shuddering down his spine, it has gotten colder. Herunes was sat upright in a position as if he was a monk, to get through the night and to rest his body, Herunes meditates. As sleeping exposes his mind, rather like an unlocked tiger cage. Always keeping in control, plus his uninvited visit into Jasons mind required some thought considering his powers are vacant.
He stood up and tightened his garments, for what seemed to be light cloth actually was an ancient elven robe. It kept out the cold relatively well, despite him starting to feel it, he knew that the others suffered worse. He made his way down to the courtyard to find his companions waiting, he was surprised to see Hardel, as well as Jason standing next to him. Herunes made his usual smile hinting nothing of the nightmare he inflicted, he however could feel the strain it had.
'What a lovely day to travel' He turned towards the young Warlock who he had made little contact with yesterday 'It seems that you were on time... how interesting...' His face was at complete disgust, yet still remaining his smile. He then pulled out his book and started reading, paying no attention to Iabor. | Herunes
Species: Daemon
Age: 247
Gender: Male
Human Form
Demon Form
Bio:
It's very rare warlocks summon Herunes, not for lack of intelligence or power, but for his trickery. A warlock who summons Herunes must be strong willed to look him in the eye and stare deep within madness, this usually requires the strong willed or the already insane mind. He can be unpredictable if taken lightly, he may be slim but his smile resembles a dark evil that has a sensational thirst for...what? Madness? Corruption? Chaos? Death? Other than souls, nothing seems to be a certainty on what interests Herunes.
His strength in his human form comes from a fair amount of skill in mind manipulation, in sacrifice to physical prowess of a knight, he has the ability to make even the hardened warrior go mad and curl in fear, he stares deep into the minds of others learning of their haunting nightmares and past, this requires time however and can only be done through an extended time of his presence. Herunes however is looked down towards by other Daemons, as his ability to transform into his true-form has been restricted by his summoner, she had learned so much of Herunes that she was totally prepared. Though to Herunes advantage, his summoner, a decaying old woman of a warlock, seeking vengeance on a necromantic clan, has fallen to arrogance and does not tell anyone of her secrets. So all he needs is to complete her task, and out live her inevitable fate.
Words of summon give away to his power...'I summon thee, dark lord of madness and horror'
"You have summoned me.... but how long can you last...?" |
3,504 | 78 | 58 | 410 | 377 | I am hear out of respect to Sir Hardel, who will be joining you on this task. Alistair said over the strong howls echoing through the stone buildings. "He will be joining you on this assignment. Evaluating your work accordingly." Alistair continued, raising his hand to the small door leading into the chamber built into the gatehouse for the guards. "If you require better cloaks the watch will be more than happy to share with you. The order is built on cooperation, but the cold cares little on how resilient you are." he paused to look at the Daemon among them. "Remember, even Daemon, while in human form, suffer just as mortals."
Hardel wandered up to Jason, leaning closer to him as he gripped the spear in his hands to balance his weight. "Now boy, we'll be continuing your training on this task. You did not think I would make things easy on you." His words sounded like a stern teachers, only the brisk smile as he walked back over to the main gate entrance showed Hardel was not as bad as he seemed. He looked out over the snow as it blew over the open plains beyond the citadel and tried to focus on the forest in the distance that formed a natural barrier between the Order and the cities of men. "Storm is losing strength. We should see only snow fall by days end." | Name: YliyRace: Demon!Age: 170Gender: FemaleDescription: is a demon of sound, her songs are so perfect to the ear it causes insanity, and she constantly has a air of happiness around her, the complete opposite of what she actually is. She has the ability to summon doors which when opened shows a way to an endless void, she usually uses this to *cough* remove *Cough* peopleSorry if it's not good, I don't mind if she's not accepted
You need to use the img with around it to make the image show Totts, It'l show you how at the bottom of the screen. I did look at the image regardless and the bio is nice. The only thing I might pick at is her door summoning. Does that just lose people or are they thrown into a labyrinth in which they must find the way out of some limbo realm? |
3,505 | 78 | 59 | 901 | 1,545 | Iabor had packed everything he owned in his bag, which included a heavier coat. Seeing how the wind was picking up he decided to put his bag down, and bring it out. He put his long thick leather coat on, and pulled down his hood as he removed his helmet as it obstructed his vision too much. But, his mouth was hidden by a layer of cloth, and his eyes draped in shadow from the big hood which was lined in black fur. He pulled his coat tightly around him clasping the wolf bone buttons through the leather string sewn into it to keep it tightly around him. He then put his helmet back into his bag before hoisting the heavy sack over his shoulder.
"Will we be traveling the whole distance by foot or will we be using horses," Iabor asked.
He wondered because of the fact the orders supplies were mostly put to the front for fighting demons. Which he figured included the horses. So there was a probable chance they'd be going on foot. He looked at Hardel figuring that if anyone would slow them it would be him due to his older age. Though he was not foolish enough to completely discount the mans abilities. | Name: Iabor
Race: Daemon
Age: 250
Gender: male
Iabor's demon form is 15 feet high on his hands, and feet; while 16 feet while standing upright. With a neck reaching to about half a foot. Coming in with a weight of a whopping 1000 pounds of pure muscle. He has three tails that are about 4 feet long with hidden spines all along them that can shoot out at his enemies, and two huge smooth horns that start at the top of his head, and shoot straight back with a slight curve pointing up at the ends. He has a long head with a muzzle his lips look, and feel like hard curved teeth, inside is another set a little further back that makes him look like he has two sets of teeth. He has several markings on his face including the dark outline around his eyes that goes straight back before curling under, and pointing out in between the curves are sort of curved charm dots. His skin is smooth, and scaled most of his body is a snow white color, while his stomach down to in between his back legs is a ridged pure black color. His massive paws have three curved talon like toes, while his hands also have three thick fingers with an opposable thumb that end in curved talons. He has a wingspan of 2133cm, and are as soft as a baby chicks feathers.
Human Form
Bio:
Iabor was born a Daemon in the human world, his own mother did not wish to keep him. On the day of his birth he was abandoned to die out in the cold, he was the perfect little monster with teeth, and scales as white as snow. With wings so fluffy and soft the only one to show Iabor any kindness was a young woman, she wrapped him up in a bundle of soft cloth. Their belly was large heavy with pregnancy of her own, instead of worrying about herself she took Iabor with her to her home in the woods on the outskirts of the village. She fed Iabor scraps of meat, and milk helping the young daemon to grow. One thing Iabor was quick to notice was that the woman had no husband. On the day of his sisters birth, Iabor managed to shift into his human form for the fist time. The woman was surprised by this, but was happy as she would raise both of them to be just people.
Iabor grew up being picked on not only because of his hair, and eyes. But, because they called his adopted mother a whore. Which caused him to more often then not to get into fights, more often then not he was chased away by the men of the village. As he grew he began to developed great control over the basic elements. One rainy day, his mother his sister, and himself traveled to the city the wind and the slick road saw them hurtling off the cliff. Before they struck the floor Iabor shifted into his demon form a massive beast with white scales, and huge horns that flowed from his brow to the sky his snout massive with revealed teeth, his purple eyes glowed as he flew the carriage they traveled in back up to the road. He was the size of a horse, though as gentle as a summer breeze. His tail swished as he roared out the skies clearing as if by command. It was then that his mother understood, that Iabor was a daemon of incredible strength, one that could bring great change to the world.
It was ten years after his mothers death of old age, that the event with the demons occurred. His sister who'd grown older looking then his brother thought of what the villagers would do, so she quickly attempted to hide Iabor. Though he refused to go into hiding, he decided to fight for the humans. Even though those in the village hated him, he knew their were others like his adopted mother and sister. So using his skills over metal he created a suit of armor, and sword as to hide his true identity. Before leaving to join the fight the villagers came when Iabor was training alone in the woods. They destroyed everything they tore his sister from her home. Cursing her as a warlock, they didn't give her a fair trial before burning her at the stake. Iabor came running when he saw the smoke, his eyes widened behind his helmet, and he roared in anger shifting into his demon form the cowards ran he chased them down. He tore those he caught apart, the only reason he stopped was because he heard his families voices. They told him to keep his promise, and he agreed in return they joined him he would never be alone again.
Over the years Iabor kept his face hidden, all the while not using any of his elemental abilities. Which as he grew older began to diminish in place of pure physical strength, every human lifetime he'd vanish from the battlefield as to ensure he would not be detected. Not wishing for a repeat he would work in a secret forge providing the humans with strong weapons to slay demons with. All the while practicing his elemental magics so they wouldn't completely disappear. During the great war Iabor made himself a prominent member of the Templar, and has plans of revealing his true form. |
3,506 | 78 | 60 | 410 | 377 | By foot Templar. Hardel is a veteran ranger of these parts. He is your guide as well as your commander, though he has informed me he will restrain from making the groups decisions. Alistair seemed to sound almost displeased by what Hardel had told him. Obviously the two men did not see eye to eye on matters as these. Alistair would have preferred Hardel to simply take command, instead of this foolishness of letting the youngsters dictate their fates. Then again the old fool only want to see what his new squire was made off on the field. Such nonsense, Alistair preferred efficiency over such trivial pursuits. This mission was too important to fail, no kingdom could withstand the stress of another war.
"Don't worry boy, I'll keep up. And no doubt keep you fed, unless you know how to hunt without attracting imps..." Hardel jested. Imps were an old fairytale from when Elves ruled, Demons were the real menace of the realms. They would appear everywhere and ruin lives, homes, anything they got their claws into. Imps was a nickname for the smaller whelps of the demon kind. Nobody liked them, not even other demons it seemed. "Vicious little bastards they are. Just don't let them get close without scaring the crap out of them, and you'll be fine." Hardel smiled at Jason and Iabor, taking out a small bottle of what looked like mead or wine and downing a swig of it. Returning the cork to the lid and tucking it back inside his clothes. | Name: YliyRace: Demon!Age: 170Gender: FemaleDescription: is a demon of sound, her songs are so perfect to the ear it causes insanity, and she constantly has a air of happiness around her, the complete opposite of what she actually is. She has the ability to summon doors which when opened shows a way to an endless void, she usually uses this to *cough* remove *Cough* peopleSorry if it's not good, I don't mind if she's not accepted
You need to use the img with around it to make the image show Totts, It'l show you how at the bottom of the screen. I did look at the image regardless and the bio is nice. The only thing I might pick at is her door summoning. Does that just lose people or are they thrown into a labyrinth in which they must find the way out of some limbo realm? |
3,507 | 78 | 61 | 245 | 26 | (Ignore this space, due to slow internet -_- Sorry guys) | Herunes
Species: Daemon
Age: 247
Gender: Male
Human Form
Demon Form
Bio:
It's very rare warlocks summon Herunes, not for lack of intelligence or power, but for his trickery. A warlock who summons Herunes must be strong willed to look him in the eye and stare deep within madness, this usually requires the strong willed or the already insane mind. He can be unpredictable if taken lightly, he may be slim but his smile resembles a dark evil that has a sensational thirst for...what? Madness? Corruption? Chaos? Death? Other than souls, nothing seems to be a certainty on what interests Herunes.
His strength in his human form comes from a fair amount of skill in mind manipulation, in sacrifice to physical prowess of a knight, he has the ability to make even the hardened warrior go mad and curl in fear, he stares deep into the minds of others learning of their haunting nightmares and past, this requires time however and can only be done through an extended time of his presence. Herunes however is looked down towards by other Daemons, as his ability to transform into his true-form has been restricted by his summoner, she had learned so much of Herunes that she was totally prepared. Though to Herunes advantage, his summoner, a decaying old woman of a warlock, seeking vengeance on a necromantic clan, has fallen to arrogance and does not tell anyone of her secrets. So all he needs is to complete her task, and out live her inevitable fate.
Words of summon give away to his power...'I summon thee, dark lord of madness and horror'
"You have summoned me.... but how long can you last...?" |
3,508 | 78 | 62 | 245 | 26 | 'Oh? Such a shame... that makes sight seeing so much harder...' Herunes chuckled out, 'I look forward to your keen directions in the world Hardel' He then raised his attention towards Alistair 'And... my lord, to assist me on this journey my accomplice shall be joining us, i'm sure you won't disagree as he is with-out a doubt a bonus to our little group. Making things perhaps go along easier, if not quicker.' Herunes told a lie, he really had his doubts for Alistair agreeing, but that didn't bother him. Seph has a natural akin to keeping out of sight and would make tagging along at a distance possible...
'Oh and... do kill as plenty of Imps as possible, their piled bodies amuse me.' He then went back to his book and started to softly hum a song. From his expression it was noticeable that he was reading the lines from the book, he even looked a little lost in thought as he carried on. I shall never forget your song vampire... | Herunes
Species: Daemon
Age: 247
Gender: Male
Human Form
Demon Form
Bio:
It's very rare warlocks summon Herunes, not for lack of intelligence or power, but for his trickery. A warlock who summons Herunes must be strong willed to look him in the eye and stare deep within madness, this usually requires the strong willed or the already insane mind. He can be unpredictable if taken lightly, he may be slim but his smile resembles a dark evil that has a sensational thirst for...what? Madness? Corruption? Chaos? Death? Other than souls, nothing seems to be a certainty on what interests Herunes.
His strength in his human form comes from a fair amount of skill in mind manipulation, in sacrifice to physical prowess of a knight, he has the ability to make even the hardened warrior go mad and curl in fear, he stares deep into the minds of others learning of their haunting nightmares and past, this requires time however and can only be done through an extended time of his presence. Herunes however is looked down towards by other Daemons, as his ability to transform into his true-form has been restricted by his summoner, she had learned so much of Herunes that she was totally prepared. Though to Herunes advantage, his summoner, a decaying old woman of a warlock, seeking vengeance on a necromantic clan, has fallen to arrogance and does not tell anyone of her secrets. So all he needs is to complete her task, and out live her inevitable fate.
Words of summon give away to his power...'I summon thee, dark lord of madness and horror'
"You have summoned me.... but how long can you last...?" |
3,509 | 78 | 63 | 2,513 | 714 | Jason listened to Alistair then Hardel then Herunes he never heard of an Imp before. He was curious of what they were and what they looked like, but wouldn't ask not sure if the timing was right. He then heard a faint humming from Herunes he forced himself not to smile at it. He would have never guessed the demon would go so far to hum a sung in public. "So when are we to start moving?" Jason asked knowing they needed to go now instead of talking. Because it looked like the storm will be get worse soon.
He looked at Iabor he couldn't reed this man. He wondered how Iabor looked under his armor. he then shook his head as he snapped out of it the discussion at hand was more important then his curiosity. | Name:Jason Blades
Race: Human
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Description:
Bio: Jason was born to two Templar knights who fell in love even though it was forbidden among them to do so. They had Jason in secret and raised him to be a knight as well. Though they never really wanted it for him, but they knew having the skills would save him in the future. When he was ten the commander found out and his parent's where punished. He was thrown into the training program as his parents were sent on missions mostly for recon. By his thirteenth birthday he was one of the best among his group.
But when his parents didn't return from a mission did he realize that the world he was told about was true. Death, sorrow, greed, and destruction was all that was left. After that day he vowed to be as great as his parents and to try and change the world somehow.
He trained hard and mastered in short ranged weapons mainly swords. He never leaves without one on his hip and a dagger in a boot.
(I just now saw the link DX) |
3,510 | 78 | 64 | 901 | 1,545 | Hmm very well, Iabor said.
He adjusted his gauntlets a bit, before throwing the other strap on his back pack over his other shoulder. Then pulled out a heavilly filled water skin from his jacket pocket, which wasn't filled with water but honeyed meed. He took a chug from his honeyed meed it tasted amazing. He soon took it away corking the top as he glared at Allistair, he was mentally imbalanced. Everything that meant anything to him had just been taken away in one fell swoop. He'd thought that the worst that the man would do was put him under contract, but this.... This was a punishment worse then death to Iabor. He had no purpose now, but he was going to complete this last mission with efficiency worthy of him. | Name: Iabor
Race: Daemon
Age: 250
Gender: male
Iabor's demon form is 15 feet high on his hands, and feet; while 16 feet while standing upright. With a neck reaching to about half a foot. Coming in with a weight of a whopping 1000 pounds of pure muscle. He has three tails that are about 4 feet long with hidden spines all along them that can shoot out at his enemies, and two huge smooth horns that start at the top of his head, and shoot straight back with a slight curve pointing up at the ends. He has a long head with a muzzle his lips look, and feel like hard curved teeth, inside is another set a little further back that makes him look like he has two sets of teeth. He has several markings on his face including the dark outline around his eyes that goes straight back before curling under, and pointing out in between the curves are sort of curved charm dots. His skin is smooth, and scaled most of his body is a snow white color, while his stomach down to in between his back legs is a ridged pure black color. His massive paws have three curved talon like toes, while his hands also have three thick fingers with an opposable thumb that end in curved talons. He has a wingspan of 2133cm, and are as soft as a baby chicks feathers.
Human Form
Bio:
Iabor was born a Daemon in the human world, his own mother did not wish to keep him. On the day of his birth he was abandoned to die out in the cold, he was the perfect little monster with teeth, and scales as white as snow. With wings so fluffy and soft the only one to show Iabor any kindness was a young woman, she wrapped him up in a bundle of soft cloth. Their belly was large heavy with pregnancy of her own, instead of worrying about herself she took Iabor with her to her home in the woods on the outskirts of the village. She fed Iabor scraps of meat, and milk helping the young daemon to grow. One thing Iabor was quick to notice was that the woman had no husband. On the day of his sisters birth, Iabor managed to shift into his human form for the fist time. The woman was surprised by this, but was happy as she would raise both of them to be just people.
Iabor grew up being picked on not only because of his hair, and eyes. But, because they called his adopted mother a whore. Which caused him to more often then not to get into fights, more often then not he was chased away by the men of the village. As he grew he began to developed great control over the basic elements. One rainy day, his mother his sister, and himself traveled to the city the wind and the slick road saw them hurtling off the cliff. Before they struck the floor Iabor shifted into his demon form a massive beast with white scales, and huge horns that flowed from his brow to the sky his snout massive with revealed teeth, his purple eyes glowed as he flew the carriage they traveled in back up to the road. He was the size of a horse, though as gentle as a summer breeze. His tail swished as he roared out the skies clearing as if by command. It was then that his mother understood, that Iabor was a daemon of incredible strength, one that could bring great change to the world.
It was ten years after his mothers death of old age, that the event with the demons occurred. His sister who'd grown older looking then his brother thought of what the villagers would do, so she quickly attempted to hide Iabor. Though he refused to go into hiding, he decided to fight for the humans. Even though those in the village hated him, he knew their were others like his adopted mother and sister. So using his skills over metal he created a suit of armor, and sword as to hide his true identity. Before leaving to join the fight the villagers came when Iabor was training alone in the woods. They destroyed everything they tore his sister from her home. Cursing her as a warlock, they didn't give her a fair trial before burning her at the stake. Iabor came running when he saw the smoke, his eyes widened behind his helmet, and he roared in anger shifting into his demon form the cowards ran he chased them down. He tore those he caught apart, the only reason he stopped was because he heard his families voices. They told him to keep his promise, and he agreed in return they joined him he would never be alone again.
Over the years Iabor kept his face hidden, all the while not using any of his elemental abilities. Which as he grew older began to diminish in place of pure physical strength, every human lifetime he'd vanish from the battlefield as to ensure he would not be detected. Not wishing for a repeat he would work in a secret forge providing the humans with strong weapons to slay demons with. All the while practicing his elemental magics so they wouldn't completely disappear. During the great war Iabor made himself a prominent member of the Templar, and has plans of revealing his true form. |
3,511 | 79 | 0 | 2,002 | 2,686 | - Neo -
Angel Grove, once just another city in the huge expanse of America was changed into a focal point for all manner of supernatural and unexplainable events caused by extraterrestrials who wanted to interfere with the human race for either the human’s benefit or their own. Under normal circumstances this constant battle for balance would have rendered the relatively small city of Angel Grove nothing more than a fine layer of dust on the crust of the planet. Luckily for the inhabitants of Angel Grove they had resident protectors of good living in their own fair city. Theses powered individuals were the Power Rangers. With their amazing powers and enormous Zords and Megazords, the Power Rangers protected the city before they ended the events for good by sealing away the evil trio of Rita Repulsa, Rito Repulso and Lord Zed. After the evil trio was locked away, the Power Rangers disappeared from the face of the Earth and soon fell into legend.
The citizens never forgot about the Power Rangers or the foes they fought and while most were content to think back on they Ranger’s battle with appreciative respect, some instead used their likeness to earn gain wealth and fame. These select few began to transform the once normal American city into one big tourist trap themed around the Power Rangers. Every street corner had someone peddling knock-off Power Rangers toys and most food restaurants had some clever pun cuisine based off of a villain that the hero faced. To all outsiders the city was like something out of a child’s imagination but to most living in the city it was a nightmare. This was not the case for Matt Howard.
Matt wasn’t a mega-fan of the Rangers like he had been in his youth but he still had a decent amount of admiration for the group and thought the ‘themed’ city that he lived in was a cool experience that he could always look back on if he ever moved out of Angel Grove. On nice days like today he really enjoyed the aesthetic of his home city as he walked down to the grocery store. The constant hum of cars and and sounds of various commercials for the latest Rangers paraphernalia was somehow soothing to the teen which brought a smile to his face that could only be taken away with his need to interact with others. Matt took a deep breathe and entered the store, a task which seemed monumental at the time but in the coming days this small act would become minuet compared to the challenges ahead. | Name: Matt Howard
Age: 17
Personality: Matt's a shy person who, under normal circumstances, stays out of conversation or social interaction if he can help it. That being said he enjoys being around people and listening to what they have to say, just not directly interacting with them. This mentality changes however when Matt's with his team. Matt finds solace in the fact that they are all in generally the same situation as one another and have common experiences in their heroic endeavours.
Brief Bio: Matt grew up idolizing the Power Rangers from years before just as his parents had when the Rangers were still in action. He collected whatever merchandise he could of the team and often times would try to lead whatever conversations he was having over to the topic of Power Rangers. This obsession lead Matt being generally ignored if not told off as other kids got tired of him going on and on about the singular topic. Eventually the glamour of the Rangers wore off for Matt but he was now left in a state where many of his peers would still generally ignore him and he would make no attempt to start a conversation due to his past of rejection.
Strength: 3
Speed: 3
IQ: 2
Health: |
3,512 | 79 | 1 | 364 | 1,539 | Tamsyn Oliverus used to be in a coma until she woke up. She claimed to be Thomas Tattersall a knight of serving under King Richard the Lionheart. She was of course comitted to a psychiatric hospital to get the treatment she needed.
What no one knows is she's telling the truth. Tamsyn was never going to wake up for her coma, through magic roughly a thousand years ago a knight's conciousness was thrusted forward and found a home in a new land in a new younger body.
The patient would not go quietly into the gentle night, she fought but her new weaker body was no match for the big brutes in white cotton and their evil needles. She was kept at least partially sedated at all times to prevent injury to herself and the staff. | Name: Tawnie “Thomas” Tattersall
Age: 17
Personality: Tawnie's foremost trait was her loyalty, a dedication to God & country and its ideals she held it above everything else. A very close second was her family, who were "everything" to her. While Tawnie despised her King’s brother and his cohorts for becoming corrupt and betraying the country, she especially hated the weak that joined them. She viewed them as worse than the corrupt because greed had nothing to do with their defection. Thus, she believed that they deserved no mercy.
After the death of his family, Tawnie believed she had little left and devoted herself to knighthood. However, after killing the man responsible, Tawnie found that she was still not at peace with herself and her past.
Brief Bio: Tawnie had only two options become a nun or marry, she rejected them both. She ran away from home at a young age. Dressing as a boy and adopting the name Thomas she pursued her dream of a becoming a noble knight. She found a knight who took her on as his squire. Eventually the Third Crusades began; her knight was recruited by the king. In Levant, she saw the worse mankind had to offer. She watched friends break from the emotional toll and physical damage to their bodies. She saw them slaughtered. Those that broke either became stronger for it or withered and died. Her knight did not become stronger, he ran away like a coward. She kept fighting; her bravery and gallantry against the enemy earned her capture. While captured she watched as others were mutilated and maimed. When it was her turn she used an attack she had ever only seen women use, she kneed the bastard in the balls. Taking his sword she slit his throat. She barely missed the executioner’s axe. While the executioner was off balance she kicked his legs out from under him sending him face first into his own axe. She freed the rest of the prisoners. Unbeknownst to her the king was one of the people she saved. The king rewarded her efforts by knighting her. After the conclusion of the Third Crusade they returned home to find the King’s brother had become a tyrant ruling with fear and magic. The king’s brother had nearly bled the country of all its wealth. The King’s brother refused to give up his power; this led to a civil war. During the civil war she was caught in a magical explosion from two competing spells. Though her body was lost forever her consciousness was cast forward into the far future into the body of a comatose and brain dead teenage girl, Tamsyn Oliverus.
Notes: Was in her late twenties when she became a time displaced consciousness. Since waking up in Tamsyn Oliverus and claiming to be a knight named Thomas, she now finds herself in the care of a mental institution.
Strength: 3
Speed: 2
IQ: 3
Health: 5/5
Number of post till next level: 5
Remaining dodges: 2
Zord health: 8/8
Weapon summoning damage: 6 |
3,513 | 79 | 2 | 714 | 3,221 | Unlike his parents who despised the fact that Angel Grove had seemingly become a city-wide them park for the Power Rangers, and would have moved out long ago if they could afford it, Justin admitted openly that it was a good way to make money. Not that it changed the fact that he could only sell so much ranger colored ice cream before the "clever" pun names became annoying. Still there were worse places to work than at the Smudgey Swirl ice cream shop.
Haven just taken a customer's order he scooped up the banana, strawberry, bubblegum, blackberry, blueberry ice cream for their "First Five" ice cream boat and handed it over to the kid that ordered it. Since there was no one who wanted to order and everything had already been stocked earlier, he had some time for himself. Making sure to keep an eye on the counter he took out his 3 year old phone and started surfing the web.
Strength: 2
Speed: 3
IQ: 3
Health: 5/5
Number of post till next level: 4
Remaining dodges: 2
Zord health: 8/8
Weapon summoning damage: 6 | Name: Justin Earhart
Age: 17
Personality: Personality: It's not easy to get Justin down for long, as he is naturally optimistic. On the other hand his refusal to accept that something is impossible can sometimes cause him to obsess over what he did wrong until he believes he has found the answer. He gets along easy with most people but has no interest in becoming more popular, and just wants people to like him for who he is.
Brief Bio: Brief Bio: Justin was born four years after the disappearance of the Power Rangers and grew up loving to hear the stories about their battles. Unfortunately his parents aren't exactly fans of the multicolored team, due to all the damage they caused with their Zord fights.
Like a lot of children of his generation Justin took up martial arts when he was eleven, and though he didn't like it as much as he expected he kept it up for five years before stopping. His parents made him spent most of his new found free time either helping out around the house, or on part time jobs, given his family wasn't exactly rich.
Strength: 2
Speed: 3
IQ: 3
Health: 5
Notes:
Strength: 2
Speed: 3
IQ: 3
Health: 5/5
Number of post till next level: 5
Remaining dodges: 2
Zord health: 8/8
Weapon summoning damage: 6 |
3,514 | 79 | 3 | 1,894 | 5,787 | Tamora Jean Callhoun was a thrill seeker, and adrenaline junkie, and an all around hooligan. She lived for pushing her car to its limits and taking breakneck corners and curves.
But currently, she was driving a safe twenty-five miles an hour through town. Between her and her best friend on the face of the earth, Jin-Woo Pak, She was the only one who could drive. She didn't mind it, though. If anything, Jin-woo kept her grounded when he was in the car with her, so she'd be more focused on not crashing and injuring the poor boy.
"Is this a safe enough speed, Jeanie? Or should I move a little slower to avoid any pebbles on the road?" She teased a little as a local rock radio station played softly in the background. Just loud enough to listen to, but still hold a conversation with.
The boy gave a tiny snort, before replying with heavy sarcasm.
"I'm sorry Tam, I don't think there are any pebbles left to run over. All dust now." He sighed, shaking his head melodramatically.
"Poor suckers."
"Speaking of suckers." Tamora waved a single hand about, only half focused on the conversation. "We should go and get some ice cream. Heard the Smudgey Swirl has a new flavor or something."
Inspired by one of the many villains that the Rangers fought in the days of yore, the Smudgey Swirl Ice cream shop was another tourist-y Ranger themes attractions around town, often carrying flavors named after the zords, rangers, or the mosnters.
"What do you say?" She reared to a stop and looked at her longtime friend.
Jeanie gave a simple shrug, which to most might seem like simple indifference. Tamora, on the other hand would know this shrug to mean 'you're the boss'.
"As long as I'm paying."
Tamora shrugged back. She knew that she couldn't tell him no, especially since he was offering. It seemed like a mutual agreement between the two, and the young racer stepped on the gas and pushed the speed limit. She might have something simple. Ice cream was a victor's treat, and making it through the day unharmed seemed enough to celebrate.
The short car ride was as to be expected. Many of Tamora's songs played, and she couldn't help but sing along as they went on their way, Jeanie occasionally joining along in chorus, but it wasn't long until they reached their destination.
Tamora settled her car down and went on inside with Jeanie, holding the door for him and letting it go as she entered behind him. At the counter was a kid from school. She had seen his face a few times before, and since the parlor was quiet, it gave her the chance to focus in on his face. No, he wasn't a racer, he was just another kid in the crowd.
"Hey," She greeted him casually as she walked to the counter. "Can I have a... Large Brainy-Blueberry in a cone?" She looked over to Jeanie and motioned him up. "What do you want?"
Another shrug. Jeanie was already fishing through his pocket, seemingly more concerned about paying for Tamora than actually getting anything himself.
Tamora had to genlty launch her elbow into his side to get him to pay attention. Selfless, she thought simply. She had a few more words, but they weren't nearly as child friendly. "Flavor." She said to him, trying to get him to actually make an outright decision on his own.
He in turn stuck his tongue out in response, pausing to think before responding.
"...I'll take a chocolate cone then."
Tamora left a single dollar bill on the counter and smirked to Jin-Woo. "Gotta contribute some way. Can't let you have all the glory."
He rolled his eyes, putting down the exact amount. Thought the smirk wasn't returned, his eyes showed more than enough.
"Consider the dollar a tip." | Name: Tamora Jean Calhoun
Age: 16
Personality: Blunt and brash, Tamora isn't afraid to show people her area of expertise and tell them just how wrong they are. This hasn't made her a popular girl around school, but she didn't go to high school to walk out with droves of friends. Those she trusts are few and far in between, but Tamora is willing to go to any lengths for those people.
Brief Bio: Tamora is a part of the generation after the power rangers, but that doesn't mean that she hadn't heard the stories. She spent all of her time inventing and playing around, trying to build her own giant robots to save people with since the power Rangers weren't around anymore. Almost all of her time was spent in a garage, workshop, or on the streets racing. She wasted no time in getting her feet on the road to drive the junkyard cars she spent so long fixing and tuning. She isn't the best loser around, but she doesn't rub her wins in the faces of others, only looking for the next challenge.
While more of a brawler, Tamora received martial arts lessons since she was a young child, and while skilled, she forgets to practice as much as she should.
Her father was an adreneline junkie as well, having been arrested on multiple occasions for racing and traffic violations. Rather than telling her to not take his path, he challenged her to do better, and she still has yet to be even identified by the police officers.
Strength:3
Speed:1
IQ:4
Health: 4
Notes: |
3,515 | 79 | 4 | 1,894 | 5,787 | Tamsyn was sure to notice the increase of foot traffic outside her room, even in her sedated state. Her caretakers probably didn't mention it directly to her, to not get her hopes up, but it was a scheduled volunteer day at the mental hospital. Some of the more agreeable patients were allowed to speak to and even play with volunteers who wanted to make them smile. While adults did volunteer, the main body was composed of teenagers. Fliers were posted all around Angel Grove High School, increasing the number of young men and women who wanted to help out those who couldn't help themselves, or something like that.
"Zordon, activity on the moon has run rampant." A synthetic voice whined, a robotic body pacing quickly back and fourth, looking at screens and monitors, tapping various panels. "First, our view of Rita's palace has gone dark, and energy readings are spiking for the first time in many years, Ay yi yi..."
He was given no response. The robot looked to a large cylindrical tube in the back of the room. It glowed a faint blue-green color, but his boss was not there.
He should have figured as much. Since the rangers had broken the rules, Zordon trusted only his faithful robot companion, Alpha Five. Zordon would have to concede eventually. They both knew what these readings meant, it was only a matter of time before a second war on earth broke out.
And he had no one to fight for earth. | Name: Tamora Jean Calhoun
Age: 16
Personality: Blunt and brash, Tamora isn't afraid to show people her area of expertise and tell them just how wrong they are. This hasn't made her a popular girl around school, but she didn't go to high school to walk out with droves of friends. Those she trusts are few and far in between, but Tamora is willing to go to any lengths for those people.
Brief Bio: Tamora is a part of the generation after the power rangers, but that doesn't mean that she hadn't heard the stories. She spent all of her time inventing and playing around, trying to build her own giant robots to save people with since the power Rangers weren't around anymore. Almost all of her time was spent in a garage, workshop, or on the streets racing. She wasted no time in getting her feet on the road to drive the junkyard cars she spent so long fixing and tuning. She isn't the best loser around, but she doesn't rub her wins in the faces of others, only looking for the next challenge.
While more of a brawler, Tamora received martial arts lessons since she was a young child, and while skilled, she forgets to practice as much as she should.
Her father was an adreneline junkie as well, having been arrested on multiple occasions for racing and traffic violations. Rather than telling her to not take his path, he challenged her to do better, and she still has yet to be even identified by the police officers.
Strength:3
Speed:1
IQ:4
Health: 4
Notes: |
3,516 | 79 | 5 | 364 | 1,539 | Thomas was rather perturbed by the extra commotion outside her dungeon. It was disturbing her tracking of the armorless guards who kept her under some evil spell. She began tracking their movements in hopes of breaking free from this cursed place.
Her captor came in introducing some brat. She paid no attention to the words, as barbaric and uneducated as they were. The brat especially sounded like an imbecile. She been lulling them into a false sense of security but they still were kept under some evil spell which proved some sort of intelligence but nothing would keep a knight down, just make it harder.
She stared at the imbecilic child before her, eyeing him up and down scanning for weaknesses. Truly remarkable how a weak, pathetic child like this could survive. As soon as her captor felt the brat was safe or whatever he left.
"Telleth me whither I am." The imbecilic child clearly did not understand the King's English. Thus was far stupider than she initially thought and of absolutely no use. "Hence with thee!" She shoved the imbecilic child away. The imbecilic child took the shoving as provocation to attack. Even under the spell this imbecilic child was no match for her. She broke his arm like a twig. Which caused the imbecilic child to scream and cry like a baby. The armorless guards came in and put her further under the spell of her captor. "I wilt killeth thee." She mumbled just as she was rendered unconscious. | Name: Tawnie “Thomas” Tattersall
Age: 17
Personality: Tawnie's foremost trait was her loyalty, a dedication to God & country and its ideals she held it above everything else. A very close second was her family, who were "everything" to her. While Tawnie despised her King’s brother and his cohorts for becoming corrupt and betraying the country, she especially hated the weak that joined them. She viewed them as worse than the corrupt because greed had nothing to do with their defection. Thus, she believed that they deserved no mercy.
After the death of his family, Tawnie believed she had little left and devoted herself to knighthood. However, after killing the man responsible, Tawnie found that she was still not at peace with herself and her past.
Brief Bio: Tawnie had only two options become a nun or marry, she rejected them both. She ran away from home at a young age. Dressing as a boy and adopting the name Thomas she pursued her dream of a becoming a noble knight. She found a knight who took her on as his squire. Eventually the Third Crusades began; her knight was recruited by the king. In Levant, she saw the worse mankind had to offer. She watched friends break from the emotional toll and physical damage to their bodies. She saw them slaughtered. Those that broke either became stronger for it or withered and died. Her knight did not become stronger, he ran away like a coward. She kept fighting; her bravery and gallantry against the enemy earned her capture. While captured she watched as others were mutilated and maimed. When it was her turn she used an attack she had ever only seen women use, she kneed the bastard in the balls. Taking his sword she slit his throat. She barely missed the executioner’s axe. While the executioner was off balance she kicked his legs out from under him sending him face first into his own axe. She freed the rest of the prisoners. Unbeknownst to her the king was one of the people she saved. The king rewarded her efforts by knighting her. After the conclusion of the Third Crusade they returned home to find the King’s brother had become a tyrant ruling with fear and magic. The king’s brother had nearly bled the country of all its wealth. The King’s brother refused to give up his power; this led to a civil war. During the civil war she was caught in a magical explosion from two competing spells. Though her body was lost forever her consciousness was cast forward into the far future into the body of a comatose and brain dead teenage girl, Tamsyn Oliverus.
Notes: Was in her late twenties when she became a time displaced consciousness. Since waking up in Tamsyn Oliverus and claiming to be a knight named Thomas, she now finds herself in the care of a mental institution.
Strength: 3
Speed: 2
IQ: 3
Health: 5/5
Number of post till next level: 5
Remaining dodges: 2
Zord health: 8/8
Weapon summoning damage: 6 |
3,517 | 79 | 6 | 714 | 3,221 | Justin had barely found something to read when two customers entered. He quickly put his phone away and waited for them to make their choice. As they got closer to the counter he recognized them as people he saw around school occasionally. When the girl greeted him he smiled and greeted her back. After she made her order he grabbed a cone and scooped up the blue-berry ice cream.
Her friend unfortunately had more difficulties deciding what he wanted, but there was no one in line behind them so that didn't really matter. Eventually he too came to a decision and Justin prepared the chocolate ice cream cone. He didn't know if these two somehow knew about his family not being the richest, but he wasn't gonna complain about a tip either way. "Thanks, that'll be another 5,- please.
Strength: 2
Speed: 3
IQ: 3
Health: 5/5
Number of post till next level: 3
Remaining dodges: 2
Zord health: 8/8
Weapon summoning damage: 6 | Name: Justin Earhart
Age: 17
Personality: Personality: It's not easy to get Justin down for long, as he is naturally optimistic. On the other hand his refusal to accept that something is impossible can sometimes cause him to obsess over what he did wrong until he believes he has found the answer. He gets along easy with most people but has no interest in becoming more popular, and just wants people to like him for who he is.
Brief Bio: Brief Bio: Justin was born four years after the disappearance of the Power Rangers and grew up loving to hear the stories about their battles. Unfortunately his parents aren't exactly fans of the multicolored team, due to all the damage they caused with their Zord fights.
Like a lot of children of his generation Justin took up martial arts when he was eleven, and though he didn't like it as much as he expected he kept it up for five years before stopping. His parents made him spent most of his new found free time either helping out around the house, or on part time jobs, given his family wasn't exactly rich.
Strength: 2
Speed: 3
IQ: 3
Health: 5
Notes:
Strength: 2
Speed: 3
IQ: 3
Health: 5/5
Number of post till next level: 5
Remaining dodges: 2
Zord health: 8/8
Weapon summoning damage: 6 |
3,518 | 79 | 7 | 2,002 | 2,686 | Matt walked out of the store and let out a sigh of relief as he left the store with a grocery bag in hand. He'd managed to make it through the shopping experience with minimal fright or stress and now he emerged victorious on the other side. He groaned a little as he remembered his day wasn't over just yet as he had been signed up by his parents to volunteer at the Angel Grove Hospital for the Ill of Mind. Matt remembered pleading with his mother to allow him to bail but she was set on sending Matt out to do something other than sit in their home. Matt shuddered a little at the thought of the rest of his day's activities but he once more sucked it up and headed home to drop off the groceries and get ready.
Eventually Matt stepped off the bus infront of the less than pleasant looking psychiatric hospital which lead to Matt swallowing his fear and heading inside against his own wishes to not. Matt met up with one of the head nurses who told him about what his job would entail, mostly just interacting with a patient and, in some cases, playing games. The introduction was cut short however as a loud scream came from a nearby room. The source was quickly revealed to be a kid around his own age with an arm that was bent wrong. Before the door closed Matt caught a brief glimpse of the woman kept within and the sight sent shivers down Matt's spine.
Matt was eventually paired up with a much more docile woman who seemed to appreciate Matt's prescense enough and didn't mind the awkward conversation that they held. Today didn't seem quite as bad for Matt.
Rita Repulsa paced back and forth in her Moon Palace as she stretched her limbs and shook out the cramps that had taken ahold of her during her imprisonment.
"At last! I am free from that prison once again! And theres no more pesky Rangers to stop me from taking over the planet!" Rita exclaimed to herslef as she let out an evil cackle to really drive her point home.
While Rita had been monologuing, Finster had been hard at work finishing up a strike team of putties to sic on the planet Earth. As soon as they were finished Rita sent the putties to begin her invasion of the planet Earth starting with the home of her old enemies; Angel Grove.
The city of Angel Grove was sent into disarray as men made of clay began appearing out of nowhere and causing chaos. They were chasing civilians, breaking windows and overturning anything not bolted down. It was quickly made clear to the residents of Angel Grove that the evil forces that the Power Rangers once fought were back with a vengeance. | Name: Matt Howard
Age: 17
Personality: Matt's a shy person who, under normal circumstances, stays out of conversation or social interaction if he can help it. That being said he enjoys being around people and listening to what they have to say, just not directly interacting with them. This mentality changes however when Matt's with his team. Matt finds solace in the fact that they are all in generally the same situation as one another and have common experiences in their heroic endeavours.
Brief Bio: Matt grew up idolizing the Power Rangers from years before just as his parents had when the Rangers were still in action. He collected whatever merchandise he could of the team and often times would try to lead whatever conversations he was having over to the topic of Power Rangers. This obsession lead Matt being generally ignored if not told off as other kids got tired of him going on and on about the singular topic. Eventually the glamour of the Rangers wore off for Matt but he was now left in a state where many of his peers would still generally ignore him and he would make no attempt to start a conversation due to his past of rejection.
Strength: 3
Speed: 3
IQ: 2
Health: |
3,519 | 79 | 8 | 714 | 3,221 | As Justin waited for the two customers to pay, chaos broke out outside. He had no idea what was going until people got inside the store to hide. He quickly picked up that gray humanoid figures seemingly made form clay were attacking en masse. It didn't take long for him to realize that those things had to be the most common enemies fought by Angel Grove's heroes. He wondered if he should lock the doors to keep them out, so that the people who rushed in, some injured, were safe at least.
He quickly decided against it as he couldn't bring himself to abandon anyone else who needed help. "Anyone who wants to hide, follow me." What he was about was against store policy but he doubted the owners would fire him, he guided about half the people to the employee breakroom and told them to lock the door from the inside. He then rushed to the front of the store to let other know they could be at least somewhat safe in there.
Strength: 2
Speed: 3
IQ: 3
Health: 5/5
Number of post till next level: 2
Remaining dodges: 2
Zord health: 8/8
Weapon summoning damage: 6 | Name: Justin Earhart
Age: 17
Personality: Personality: It's not easy to get Justin down for long, as he is naturally optimistic. On the other hand his refusal to accept that something is impossible can sometimes cause him to obsess over what he did wrong until he believes he has found the answer. He gets along easy with most people but has no interest in becoming more popular, and just wants people to like him for who he is.
Brief Bio: Brief Bio: Justin was born four years after the disappearance of the Power Rangers and grew up loving to hear the stories about their battles. Unfortunately his parents aren't exactly fans of the multicolored team, due to all the damage they caused with their Zord fights.
Like a lot of children of his generation Justin took up martial arts when he was eleven, and though he didn't like it as much as he expected he kept it up for five years before stopping. His parents made him spent most of his new found free time either helping out around the house, or on part time jobs, given his family wasn't exactly rich.
Strength: 2
Speed: 3
IQ: 3
Health: 5
Notes:
Strength: 2
Speed: 3
IQ: 3
Health: 5/5
Number of post till next level: 5
Remaining dodges: 2
Zord health: 8/8
Weapon summoning damage: 6 |
3,520 | 79 | 9 | 364 | 1,539 | Thomas' dungeon was invaded by the Putties. The security guards ran like cowards. "Doth mine captors not has't the coin to hire sellswords who art not cowards? Behold as those clotpoles flee whilst the innocents art harmed." She watched helplessly as innocents children and adults were hurt, possibly killed. They started breaking down doors and dragging people out of their rooms.
She re-examined her room for any improvised weaponry but again she found none. She waited to the left of the door. When her door was kicked open she grabbed her would be attacker and proceeded to punch until it was destroyed. She noticed a long metal pole with some kind of weird bag attached to it. She didn't know what it was nor cared to find out. She did notice it would make a good weapon, temporarily. She grabbed it and went on the offensive. "Thee wilt not taketh me so easily." | Name: Tawnie “Thomas” Tattersall
Age: 17
Personality: Tawnie's foremost trait was her loyalty, a dedication to God & country and its ideals she held it above everything else. A very close second was her family, who were "everything" to her. While Tawnie despised her King’s brother and his cohorts for becoming corrupt and betraying the country, she especially hated the weak that joined them. She viewed them as worse than the corrupt because greed had nothing to do with their defection. Thus, she believed that they deserved no mercy.
After the death of his family, Tawnie believed she had little left and devoted herself to knighthood. However, after killing the man responsible, Tawnie found that she was still not at peace with herself and her past.
Brief Bio: Tawnie had only two options become a nun or marry, she rejected them both. She ran away from home at a young age. Dressing as a boy and adopting the name Thomas she pursued her dream of a becoming a noble knight. She found a knight who took her on as his squire. Eventually the Third Crusades began; her knight was recruited by the king. In Levant, she saw the worse mankind had to offer. She watched friends break from the emotional toll and physical damage to their bodies. She saw them slaughtered. Those that broke either became stronger for it or withered and died. Her knight did not become stronger, he ran away like a coward. She kept fighting; her bravery and gallantry against the enemy earned her capture. While captured she watched as others were mutilated and maimed. When it was her turn she used an attack she had ever only seen women use, she kneed the bastard in the balls. Taking his sword she slit his throat. She barely missed the executioner’s axe. While the executioner was off balance she kicked his legs out from under him sending him face first into his own axe. She freed the rest of the prisoners. Unbeknownst to her the king was one of the people she saved. The king rewarded her efforts by knighting her. After the conclusion of the Third Crusade they returned home to find the King’s brother had become a tyrant ruling with fear and magic. The king’s brother had nearly bled the country of all its wealth. The King’s brother refused to give up his power; this led to a civil war. During the civil war she was caught in a magical explosion from two competing spells. Though her body was lost forever her consciousness was cast forward into the far future into the body of a comatose and brain dead teenage girl, Tamsyn Oliverus.
Notes: Was in her late twenties when she became a time displaced consciousness. Since waking up in Tamsyn Oliverus and claiming to be a knight named Thomas, she now finds herself in the care of a mental institution.
Strength: 3
Speed: 2
IQ: 3
Health: 5/5
Number of post till next level: 5
Remaining dodges: 2
Zord health: 8/8
Weapon summoning damage: 6 |
3,521 | 79 | 10 | 1,894 | 5,787 | It had all happened so fast. One second they were about to get their ice cream, and the next, the city was in chaos. It didn't take long for Tamora to hear the screams of those outside. She rushed to the window to look at the carnage going on.
"Jeanie!" She called to her friend. "Look at all of this, these are the putties I was talking about!" As Jin-Woo wasn't from Angel Grove, he didn't have the natural knowledge of the Rangers and their enemies like she did. She could understand that people wouldn't know the finer details, especially those outside of the city.
The boy took a moment, maybe two, to let that sink in, before muttering a hushed "damn it," shaking his head. Which was one of his rare uses of colourful language. An existence and occurence so rare, it might as well be a cryptid.
"What're we doing here then? Shouldn't we help?"
Tamora patted Jin-Woo on the shoulder. "We should." She nodded back to him and held the door out for anyone who was fleeing the scene. Once the group of people came in, Tamora ran outside to get a better look at the area around her. She could still hear people in the distance. People too far away for her to help right now. She would do her part by taking down these goons. That was her way of helping the situation.
Her first instinct was to rush at one of the Putties and throw the hardest punch she could rev up to test the waters. The punch connected, and she was obviously able to hurt the creature a little, but at the expense of her own great pain.
Her hand felt like she had just punched a cement block, only without the cement actually breaking. Years and years ago she started martial arts in hopes of one day being a power ranger, but nothing could prepare her for the reality that was fighting without a powered suit. She let out a scream of pain and launched a kick, hoping to do a little more before having to run back near the ice cream parlor for safety. "Tag out..." Tamora panted to Jin-Woo.
He nodded in understanding, taking note of Tamora's pain, half because it changed his mind on attacking bare-fisted, half because it hurt to see his friend in pain. What to use, though? His eyes found nothing of use as a weapon, and the putty was getting closer, and thus, with only slight hesitation, thought of what was possibly his dumbest idea yet.
He ran the opposite direction of his friend,into the field of Putties, shouting at one for attention, before running towards another, ducking as the former tried to throw a punch, connecting to the other. He took this moment of confusion to give a shove, unsure if he'd be able to knock them over on his own, but with the two already throwing each other off balance...
Presto! He might've gone on to further fight the two fallen Putties, but it dawned to him just how much closer the other Putties were...And were there always so many? His victory felt very, very small now, and the two fallen ones were almost up again. To charge forward, or to run? He opted for neither, backing away but remaining bent-kneed and focus-eyed. He couldn't possibly take them on himself, especially not in these numbers, but they hurt Tamora, and they'd hurt more people if someone didn't stand in their way, right?
God, stupid ideas were Tamora's job. He had no idea how he was going to handle this. He looked back to the girl, eyes wide.
"Help?"
Jin-Woo didn't even need to say anything. Right as he looked at her, Tamora understood what was being asked of her, and built up the strength to charge again. Now that she knew a little bit about these things, she had a better idea of how to handle them.
"They're mindless!" She called out to Jin-Woo, who gave an appreciative nod as his friend began making noise to get them off of him. "Just throw them around and they'll hurt each other in no time!" She focused less on hitting them and more on grabbing and swining them around, putting her smaller frame to use against the putties.He followed suite, his larger frame used to throw them off balance, confident now that he didn't need to rely on the Putties' own strength now that Tamora had shown their weakness. Their strange gurgling and blooping sounds were a testimate to their stupid cuteness, but they both knew they had evil intentions, and steeled their resolve to beat them down. | Name: Tamora Jean Calhoun
Age: 16
Personality: Blunt and brash, Tamora isn't afraid to show people her area of expertise and tell them just how wrong they are. This hasn't made her a popular girl around school, but she didn't go to high school to walk out with droves of friends. Those she trusts are few and far in between, but Tamora is willing to go to any lengths for those people.
Brief Bio: Tamora is a part of the generation after the power rangers, but that doesn't mean that she hadn't heard the stories. She spent all of her time inventing and playing around, trying to build her own giant robots to save people with since the power Rangers weren't around anymore. Almost all of her time was spent in a garage, workshop, or on the streets racing. She wasted no time in getting her feet on the road to drive the junkyard cars she spent so long fixing and tuning. She isn't the best loser around, but she doesn't rub her wins in the faces of others, only looking for the next challenge.
While more of a brawler, Tamora received martial arts lessons since she was a young child, and while skilled, she forgets to practice as much as she should.
Her father was an adreneline junkie as well, having been arrested on multiple occasions for racing and traffic violations. Rather than telling her to not take his path, he challenged her to do better, and she still has yet to be even identified by the police officers.
Strength:3
Speed:1
IQ:4
Health: 4
Notes: |
3,522 | 79 | 11 | 2,002 | 2,686 | Matt was having an alright time with the patient he had been matched up with as they held a wobbly conversation and enjoyed each other’s company. This tranquility was soon disrupted as screams began to fill the hallway and loud thuds rang throughout the air. Immediately Matt began to worry and so did his new friend who began cowering, believing the sounds to just be in her head. Matt told her to stay where she was while he checks out what’s going on. Slowly Matt opened the door from the room he occupied, and looked out into the hallway which was in massive disarray. Clay looking men were destroying the hospital and dragging people away for who knows what purpose. Matt was going to duck back into the room when one of the clay-men noticed Matt and began rushing towards him. Rather than go back in the room, Matt ran out of the room and slammed the door behind him in the hopes of distracting the creature away from the girl he had been talking to.
Down the hall were more of the clay-men who looked vaguely familiar to Matt but ultimately he couldn’t remember where he’d seen them before. Matt decided that he wouldn’t be able to do much more running with the duo of clay-men in front of him so he decided to crack out what little of martial arts that he remembered from when he was ten and leapt at one of the two, leg outstretched. Matt fell to the ground as his attack didn’t do nearly as much damage as he had hoped though he did manage to push it back a little ways. Quickly Matt got to his feet and looked around frantically for a way out of his current situation as the other Clay-man got closer. Suddenly his eyes landed on a loose length of pipe that one of the Clay guys had knocked loose accidentally. Matt lurched for the pipe and swiftly spun around and took off the Clay man’s head with a mighty swing. Matt proceeded to bash the other two clay-men in his way with the pipe then he ran back to his new friend’s room in an attempt to protect her from any further harm.
“Noooo!” Rita screamed angrily as she looked down at the events unfolding down below through her telescope.
“Mere humans are taking down your putties Finster!” Rita yelled as she turned her attention to scolding her monster creator.
“M-maybe I didn’t keep th-them in the kiln long enough! If you call them back I can finish them up and you can send them out again!” Finster stammered as Rita looked at him angrily. After a good amount of time Rita broke her gaze and ordered Finster to do just as he suggested.
As quickly as the Putties came they were gone. The remaining ones dashed and scampered around picking up any pieces they could get of their fallen brethren and quickly rushed out of sight to be brought back up to the moon. The sudden disappearance was surreal to the inhabitants of the city. One minute they were in grave peril and the next minute the threat is gone entirely. | Name: Matt Howard
Age: 17
Personality: Matt's a shy person who, under normal circumstances, stays out of conversation or social interaction if he can help it. That being said he enjoys being around people and listening to what they have to say, just not directly interacting with them. This mentality changes however when Matt's with his team. Matt finds solace in the fact that they are all in generally the same situation as one another and have common experiences in their heroic endeavours.
Brief Bio: Matt grew up idolizing the Power Rangers from years before just as his parents had when the Rangers were still in action. He collected whatever merchandise he could of the team and often times would try to lead whatever conversations he was having over to the topic of Power Rangers. This obsession lead Matt being generally ignored if not told off as other kids got tired of him going on and on about the singular topic. Eventually the glamour of the Rangers wore off for Matt but he was now left in a state where many of his peers would still generally ignore him and he would make no attempt to start a conversation due to his past of rejection.
Strength: 3
Speed: 3
IQ: 2
Health: |
3,523 | 79 | 12 | 364 | 1,539 | As the Putties ran from her she chased them down. She chased them out of the facility holding her against her will. She was nearly hit by a car. She used her make shift weapon to attack the car. "Alas thee foul demon. Thee shalt beest obliterated." She notices the human inside the car. "Doth not fear poor peasant I shalt save thee." She continued her attack until she was tackled by a police officer. "Receiveth off me thee dolt I has't to save that peasant." She proceeded to kick the police officer in the nuts. His partner arrested her. "Receiveth off me thee bacon-fed wench I must save the peasant from the demon." She proceeded to bite the cop. The cop who was kicked in the nuts hit her in the head knocking her out. | Name: Tawnie “Thomas” Tattersall
Age: 17
Personality: Tawnie's foremost trait was her loyalty, a dedication to God & country and its ideals she held it above everything else. A very close second was her family, who were "everything" to her. While Tawnie despised her King’s brother and his cohorts for becoming corrupt and betraying the country, she especially hated the weak that joined them. She viewed them as worse than the corrupt because greed had nothing to do with their defection. Thus, she believed that they deserved no mercy.
After the death of his family, Tawnie believed she had little left and devoted herself to knighthood. However, after killing the man responsible, Tawnie found that she was still not at peace with herself and her past.
Brief Bio: Tawnie had only two options become a nun or marry, she rejected them both. She ran away from home at a young age. Dressing as a boy and adopting the name Thomas she pursued her dream of a becoming a noble knight. She found a knight who took her on as his squire. Eventually the Third Crusades began; her knight was recruited by the king. In Levant, she saw the worse mankind had to offer. She watched friends break from the emotional toll and physical damage to their bodies. She saw them slaughtered. Those that broke either became stronger for it or withered and died. Her knight did not become stronger, he ran away like a coward. She kept fighting; her bravery and gallantry against the enemy earned her capture. While captured she watched as others were mutilated and maimed. When it was her turn she used an attack she had ever only seen women use, she kneed the bastard in the balls. Taking his sword she slit his throat. She barely missed the executioner’s axe. While the executioner was off balance she kicked his legs out from under him sending him face first into his own axe. She freed the rest of the prisoners. Unbeknownst to her the king was one of the people she saved. The king rewarded her efforts by knighting her. After the conclusion of the Third Crusade they returned home to find the King’s brother had become a tyrant ruling with fear and magic. The king’s brother had nearly bled the country of all its wealth. The King’s brother refused to give up his power; this led to a civil war. During the civil war she was caught in a magical explosion from two competing spells. Though her body was lost forever her consciousness was cast forward into the far future into the body of a comatose and brain dead teenage girl, Tamsyn Oliverus.
Notes: Was in her late twenties when she became a time displaced consciousness. Since waking up in Tamsyn Oliverus and claiming to be a knight named Thomas, she now finds herself in the care of a mental institution.
Strength: 3
Speed: 2
IQ: 3
Health: 5/5
Number of post till next level: 5
Remaining dodges: 2
Zord health: 8/8
Weapon summoning damage: 6 |
3,524 | 80 | 0 | 1,533 | 1,707 | Prologue
The high council selected two hundred and twelve Jedi Knights and Masters to form a strike force in order to spearhead the Geonosian campaign.
Airven, a Mirialan Jedi Master, was a part of the follow-up force. He knew that he’d been appointed as a general because he was a Jedi Master and he’d also felt rather intimidated with the enormous responsibility that had been saddled on his shoulders. He was one of the youngest Jedi to be granted the rank of master, he was twenty-six, in galactic years.
The fleet navigated through the Corellian Run, a hyperspace shortcut, between Coruscant and Tatooine. The trip elapsed over the period of about eight hours. During which time most of the officers and Jedi aboard the Valiant, an Acclamator assault ship, were reviewing the schematics for the Geonosian droid factories they had collected. Airven joined them.
***
In low orbit around Geonosis there was nothing obvious for as far a sight carried, then several Acclamator assault ships and escorting frigates dropped out of hyperspace, descending on the planet below.
“The Jedi strike team have began their initial assault, General.” Captain Fordo informed Airven, who was kneeling in his meditation chamber aboard the Valiant.
“Then we should prepare ourselves…” Airven stood up, quickly grabbing his lightsaber from its stand and his cloak. The Mirialan Jedi strode out onto the command bridge, fastening the belt around his robes, the clones aboard saluting him as he passed. Over the last few hours he’d learned to deal with carrying the rank of general in the Grand Army of the Republic and the respect that it demanded, even if he didn’t want it.
Airven had been a Jedi for as long and as far back as his memory went. He’d grown up in the temple. He’d grown up learning that violence was never the way, that anger only lead to further conflict, that there was no emotion… only peace. From this, he could not conceivably understand the decision making that stood behind bringing the Jedi into the coming war…
The Jedi were peacekeepers, not warriors… The concept of making a Jedi into a military General was nonsense to Airven… but he understood the necessity of it - if peace was to be preserved then the war must be short. And the best way, at the Republic’s disposal, was to give the reins over to the Jedi…
***
Airven had left the Valiant with Captain Fordo to take command of their sector on the surface. He’d left command of the Valiant and the battlegroup to Colonel Lenrii Stakor. Airven grew to appreciate the man over the course of the last day and decided that it was a good move to trust him with command. There were a few officers of higher rank than the Colonel, but Airven had given him control regardless.
“General, Phalanx Battalion is on the ground awaiting your orders.” Fordo’s voice came over the com-link fastened to Airven’s ear. Otherwise there was no visual sign that the clone had been speaking to him. “You also have Tau squadron at your disposal.”
“Fordo,” Ariven spoke galactic basic with the accent expected from the more sophisticated races, similar to Obi-Wan Kenobi. “I’m going to leave Tau squadron to you. Take them and disable our objective. I’ll have the rest of Phalanx Battalion keep their forces distracted in conjunction with the rest of the Republic forces… And I’ll see about confronting Dooku.” The Count had, for years, been Airven’s mentor and friend. He’d learned what rudimentary knowledge of makashi he had from the much older and much more experienced Jedi Master.
Rumors said and ground reports confirmed that he’d turned to the Dark Side of the Force. And in turn he’d left all that the Jedi stood for, all of the teachings of peace and harmony, in favor of the teachings of passion-driven chaos. He wanted - nay - he needed to confront his old friend about his decision. Perhaps he was being naive, but Airven thought that he could talk some sense into him… even if it was a futile effort. Maybe it was a deeper need to confirm that the reports and rumors were in fact true… it was always a sad day when a Jedi turned Sith.
The gunship touched down near a control hub. There were several hundred clone troopers, filed in ranks near the portable building, their shiny new armor glinting in the daylight, the battle raged nearby. The influx of starships didn’t help the wind levels on the canyon-like planet and as a result, dust storms were raging through the battlefield.
“Commander Braine, sir!” A clone, donned in armor with red markings, saluted Airven as he and Captain Fordo stepped off of the transport. The Jedi didn’t return the gesture, but Fordo did, seemingly in his stead. “You have Phalanx Battalion at your command!” He spoke in an orderly shout. The sound of the raging battles could be heard near by. As he’d stopped speaking his arm lowered to his side again.
“At ease, Commander.” Airven said as he kept walking, making his way into the hub. Braine and Fordo followed him in. There were several men inside who all were identical to each other - clones. They all wore headsets and were barking orders into them as they directed portions of the battle nearby through comlinks. Soon they were going to be shifted to direct Phalanx Battalion.
The Jedi stopped at the one side of the holoprojector in the middle of the large room. Many miniaturized gunships flew around it while soldiers ran about the surface and starships were much higher in its sky. “As you know, our objective is to disable the droid factories here on Geonosis. I plan to have Tau squadron pursue that goal while the rest of the battalion keeps the attention of the majority of Separatist forces, away from their factories. It is my understanding that several commando squadrons are being deployed for different goals and ours, as wells as a few others, is to destroy this underground droid factory.” He pressed a few controls on the console and the image zoomed into an underground location not too far into the fighting where the schematics for a droid factory came on display. | reserved |
3,525 | 80 | 1 | 1,896 | 366 | Rafma stood by one of the many droid assembly lines surrounding him in the factory. He watched as the mechanical fighters gradually took shape, first the legs, then the arms, then finally the head. B1 battle droids were cheaply produced in the millions by the Separatist Alliance in the hopes the droids would overwhelm the Republic's clone army. Rafma was not convinced. The droids may have out-numbered the clones 10 to 1, but the droids were weak and stupid, lacking the higher thought clones possessed which would allow them to identify traps, make split second decisions and more.
Next to Rafma stood a super tactical droid. The droid had been charged with marshalling the freshly produced droids against the impending Republic invasion, the droid was able to calculate the odds of winning a battle in seconds and devise competent battle plans in no time, but it lacked the ability to think beyond it's programming or to plan with creativity. Rafma turned to the tactical droid "I hope you have prepared a strategy. The Republic is advancing on our position even as we speak." he said to the droid. The droid stared at the Sith for a split second as it calculated a response "Do not fear commander. Our forces out-number the enemy by 10-1. The factories are producing soldiers at maximum speed. They will be overwhelmed by our forces with ease, I predict we have a 95.6% chance of victory." the droid replied in the flat, mechanical voice all droids spoke in. Rafma nodded at the droid "Very well. Make sure your prediction is correct, losing these factories would be a major blow to the war effort." After speaking, the Sith dismissed the super tactical droid to continue marshalling his forces as he searched through the force for any lifeforms in the factory. | Name: Rafma Pillev
Age: 30
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance:
Affiliation: Sith Order/ Trade Federation
Class: Sith Sorcerer
Rank: Commander
Saber Form: Form 7- Juyo
Force Abilities: Force Grip/Telekinesis , Mind Trick, Force Lighting, Drain Life, Force Strength, Memory walk (Sith ability that causes victim to experience their worst memories/horrors)
Weapon(s): A single sided red lightsaber and a phrik dagger
Personality: Rafma is a bitter and ruthless individual who seems to care for nothing other than his own power and survival. His lust for power has given him an almost insatiable curiosity about the force and the abilities it can offer him. Despite his power hungry nature, Rafma has no qualms serving under others as long as he gains some power, or his life in return.
Bio: Rafma was born on Coruscaunt into a criminal gang, for several years he was treated as just another pair of hands until his force sensitivity began to become clear. Fearing the Jedi would track the young force sensitivity down and possibly the rest of the gang, Rafma was abandoned and left to fend for himself. Rafma did this with ease, using his hate towards the gang that abandoned him and the Jedi that caused his abandonment as a conduit for his power. He began to use basic abilities to save his skin and kill any threats to his life. It was not long however until he was found by a Jedi. The Jedi's name was Dooku. Fortunately for Rafma, Dooku was on the brink of joining the Sith, so he took the young man and began to train him. Not as an apprentice, but as a commander to fight in the impending clone wars. After several years of training, the clone wars had begun and Rafma was ready to show the galaxy what he had learned.
Equipment: Rafma carriers 4 thermal detonators
Other: Due to his old life as a drug gang member, Rafma has a significant knowledge of chemistry. |
3,526 | 80 | 2 | 1,533 | 1,707 | Captain Tabor Seitaron stood at the front of the bridge of the "Pride of Caamas," staring down at the rust-colored world below. The Dreadnaught-class heavy cruiser sat silently, its guns focused down towards the planet's surface, ready to pick off any ship that posed a threat to the fleet in orbit.
"Report, Lieutenant," he called out as he turned to the bridge crew. The majority of the crew was clones from Kamino, and this was unsettling to Tabor. He knew that the future of the war against the Separatists was going to rely on clones, but he still wished that the Republic could avoid them as much as possible. It wasn't that he didn't value human life, or any life, for that matter, but he felt that an army of clones was just like an army of organic droids.
The lieutenant, whose name was just a series of numbers, looked up from his station for a few moments. "General Yoda has ordered the troops to begin deployment. The fleet is to move in to low orbit and provide support."
Tabor nodded. "Inform the rest of our squadron that we will provide cover fire for the troops on the ground." The lieutenant nodded and began communicating with the other three Acclamator-class assault ships in their squadron. Tabor walked to the back of the bridge to where the holoprojector sat. Around it were two other officers, members of Tabor's personal staff. In the back, standing against the wall and with the hood of his cloak up, was the Jedi Master assigned to the ship.
"Master Halcyon, we have just received word from Master Yoda," Tabor stated. "The troops are to begin deployment. Will you be joining the ground force?"
Nejaa Halcyon shook his head. "No, captain, I will not. Master Yoda has asked that I stay with the fleet to coordinate the blockade." He stepped up to the holoprojector and pressed a button on it. A hologram of a clone trooper appeared. "Is Master Yoda available?"
The clone shook his head. "He is currently preoccupied. Do you have a message for him?"
Nejaa nodded. "Yes. Please inform Master Yoda that the Echo Squadron will be in position momentarily."
The clone nodded, and the connection cut out. Nejaa turned to Tabor. "How long until the transports reach the surface?"
Tabor shrugged. "Not sure. Shouldn't be more than a few minutes, though."
Nejaa's vision became distant. "Let's hope that they all make it to ground safely. Kenobi and Skywalker are relying on us."
***
During the first ten minutes of the ground deployment there wasn't much activity beyond groups reporting in that they landed. Nejaa paced back and forth near the holoprojector. Tabor stood nearby, but his attention was on a display that showed the status of the blockade. There were eight Acclamator assault ships, along with ten Dreadnaughts, including the "Pride of Caamas." They had moved out to provide the maximum coverage of the planet's surface. None of the Separatist ships had retreated yet, which meant that the ground force had taken the enemy by surprise.
Tabor turned to Nejaa. "Master Halcyon, I feel we should contact Master Airven. I do not like being kept out of the loop for this long."
Nejaa said nothing, but he stopped pacing and activated the holodisplay. He pressed a few buttons and Master Airven appeared in the air above the display.
"Master Airven," Nejaa said. "What is the report from the ground?" | reserved |
3,527 | 81 | 0 | 1,583 | 2,241 | See the interest check for RP concepts and details
-
WELCOME TO THE BAWDY DOG
The doorway's a little low, watch yer head.
You'll come in on a warm place, if not an especially clean one. There's a burning hearth in the middle -- sturdy as the foundation, all arched stone, blackened from the inside, where the kettles hang in the fire for boiling. You can warm yer ale on the ledge if you like. There are a couple half-empty mugs there already.
Careful, don't step on the cats. That one'll swing his tail under your boot then beg your scraps.
For sitting at, there are a few long tables and benches. They're a bit splintery, and that one's wobbly as a rocking chair, but it's a far ways better than eating off the floor. You don't mind sharing a bench with the regulars, I'm sure.
If ya need to pass out, for a fee you can sleep in the back room. How much depends on how drunk ya are. | Yer parents 're dead, yer house burned down and yer dog was kicked off a cliff. Revenge is a perfectly healthy way to cope, I think. How 'bout a refill on that ale?
Well, this development was slightly unexpected . . .
CHARACTER SHEET
ꝿ NAME: (the name of your character)
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH : (Pick a Relationship and someone else's character)
Siblings
Unrequited lovers
Spouses in an arranged marriage
Linked by blood ritual
Assassin/target
Rescuer/rescuee
Employer/henchman
Former cellmates
Bounty hunter/bounty
Creator/golem
Sorceror/apprentice
Diabolist/intended sacrificial victim
Werewolf/hunter
Same non-human race
Members of the same religion or guild
Longtime adventuring companions
Drinking buddies
Reluctant allies
Vicious scoundrel/pacifist healer
You each have a scar the other gave you
"You killed my father"
ꝿ NEED: (your character's major goal)
To be a hero
...by defending the little guy
...to that one special person
...so you can lord over everybody else
...in the public's eyes, even if you really aren't
To crush your enemies
...because they ruined your life
...and enslave them
...and they're all enemies
...just to get a moment's peace
To amass a hoard
...by killing every monster you see
...through shady dealings
...of forbidden lore
...to fund a private army
To fly
...with everybody else's treasure
...after one last quest
...before they realize who you really work for
...literally, using a spell or maybe a catapult
To rule
...by marrying a royal heir
...on a throne of your enemies' skulls
...an army of undead
...and impose your type of justice
To overindulge
...with wenches
...in drink
...in rampant thievery
...in forbidden rituals
...in bloodshed
...in tavern brawls
ꝿ OBJECT: (a nifty thing your character possesses)
Weapons
Flaming sword (sword of cataclysmic combustion)
Poisoned dagger (dirk of vicious viper's venom)
Big-ass iron warhammer
Ancient elven bow
Dragonbane blade (broadsword of scaly slaughter)
Catapult
Soul-stealing scepter (scepter of severed souls)
Sentient spear (longspear of wise council)
Cursed blade (cutlass of cruel calamity)
Seeking arrow (arrow of absolutely accurate archery)
Betrayer's axe (greataxe of pliant perfidy)
Staff of resurrection with one charge left
Spells
Enchanting Charm
Transformative Polymorph
Spectral Ward
Demonic Summoning
Trapping Paralysis
Exploding Lightning
Magic Items
Invisibility cloak
Crystal ball of future sight
Crown of fearlessness
Mystery potion (nobody knows what it does)
Impervious chain shirt
Trophies
Mounted troll's head
Genie bottle
Dragon's flame sac
Tome of dark rituals
Gold ring on a mummy's severed finger
Massive pile of gold coins
Sentimental
Strange charm left with a foundling
Invitation to a prestigious order
Statue of a deity (with a hidden compartment)
Old ally polymorphed into a toad
Royal lady's garter
ꝿ DETAILS: (anything and everything you're inspired to write here)
NON-PLAYER CHARACTERS
ꝿ NAME: Busker
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH WINK: Busker's the owner of this fine establishment and Wink is his daughter and most incompetent employee.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: Fate is another of Busker's employees, whom he hired when Wink demanded help with the heavy lifting. Usually Fate so good at her job that Busker forgets she works there, but some nights he hides under the bar while she flies into a rage at the patrons.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH GHARLYC: Busker and Gharlyc go way back, when Busker was young and Gharlyc was still an endearingly heartless bastard. He cherishes memories of drunken stories and exploits of cruelty and power. He credits Gharlyc for teaching him the value of self-preservation and of using others to get what he wants.
ꝿ NEEDS: To wring as much money out of his drunken patrons as possible.
ꝿ OBJECT: Mounted troll's head hanging proudly over the hearth.
ꝿ DETAILS: Busker is middle-aged and balding, with a wide girth and a toadlike nose. He stands behind the bar most nights, listening to rambling stories and adding up tabs. He's quick with a compliment and a smile that never quite reaches his beady eyes.
BUSKER IS DEAD. Sort of. He walks around all right, and some part of his mind still recognizes Wink as his daughter, and he's not murderous at all. At least not yet. But he is definitely dead.
ꝿ NAME: Wink
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH BUSKER: Wink is Busker's daughter. She's also the one who runs this dump, despite what Busker may claim.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: Wink and Fate both work at the Bawdy Dog; although technically they both equally work for Busker, Wink does not hesitate to order Fate to take care of the less savory chores. Despite this, Wink considers Fate as a friend and defends her unconditionally.
ꝿ NEEDS: To win the favor of a rich nobleman and run away with him.
ꝿ OBJECT: A rabbit's foot in her pocket.
ꝿ DETAILS: Wink isn't the prettiest in town, but she keeps her hair neat and her corset tight. She can be flirtatious one moment and coolly authoritative the next, especially when the tavern's well-being is threatened.
Wink is Busker's daughter. Right now her priority is to survive, and to make sure Busker doesn't hurt anyone. |
3,528 | 81 | 1 | 2,622 | 3,600 | The young woman stepped through the door, dressed in silks and leathers with the cloak draped over her shoulders as if to protect her from the cold though as one of the ancient races of elves of the Underdark she did not feel the cold as others did. Her lavender eyes trailed over those who were here, already drunk or drinking and some flirting with the woman who came here, others planning on taking the tavern wenches to the back room later that night. It was early evening, the sun falling from the sky and the dark making it easier for the elf to see as her eyes started to pick up heat signatures and the light hurt her eyes less until she walked inside and her eyes adjusted again. As she waked her hips swung faintly, the lack of a weapon on her making her seem harmless, if it wasn't for the grey tone of her skin that gave her away as being born of one of the most feared and ruthless of all elven descent. She made her way up to the bar where she hopped up on a stool and leaned forward to look at the bartender. His face was easy to remember, having met it a few years beforehand when she was passing through town though they hadn't gotten to know each other.
"Get me something strong."
Her voice was low but easily filled with authority and the ease of command from her years with the elves underground. She had been born n the great city of Menzobaranzan to the second house, the only child of her matron mothers Rockseer elf consort, destined to be a powerful cleric and priestess, though when Lolth called out to her and her mother she knew she was chosen for something else. She remembered the feeling of her mothers blood dripping off of her hand where she held her heart in her palm, hearing the laughter of her Goddess as she fulfilled the first part of her quest to become more than the average elf and stronger than almost any other race out there. The vampire had been easy after coming here, though she'd had to take a few others who walked the light to give her the ability to adjust her eyes to the sunlight. Coming back to the present she looked up at the bartender and smiled, though it wasn't sweet or kind, instead fake and holding back a malicious desire to reach across the counter and tear his heart from his chest. | ꝿ NAME: Fade
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: The two were linked by a blood ritual by Fade's favourite priestess over three years ago, giving Fade the pros of the werewolf without the downside.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH Teldryen Sera: The Drow and the Painted Elf met a long while ago when the Drow was trespassing in his territory in search of a great Goliath of a beast she'd heard was hiding a treasure horde. The Painted Elf offered his assistance and helped her out - though they were by no means friends. She plans to bond with him and kill him as a great sacrifice to Lolth for sending such a splendid creature her way.
ꝿ NEEDS: To overindulge in forbidden rituals
ꝿ OBJECT: Cloak of Invisibility; a black wool cloak, trimmed in warm wolf's fur it allows her to become invisible after she's spoken the magic word in the proper tongue - Fade in elvish.
ꝿ DETAILS: A drow and rockseer elf halfbreed she was born to the Matron Mother of the second house of Menzobarranzan with skin a soft grey and eyes a deep purple, her hair as fair and white as either race. She's quick to smile and lie, but even faster on the draw and killing for her beloved Lolth, the Spider Queen. She is allied with a drow priestess below ground who she often visits, and she's come to town looking for her next victim. She's been bonded with many others and possess her own innate magical abilities, as well as blind fighting and infrared vision without even mentioning her archery skills. |
3,529 | 81 | 2 | 302 | 2,579 | Milo walked in, a large coat thrown over her body. Her one visible blue, green eye shining, despite the cold. Her cheeks flushed from the cold. Milo didn't do well with cold. So, the warmth of the place was very pleasing.
Can I have some food? And something to drink, please.
Milo wrote. Remembering to be polite at the last moment. This place was nice. And she didn't want to lose this place. And she was trying to better her personality. Though, if someone was rude she would totally try and claw out their eyes. Wasn't her fault she was short tempered. | NAME
Milo
RELATIONSHIP WITH PALLAS
"She's after me. Guess I did some bad stuff."
NEEDS
"To rule on a throne of my enemies' skulls."
OBJECT
Demon Summoning
DETAILS
Milo is a young Siren. She appears to be mute, but she carries an ability, known to all sirens, that allows her to write on air, allowing for easy communication. But Milo had never been a normal Siren. Her mind had always been twisted. She had always rejoiced in suffering, leading her to be banished. But, Milo has gotten better. She's become less crazy, or at least has been able to hide better and enjoys food. Especially fish. |
3,530 | 81 | 3 | 2,532 | 122 | Gharlyc was sitting in a dark corner, sipping his watered down ale and observing the people coming into the the Bawdy Dog. This shit hole of a tavern was a cherished place in his memories and almost made him feel safe. Almost.
Earlier, Gharlyc had walked in and ordered his drink, the hood of his cloak hiding his face so Busker didn't recognize him, and sat away from the other patrons to get a good look at the door to make sure no one had followed him. The drow looked dangerous with barely contained killing intent (better stay away from her...), but didn't seem to have any relation to the nasty business that Gharlyc was running away from.
As soon as things quiet down a bit and Busker wasn't attending to anyone, Gharlyc would approach him and see if old friendships were still worth anything anymore. | NAME: Gharlyc
RELATIONSHIP WITH BUSKER: Busker and Gharlyc are old drinking buddies. They were pretty good friends, but that was many years ago.
NEED: To crush his enemies just to get a moment's peace.
OBJECT: Poisoned dagger
DETAILS: With a wide nose and perpetual bad breath, this middle aged dwarf is constantly looking around his shoulders with his large, almost lidless and bulging eyes. He has dark brown hair with silver streaks at the temples (too soon for his age). A shorter than average dwarf, Gharlyc fought his way through life by being faster and nastier than everyone else. Busker was Gharlyc's only friend. Has been away from town for 7 years, only to return just recently. |
3,531 | 81 | 4 | 2,188 | 1,106 | Swinging the axe with an almighty thunk, Fate speared the last block of wood, splitting it in half. Tucking the axe away, she gathered together an armful of freshly chopped wood and made her way inside, letting the back door swing shut behind her with a soft click. Weaving her way through the place, she unloaded her collection of logs onto the top of a slowly diminishing pile, snagging the last one and instead placing it on the fire. Feeling something brush up against her leg, Fate glanced down, grinning and bending down to scratch the ginger cat behind the ears.
Waltzing to the bar, her twin war hammers swinging, one on each hip, Fate was just in time to see a patron order something strong from Busker, there was something about that person's voice and image that rang a bell with Fate, but before she could investigate further a young looking girl walked in. Can I have some food? And something to drink, please. she wrote when she reached the bar. Blinking just once in slight shock, Fate nodded, "How strong?" she queried, leaning on the bar and eying the girl, taking in her long white hair and single seeable blue-green eye. Oh the irony. Fate thought stopping herself from reaching up to her own single visible aqua eye. | I can't seem to work out/decide on a Need, so for now, if that's alright, Fate just has a temporary goal, she will probably chose a real goal eventually.
NAME: Fate
RELATIONSHIP WITH WINK AND BUSKER: Fate works and lives at The Bawdy Dog, thanks to Wink’s not so soft heart, and constant requirement for an extra pair of working hands.
NEED: She’s not quite sure yet, for the most part however her short time goal is indulging in brawls.
She reckons she’ll wing it for now, and find something uh… bigger to occupy her time, hopefully fairly soon.
OBJECT:
DETAILS: Fate is a 16 year old Werewolf, able to shift at will, although the further from full moon it is, the harder and more painful it gets. New moon leaves her weak, and full moon induces a blood rage. The closer to full moon it is, the more violent she gets. Even in human form she is stronger than she looks, with stronger scenes, although there is the down side of sharing the same almost colorblindness as a normal wolf, all the time. Her eye is damaged, clawed scares sweeping through, and she suffers from a lack of depth perception.
This slightly impairs her fighting, as she can't judge the distance, this however she remedies by getting "up-close-and-personal" smashing them with either her fists or hammers. She keeps her fighting out of the tavern, most of the time. For 'blood moons' as she calls them, Fate disappears into the nearby woods, in the hope of lessening the number of humans she mauls, rather hunting game. |
3,532 | 81 | 5 | 2,311 | 82 | Quite nippy this evening, Edward would say. He grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled it tighter around his slender shoulders, though the thin, ornate coat was designed more for form than function. Blasted high society vestments. He shivered with a mixture of frustration and legitimate discomfort at the cold, then grabbed his upper arms and trudged onward. At least the hand cannon hanging behind his back provided a bit of insulation, though none that he could feel.
As he sauntered along the beaten path and ascended to the top of the hill, he could see lights twinkling in the darkening foreground. He picked up the pace a bit. Light meant Warmth. Food. A dram of scotch. Ladies - Hopefully.
Actually - speaking of ladies - just a week ago, Edward had the pleasure of conversing with a lovely bounty hunter by the name of Pallas in another run down tavern to the east. Enraptured by her confident gait and sharp eyes, Edward simply could not let the opportunity go. All the court women at his father's estate were unnervingly petty and quarrelsome, and being able to talk to Pallas - an actual rational human being - was quite a refreshing experience. Alas, talk was as far as their evening reached, and by the end of the night, Pallas headed west, in search of her bounty. Pity. Didn't bounty hunters need a place to sleep?
Wait a second. Edward paused and fiddled around with his fingers, pointing them this way and that. Which way was which.. Aha! East was the opposite of west. Perhaps Pallas would be headed in the same direction. The fates still smiled upon him, even on this rather disappointing journey.
By the time Edward reached the twinkling lights, it was completely dark, and the only light came from within the building save for a single torch illuminating a sign. The Bawdy Dog. What a dreadful name. Shrugging off his ambivalence, Edward strolled into the tavern.
Greeted by the fragrances of wood fire, ale, sweat, and other human stenches (Including what smelled like drastically bad breath), Edward looked around at the establishment. It was warm and cozy for sure, but this place was a messy, smelly dump by all accounts. It didn’t take the son of the the Hart-Ellington estate to deduce that. More than that, the tavern was filled with all sorts of seedy looking fellows. Pallas was no where to be found. But beggars can’t be choosers.
Going up to the bar, Edward noticed a young silver haired girl with an eyepatch who looked entirely unfit to be alone at a tavern. How odd. He watched her tentatively approach the similarly eyepatched bartender (What are the odds?), extend her finger and… produce words out of thin air?
Without thinking for a second that it would be rude, let alone dangerous to approach her - she was just a young girl after all, what harm could she do? - Edward put his hand on her shoulder, interrupting her transaction with the bartender.
“My dear girl, how on earth did you do that?” | Name: Edward (Heir to the Hart-Ellington nobility and estate)
Needs: To see the world that he's been sheltered from, and woo as many lovely ladies as possible.
Object: hand cannon - sort of like an early primitive blunderbuss.
Detail: The cocky but intelligent 23 year old son of a rich nobleman, Edward has lived all of his life in the lap of luxury. Feeling cooped up in the world of the bourgeoisie however, Edward decided to flee his father's estate and see the world. On his way out, he managed to steal quite the hefty pouch of gold and one of his inventions, which he calls a hand cannon. As bright as he believes himself to be though, he's found that his refined upbringing and womanizing ways have not served him well on his journey so far.
(5'9", slim build, caucasian complexion, boyish, clean pretty face, blonde, blue eyed. Aristocratic wardrobe. Only difference is he always wears a top hat)
Relationship to Pallas: Met her at another tavern prior to the start of the narrative. Stricken by her confidence and ambition, Edward sought to get to know her better. To his surprise, Pallas returned his sentiments, and a wonderful evening was spent conversing with the young bounty hunter. Though the night ended without any sort of conclusion, Edward likes to think that something lovely could happen if they ever were to meet again.
Relationship to Ealdwine: Ealdwine took up residence at the house of Hart-Ellington as a musician and instructor when Edward was in his teenage years. He really didn't like him. |
3,533 | 81 | 6 | 1,063 | 170 | A tall, middle-aged man wandered the streets in a sour mood, only dimly aware of the goings on around him. A lute was slung across his back, marking his profession clearly to all passers by. The rapier at his side marked his status as an itinerant adventurer. His weather-stained cloak, which had once been brightly colored, was now faded and patched. That, along with his worn out boots and his increasingly ragged tunic and leggings, marked only his poor fortune.
But night was falling, and he would need to find a bed soon. The emptiness in his stomach informed him more sharply than he would like that he also needed something to eat. He paused briefly, moving out of the flow of foot traffic, and opened up the pouch at his belt.
One silver and ten coppers. Not bloody much.
Ealdwine sighed, considering the ill luck that had brought him to this point in his life. His trip to Vandar's Tower, the former abode of a vile wizard of great infamy, was a lengthy trip- not to mention an expensive one. But the rewards were great indeed, said all the tales. Many people must have heard the same tales. By the time Ealdwine found the place, high in the Mountains of Terror, it had been picked clean.
He glanced about glumly, seeing a sign not far away. It read The Bawdy Dog. An inn. He figured he had enough for a room, a meal, and a few drinks to forget about his troubles. Maybe he could talk the proprietor into giving him all three in exchange for some music. It was worth a shot, certainly. He approached the door and entered.
Within he found a fairly dingy tavern. Not much to look at, but he could smell food and drink, and there certainly was an audience to play for. Just as well it reminded him of a place he recalled from his younger days, where he had dazzled a crowd with his songs and bedded a lovely, buxom barmaid. And then, the next day, her sister.
Simply remembering it was already putting him in a better mood.
He stepped lively toward the bar, carefully pulling his lute down from off his back. Arthelia was his most prized possession, and the greatest gift that his father, who had never really approved of his career, had ever given him. He had sold his books, he had sold his gear, he had even sold his horse- but he would sooner starve than sell Arthelia. He leaned against the bar near a dark elf maiden, a young girl (where were her parents?), and a suspiciously familiar high-born fop. Where did he know that fellow from? Was it from some Quest? He would have to ask later.
For the time being, he cleared his throat and addressed himself to the balding barman.
“Pardon me, good sir. I am Ealdwine Silverstrings, a bard of some renown,” he began, with a wholly-unnecessary half-bow,
“and I would like to offer my humble services as an entertainer. All I ask in exchange is a meal or two. And a place to lay my head, if one might be forthcoming..” he trailed off.
“And perhaps a few drinks.. If my performance proves satisfactory to yourself and likewise agreeable to your patrons.” | Name: Ealdwine Silverstrings
Relationship to Edward: Ealdwine served the House of Hart-Ellington for several years as a musician and musical tutor, a position he received largely on the merit of being the son of one of the House's more notable retainers. Edward was his chief student, though their relationship was largely unproductive.
Needs: To write a song that will be sung for a thousand years after his death
Object: A finely-crafted lute, a gift from his departed father
Details: Well into middle age, Ealdwine's features still betray the handsomeness that marked him in his youth. His hair is light brown, streaked now with silver, and he is tall and lithe. Though often he broods on his poor fortune, now and again his blue eyes shine brightly with mirth. The rapier at his hip and the lute on his back show his profession as a bard and an adventurer, though he swears he is done delving into dusty dungeons, facing danger and pain for a mere pile of gold. But his tongue is sharp and his sword is sharper, and there is yet glory to be won.
He finds himself approaching the Bawdy Dog, fresh from a failed expedition into an already-looted tomb, hoping only for a drink, some company, and maybe a friendly audience for a song. |
3,534 | 81 | 7 | 2,188 | 1,106 | “My dear girl, how on earth did you do that?”
A hiss of air escaped Fate, almost but not quite a snarl. "I'm sorry, Sir" she practically snapped, stressing the sir, "This lovely young lady was ordering first, if you have something you want to do, you can wait your turn." She knew she wasn't supposed to be talking to patrons that way, but it was getting close to the full moon, and she hadn't had a good fight for a few days. And riling up a fancy dressed boy seemed like such a good idea. (Please note her sarcasm) | I can't seem to work out/decide on a Need, so for now, if that's alright, Fate just has a temporary goal, she will probably chose a real goal eventually.
NAME: Fate
RELATIONSHIP WITH WINK AND BUSKER: Fate works and lives at The Bawdy Dog, thanks to Wink’s not so soft heart, and constant requirement for an extra pair of working hands.
NEED: She’s not quite sure yet, for the most part however her short time goal is indulging in brawls.
She reckons she’ll wing it for now, and find something uh… bigger to occupy her time, hopefully fairly soon.
OBJECT:
DETAILS: Fate is a 16 year old Werewolf, able to shift at will, although the further from full moon it is, the harder and more painful it gets. New moon leaves her weak, and full moon induces a blood rage. The closer to full moon it is, the more violent she gets. Even in human form she is stronger than she looks, with stronger scenes, although there is the down side of sharing the same almost colorblindness as a normal wolf, all the time. Her eye is damaged, clawed scares sweeping through, and she suffers from a lack of depth perception.
This slightly impairs her fighting, as she can't judge the distance, this however she remedies by getting "up-close-and-personal" smashing them with either her fists or hammers. She keeps her fighting out of the tavern, most of the time. For 'blood moons' as she calls them, Fate disappears into the nearby woods, in the hope of lessening the number of humans she mauls, rather hunting game. |
3,535 | 81 | 8 | 302 | 2,579 | Nothing very strong. Just something warm.
Milo wrote. The writing directed at Fate. She noticed her Aqua eye. It was beautiful.
Your eye is very pretty.
She told Fate.
When Milo felt a hand on her shoulder she snapped around, her hand sailing towards Edward's face. She stopped herself shortly before her nails made contact. She wasn't supposed to be killing and causing so much damage. She was supposed to bettering her personality.
My species is mute out of water. So it's a hereditary ability for communication.
Milo informed Edward. | NAME
Milo
RELATIONSHIP WITH PALLAS
"She's after me. Guess I did some bad stuff."
NEEDS
"To rule on a throne of my enemies' skulls."
OBJECT
Demon Summoning
DETAILS
Milo is a young Siren. She appears to be mute, but she carries an ability, known to all sirens, that allows her to write on air, allowing for easy communication. But Milo had never been a normal Siren. Her mind had always been twisted. She had always rejoiced in suffering, leading her to be banished. But, Milo has gotten better. She's become less crazy, or at least has been able to hide better and enjoys food. Especially fish. |
3,536 | 81 | 9 | 2,622 | 3,600 | Th Drow listened carefully to the conversation going on just beside her between the small girl, the young noble boy and the werewolf who she had joined herself with several years ago. She could smell them as well, the hints of sweat and blood touching them and the dwarf who had sat seemingly as far away from her as possible looked to be waiting for someone - the bartender probably, just like she was. Many of those around looked as if they were familiar with one another and it almost made her regret what she does to people - almost - though she was a Drow, it was in her nature to turn away from friendship in the face of Lolth or personal gain. When she finally went back home to the Underdark she would be the most powerful weapon her sister would have against any other house in the city, or the whole of Drow society. And then she would kill her sister to become Matron mother.
She brushed her snowy white hair back, exposing a scar on the side of her neck that looked very much like an animal bite, as she went to play with her necklace quietly, wondering how long she would have to wait to be attended to, considering she was the first to arrive here and the child was receiving ale before her. "I've changed my mind. I'd like a nice, sweet, pink wine; preferably raspberry and honey." She spoke, knowing she would be heard either by the man or the girl who stood with the child then and there. "If you don't mind Fate, or. . Busker?" | ꝿ NAME: Fade
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: The two were linked by a blood ritual by Fade's favourite priestess over three years ago, giving Fade the pros of the werewolf without the downside.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH Teldryen Sera: The Drow and the Painted Elf met a long while ago when the Drow was trespassing in his territory in search of a great Goliath of a beast she'd heard was hiding a treasure horde. The Painted Elf offered his assistance and helped her out - though they were by no means friends. She plans to bond with him and kill him as a great sacrifice to Lolth for sending such a splendid creature her way.
ꝿ NEEDS: To overindulge in forbidden rituals
ꝿ OBJECT: Cloak of Invisibility; a black wool cloak, trimmed in warm wolf's fur it allows her to become invisible after she's spoken the magic word in the proper tongue - Fade in elvish.
ꝿ DETAILS: A drow and rockseer elf halfbreed she was born to the Matron Mother of the second house of Menzobarranzan with skin a soft grey and eyes a deep purple, her hair as fair and white as either race. She's quick to smile and lie, but even faster on the draw and killing for her beloved Lolth, the Spider Queen. She is allied with a drow priestess below ground who she often visits, and she's come to town looking for her next victim. She's been bonded with many others and possess her own innate magical abilities, as well as blind fighting and infrared vision without even mentioning her archery skills. |
3,537 | 81 | 10 | 1,583 | 2,241 | THE SCENE AT PRESENT
At the bar sits Fade, denizen of the Underdark, all power and silk. The hooded dwarf Gharlyc emerged from his solitary corner and stands near her, while at the opposite end of the bar, Ealdwine offers to play his lute for the patrons.
Standing small nearby, writing words in the empty air and brandishing sharp fingernails, is fragile one-eyed Milo. Speaking with her (and with a hiss between them) are Fate (a scruffy one-eyed waitress, dusty from chopping wood) and Edward (a well-dressed nobleman with a curious weapon at his back).
BUSKER
To the old innkeeper, the temperature of the house itself seemed to drop the moment that slinky drow walked in the door. Before she even spoke, Busker stood frozen midway through wiping out a mug, his eyes wide and mouth dry. This was one of those patrons with heavy pockets and heavier consequences if she were displeased. His brain scrambled to prevent himself from shaking of stammering, to say something that would convince her she had every reason to display her coin and not her weapon.
Perhaps his desperate, subconscious mind craved familiar comfort in this time of careful balance, because somehow his eye was distracted by the appearance of a face he knew well. Gharlyc! a happy thought cleared his fears, and relieved recognition gleamed with uncharacteristic joviality in his beady eyes. For a dangerous and pivotal moment he forgot about the drow -- but when a voice across the bar had the audacity to call for free somethingorother in exchange for a song (or something of that ridiculous nature, Busker was in the middle of a very important conversation and would not be further distracted) Busker was startled away from Gharlyc's comforting presence and was forced to acknowledge that the murderous drow, growing impatient, had spoken again.
"Y-yes," he stammered without having clearly understood what he was agreeing to. It didn't matter: there was no possible, conceivable way he would deny this woman the moon if she asked for it, if only to keep his own head. Busker cleared his throat, put on his best smile, and ignored the bead of sweat that tickled down the side of his face. "Of course, anything you like, my lady. That particular wine is exquisite, and is hidden away from all but the most distinguished of guests. Allow me to have it brought up for you." With the same fixed smile, he tipped his head, kept his eyes on the drow, and stumbled his way down the bar to where he had spotted Wink standing like a fool.
He grabbed his daughter's wrist and yanked her to attention, tumbling coins into her hand. "Go to town and run back a bottle of raspberry-honey pink-wine, now!" he stammered, harsh and hurried, and he shoved her at the door before he returned to the drow, fixing his smile again. "It will be brought presently," he assured the drow, clenching the edge of the bar to keep his hands from trembling. "Might I interest you in some fine cheese and toast while we wait? On the house, of course."
In the corner of his eye he kept watch on Gharlyc, desperately wanting nothing more than to catch up with his old friend, but scared to death of removing his attentions from the drow.
WINK
Wink's greatest dreams came true the moment a sleek, shining nobleman stepped over the threshold. Before he had made two steps inside, Wink had disappeared into the back in order to adjust her corset, smooth her apron, fix her hair and apply what little makeup she owned. She checked the puffiness of her lips in a tarnished mirror, pulled at her eyelashes, pinched color into her cheeks, and sauntered out into the room again -- only to find that Fate had found him first.
Under normal circumstances, Wink might find Fate's aggression against the patrons amusing, but this time a pale horror checked her enthusiasm. The wolf-girl would drive him out! The chance of a lifetime would run out the door before Wink would have the chance to let him sweep her off her feet!
Desperation set in. If she confronted Fate, things could get so much worse. She scanned the room for an answer, and found it in a bard that her father had (of course) very pointedly ignored.
Wink rushed across the room and -- just as Busker was speaking with the drow -- laid a fervent hand on Ealdwine's arm. "A room and ale and supper for yer music," she told him enthusiastically, with a gleam of urgency. "Set yerself up over here, there's good acoustics, and play somethin' ... dignified for the nobleman."
Her intention was to use this bard's music to calm Fate and to retain the interest of the nobleman. She was putting a lot of trust in this man's abilities, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
She yelped when her father suddenly yanked her away and dropped coins into her hand, stammering something about wine before he was gone again. She stared along the bar at a dangerous-looking drow woman, and grinned a little at the way Busker was sweating. Served him right.
Wink glanced across at the nobleman again, biting her lip, but knew she would regret it if she didn't fetch the wine as required. She gestured to the bard again, urgently, and put all her hopes in him as she sprinted out the door and into the cool evening. She would run down the road to town, looking for a wine she wasn't sure existed at all, for the sake of preventing her father's cruel and agonizing death.
If the nobleman was gone when she returned, she would hate Busker to the ends of the earth. | Yer parents 're dead, yer house burned down and yer dog was kicked off a cliff. Revenge is a perfectly healthy way to cope, I think. How 'bout a refill on that ale?
Well, this development was slightly unexpected . . .
CHARACTER SHEET
ꝿ NAME: (the name of your character)
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH : (Pick a Relationship and someone else's character)
Siblings
Unrequited lovers
Spouses in an arranged marriage
Linked by blood ritual
Assassin/target
Rescuer/rescuee
Employer/henchman
Former cellmates
Bounty hunter/bounty
Creator/golem
Sorceror/apprentice
Diabolist/intended sacrificial victim
Werewolf/hunter
Same non-human race
Members of the same religion or guild
Longtime adventuring companions
Drinking buddies
Reluctant allies
Vicious scoundrel/pacifist healer
You each have a scar the other gave you
"You killed my father"
ꝿ NEED: (your character's major goal)
To be a hero
...by defending the little guy
...to that one special person
...so you can lord over everybody else
...in the public's eyes, even if you really aren't
To crush your enemies
...because they ruined your life
...and enslave them
...and they're all enemies
...just to get a moment's peace
To amass a hoard
...by killing every monster you see
...through shady dealings
...of forbidden lore
...to fund a private army
To fly
...with everybody else's treasure
...after one last quest
...before they realize who you really work for
...literally, using a spell or maybe a catapult
To rule
...by marrying a royal heir
...on a throne of your enemies' skulls
...an army of undead
...and impose your type of justice
To overindulge
...with wenches
...in drink
...in rampant thievery
...in forbidden rituals
...in bloodshed
...in tavern brawls
ꝿ OBJECT: (a nifty thing your character possesses)
Weapons
Flaming sword (sword of cataclysmic combustion)
Poisoned dagger (dirk of vicious viper's venom)
Big-ass iron warhammer
Ancient elven bow
Dragonbane blade (broadsword of scaly slaughter)
Catapult
Soul-stealing scepter (scepter of severed souls)
Sentient spear (longspear of wise council)
Cursed blade (cutlass of cruel calamity)
Seeking arrow (arrow of absolutely accurate archery)
Betrayer's axe (greataxe of pliant perfidy)
Staff of resurrection with one charge left
Spells
Enchanting Charm
Transformative Polymorph
Spectral Ward
Demonic Summoning
Trapping Paralysis
Exploding Lightning
Magic Items
Invisibility cloak
Crystal ball of future sight
Crown of fearlessness
Mystery potion (nobody knows what it does)
Impervious chain shirt
Trophies
Mounted troll's head
Genie bottle
Dragon's flame sac
Tome of dark rituals
Gold ring on a mummy's severed finger
Massive pile of gold coins
Sentimental
Strange charm left with a foundling
Invitation to a prestigious order
Statue of a deity (with a hidden compartment)
Old ally polymorphed into a toad
Royal lady's garter
ꝿ DETAILS: (anything and everything you're inspired to write here)
NON-PLAYER CHARACTERS
ꝿ NAME: Busker
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH WINK: Busker's the owner of this fine establishment and Wink is his daughter and most incompetent employee.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: Fate is another of Busker's employees, whom he hired when Wink demanded help with the heavy lifting. Usually Fate so good at her job that Busker forgets she works there, but some nights he hides under the bar while she flies into a rage at the patrons.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH GHARLYC: Busker and Gharlyc go way back, when Busker was young and Gharlyc was still an endearingly heartless bastard. He cherishes memories of drunken stories and exploits of cruelty and power. He credits Gharlyc for teaching him the value of self-preservation and of using others to get what he wants.
ꝿ NEEDS: To wring as much money out of his drunken patrons as possible.
ꝿ OBJECT: Mounted troll's head hanging proudly over the hearth.
ꝿ DETAILS: Busker is middle-aged and balding, with a wide girth and a toadlike nose. He stands behind the bar most nights, listening to rambling stories and adding up tabs. He's quick with a compliment and a smile that never quite reaches his beady eyes.
BUSKER IS DEAD. Sort of. He walks around all right, and some part of his mind still recognizes Wink as his daughter, and he's not murderous at all. At least not yet. But he is definitely dead.
ꝿ NAME: Wink
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH BUSKER: Wink is Busker's daughter. She's also the one who runs this dump, despite what Busker may claim.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: Wink and Fate both work at the Bawdy Dog; although technically they both equally work for Busker, Wink does not hesitate to order Fate to take care of the less savory chores. Despite this, Wink considers Fate as a friend and defends her unconditionally.
ꝿ NEEDS: To win the favor of a rich nobleman and run away with him.
ꝿ OBJECT: A rabbit's foot in her pocket.
ꝿ DETAILS: Wink isn't the prettiest in town, but she keeps her hair neat and her corset tight. She can be flirtatious one moment and coolly authoritative the next, especially when the tavern's well-being is threatened.
Wink is Busker's daughter. Right now her priority is to survive, and to make sure Busker doesn't hurt anyone. |
3,538 | 81 | 11 | 1,201 | 1,278 | Pallas was tired from her long journey but it was not an unfruitful one. She had finally found this place, The Bawdy Dog, it was apparently called. An informer had told her that her bounty would be found here which surprised her a bit. What would a young siren be doing in a tavern like this? Still, it was a lead, and she was going to follow it. She entered the building, and was immediately hit with the pleasant ambiance of the place. "Well, I might as well enjoy myself while I am here," she thought to herself at least until she saw her. She fit the description, small, eyepatch, one blue,green eye plus she was communicating by writing in the air. Pallas was taken aback by how little she looked. She did not look like she was capable of doing anything evil. She was also surprised by her company... Was that Edward? Oh goodness, it was! She hurried her way through the crowd for two reasons: The siren and Edward, her dear friend.
The young siren looked tamed enough as it was, and Pallas was unsure if she should kill her at this point. Oh what would Seloria do in this situation? She decided that she would do something unorthodox and simply talk to the siren. Maybe she can clear up any misconception and it was better than killing an innocent being. Plus, she definitely could not kill anyone in a place like this, it would ruin the mood.
"Edward! It's good to see you again," she said, smiling at the nobleman. "I do hope you remember me. We met last week? Oh who is your friend by the way?" | Name: Pallas
Relationship with Milo: Pallas is a bounty hunter, with Milo as her bounty. There is a high price for Milo's head as she is known for the suffering she has brought onto others.
Relationship with 's character/Seloria: Bounded together since she was young, Seloria is a protector, teacher, and important friend to Pallas.
Relationship with Edward: He hit on her one day in another tavern, which she mistakenly taken as him being friendly. They still get along with each other though and Pallas likes to think they are friends.
Needs: To be a hero by defeating all the horrible monsters that harm the innocent and poor.
Object: Dragonbane Blade
Detail: Pallas is young, new bounty hunter who is quickly going up the ranks. As soon as she turned 18, she took the Dragonbane blade her late father used during his adventuring days, and began her journey. Despite the reputation that bounty hunters have, she actually isn't in it for the money. She, of course, accepts payments for her kills, but just enough for her to survive. So far, she has only been doing smaller jobs, but hopes to one day rid the world of villains, one slash of her sword at a time. |
3,539 | 81 | 12 | 302 | 2,579 | 1) He's not my friend.
2) My name's Milo. But, I don't supposed you could've just asked me.
Gah, I'm so sorry. Yeah, not really Ugh. I'm trying to be nice. But it just isn't working.
Milo wrote. She looked at Pallas carefully. Then her stomach growled. She was hungry. And thirsty. But there were people to talk to. This was the reason they banished her. Aside from violent actions, harsh words, she also had no care for life. And she still didn't. But she was supposed to be bettering her personality. | NAME
Milo
RELATIONSHIP WITH PALLAS
"She's after me. Guess I did some bad stuff."
NEEDS
"To rule on a throne of my enemies' skulls."
OBJECT
Demon Summoning
DETAILS
Milo is a young Siren. She appears to be mute, but she carries an ability, known to all sirens, that allows her to write on air, allowing for easy communication. But Milo had never been a normal Siren. Her mind had always been twisted. She had always rejoiced in suffering, leading her to be banished. But, Milo has gotten better. She's become less crazy, or at least has been able to hide better and enjoys food. Especially fish. |
3,540 | 81 | 13 | 2,532 | 122 | Observing from the side, Gharlyc could see Busker's very evident discomfort at the drow (who seemed to noticed Gharlyc, giving him a small twinge of panic), and also Wink's interest in the busy-body noble pup. Gharlyc was thinking through a plan when Pallas walked in, causing him to visibly pale and nearly drop his mug.
After taking a few breaths to calm himself down, Gharlyc started to reason with himself. He knew of the rising bounty hunter, and she was a good one, but she was known to be a lass of virtue. She shouldn't really have any connection to the criminal underworld, and know of things he's done, could she? Seeing that Pallas started talking to the small siren and the noble brat, Gharlyc took this moment to leave the tavern and chase after Wink.
Being very fast and efficient with his movement, Gharlyc caught up to Wink in no time. One of the more noticeable things about Gharlyc was his voice. A smooth and rich deep voice (it sounded even better now after 7 years of training and practice), he sounded much more intelligent and cultured than he really had any right to be, especially considering the conditions and the place he grew up in.
"Ah~ Wink! My darling girl, you wouldn't happen to remember your uncle Gharlyc now would you?"
Without waiting for her to respond "Now, I think I understand the situation. You keep the money Busker gave you and head back to charm up that handsome noble to your heart's content hmm? If he asks, just tell Busker you gave the money to me and that I will get him the wine, honeyed raspberry was it?"
Patting her on the shoulder, Gharlyc runs off. There might be some connections he could call up to get the blasted drow her wine, or at least a close facsimile of what she wanted. Whatever he did, Gharlyc needed to do it quickly lest she run out of patience. | NAME: Gharlyc
RELATIONSHIP WITH BUSKER: Busker and Gharlyc are old drinking buddies. They were pretty good friends, but that was many years ago.
NEED: To crush his enemies just to get a moment's peace.
OBJECT: Poisoned dagger
DETAILS: With a wide nose and perpetual bad breath, this middle aged dwarf is constantly looking around his shoulders with his large, almost lidless and bulging eyes. He has dark brown hair with silver streaks at the temples (too soon for his age). A shorter than average dwarf, Gharlyc fought his way through life by being faster and nastier than everyone else. Busker was Gharlyc's only friend. Has been away from town for 7 years, only to return just recently. |
3,541 | 81 | 14 | 1,063 | 170 | Ealdwine's mouth twitched into an irritated frown. The barman had clearly ignored him! Him, who had played for the pleasure of high lords and illiterate peasants alike, who had crossed desert and sea, mountain and plain, and who had charmed a maiden from her petticoat in nigh every hamlet from here to Hell. Alas, it seemed that he would have to dip into his meager savings after all.
As he reached with his free hand for the pouch at his belt, he felt a touch at his arm. A young barmaid stood beside him, promising to grant his requests. She made eyes at the nobleman- and who was he, anyway?- asking for a dignified song.
As the bard considered a fitting song, the maid was pulled away by the barman, who dropped some coins into her hand and urged her off to do something or other. She disappeared in a hurry, but not before gesturing with some urgency at Ealdwine. He imagined she wanted to impress the fellow by conjuring some music for him. For his part, the bard intended to play his part in this little drama well. Though, he was not sure what she found so interesting about him. He was handsome enough, he supposed, in an effete sort of way. Perhaps they were already acquainted.
No matter!
And with that thought, he strode casually toward the spot indicated. He took the lute in both hands and cleared his throat, plucking gently as he manipulated the tuning pegs.
“Harken, gentle born and common folk alike!” he called, with the easy authority of the practiced entertainer. His voice was something short of a yell- loud enough to be heard clear, but soft enough to be generally ignored by the disinterested.
“I will sing, if I might, a tale of truth and honor, of pain and woe- but most of all, a tale of love triumphant. If you know it, and I imagine many of you do, I invite you to sing along.”
And without a further word he began to play. The music was fairly simple, rhythmic and low, here and there embellished with high notes and chords, and flourishing plucking. The style was imitative of the epic poetry upon which the song was based, which would originally have been chanted from memory.
The song was, of course, Galeas and Griselda. A story of a noble knight and a virtuous maiden on opposite sides of a siege. As the instrumental introduction came to an end, Ealdwine's voice joined the sound of the lute. His pitch was perfect from long practice, and his intonation unwavering in its repetition of the lyrics.
“Beneath the tower the foemen shined
in mail and plate bearing noble device.
From parapet, the maid fair,
did see below her gallant loved one there...” | Name: Ealdwine Silverstrings
Relationship to Edward: Ealdwine served the House of Hart-Ellington for several years as a musician and musical tutor, a position he received largely on the merit of being the son of one of the House's more notable retainers. Edward was his chief student, though their relationship was largely unproductive.
Needs: To write a song that will be sung for a thousand years after his death
Object: A finely-crafted lute, a gift from his departed father
Details: Well into middle age, Ealdwine's features still betray the handsomeness that marked him in his youth. His hair is light brown, streaked now with silver, and he is tall and lithe. Though often he broods on his poor fortune, now and again his blue eyes shine brightly with mirth. The rapier at his hip and the lute on his back show his profession as a bard and an adventurer, though he swears he is done delving into dusty dungeons, facing danger and pain for a mere pile of gold. But his tongue is sharp and his sword is sharper, and there is yet glory to be won.
He finds himself approaching the Bawdy Dog, fresh from a failed expedition into an already-looted tomb, hoping only for a drink, some company, and maybe a friendly audience for a song. |
3,542 | 81 | 15 | 2,311 | 82 | “My dear girl, how on earth did you do that?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, a sharp hiss pierced through the tentative murmur of the tavern, and the young girl’s sharply nailed hand came slashing at his face, stopping just before she could gouge out his eyeballs. There wasn’t even time for him to flinch. For several seconds, Edward found himself staring at the girl’s arched fingers, swearing that her palm lines where arranged in the shape of a fearsome beast.
"I'm sorry, Sir" the bartender snapped. "This lovely young lady was ordering first, if you have something you want to do, you can wait your turn."
Frozen where he stood, Edward trembled as his eyes peered over at the bartender. He blinked, gulped, then stepped back a bit too hastily, laughing with an artificial heartiness, adjusting his coat lapels, and fixing his hat. “Haha, oh dearest me, where are my manners,” Edward sheepishly squeaked. “I must apologize for overstepping my boundaries. Surely, I mean not to intrude. I was merely enraptured by this lovely young lady’s display. I’ve not seen anything like it before in my li--”
He noticed that the young bartender’s stony expression had not budged a millimeter since he began his speech. In fact, she looked ready to pounce upon him - and not in the way he would prefer.
“Well, I mean--,” Edward continued to stammer, and forced out a weak chuckle, though he slowly moved his right hand to his back, toward the handle of his hand cannon. Before he could reach it though, The girl took her own lethal hand back, allowing Edward room to breathe. Just as she had done before, she wrote her words upon the air.
My species is mute out of water. So it's a hereditary ability for communication.
He straightened up again and took it all in, though the bartender still seethed. How marvelous that he should be able to encounter such an exotic creature, Edward thought. And an amphibious one at that. His fascination with the girl began to grow.
All of this is not to say that Edward was totally unaware of what was happening around him though. Growing up in a court of nobles required him to read through pretenses, ensure that everyone felt important, and uphold the code of pompous futility during all proceedings. Years of this had trained Edward’s eye to catch all sorts of social cues, and quite easily, he noticed that he had caught the attention of one of the other barmaids. He smirked to himself. If all else failed this evening, at least there would be something to do. He would let her come to him though.
Of course he also paid attention to the odd gray skinned girl nearby, talking to the portly man who appeared to be the owner. The girl honestly sent an odd sensation down his spine.
Also, in the corner of his eye, likely talking to the aforementioned barmaid, stood a familiar looking figure with a lute. He investigated no further though, as to fully turn towards him would be rude to the ladies he was already entertaining.
As he fixed his eyes on his charming eyepatched companions, a lovely voice lilted through the damp air.
"Edward! It's good to see you again! I do hope you remember me. We met last week?”
By the heavens, what luck! Edward put on his gaudiest smile and instantly turned towards the source of the voice, gasping with contrived wonderment. “Aha! If it isn’t the beautiful Ms. Pallas! How I’ve dreamed that I’d once again be so fortunate as to gaze upon your resplendent visage and hear your voice as sweet as a songbird’s. How could I forget that wonderful evening we spent?” He kneeled down to kiss her hand, pretending not to mind that it was blackened by the dirt of a long journey.
”Oh who is your friend by the way?" Pallas asked.
Before he could pick himself up off the ground, the girl swiftly moved her hands to write on the air.
1) He's not my friend.
2) My name's Milo. But, I don't supposed you could've just asked me.
Gah, I'm so sorry. Yeah, not really Ugh. I'm trying to be nice. But it just isn't working.
Edward quickly sprang up, brushed off the dirt from his knee and chuckled nervously. “Come now, dear girl. While it’d be remiss to call us lifelong companions, surely you and I have gotten along swimmingly!” He flashed her a prepackaged smile, with a gleam in his eye that pleaded with her to play along, So her name’s Milo, he thought.
Just then, the man in the corner with a lute introduced himself and struck the first notes on his instrument. At the first sequence, Edward’s ears perked up. He knew this introduction very well! It was Galeas and Griselda, a song quite beloved by his one time former music instructor. that fussy prick.
The plucking continued, linking the familiar melody at times with a masterfully subtle upper organum. A tasteful display of polyphony on the lute, though arranged in a sequence he had surely heard before. Eh. Surely a product of mere coincidence.
The man’s voice rang out like a bell, pure and true:
“Beneath the tower the foemen shined…”
Dear heavens, it’s him! What is that sorry b-ast-ard doing here? Edward’s face visibly soured as he turned to face Ealdwine, who seemed not to recognize him. He remembered the countless hours in his teenage years, forced to sit in the music chamber with the man, working through scales and plucking techniques. In an instant though, he caught himself and reapplied a charming grin as he turned back to his companions. | Name: Edward (Heir to the Hart-Ellington nobility and estate)
Needs: To see the world that he's been sheltered from, and woo as many lovely ladies as possible.
Object: hand cannon - sort of like an early primitive blunderbuss.
Detail: The cocky but intelligent 23 year old son of a rich nobleman, Edward has lived all of his life in the lap of luxury. Feeling cooped up in the world of the bourgeoisie however, Edward decided to flee his father's estate and see the world. On his way out, he managed to steal quite the hefty pouch of gold and one of his inventions, which he calls a hand cannon. As bright as he believes himself to be though, he's found that his refined upbringing and womanizing ways have not served him well on his journey so far.
(5'9", slim build, caucasian complexion, boyish, clean pretty face, blonde, blue eyed. Aristocratic wardrobe. Only difference is he always wears a top hat)
Relationship to Pallas: Met her at another tavern prior to the start of the narrative. Stricken by her confidence and ambition, Edward sought to get to know her better. To his surprise, Pallas returned his sentiments, and a wonderful evening was spent conversing with the young bounty hunter. Though the night ended without any sort of conclusion, Edward likes to think that something lovely could happen if they ever were to meet again.
Relationship to Ealdwine: Ealdwine took up residence at the house of Hart-Ellington as a musician and instructor when Edward was in his teenage years. He really didn't like him. |
3,543 | 81 | 16 | 2,622 | 3,600 | The woman had watched the man nearly turn into a bumbling mess of sweat and nervousness as he stood across from her, his heart beating a pace she was used to hearing from mortal men - from fear or lust she was never certain. The bead of sweat that trailed down his face was amusing as well, as he stumbled for something to say to her as she stared at him with unsettling eyes. With the lack of firelight where she sat her lavender eyes took on a deep red hue as her vision flickered from heat-seeking to as close to human as her spells would allow her to get. Unfortunately, sometimes there were complications and things that slowed her down of affected her from the other side of the blood rituals that she preformed; right now, her vampire was thirsting at an increased desperation and it was causing her to crave blood, hence her asking for the pink wine instead of the usual mead she could have gotten here or anywhere else. She reached into her cloak as the man rushed over to a girl and sent her running to go find some in town because they didn't have it here in store as he had said though she had known from the moment she'd said anything that they wouldn't actually have it. It was too expensive and rarely bought by commoners, thus he wouldn't usually have a need for it though the Drow was not actually a commoner. She was Drow.
"Of course."
Fade responded to his offer as she saw the dwarf get up and hurry out after the human girl who had been watching the noble boy as if he was a prize to be won, or rather, as if he was going to be her dashing prince though she could tell already by the way he stood that he wasn't going to take much interest in a peasant girl for much other than to bed her and leave. It seemed that he was just as eager to get away from her as the bartender seemed to be, naturally though she wouldn't give the man the satisfaction; at least, not quite yet, she liked watching him squirm. With a teasing smile she looked at him across the bar her gaze flickering down to where his fingers were clenching the edge of the bar hard enough that his knuckles were turning white and raised an eyebrow at him in question. "Are you afraid?" She asked him, using one free hand to brush a loose lock of hair behind her ear, the point sharp and high, and her ear long as were the elven nobles of the world. She breathed in a single, deep breath, her eyes half closing before she let it out, her breath dancing in the air while it turned to frost because of the magic she had flowed into it. "Meat would be very nice with the cheese and bread." She said to him, smiling in a dark glee for how much distress she was causing him but her mood quickly turned sour.
“Beneath the tower the foremen shined
in mail and plate bearing noble device.
From parapet, the maid fair,
did see below her gallant loved one there...”
The first verse of the human song sounded before she moved, annoyance rolling off of her before her right hand reached out in a blinding swipe that lifted one of the knives from behind the bar up and in her thin fingers were she flicked her wrist and sent it sailing through the air toward the bard. Her gaze traveled over to him where she settled for a dark glare the pinned him as the blade struck the wood beside his head, stuck up to the hilt in it before she settled her hand back on the counter. "Continue at your own peril, bard." | ꝿ NAME: Fade
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: The two were linked by a blood ritual by Fade's favourite priestess over three years ago, giving Fade the pros of the werewolf without the downside.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH Teldryen Sera: The Drow and the Painted Elf met a long while ago when the Drow was trespassing in his territory in search of a great Goliath of a beast she'd heard was hiding a treasure horde. The Painted Elf offered his assistance and helped her out - though they were by no means friends. She plans to bond with him and kill him as a great sacrifice to Lolth for sending such a splendid creature her way.
ꝿ NEEDS: To overindulge in forbidden rituals
ꝿ OBJECT: Cloak of Invisibility; a black wool cloak, trimmed in warm wolf's fur it allows her to become invisible after she's spoken the magic word in the proper tongue - Fade in elvish.
ꝿ DETAILS: A drow and rockseer elf halfbreed she was born to the Matron Mother of the second house of Menzobarranzan with skin a soft grey and eyes a deep purple, her hair as fair and white as either race. She's quick to smile and lie, but even faster on the draw and killing for her beloved Lolth, the Spider Queen. She is allied with a drow priestess below ground who she often visits, and she's come to town looking for her next victim. She's been bonded with many others and possess her own innate magical abilities, as well as blind fighting and infrared vision without even mentioning her archery skills. |
3,544 | 81 | 17 | 1,222 | 110 | Two dirty hands clapped together eagerly as a wide-grinned jesper sized up his next hunting ground; old travens often gathered all breeds and fools. His bony headdress scraped against the stones of the entrance, which to his pleasant surprise, opened into an ancient room reeking of potential mischief. A quick scan of the people made his stomach dance with delight as he slithered deeper in, his mind already hatching and organizing plans of entrapment.
Like any well-rehearsed actor, Jargo knew where to stand and knew his cues, having performed this act many, many times before in other forgotten dives. This landed him at the middle of the bar where his attention could reach in a 360 degree radius into all the dark corners. A large plume of dust erupted from his oversized shaggy shawl as he plopped down hard into his seat and slapped his open palms atop the bar counter where they rested with his dirty nails picking at the old wood. How exciting. With an unnaturally white grin lined with an abnormal amount of teeth, the demon made no noise as he waited, not for service, but for the room to brew--his dark eyes hidden under a skeleton’s shadow. | Name: Jargo
Relationship with : The luckiest of the unlucky. Jargo tricked Seloria in a deal she presumed to be to her benefit only to have her eye taken as the demon's prize. Now the girl seeks revenge for what she believes was injustice.
Need: To overindulge in the downfall of others.
Object: An empty hourglass.
Details: A merchant by trade, Jargo is a luck demon often mistaken as a genie (So rude.) His first love is altering fate for better or for worse; fortune doesn’t always smile. |
3,545 | 81 | 18 | 1,063 | 170 | Ealdwine stopped playing abruptly. How could he not, with knives flying about? He had played hostile crowds before, certainly. But the fairgoers at Oxcross had thrown nothing more dangerous than rocks. This was simply too much. That knife had landed too close to his head- and far too close to Arthelia. But whence did it come?
He did not wonder long.
“Continue at your own peril, bard.”
The drow maiden at the bar. She must have lobbed the weapon, though he did not see her do so. Well! This could not stand! Though his stomach still ached with emptiness, he knew this was more important. She had not only insulted him- Ealdwine Silverstrings, musician to kings- she had insulted all bards everywhere.
He quickly adopted the manner of a sycophant, covering over what he imagined must have been a look of grim distaste. He smiled indulgently toward the drow and pulled the knife from the wall, examining it admiringly, and turning it about in the dim light of the tavern.
“I believe you dropped this, fair lady of the Underdark,” he called conversationally, as though it were a piece of jewelry or some such thing.
“Or was that a dark elf greeting that I, a well-traveled and learned man, am not aware of? In such case I would gleefully return it, but I fear my aim is not so keen as thine.
“I might hit you, instead of the intended near-miss. And, pray, we would not want that, would we?”
The bard tossed the knife carelessly to the floor, and after pausing for a space to lay his right hand on the pommel of his sword returned to his song with a smile as though nothing had happened.
He did not however intend to take his eyes off the drow again. | Name: Ealdwine Silverstrings
Relationship to Edward: Ealdwine served the House of Hart-Ellington for several years as a musician and musical tutor, a position he received largely on the merit of being the son of one of the House's more notable retainers. Edward was his chief student, though their relationship was largely unproductive.
Needs: To write a song that will be sung for a thousand years after his death
Object: A finely-crafted lute, a gift from his departed father
Details: Well into middle age, Ealdwine's features still betray the handsomeness that marked him in his youth. His hair is light brown, streaked now with silver, and he is tall and lithe. Though often he broods on his poor fortune, now and again his blue eyes shine brightly with mirth. The rapier at his hip and the lute on his back show his profession as a bard and an adventurer, though he swears he is done delving into dusty dungeons, facing danger and pain for a mere pile of gold. But his tongue is sharp and his sword is sharper, and there is yet glory to be won.
He finds himself approaching the Bawdy Dog, fresh from a failed expedition into an already-looted tomb, hoping only for a drink, some company, and maybe a friendly audience for a song. |
3,546 | 81 | 19 | 1,201 | 1,278 | Pallas let him kiss her hand, surely it was just a common way for the nobles to greet each other. She gave him a warm smile as a thank you for his kind words. "He always says the sweetest things," she thought. She turned to the siren and saw that she had written a message in the sky for her.
1) He's not my friend.
2) My name's Milo. But, I don't supposed you could've just asked me.
Gah, I'm so sorry. Yeah, not really Ugh. I'm trying to be nice. But it just isn't working.
Pallas frowned at her own rudeness. "My apologies, Milo, I didn't mean to offend you. I am Pallas." She offered her a hand as an attempt to reconcile. Learning of her name, Pallas was one-hundred percent certain that this was supposed to be her bounty yet it did not feel right. Did the siren just say she was trying to be nice? No horrible monster would be doing that unless they were pretending to be nice to ensnare their victims. But she seemed so genuine and frustrated about becoming 'nicer', that Pallas had to believe it. Well, there was no monster here for her to kill now, what was she going to do?
She noticed Edward's face has paled, and asked in a concerned voice, "Edward, is everything okay?" Suddenly, the room has grown dangerously silent. Apparently someone had thrown a knife at the bard. But it only last a moment before the bard continued to carry on as if nothing has happened. Still, it was strange. Perhaps that was what bothered Edward. Everything was fine now though....right? | Name: Pallas
Relationship with Milo: Pallas is a bounty hunter, with Milo as her bounty. There is a high price for Milo's head as she is known for the suffering she has brought onto others.
Relationship with 's character/Seloria: Bounded together since she was young, Seloria is a protector, teacher, and important friend to Pallas.
Relationship with Edward: He hit on her one day in another tavern, which she mistakenly taken as him being friendly. They still get along with each other though and Pallas likes to think they are friends.
Needs: To be a hero by defeating all the horrible monsters that harm the innocent and poor.
Object: Dragonbane Blade
Detail: Pallas is young, new bounty hunter who is quickly going up the ranks. As soon as she turned 18, she took the Dragonbane blade her late father used during his adventuring days, and began her journey. Despite the reputation that bounty hunters have, she actually isn't in it for the money. She, of course, accepts payments for her kills, but just enough for her to survive. So far, she has only been doing smaller jobs, but hopes to one day rid the world of villains, one slash of her sword at a time. |
3,547 | 81 | 20 | 302 | 2,579 | Milo was feeling mixed emotions to say the least. Part of her was happy at meeting new people and part of her just wanted to slaughter them all. Torture them. And sadly the crueler part happened to be the larger. She wanted blood. Blood. But she would have to calm herself. The more crazy she acted the less people would be around her. So no matter what she would have to stay calm. Nicer. She couldn't draw people closer without a good personality. And if people weren't close, no food, not blood, no death, no nothing. Nothing of importance would come from a good personality. Living things were so confusing. | NAME
Milo
RELATIONSHIP WITH PALLAS
"She's after me. Guess I did some bad stuff."
NEEDS
"To rule on a throne of my enemies' skulls."
OBJECT
Demon Summoning
DETAILS
Milo is a young Siren. She appears to be mute, but she carries an ability, known to all sirens, that allows her to write on air, allowing for easy communication. But Milo had never been a normal Siren. Her mind had always been twisted. She had always rejoiced in suffering, leading her to be banished. But, Milo has gotten better. She's become less crazy, or at least has been able to hide better and enjoys food. Especially fish. |
3,548 | 81 | 21 | 1,690 | 313 | Dirion sat hunched over a small table that was nestled next to the warm hearth. He was currently in an ale induced slumber, snoring to himself softly while he drooled slightly on the table. Well he had been anyway. He couldn't make it a minute now without someone slamming the front door open, stomping and traipsing across the wooden floor, kicking up splinters and dirt everywhere, before shouting about this and that. No, Dirion would love nothing more that to sleep rather than think. But it appears it 'twas not to be. He now was quite lucid, lucid and drunk.... Now that he thought about it that may be a contradiction. But who cares.
With quite the audible groan Dirion sat up straight in his chair. A few times along the way he slid halfway down it. But now he sat like a- like a- Oh blast it he was too drunk for this. He was sitting up. Looking around he noticed that the rathole he currently called home was far more packed than it usually was. In fact while he was looking the place over he saw colorful letters appear in air next to one girl. Blimey, maybe he was drunker than he thought. He checked his mug of ale to see how much was left. Sitting at the bottom was one measly sip left of the spirit. Dirion slammed it down in one greedy gulp and shoved back his chair. Stranding up to get another round. He could worry about the consequences tomorrow.
As Dirion quite literally stumbled his way towards the bar he tripped over a loose floorboard. On his way down he saw a knife, he wasn't sure what kind, go flying right for his head. Or more accurately right over his head since he was fortunate enough to have fallen at that exact moment. He shuddered to think what would have happened if he hadn't fallen then. At the very least he wouldn't have his tab to worry about anymore. And even more the knife may have cut off some of his evil dyed grey hairs. That was the last time he ever bought dye from a man in an alley.
While on the ground Dirion look up to see a particularly feminine voice speak, "Continue at your own peril, bard." What?! Dirion had hardly touched an instrument in his life! Well, except for that.. one time. But that's beside the point! How could someone mistake him for a bard? And even more why would they begin to throw cutlery at him? Dirion had never met what he could only assume to be a drow as his assailant. But if this is how they all acted he could happily say one was enough.
With his head spinning Dirion got up from the floor. He already felt sick at the thought of all the grime and filth he must have just bathed himself in. He swore since he had been here he hadn't seen Busker clean the floors once. Dirion wouldn't be surprised if he caught a terminal illness just from his short time on the cesspool of a floor.
As he started once again walking he heard some more commotion behind him, more talking, but all it did was confuse him and give him more of a headache than he already had. However the music that kicked up a second did serve to lighten his mood ever so slightly so. See that, that! That person behind him who was strumming a storm is what you could qualify as a bard!
Dirion finally made his stop at the bar. Instantly leaning and putting most of his weight onto the ale covered counter-top. He clumsily slammed his mug in front of Busker and merely slurred out, "More." He scanned over his fellow bar mates to see what new faces there were. The most he saw at the moment was a young lad in what Dirion could tell from his time in court was noble attire, a young girl in blue armor with one hell of a sword, to be honest he felt like he should recognize her but right now everything was a bit of an ale colored blur, and then next to both of them was a girl who Dirion dearly prayed Busker hadn't given any ale to. She had on an eyepatch and- Well now that Dirion thought about she looked a lot like that staff-hand behind the bar, except smaler. Uhm, what's her face. The girl that growls at him whenever he spills his ale. Uh.. Fate, Fate! It's Fate. Fate. Dirion let out a small grin when he managed to remember her name.
And finally he looked over at the Drow that he was pretty sure had just thrown a knife at him for thinking he was a bard, when there was an actual bard over in the corner strumming away! The minute his eyes landed back on her Dirion gave a dark scowl and a drunken grunt and said to her, "M'not a bleedin bard." | ꝿ NAME: Dirion Seryn
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH BUSKER: Dirion has been bumming around The Bawdy Dog for around a week and a half. During this time he has become somewhat of a regular. More to the point, he has grown quite the tab. Half due to his new drinking problem and half because of Busker's "business" practices. Dirion now only has enough to pay for half the tab. Dirion holds a strong disdain for Busker because of the hole he put him in.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH PALLAS: Dirion has picked up chatter over time in the Dog (Read: Just a second ago/right before she walked in.) That Pallas is a bounty hunter. Now normally an innocent man has nothing to fear from a bounty hunter. But sadly this is not a normal kind of time. For all Dirion knows there is a sizable bounty on him just waiting to be plucked up... He was have to be careful around her.
ꝿ NEEDS: To find and crush his enemies because they destroyed his life.
ꝿ OBJECT: His and Brigen's rings.
ꝿ DETAILS: Dirion was raised by a sellsword named Victor starting at the age of eleven. This is because he was forced to leave his home due to unfortunate circumstances. During his time he was taught how to fight along moving without a sound and ehm.. Cajoling women. Much to his now distaste. Eventually Victor died and Dirion went out on his own. Soon finding... Her.
Dirion fell in love with the daughter of a noble that ruled over a nearby city. Her name was Brigen. The father didn't approve but they were planning to get married one way or another. After fighting with the Father over their marriage for a long time Dirion and Brigen argeed to elope. The night they planned to leave Dirion went to Brigen's bedroom to find her dead, strangled. By who he didn't know. A second later guards burst into her room and arrested Dirion for Brigen's murder. He managed to escape on his way to execution. Not soon after fleeing the city.
Now Dirion stews in The Bawdy Dog all day. He plans to soon launch an investigation to find who killed his love. Once he gets enough coin to hire some help. And.... And maybe after just one more bottle..
Dirion's hair is long and his features thin and sharp. While his haired is naturally blond he died it grey to disguise as an old man to help him flee the city. He did not take into account how hard the blasted dye would be to get out once he had gotten it in. While you can see fringes of blond hairs starting to poke out from the roots the majority of his hair is still grey. He covers himself in a bland brown cloak. Underneath hides some decent grade garb. Better than what a regular peasant would have, but no where near as good as something of a lord or nobles cloth. |
3,549 | 81 | 22 | 2,188 | 1,106 | Nothing very strong. Just something warm.
"Sure." Fate grinned pausing for a sec to read the next line of text;
Your eye is very pretty.
"Danks." But she wasn't entirely sure the girl had heard her, as she had turned to the rude rich boy.
“Haha, oh dearest me, where are my manners, I must apologize for overstepping my boundaries. Surely, I mean not to intrude. I was merely enraptured by this lovely young lady’s display. I’ve not seen anything like it before in my li--”
Fate just kept staring, knowing her cold glare could normally shut most people up eventually. It was getting sooo tempting to hit him, but…… she held off, mimicking a statue for all it was worth.
My species is mute out of water. So it's a hereditary ability for communication.
Well that explained the writing.
Snapping her attention back to the job at hand, Fate swung away from the bar itself, snagged a fairly clean tankard, and wiped it off quickly with a cloth before slopping in a dash of ale and filling the rest with hot water.
Quickstepping it back to the bar, she placed the tankard carefully down, noting that another girl, lugging a fair sized sword, had joined the other two. Fate just shrugged, paying little attention to the conversation, at least until the one eyed girl to whom she had served the ale wrote in the air once more.
1) He's not my friend.
2) My name's Milo. But, I don't supposed you could've just asked me.
Gah, I'm so sorry. Yeah, not really Ugh. I'm trying to be nice. But it just isn't working.
Ah, so she was called Milo? Nice name, nice name. She tucked the little snippet of information away for possible later use.
Turning her attention to the rest of the room, Fate was ever so slightly shocked to see how it had seemed to fill up while she wasn't paying attention. She watched Wink slip out the door, with a dwarf following behind. "Huh" she mused, deciding Busker had sent Wink off to fetch something. Turning back she got diverted by a voice, followed by a thrum of music. It was interesting to note, out of the corner of her eyes, that the rich boy didn't seem to like the music. Fate grinned, maliciously. Nice.
She made her way over to where a new patron had puffed down at the bar, "didja want something?" she offered but was distracted by a knife traversing the room. Fate snapped to attention, paying utter attention to the knife, her senses springing into hyper alert, ready and roaring for a fight, so she was disgruntled when the bard at who the knife had been aimed didn't take the bait. "Garrr." she snorted, expressing her disappointment.
For the most part she ignored Dirion as he shambled up to the bar, she often struggled to deal with him, he seemed to have a habit of spilling his ale everywhere, everywhere! "More." he demanded, slurring his word, Fate shrugged; he'd have to pay for it all eventually, who was she to deny him racking up his tab? Flicking her hair around she slipped off to grab a jug-full of watered down ale, making it back just in time to see Dirion grin. Eying him she poured his drink, grinning slightly when he turned to the Drow with a; "M'not a bleedin bard."
Looking closely at her, the Drow that is, Fate wondered where she might have seen her before, as she seemed awfully familiar, but she couldn't think why. Now however didn't seem quite the time to be asking. | I can't seem to work out/decide on a Need, so for now, if that's alright, Fate just has a temporary goal, she will probably chose a real goal eventually.
NAME: Fate
RELATIONSHIP WITH WINK AND BUSKER: Fate works and lives at The Bawdy Dog, thanks to Wink’s not so soft heart, and constant requirement for an extra pair of working hands.
NEED: She’s not quite sure yet, for the most part however her short time goal is indulging in brawls.
She reckons she’ll wing it for now, and find something uh… bigger to occupy her time, hopefully fairly soon.
OBJECT:
DETAILS: Fate is a 16 year old Werewolf, able to shift at will, although the further from full moon it is, the harder and more painful it gets. New moon leaves her weak, and full moon induces a blood rage. The closer to full moon it is, the more violent she gets. Even in human form she is stronger than she looks, with stronger scenes, although there is the down side of sharing the same almost colorblindness as a normal wolf, all the time. Her eye is damaged, clawed scares sweeping through, and she suffers from a lack of depth perception.
This slightly impairs her fighting, as she can't judge the distance, this however she remedies by getting "up-close-and-personal" smashing them with either her fists or hammers. She keeps her fighting out of the tavern, most of the time. For 'blood moons' as she calls them, Fate disappears into the nearby woods, in the hope of lessening the number of humans she mauls, rather hunting game. |
3,550 | 81 | 23 | 2,311 | 82 | Edward’s attempt to cover up his disgust did not seem to make it past Pallas’ keen eyes.
"Edward, is everything okay?" She asked, with genuine concern. Oh what a lovely thing it was to be fussed over by a woman as kind and true as she. Though she may not be noble by title, she is surely noble in heart, Edward thought.
Nonetheless, he had to play his part, so he smiled and raised his eyebrow quizzically. “Whatever could you possibly mean? The music? I was merely stricken at his masterful rendition of Galeas and Griselda. It just so happens to be one of my favor--”
THUNK-- the sound of a blade piercing into wood silenced the tavern, and Edward stood perfectly still, not moving an inch as he listened to the exchange between Ealdwine and the oddly colored girl. One thing he knew, at least, was that his former music instructor was as cocksure as ever. Even when faced with flying knives.
As the music began playing again, Edward resumed his cover up. “Well as I was saying, dear Pallas, Galeas and Griselda is a lovely piece of music, and it would be a travesty not to draw attention to this wonderful bard’s performance,” Edward stated with a strain, lying through his teeth with a smile. The last thing he ever wanted to do in life was praise Ealdwine even for an apt choice in wardrobe.
He turned to Milo, who seemed to have been ignoring him this whole time.
“Ah! In another short order of business, I must apologize again to you, dear Milo. I’ve not yet introduced myself,” Edward said. “My name is Edward Hart-Ellington, heir to the Hart Ellington nobility and estate. Pleased to be at your service.” Edward removed his hat, and bowed, thinking that perhaps this would help the girl brighten up. Who could resist his irresistible charm? No one, that’s who. That’s why it’s irresistible, Edward mused amusedly. | Name: Edward (Heir to the Hart-Ellington nobility and estate)
Needs: To see the world that he's been sheltered from, and woo as many lovely ladies as possible.
Object: hand cannon - sort of like an early primitive blunderbuss.
Detail: The cocky but intelligent 23 year old son of a rich nobleman, Edward has lived all of his life in the lap of luxury. Feeling cooped up in the world of the bourgeoisie however, Edward decided to flee his father's estate and see the world. On his way out, he managed to steal quite the hefty pouch of gold and one of his inventions, which he calls a hand cannon. As bright as he believes himself to be though, he's found that his refined upbringing and womanizing ways have not served him well on his journey so far.
(5'9", slim build, caucasian complexion, boyish, clean pretty face, blonde, blue eyed. Aristocratic wardrobe. Only difference is he always wears a top hat)
Relationship to Pallas: Met her at another tavern prior to the start of the narrative. Stricken by her confidence and ambition, Edward sought to get to know her better. To his surprise, Pallas returned his sentiments, and a wonderful evening was spent conversing with the young bounty hunter. Though the night ended without any sort of conclusion, Edward likes to think that something lovely could happen if they ever were to meet again.
Relationship to Ealdwine: Ealdwine took up residence at the house of Hart-Ellington as a musician and instructor when Edward was in his teenage years. He really didn't like him. |
3,551 | 81 | 24 | 61 | 531 | Seloria watched Pallas enter the tavern and she sighed "I am tired of staying in the shadows, master wo-" she felt as if her shoulder blade was burning suddenly and sighed "Oh course, even hear the old geaser can still hear me, damn him..." she rubbed her neck and fixed the bandages around her body, face and sword. Putting her hood on, the shredded ends wisping in the wind. Most would call her scantly clad but it was her disguise and it seemed to be working.
Walking towards the tavern, several people approached her, to which she quickly turned their offers down. One especially was very pushy and found his arm suddenly snapped from "natural" causes. Upon reaching the Tavern, she breathed out "Don't get caught...show time..." she walked through the door and was instantly hit with the noise. Looking around she scanned for Pallas until she saw her talking to a man and what seemed to be a little girl, though on closer inspection was...interesting to say the least. She thought about it and shrugged her shoulders "a good drink never hurt anyone right?" she moved past tables and stopped down the way from Pallas, Edward and Milo.
Looking she watched the three converse and she chuckled to herself "So this a friend of Pallas, good to see she's doing well at least" Paying for more drinks she looked at the two "On me" she passed the bar tender more money and stood up, stretching and looking around. Grabbing the two drinks, she walked over to Edward and Pallas "Seems i'm new to this place, and you three" she looked at Milo and half smiled "Seem to be some of the nicer of people here, where could an oldie like me find a black smith? It seems old faithful has given out on me" she motioned towards the bandaged sword at her waist. | ꝿ NAME:
Seloria
Relationship With Pallas:
She's been by Pallas side since the very child was born, in fact she was the person who held her first before handing her to her parents. Pallas's father has made her Pallas's teacher and companion, though when Pallas left, Seloria took it upon herself to follow Pallas and keep an Eye on her without her knowing...until now.
Relationship with Jarko:
The luckiest of the unlucky. Jargo tricked Seloria in a deal she presumed to be to her benefit only to have her eye taken as the demon's prize. Now the Seloria seeks revenge for the wrongs that Jarko did to her.
ꝿ NEED:
To train and teach others in times of great need and sorrow, to make sure her pact with someone is fulfilled
ꝿ OBJECT:
Starbreather's Talon
ꝿ DETAILS:
Seloria as a child was taken by Pallas's father before Pallas was born. At first it seemed he only wanted to take in the child because she was starving and abandoned but she would soon find out what her purpose was really for. For what she didn't know was that Pallas's father was a great warrior, from where they came from he was known as a man of 1,000 cuts. When he picked her up, he wanted an apprentice, one that would be easy to train and easy to mold, so he would need a young mind. A Mind like hers.
After years and years of training, Seloria became a great swordsmen, but at a cost, she could never take a life, her mind would not allow her. And so Pallas's father deemed her be the teacher to his disciples. From then on she become a guard and a teacher. When Pallas was born, Pallas's father put Seloria as her personal companion, to be her teacher. From then on she was always by her side, right until Pallas left. She was ordered to keep an eye on Pallas but to make sure that she wouldn't find out, until now that is.
Personality:
Seloria has a very calming personality much of the time, like that of a mother or a grandmother, because of her experience as both a mother and grandmother. She learned to deal with a lot of problems and bickering and happens to have a very soothing voice that lets people calm down and almost want to sleep. She loves to go through problems with people and act like a mother or therapist giving her opinion on what they should do or say. She is over all the nicest when it comes to those sort of things and she loves helping others a lot. Even if they aren't the nicest she tries her best to help a lot of others with the problem, wether it be physical or mental she does her best to give her knowledge and smile at the person. Even arrancars would find her personality interesting as she wont fight them unless needed and would even help them depending on the task. As long as its not killing Seloria will help with almost, again almost, ever task. Though there are some boundries she will not cross, those involve her body, killing comrades, killing in general, hurting the wrong people. Those are the boundaries she will not cross even if her life is on the line and a sword is at her neck. |
3,552 | 81 | 25 | 1,222 | 110 | didja want something?
The beaming demon didn’t make a move when questioned, only gave a low hiss as he pressed hot air out through his teeth like a machine releasing steam. Oh, how delightful, a little lycan. He twitched as the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention and a brilliant idea washed over him. Using the whole of his hand, he slowly pushed away the bony veil from his view and cranked his neck to again survey the room and all its pawns.
"M'not a bleedin bard."
Immediately, Jargo focused on the slurred voice of the tossed man a mere arm’s reach away, moving like a slippery snake to bring himself at Dirion’s side as if comforting an old friend.
”Oh, gasp! What is this I see?”
Over-exaggerated and far too loud, the demon’s scratchy voice carried like a bad note into the whole of the tavern as he reached for a perfectly normal patch of skin on Dirion’s neck. However, as Jargo’s unclean hand retreated, warm blood smeared along the places his fingertips touched--leaving behind no cuts only crimson stains. To add to his dramatization, he quickly plucked the nearest dagger from the bar wood with his free hand and placed it into the drunk’s grasp, assuming the alcohol would inspire rash paranoia as he showed off his other bloodied appendage.
”Oh, my! Looks like you are the bloodiest of us all.
Flicking his crazed gaze across the room, he knew he would need to move fast before the gray beauty could sink her teeth in the neck of the disrespectful alcoholic. Of any creature he had come across, the dark elves were unmatched for their shockingly graceful speed, which meant time was percious.
“I believe the bard and his empress were throwing knives at you, my fine drunk friend.”
Jargo pointed an accusing finger before offering the inebriated man a gentle nudge in the right direction, hoping to tip the first domino in line.
The proud joker than removed himself back against the bar to smear the remainder of the blood off his hand. His impossibly wide grin stretching further across his face as the smell of metallic iron and ethanol mixed into the air, knowing full well that even the least sensitive of noses could pick up the scent. Would it capture a werewolf?
The demon envied himself as a magian and nodded his head. Inconspicuously he popped the tiny yellow body of a blood-drained finch into his rapidly gnashing mouth, silently thanking the avian for its performance before turning his attention on the final group. Jargo’s movements more like a happy dance at this point as he lovingly invaded the space of the youthful nobleman-- displaying a relaxed smile littered with thin bones and feathers.
”Aren’t you the prettiest angel? Has the Maker called you down to Earth to play an undertaker?”
Unable to hold a dignified composure long, the demon snickered with blatant mockery and fiddled with the little prince’s neck ruffle then adding a rude noise and ripped himself away.
Hastily, Jargo slinked back to his original stool at the middle of the bar and bubbled with anticipation, almost ready to burst at the seams. Waving a hand in the air, he gave a singsong request before settling in for a show,
“Oh, Barmaster, could you fetch a broom and mop?”
Again the luckmeister found himself waiting, feeling too clever for his own good and looking like the perfect idiot. Oops, had he forgotten? How well would the lady hunter and the newcomer handle the blood-fueled frenzy of an unbalanced siren? The thought made his body feel warm and tingly.
Let’s begin… | Name: Jargo
Relationship with : The luckiest of the unlucky. Jargo tricked Seloria in a deal she presumed to be to her benefit only to have her eye taken as the demon's prize. Now the girl seeks revenge for what she believes was injustice.
Need: To overindulge in the downfall of others.
Object: An empty hourglass.
Details: A merchant by trade, Jargo is a luck demon often mistaken as a genie (So rude.) His first love is altering fate for better or for worse; fortune doesn’t always smile. |
3,553 | 81 | 26 | 302 | 2,579 | Edward's charm fell on deaf ears. It didn't spark Milo's attention in any way. The dead were still more fun, and murder was still the best. Life just hung in the balance, easily affected and disrupted by the weakest of things. But death was an imminent concept. No one could escape it. So Edward's charm didn't brighten Milo up at all, in fact it made her even more moody and pissed.
A blacksmith? Why would you ask someone in a bar were you could get your sword repaired. We're most likely here for food and drink, and our own personal gain. But if you must know, no! I don't know where you could get your sword fixed.
Milo was in a bad mood. A very bad mood. And she didn't have any large amount of water near her. She could sing if she had a hand fully submerged, or talk if mor Ethan half of her was in water, but there wasn't any water near. So killing them or wounding them with siren song wasn't going to happen. | NAME
Milo
RELATIONSHIP WITH PALLAS
"She's after me. Guess I did some bad stuff."
NEEDS
"To rule on a throne of my enemies' skulls."
OBJECT
Demon Summoning
DETAILS
Milo is a young Siren. She appears to be mute, but she carries an ability, known to all sirens, that allows her to write on air, allowing for easy communication. But Milo had never been a normal Siren. Her mind had always been twisted. She had always rejoiced in suffering, leading her to be banished. But, Milo has gotten better. She's become less crazy, or at least has been able to hide better and enjoys food. Especially fish. |
3,554 | 81 | 27 | 1,583 | 2,241 | THE SCENE AT PRESENT
Pallas, Edward, Milo and Seloria sit in conversation at a long table by the hearth. Only Milo has been served a hot drink. Milo's air-written words become more hostile.
Fate makes rounds of the room, waiting on patrons.
Ealdwine, with his lute beside the hearth, defiantly continues to sing a ballad despite Fade's threats of violence for doing so.
At the bar sit Jargo, Dirion and Fade. Dirion has already been drinking for several hours. Jargo the Trickster smears blood on drunken Dirion's neck (which consequently fills the room with the smell of blood) and gives the man a dagger, telling him the bard has attacked him.
WINK
She was only just running the names of open wine cellars through her head when she was stopped by a vaguely familiar voice, though it was smoother and deeper than she remembered. Wink squinted at him with a suspicious step back -- she recognized him, all right, but Uncle Gharlyc was the last thing she might've called him. Stinky old bastard Gharlyc, more like. Seven years had made her wiser and had only made him creepier.
Wink scrubbed a palm over her shoulder where he'd touched her, and she scowled after him, angry because his was the last help she would ever want, but she was forced to grudgingly accept it. Even the thought of the handsome noble inside didn't quite lighten her mood after this encounter. Knowing that Gharlyc had returned -- and that consequently her father was about to sink to even deeper lows -- she dropped the coin in her pocket and returned to the tavern --
-- Which was not in the state she had left it.
The drow was tense and livid, and the nobleman seemed at once displeased with the bard and enamored with at least two other women. Poor Dirion was covered in blood for some reason, and the shiny writing from the one-eyed girl (though Wink couldn't read it) was being written with an angry swipe. The worst of it all was that she only spotted two drinks out of the lot of them, despite the fact that Fate was well doing her job.
Wink was in a mood.
So when her father shook her for an explanation for her lack of wine, she snapped at him, "Gharlyc went for it." With that she pushed past him to the ale casks, filled four tankards, and with two in each hand proceeded to distribute them (each with a quiet bang) before Jargo, Seloria and Pallas. The last was held for Edward, and she managed a flirtatious smile while she laid it before him, but her heart was no longer in it. There were several murderous auras and a palpable tension in the air, and she couldn't bring herself to relax while Gharlyc was in town.
Wink caught Fate in crossing and spoke quietly, her eye on the drow and the table full of weapons, "You might want to get the hammers out."
BUSKER
With a grin and a shaky nod, Busker placed before Fade a round loaf of dark bread and cheese, as well as a bowl of rabbit stew, hoping beyond hope that the dark elf would be pleased with the exceptional service.
Instead, she threw a knife at the bard.
The proceeding act of defiance by the bard made Busker's face turn ghostly white -- and then red with livid rage. He raised a finger and opened his mouth so that he might tell this noisemaker, for the sake of peace and of pleasing the patrons, to cease and desist this instant -- but he was interrupted when the door opened and Wink returned empty-handed.
This was a disaster. They were all going to die.
Busker yanked a tuft of hair out of his head, momentarily forgot the bard, and accosted Wink regarding the wine, to be told that this was where Gharlyc had disappeared to. Gharlyc, at least, would bring back a decent bottle.
The odd one at the bar asked for a broom and mop, instead of food or more drink. Busker turned on him with a strained and impatient smile. "Certainly, but whatever for?"
Even while he spoke, he kept the drow and the bard in his peripheral vision. | Yer parents 're dead, yer house burned down and yer dog was kicked off a cliff. Revenge is a perfectly healthy way to cope, I think. How 'bout a refill on that ale?
Well, this development was slightly unexpected . . .
CHARACTER SHEET
ꝿ NAME: (the name of your character)
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH : (Pick a Relationship and someone else's character)
Siblings
Unrequited lovers
Spouses in an arranged marriage
Linked by blood ritual
Assassin/target
Rescuer/rescuee
Employer/henchman
Former cellmates
Bounty hunter/bounty
Creator/golem
Sorceror/apprentice
Diabolist/intended sacrificial victim
Werewolf/hunter
Same non-human race
Members of the same religion or guild
Longtime adventuring companions
Drinking buddies
Reluctant allies
Vicious scoundrel/pacifist healer
You each have a scar the other gave you
"You killed my father"
ꝿ NEED: (your character's major goal)
To be a hero
...by defending the little guy
...to that one special person
...so you can lord over everybody else
...in the public's eyes, even if you really aren't
To crush your enemies
...because they ruined your life
...and enslave them
...and they're all enemies
...just to get a moment's peace
To amass a hoard
...by killing every monster you see
...through shady dealings
...of forbidden lore
...to fund a private army
To fly
...with everybody else's treasure
...after one last quest
...before they realize who you really work for
...literally, using a spell or maybe a catapult
To rule
...by marrying a royal heir
...on a throne of your enemies' skulls
...an army of undead
...and impose your type of justice
To overindulge
...with wenches
...in drink
...in rampant thievery
...in forbidden rituals
...in bloodshed
...in tavern brawls
ꝿ OBJECT: (a nifty thing your character possesses)
Weapons
Flaming sword (sword of cataclysmic combustion)
Poisoned dagger (dirk of vicious viper's venom)
Big-ass iron warhammer
Ancient elven bow
Dragonbane blade (broadsword of scaly slaughter)
Catapult
Soul-stealing scepter (scepter of severed souls)
Sentient spear (longspear of wise council)
Cursed blade (cutlass of cruel calamity)
Seeking arrow (arrow of absolutely accurate archery)
Betrayer's axe (greataxe of pliant perfidy)
Staff of resurrection with one charge left
Spells
Enchanting Charm
Transformative Polymorph
Spectral Ward
Demonic Summoning
Trapping Paralysis
Exploding Lightning
Magic Items
Invisibility cloak
Crystal ball of future sight
Crown of fearlessness
Mystery potion (nobody knows what it does)
Impervious chain shirt
Trophies
Mounted troll's head
Genie bottle
Dragon's flame sac
Tome of dark rituals
Gold ring on a mummy's severed finger
Massive pile of gold coins
Sentimental
Strange charm left with a foundling
Invitation to a prestigious order
Statue of a deity (with a hidden compartment)
Old ally polymorphed into a toad
Royal lady's garter
ꝿ DETAILS: (anything and everything you're inspired to write here)
NON-PLAYER CHARACTERS
ꝿ NAME: Busker
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH WINK: Busker's the owner of this fine establishment and Wink is his daughter and most incompetent employee.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: Fate is another of Busker's employees, whom he hired when Wink demanded help with the heavy lifting. Usually Fate so good at her job that Busker forgets she works there, but some nights he hides under the bar while she flies into a rage at the patrons.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH GHARLYC: Busker and Gharlyc go way back, when Busker was young and Gharlyc was still an endearingly heartless bastard. He cherishes memories of drunken stories and exploits of cruelty and power. He credits Gharlyc for teaching him the value of self-preservation and of using others to get what he wants.
ꝿ NEEDS: To wring as much money out of his drunken patrons as possible.
ꝿ OBJECT: Mounted troll's head hanging proudly over the hearth.
ꝿ DETAILS: Busker is middle-aged and balding, with a wide girth and a toadlike nose. He stands behind the bar most nights, listening to rambling stories and adding up tabs. He's quick with a compliment and a smile that never quite reaches his beady eyes.
BUSKER IS DEAD. Sort of. He walks around all right, and some part of his mind still recognizes Wink as his daughter, and he's not murderous at all. At least not yet. But he is definitely dead.
ꝿ NAME: Wink
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH BUSKER: Wink is Busker's daughter. She's also the one who runs this dump, despite what Busker may claim.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: Wink and Fate both work at the Bawdy Dog; although technically they both equally work for Busker, Wink does not hesitate to order Fate to take care of the less savory chores. Despite this, Wink considers Fate as a friend and defends her unconditionally.
ꝿ NEEDS: To win the favor of a rich nobleman and run away with him.
ꝿ OBJECT: A rabbit's foot in her pocket.
ꝿ DETAILS: Wink isn't the prettiest in town, but she keeps her hair neat and her corset tight. She can be flirtatious one moment and coolly authoritative the next, especially when the tavern's well-being is threatened.
Wink is Busker's daughter. Right now her priority is to survive, and to make sure Busker doesn't hurt anyone. |
3,555 | 81 | 28 | 2,188 | 1,106 | Blood. Oh, she could smell it. Beautiful, rich, blood. Ohhhhh. Someone was unlucky tonight. It wasn't full moon, no. But it was coming, oh yess, it was coming, and that blood, oh, that blood… it just smelled so, sooo good.
”Oh, my! Looks like you are the bloodiest of us all.
Hearing that proved it wasn't only her that was smelling that.
Glancing round Fate searched for the source of the smell, it was often hard for her to spot blood, it's crimson colour appearing to her the same as many other colours, what she had eventually grasped was the colour 'yellow' to others, but to Fate a large range of her vision was filled with this 'yellow'. That included blood. As she searched she slipped out from behind the bar, before getting grabbed by Wink , who seemed to have returned somewhere in the recent chaos. "You might want to get the hammers out." Fate snorted derisively, duh! while scowling and showing her rapidly lengthening fangs, the only part she had learnt to morph on it's own without shifting into her full wolfified form. She grinned wolfishly, the sort of blood thirsty grin that made lesser men back down, and back down quick. She didn't wait to see Wink's reaction, but simply swished her hips once, letting the hammers resting there catch the light for a second, before sidling past Wink and following the thread of bloody smell.
She was practically licking her chops as she traced the smell, ending up practically in the spot she began, just on the other side of the bar, next to Dirion, from whom the tantalizing sent was drifting.
Her eyes were starting to take on a yellow gleam, not that Fate could see that, and her hands had strayed down to grip the handles of her hammers, letting them slide free from the binding that caught them to her belt. To others, the hammers were heavy enough lifting one with both hands, but Fate was lightly gripping them, one in each hand, having no problems even though the weight was nothing to sneeze at.
She tensed up, not really willing to make the first move, not yet, but ready to join the fight, hammers flying, when the simmering volcano finally blew its top. | I can't seem to work out/decide on a Need, so for now, if that's alright, Fate just has a temporary goal, she will probably chose a real goal eventually.
NAME: Fate
RELATIONSHIP WITH WINK AND BUSKER: Fate works and lives at The Bawdy Dog, thanks to Wink’s not so soft heart, and constant requirement for an extra pair of working hands.
NEED: She’s not quite sure yet, for the most part however her short time goal is indulging in brawls.
She reckons she’ll wing it for now, and find something uh… bigger to occupy her time, hopefully fairly soon.
OBJECT:
DETAILS: Fate is a 16 year old Werewolf, able to shift at will, although the further from full moon it is, the harder and more painful it gets. New moon leaves her weak, and full moon induces a blood rage. The closer to full moon it is, the more violent she gets. Even in human form she is stronger than she looks, with stronger scenes, although there is the down side of sharing the same almost colorblindness as a normal wolf, all the time. Her eye is damaged, clawed scares sweeping through, and she suffers from a lack of depth perception.
This slightly impairs her fighting, as she can't judge the distance, this however she remedies by getting "up-close-and-personal" smashing them with either her fists or hammers. She keeps her fighting out of the tavern, most of the time. For 'blood moons' as she calls them, Fate disappears into the nearby woods, in the hope of lessening the number of humans she mauls, rather hunting game. |
3,556 | 81 | 29 | 1,549 | 1,549 | The wind blew through the streets, a coldness settling in the town as night fell. The black robes of a small man blew behind him as he quietly walked down the old stone road. He wasn't terribly bothered by the cold, but he didn't dilly dally. His feet took him towards the tavern, which was much warmer than his own home. The young priest didn't get out much, to be honest, but when he did, this was one of his most favorite places to come. His clergy didn't understand why he would spend time in such a...rough place, but he didn't need to explain himself. After all, did Christ not make company of thieves and crooks? They were the ones who needed him most.
His tattered, black shoes barely made a sound as he stepped into the doorway. Luca shut the door behind him, blocking out the cold and wind. The man looked around the tavern, seeing if any familiar faces were present. There were a few; some were regulars, others were new in town. The priest tried to take one step forward, but halfway tripped over a furry lump that had planted itself on his foot.
Luca looked down to meet the large, golden eyes of a grey cat. It mreowed up at him expectantly. This was what he got for feeding them so often. The man chuckled softly as he bent down to pet the cat, then lifted it off his feet so that he could walk. Luca went over to a long, wooden table by the hearth where it was warm, and sat himself down amongst the crowd there.
"Good even, gentlemen. And ladies," He nodded to them, his voice soft but not timid. | NAME: Luca Petulengro
RELATIONSHIP WITH: Fate. He is constantly trying to sit her down for a 'Come to Jesus' meeting. He does this with most other people as well, but few are patient enough to listen.
NEED: His life goal is to fill seats in his church on Sunday. He's not a terribly complicated man.
OBJECT: A ratty old book. A church.
DETAILS: Luca is a soft spoken German man. Although very young for a priest, being in his late twenties, Luca owns and preaches at a small Catholic church down the way from the bar. He lives there full time, along with anyone else who happens to wander in. He can't, on his good conscience, turn someone away.
As a priest, Luca has taken a vow of celibacy. He promised to never get none ever.
Before coming to the church, Luca lived a hard life. He's not ashamed of it, nor is he secretive of it. In fact, the good priest has few secrets at all. Save for maybe one... |
3,557 | 81 | 30 | 2,622 | 3,600 | He was dead. Fade was going to kill the bard.
Dark elves do not often take disrespect lightly, and never will they sit still while another of a lower race spits in their face and insults them; Fade's hand tightened as the knife clattered to the floor and she barely restrained herself from reaching out and slaughtering him right then and there, though the arrival of the man next to her stopped her from moving so quickly. He was drunk, obviously, and very much an idiot for daring to attempt to speak with her as thus. "I wasn't talking to you idiot." The Drow looked at the bartender and tapped the counter lightly. "I do hope your friend arrives soon." She said to him just as she turned to stand and go off to kill the bard, but a man who looked like a joker caught her attention while he approached the drunkard next to her. The scent of blood caught her attention, as it had Fate's from across the bar while the werewolf walked toward her.
"Well hello again Fate. It's been a while."
Fade smiled a wicked smile, one that showed the double set of fangs she had with two on both the top and bottom jaw and the handles of the hammers at her hips were visible again. She had been on one end of those once, though they had only hit her a couple times within the fight and, as far as Fade was aware, she was the only one who had ever beaten her badly enough to show the young werewolf she wasn't invincible. "You shouldn't be giving him that drink, little wolf. He's just going to do something stupid." She commented, glancing from her to Busker where her grin vanished and she turned away, suddenly muttering below her breath for a spell or darkness. She looked directly at the bard down the bar and as her lips parted again a heavy glob of inky blackness descended upon him, taking away all possibility to see from him as she walked toward him, the crowd parting around her as her booted feet landed silently on the hardwood floor. Very little of what she ever did made a noise that any of them would hear, from her lifetime and training in the Underdark where making a sound got you killed.
"I told you to stop playing didn't I, foolish human?" | ꝿ NAME: Fade
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: The two were linked by a blood ritual by Fade's favourite priestess over three years ago, giving Fade the pros of the werewolf without the downside.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH Teldryen Sera: The Drow and the Painted Elf met a long while ago when the Drow was trespassing in his territory in search of a great Goliath of a beast she'd heard was hiding a treasure horde. The Painted Elf offered his assistance and helped her out - though they were by no means friends. She plans to bond with him and kill him as a great sacrifice to Lolth for sending such a splendid creature her way.
ꝿ NEEDS: To overindulge in forbidden rituals
ꝿ OBJECT: Cloak of Invisibility; a black wool cloak, trimmed in warm wolf's fur it allows her to become invisible after she's spoken the magic word in the proper tongue - Fade in elvish.
ꝿ DETAILS: A drow and rockseer elf halfbreed she was born to the Matron Mother of the second house of Menzobarranzan with skin a soft grey and eyes a deep purple, her hair as fair and white as either race. She's quick to smile and lie, but even faster on the draw and killing for her beloved Lolth, the Spider Queen. She is allied with a drow priestess below ground who she often visits, and she's come to town looking for her next victim. She's been bonded with many others and possess her own innate magical abilities, as well as blind fighting and infrared vision without even mentioning her archery skills. |
3,558 | 81 | 31 | 278 | 12 | A tall, slender Elf strides into the tavern. By his clothing, golden gilded robes with green linings and a small wooden headdress shaped like a pair of stubby antlers you can tell that he is a Painted Elf, a druid. This Elf quickly made his way to the bar tender and said loudly with a smile on is face.
"Hello friend, What's the best drink you've got I must try it!"
You can tell that he is a bit oblivious, but a very friendly person none the less. While he waits for his drink he turns and leans on the bar scanning the room for his friend, Fate. | Name: Teldryen Sera
Relationship with : Friend / intended victim, Fade has tricked Teldryen into thinking she was his friend but she is more interested in his ability to transform into great beasts. She wants to bind is power to herself and likely kill him afterwards.
Need: To overindulge in drink.
Object: Trapping Paralysis
Details: Teldryen is a painted elf, painted elves prefer a druidic lifestyle therefore they commonly live in forests. These elves live until they are 1000 years old and spend most of their time meditating in their groves. They are friendly enough but like seclusion. Teldryen is the exception though, not long after becoming a druid and mastering his transformation spells he moved to a city and began to indulge in gambling, drinking and fighting. He could transform into a bear and a medium sized dragon, he was not very intimidating in his human form but once he transformed he was very powerful. Teldryen was contacted but Fate years ago because she wanted his help with a quest. She needed a druid and Teldryen was happy to help. They became friends, or so Teldryen thought. Fate wanted his transformation but before she could obtain it, Teldryen was called away to another quest. Teldryen is currently 514 years old and is o his way to The Bawdy Dog to meet up with his old friend, Fate. |
3,559 | 81 | 32 | 1,201 | 1,278 | Pallas raised one of her eyebrows, not really trusting Edward's explanation for his peculiar manner, but if he did not want to tell her the truth, who was she to pry? "Yes, the music is quite delightful indeed," she agreed politely.
They were approached by a strange woman in a cloak who was looking for a blacksmith. Pallas couldn't help but feel like she had met this woman before... but where? She will investigate later. She saw Milo write some not so nice words in the air once more, but it felt a lot more hostile despite the fact that she wasn't really doing anything wrong. Pallas herself decided to speak with the woman and said, "Welcome, I never did mind more company. The more the merrier, I suppose. I am also new around these parts, but I'm fairly certain I have passed a blacksmith on my way here. I'm sure I could take you later if you want."
The bar maiden came around and served them all a round of drinks and Pallas did not miss the flirtatious smile she gave Edward. Maybe if Edward wanted she could play a wing woman, not that he needed one.... never mind then. She took a large swallow of ale, feeling a bit more relaxed and more at home. There seemed to be something chaotic going on in here, but bar fights were not uncommon. Pallas would only interfere if it got really out of hand which she might have to soon.
Another man came up to them, a priest of some sort? Pallas gave him a warm smile. "Good evening to you, sir. What brings a priest to a place like this?" she asked, with no ill-intentions. It was just an odd sight to see, a priest in a tavern. She had never seen that before, which was saying something considering she is a bounty hunter and bounty hunters come across a lot of strange situations. | Name: Pallas
Relationship with Milo: Pallas is a bounty hunter, with Milo as her bounty. There is a high price for Milo's head as she is known for the suffering she has brought onto others.
Relationship with 's character/Seloria: Bounded together since she was young, Seloria is a protector, teacher, and important friend to Pallas.
Relationship with Edward: He hit on her one day in another tavern, which she mistakenly taken as him being friendly. They still get along with each other though and Pallas likes to think they are friends.
Needs: To be a hero by defeating all the horrible monsters that harm the innocent and poor.
Object: Dragonbane Blade
Detail: Pallas is young, new bounty hunter who is quickly going up the ranks. As soon as she turned 18, she took the Dragonbane blade her late father used during his adventuring days, and began her journey. Despite the reputation that bounty hunters have, she actually isn't in it for the money. She, of course, accepts payments for her kills, but just enough for her to survive. So far, she has only been doing smaller jobs, but hopes to one day rid the world of villains, one slash of her sword at a time. |
3,560 | 81 | 33 | 1,690 | 313 | Despite his sour mood concerning the Drow Diron managed to put that all past him when Fate came with his drink. He picked it up from the bar with a small nod to Fate and took a large drink from it. Yeah, it still tasted horrible. Dirion had know clue how anyone could mess up ale that bad, but Busker always managed to pull through and surprise him evertime.
Dirion just stood their and enjoyed his drink for a bit. He was still surprised at the amount of people that had come through the door. A place like Buskers was for drunks like himself. He hated to think of any of these young men and women ending up like him. With a frown once more on his face Dirion went to take another large swig of his poison before some nutjob yelled right in his ear.
"Oh, gasp! What is this I see?”
Dirion's head jerked to his side to see some man that as far as Dirion could tell looked homeless! The loud yelling in his ear had shaken up the headache he had been nursing for a bit, changing it from a minor annoyance to feeling like someone was kicking his head. With the mood Dirion had been in he was very seriously considering decking the man. Busker would be upset, but who cares? Dirion knew he was better than that though, so after a second of leering at the man Dirion decided to just drop it.
And the very second Dirion decided to drop it the man thought it wise to start touching him! Was this guy drunk too?! Dirion once again felt like punching him but he kept himself reigned in. He would not stoop so low.
The homeless man took his hand away from Dirion's neck to reveal it covered in blood. And then, to really try and get him to punch him the man made a hilarious joke; ”Oh, my! Looks like you are the bloodiest of us all."
Funny! Really, really funny. Dirion's fist clenched and he had a look of anger on his face. What's not funny about some maniac Drow throwing a knife at you thinking you were a bard? Nothing! That's what. Dirion started to spit out with as much venom as he could muster and unfortunately with quite a bit of slurring, "Real funny you piece.. of.." And then he paused and thought for a moment.
Where had the blood come from?
With a sickening feeling in his stomach Dirion reached up to his neck. He felt something warm, wet and sticky. And yes he was aware of how that sounded. He brought it back down to his eyes to see it covered in crimson blood. Normally when he was sober Dirion would have realized he didn't feel a wound that could cause the blood, and thus he would try and stay calm until he could figure out if he was even harmed at all. But as you already know Dirion is very much not sober.
His mind started whirling. Who did this to him? How!? He hadn't felt anything happen to him! Did someone attack him while he slept at his table and he had only noticed just now? Wouldn't he of woken up if someone sliced his throat in his sleep? What happened?!
More people were starting to talk and yell. The bard's music that had managed to life his spirits was being drowned out by stomping feet and chattering mouths. He was faintly aware that he was being talked to, by a number of people even. But all it did was serve to confuse him even more. And then in Dirion's panic the answer came to him.
Magic.
Surely it was magic that had harmed him so! No one had touched him so it was the only possible answer. And their was only one magic user he was aware of. The Drow. She had thrown a knife at him not a second earlier and didn't even bother to apologize! With a new rage in his heart Dirion looked down to his hand not caked in blood to find a knife. Had he grabbed it? He must have.
Instead of an ale-colored blur now all that Dirion saw was red. He looked to the part of the bar where the Drow had been to see that she was gone. Stomping off to another part of the room. She thought she could just walk away from him?! Throw a knife at someone and then ignore him eh'? Little did that Drow know that Dirrion also knew how to throw a knife. His time on the road had taught him much. Plus you need something to entertain yourself with when you travel alone.
Gripping the knife by the tip of the blade and completely ignoring the fact that he was far too drunk for this sort of thing Dirrion yelled at the top of his lungs, with unbridled rage in his voice and for the first time tonight his words did not slur. "Hey!"
With his hand behind his head he jerked his arm forward, continuing, "What did you do to me!? And with that he released his grip on the dagger let if fly. | ꝿ NAME: Dirion Seryn
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH BUSKER: Dirion has been bumming around The Bawdy Dog for around a week and a half. During this time he has become somewhat of a regular. More to the point, he has grown quite the tab. Half due to his new drinking problem and half because of Busker's "business" practices. Dirion now only has enough to pay for half the tab. Dirion holds a strong disdain for Busker because of the hole he put him in.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH PALLAS: Dirion has picked up chatter over time in the Dog (Read: Just a second ago/right before she walked in.) That Pallas is a bounty hunter. Now normally an innocent man has nothing to fear from a bounty hunter. But sadly this is not a normal kind of time. For all Dirion knows there is a sizable bounty on him just waiting to be plucked up... He was have to be careful around her.
ꝿ NEEDS: To find and crush his enemies because they destroyed his life.
ꝿ OBJECT: His and Brigen's rings.
ꝿ DETAILS: Dirion was raised by a sellsword named Victor starting at the age of eleven. This is because he was forced to leave his home due to unfortunate circumstances. During his time he was taught how to fight along moving without a sound and ehm.. Cajoling women. Much to his now distaste. Eventually Victor died and Dirion went out on his own. Soon finding... Her.
Dirion fell in love with the daughter of a noble that ruled over a nearby city. Her name was Brigen. The father didn't approve but they were planning to get married one way or another. After fighting with the Father over their marriage for a long time Dirion and Brigen argeed to elope. The night they planned to leave Dirion went to Brigen's bedroom to find her dead, strangled. By who he didn't know. A second later guards burst into her room and arrested Dirion for Brigen's murder. He managed to escape on his way to execution. Not soon after fleeing the city.
Now Dirion stews in The Bawdy Dog all day. He plans to soon launch an investigation to find who killed his love. Once he gets enough coin to hire some help. And.... And maybe after just one more bottle..
Dirion's hair is long and his features thin and sharp. While his haired is naturally blond he died it grey to disguise as an old man to help him flee the city. He did not take into account how hard the blasted dye would be to get out once he had gotten it in. While you can see fringes of blond hairs starting to poke out from the roots the majority of his hair is still grey. He covers himself in a bland brown cloak. Underneath hides some decent grade garb. Better than what a regular peasant would have, but no where near as good as something of a lord or nobles cloth. |
3,561 | 81 | 34 | 2,311 | 82 | Pallas seemed taken by the music as well. Fair enough, but he was quite disappointed that she would say that of Ealdwine.
It was also quite unfortunate that the young eyepatched girl seemed to want no part in his pleasantries, and Edward was quite at a loss. But no matter. What could be done if the girl simply did not have the desire, nay, the ability to trade words of import?
He did not have to ponder over Milo for long, as a rather scantily clad, but cloaked woman approached, donning yet another eyepatch. It seemed as if the tavern’s combined depth perception continued to deteriorate by the hour.
"Seems I’m new to this place, and you three seem to be some of the nicer of people here, where could an oldie like me find a blacksmith? It seems old faithful has given out on me"
Edward brightened up at her entrance, half out of reflex, but half out of genuine relief that the tension with Milo could be broken and conversation could continue. He wasn’t quite so used to all of this direct confrontation.
The sultry barmaid brought along tankards of Ale for all of them, and he returned her flirtatious smile with a tip of the hat, and confident smile of his own. Taking a sip of the ale however, his expression immediately soured, and he hesitantly placed the tankard back on the bar counter. Disgusting commoner drink, and a far cry from the fine ales of the trappist monks. But as he had trained himself to do, he reapplied his smile, and let the night continue.
He let Milo and Pallas have their first words to the newcomer, then he laughed, and waved a hand in play dismissal of Milo’s affront. “Oh madame, while I cannot help you on your search for a blacksmith, surely you need not refer to yourself as one so advanced in age! One need only take a cursory glance at you to conclude that Juventus herself (Roman Goddess of youth) would envy your beauty. To what then do I owe the honor, if I have the pleasure of entertaining your company for longer than just a moment?”
Yet another figure approached, clad in black robes, holding a content gray cat. It was becoming quite the crowd. It was a young clergyman, who sat down at the table and addressed them in a kind priestly voice.
But Edward was allergic to cats.
He could not help himself from shooting tentative glances at the wicked ball of fur as he greeted the stranger. “Ah, hallowed be the name of the Lord, and greetings in Christ, dear priest.” As much as he tried to put on airs however, his attention was solely fixed on the damned creature. He could feel the skin on his neck beginning to itch.
No really. He could feel the ruffle of his shirt toyed around with.
Immediately, he whipped around and saw a feathery skeleton bird cloak laughing at him. Nay, a man in a feathery skeleton bird cloak laughing at him. Another interruption. By God, Edward had never been so rudely interrupted so frequently before in his life.
”Aren’t you the prettiest angel? Has the Maker called you down to Earth to play an undertaker?”
The voice sounded from within the figure, deep but treacherously humored, sending a chill down his spine.
But a man of the house of Hart-Ellington would not take this lying down. As the man fled back to his seat, he immediately abandoned his companions, and pulled the hand cannon from his back, pointing it at the retreating figure.
But It was only for show. He wasn’t going to shoot it. Heavens no.
He yelped, “Good sir, I hope you are prepared to apologize for this grave travesty of honor. You should know better than to--”
SSLASHH-- A sharp pain flooded Edward’s arm as a flying dagger ripped through his coat and bit into the flesh of his arm. Blood splattered as he cried out, and his arm flailed wildly.
Then his finger pulled the trigger out of reflex.
BANG
Edward’s hand cannon discharged, sending twenty lethal pellets of hot lead flying across the tavern. | Name: Edward (Heir to the Hart-Ellington nobility and estate)
Needs: To see the world that he's been sheltered from, and woo as many lovely ladies as possible.
Object: hand cannon - sort of like an early primitive blunderbuss.
Detail: The cocky but intelligent 23 year old son of a rich nobleman, Edward has lived all of his life in the lap of luxury. Feeling cooped up in the world of the bourgeoisie however, Edward decided to flee his father's estate and see the world. On his way out, he managed to steal quite the hefty pouch of gold and one of his inventions, which he calls a hand cannon. As bright as he believes himself to be though, he's found that his refined upbringing and womanizing ways have not served him well on his journey so far.
(5'9", slim build, caucasian complexion, boyish, clean pretty face, blonde, blue eyed. Aristocratic wardrobe. Only difference is he always wears a top hat)
Relationship to Pallas: Met her at another tavern prior to the start of the narrative. Stricken by her confidence and ambition, Edward sought to get to know her better. To his surprise, Pallas returned his sentiments, and a wonderful evening was spent conversing with the young bounty hunter. Though the night ended without any sort of conclusion, Edward likes to think that something lovely could happen if they ever were to meet again.
Relationship to Ealdwine: Ealdwine took up residence at the house of Hart-Ellington as a musician and instructor when Edward was in his teenage years. He really didn't like him. |
3,562 | 81 | 35 | 2,622 | 3,600 | She hadn't even made it to his quarry yet when she heard the yelling from behind her, ignoring the smell of blood of course though as she turned she saw the glint of a blade in the air, as if the mere human thought he could even come close to being able to hit a Drow who had gone through three of his lifetimes training before she'd even stepped foot outside of the city she had been born in. Her own cold fury had been directed largely at the bard who had continued to sing until she'd muffled that racket with the glob of darkness that surrounded him and steadily grew larger to engulf more of the room; it would continue thus until the spell wore off and she would finish her business before then. She whirled, her lavender eyes easily finding the dagger that had been thrown through the air at her, and she stepped to the side just enough that it missed, passing by her to find itself in a different target - most likely one of those either not paying attention, or the bard trapped in the glob that would stop him from seeing for a little while.
She'd barely been gone fifteen feet from him when he'd thrown the dagger, stepping around it and turning on her heel with such a swiftness that her cloak flared when she stepped forward again, her eyes finding the drunks and her fury clear in her eyes as cold as glacial ice. "You want to die first?" She growled at him, her gaze flickering for a moment toward the demon who leaned against the bar, seeming very satisfied with himself. It was him who was manipulating the young human, and her desire to kill found it's way toward her instead as she moved to find her way toward the two closer to the bar again.
That was when the heat touched Fades arm, the bit exposed by the lack of the cloak for a moment as the resounding bang echoed through the tavern and she felt blood drink from a throbbing hole in her upper arm again. | ꝿ NAME: Fade
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: The two were linked by a blood ritual by Fade's favourite priestess over three years ago, giving Fade the pros of the werewolf without the downside.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH Teldryen Sera: The Drow and the Painted Elf met a long while ago when the Drow was trespassing in his territory in search of a great Goliath of a beast she'd heard was hiding a treasure horde. The Painted Elf offered his assistance and helped her out - though they were by no means friends. She plans to bond with him and kill him as a great sacrifice to Lolth for sending such a splendid creature her way.
ꝿ NEEDS: To overindulge in forbidden rituals
ꝿ OBJECT: Cloak of Invisibility; a black wool cloak, trimmed in warm wolf's fur it allows her to become invisible after she's spoken the magic word in the proper tongue - Fade in elvish.
ꝿ DETAILS: A drow and rockseer elf halfbreed she was born to the Matron Mother of the second house of Menzobarranzan with skin a soft grey and eyes a deep purple, her hair as fair and white as either race. She's quick to smile and lie, but even faster on the draw and killing for her beloved Lolth, the Spider Queen. She is allied with a drow priestess below ground who she often visits, and she's come to town looking for her next victim. She's been bonded with many others and possess her own innate magical abilities, as well as blind fighting and infrared vision without even mentioning her archery skills. |
3,563 | 81 | 36 | 1,549 | 1,549 | Luca smiled at the greeting from the man across the table from him. The man's discomfort and hardened gaze towards the feline didn't go unnoticed. Luca set the cat down on the floor and shooed it away. The cat gave another, uninterested meow as it slunk off. Luca looked back up at the man and nodded to him. He then turned to the woman who asked what business he had there.
"Opportunity, frau," He said, his accent not too thick to understand, but still very much there. "It's places like these that the Lord is needed most."
Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, the air in the tavern grew tense. Luca turned around to watch the fight between. Magic sparked, knives where thrown, a gun went off. Things were getting rough, and the priest, probably looking as though he had some sort of death wish, stood to put himself in the middle of it.
Luca went to the man who had been injured by the knife. "You're arm, are you okay, herr?" Luca barely managed to ask over all of the commotion. His jaw set. The priest stood and marched over to the man who had thrown the knife. "Stop this!" He said, his voice suddenly gaining volume. "Can't you see you are hurting innocent people? What are you doing?!" | NAME: Luca Petulengro
RELATIONSHIP WITH: Fate. He is constantly trying to sit her down for a 'Come to Jesus' meeting. He does this with most other people as well, but few are patient enough to listen.
NEED: His life goal is to fill seats in his church on Sunday. He's not a terribly complicated man.
OBJECT: A ratty old book. A church.
DETAILS: Luca is a soft spoken German man. Although very young for a priest, being in his late twenties, Luca owns and preaches at a small Catholic church down the way from the bar. He lives there full time, along with anyone else who happens to wander in. He can't, on his good conscience, turn someone away.
As a priest, Luca has taken a vow of celibacy. He promised to never get none ever.
Before coming to the church, Luca lived a hard life. He's not ashamed of it, nor is he secretive of it. In fact, the good priest has few secrets at all. Save for maybe one... |
3,564 | 81 | 37 | 1,063 | 170 | Quite a few things seemed to be happening at once, now, but Ealdwine's gaze remained firmly fixed on the drow, his voice plodding through the lyrics and his fingers unerring in their performance. He felt an inkling of pride at her darkening expression. Ha! Not much used to the unbidden tongue of a free man, eh? He imagined she was used to being obeyed by males and feared by non-drow. But she would have no such pleasure from he! Nay, nay!
And then the drow maid turned toward him, and everything began to darken. The music faltered for the first time since the knife had been tossed. He could see nothing. His left hand went instinctively to his sword, loosing it in its scabbard.
"I told you to stop playing didn't I, foolish human?"
Ealdwine did not have to see to know who spoke. Fear gripped him, then. But he did not cry out, but offered a hearty laugh instead. She would not have the satisfaction of terror, by the gods! He had been pushed too far. Suffered too many bitter disappointments. Been scorned once too many times by fate itself. He did not want to die hungry. He did not want to die sober. He did not want to die at all, truthfully. But he would die on his feet, as he had lived- and that would be enough.
He called out loudly, uncertain how far away the drow actually was.
“You would sooner dance, dear lady?” he asked, a violent, mocking mirth creeping into his voice.
“A romp in the darkness, aye! We hardly know one another- but its never stopped my blade from striking home before. Come, and let us become acquainted!”
But he heard her voice again, evidently addressing another.
“You want to die first?"
And then, before he could even register that comment,
BANG.
Now that rattled the bard. He felt something pass dangerously close- a magical missile, perhaps? Panic rising, he ran his off hand across Arthelia's curved body. He found, to his utter horror, a sizable chip in her neck- and a broken string.
And then Ealdwine snapped, tossing his lute carelessly across his back. He drew his rapier, shouting. All pretense of civility fell away, and he uttered a lengthy stream of every applicable racist and sexist slur and epithet he knew, the most repeatable of which being 'thrice-damned, knife-eared strumpet!' After a brief moment of rapid firing vulgarities, he settled into simply yelling one particular four-letter Anglo-Saxon word, much too inappropriate to record here, dear readers.
He charged blindly toward where he assumed the drow was, his sword slashing this way and stabbing that way. | Name: Ealdwine Silverstrings
Relationship to Edward: Ealdwine served the House of Hart-Ellington for several years as a musician and musical tutor, a position he received largely on the merit of being the son of one of the House's more notable retainers. Edward was his chief student, though their relationship was largely unproductive.
Needs: To write a song that will be sung for a thousand years after his death
Object: A finely-crafted lute, a gift from his departed father
Details: Well into middle age, Ealdwine's features still betray the handsomeness that marked him in his youth. His hair is light brown, streaked now with silver, and he is tall and lithe. Though often he broods on his poor fortune, now and again his blue eyes shine brightly with mirth. The rapier at his hip and the lute on his back show his profession as a bard and an adventurer, though he swears he is done delving into dusty dungeons, facing danger and pain for a mere pile of gold. But his tongue is sharp and his sword is sharper, and there is yet glory to be won.
He finds himself approaching the Bawdy Dog, fresh from a failed expedition into an already-looted tomb, hoping only for a drink, some company, and maybe a friendly audience for a song. |
3,565 | 81 | 38 | 278 | 12 | The eleven stranger, still smiling continues to scan the room for his friend Fate. The sirly bartender hands the Elf a chipped, bone mug that looked rather old and dirty but inside the mug held a Amber liquid, the bartender said with a gruff voice,
"That's the finest drink we got my friend, I call it 'Dragons Fire' be carful it's very strong."
The Elf turned, thanked the Bartender, turned back around and leaned on the counter once again. Before he could take a drink he suddenly spotted Fate! She was yelling at a bard and she looked very mad. The elf smiled, shut his eyes and began to day dream about the adventure he had shared with Fate, fighting monsters and finding loot, it was a happy thought. He was very pleased at the thought of Fate needing him for another adventure, he had enjoyed the last one so muc--
BANG!
His eyes snapped opened and his hands flew up into the air spilling his drink on the people around him. Someone had fired a gun and Fate was fighting with the bard.
The Elf began to walk towards Fate, he looked worried and thought to himself,
"This is no way to begin our adventure! I must intervene, perhaps Fate needs my help." | Name: Teldryen Sera
Relationship with : Friend / intended victim, Fade has tricked Teldryen into thinking she was his friend but she is more interested in his ability to transform into great beasts. She wants to bind is power to herself and likely kill him afterwards.
Need: To overindulge in drink.
Object: Trapping Paralysis
Details: Teldryen is a painted elf, painted elves prefer a druidic lifestyle therefore they commonly live in forests. These elves live until they are 1000 years old and spend most of their time meditating in their groves. They are friendly enough but like seclusion. Teldryen is the exception though, not long after becoming a druid and mastering his transformation spells he moved to a city and began to indulge in gambling, drinking and fighting. He could transform into a bear and a medium sized dragon, he was not very intimidating in his human form but once he transformed he was very powerful. Teldryen was contacted but Fate years ago because she wanted his help with a quest. She needed a druid and Teldryen was happy to help. They became friends, or so Teldryen thought. Fate wanted his transformation but before she could obtain it, Teldryen was called away to another quest. Teldryen is currently 514 years old and is o his way to The Bawdy Dog to meet up with his old friend, Fate. |
3,566 | 81 | 39 | 2,532 | 122 | It took forever, but Gharlyc was finally able to find a trader for the expensive wine. On his way back to the Bawdy Dog, he thought about how this cost was worth it to re-solidify his friendship with Busker, to show that Gharlyc was someone he could trust and rely on. Gharlyc needed a place to lay low for the time being, and Busker's tavern just seemed so much better than the old church in town. He was already trotting at a brisk pace to get back, but after hearing the loud Bang, Gharlyc was startled out of his thoughts and full out ran into the back entrance of the tavern and snuck through the storage and kitchen to peer into the bar.
Chaos... pure and simple. Weapons were out (there was already blood), too many people standing up and facing off against others...
Gharlyc didn't know what to do. He needed to be in hiding, to not stand out. But Busker was the only friend he could rely on in this crap world, and even if it is a crap tavern, it was still Busker's. Busker didn't like trouble, and especially didn't like violence. Gharlyc needed to do something...
With a sigh Gharlyc first runs over to Pallas, reaching up to gently tap her on her forearm to get her attention (Gharlyc is very, very short).
"Oh renowned bounty hunter! The people in here are in peril! I would ask for your assistance in putting a stop to these arguments and quarrels, physically if need be."
Then scampering over to Fade, putting himself between her and Ealdwine, he addressed her in a very demure and servile manner holding up the bottle of honeyed raspberry wine in one hand while holding up his knife in the other towards Ealdwine to desperately fend his enraged blows.
"Madame Drow, I apologize for the late delivery, but here is the wine you have asked for. And if it pleases you, we can offer you a private room so that you may enjoy a quiet evening free from the noise of this rabble. Ah, for no charge of course, as an apology for the poor service we have rendered thus far."
"And you, Bard! Still yourself for a moment before you do me an injury! I have no quarrel with you. Perhaps we can reach an accommodation to appease you as well?" | NAME: Gharlyc
RELATIONSHIP WITH BUSKER: Busker and Gharlyc are old drinking buddies. They were pretty good friends, but that was many years ago.
NEED: To crush his enemies just to get a moment's peace.
OBJECT: Poisoned dagger
DETAILS: With a wide nose and perpetual bad breath, this middle aged dwarf is constantly looking around his shoulders with his large, almost lidless and bulging eyes. He has dark brown hair with silver streaks at the temples (too soon for his age). A shorter than average dwarf, Gharlyc fought his way through life by being faster and nastier than everyone else. Busker was Gharlyc's only friend. Has been away from town for 7 years, only to return just recently. |
3,567 | 81 | 40 | 1,222 | 110 | If Jargo had a heart, it might have stopped pounding, petrified by the idea of being held responsible as he found himself the bull’s eye at the end of several of his beloved puppets’ spite. When one is such an outstanding genius, perhaps the occasional outcome is miscalculated and mistakes are made. Two things not taken into account by the devious devil: His victims had means of inflicting punishment and maybe being near the epicenter of chaos were elements unfortunately overseen during the planning process. For a moment he wondered if the ‘unarmed card’ was playable, but the heat of fury being directed at him was like touching the Sun and there were no other pacifistic opinions. Only retreat was on his mind as his head bobbed in search for an escape route.
The explosive pop came like a slap in the face and in a panic the demon yelped and grabbed at his chest then realizing that the shot had missed its intended target. What luck. He giggled. He snickered. And snorted. Then performed a coward’s slump from his seat to creep elsewhere while attentions were turned on individual injuries and plight. He could watch from afar. Very far.
However, he became a fly to honey when the bard’s temper rang out in a string of foul phrases. How could anybody possibly resist? Like any stable-minded person would do, the insane jester climbed atop the nearest open table and began to dance wildly as if the angry shouts were lyrics,
”My favorite song! How did you know?!”
Throwing his body around and flailing his arms this way and that, Jargo’s movements were nonrhythmic and uncoordinated. From what could be seen of his exposed body, his skeletal structure was misshapen and rolled under his thin flesh in an unsettling manner. Strange bits of matter shook out of his shawl and sprinkled down to where his bare feet pound on the small stage--his steps creating no particular pattern or forethought. In fact, he no longer knew if the bard was still screaming since he had taken it upon himself to begin humming an off-putting tune made up of bad notes and bizarre noises. For all he was concerned with now was his uncomforting interpretive dance. | Name: Jargo
Relationship with : The luckiest of the unlucky. Jargo tricked Seloria in a deal she presumed to be to her benefit only to have her eye taken as the demon's prize. Now the girl seeks revenge for what she believes was injustice.
Need: To overindulge in the downfall of others.
Object: An empty hourglass.
Details: A merchant by trade, Jargo is a luck demon often mistaken as a genie (So rude.) His first love is altering fate for better or for worse; fortune doesn’t always smile. |
3,568 | 81 | 41 | 61 | 531 | She frowned slightly at the girl but waved it off as Pallas invited her to join her later "Oh you don't have to go through all that trouble but it would be nice to have a friend for the time being" she raised her glass and smiled. Then Edward spoke and she smiled "Ah you would be surprised young one, very surprised I am not as beautiful as a goddess, but thank you. The pleasure would be all mine." She watched the bar around them as they began to drink, then a priest walked in. He seemed like a kind man, but not one that would end up in a bar like this. She listened to Pallas and him converse and she stayed silent. It was interesting to see Pallas carry herself without question like she did when she was younger. She was pulled into thoughts until she looked up and saw Edward stand up in anger.
Not seeing that the damned luck bastard, Jargo, was the one to start the mischief. Everything happened so fast and in such a quick span of time, she stood up at the sound of the contraption that Edward had in his hand. Looking to dwarf talk tot Pallas, she sighed "You help this one, I got that one" she pointed at the bard and she turned to start towards the bard, but saw Jargo and she suddenly felt anger. Her hand went to her bandaged part of her face and she felt anger.
"Focus at the task at hand child, your emotions must not guide you..." the words of Pallas's father rung in her ears suddenly and she sighed. Running towards the bard, she jumped over the table and parried his slashes at random. Standing between him and the elf "Wait wait wait, this is a huge misunderstanding, honest! There is no need to kill people now is there?????" she held her blade ready however and watched the bard waiting for his reaction. | ꝿ NAME:
Seloria
Relationship With Pallas:
She's been by Pallas side since the very child was born, in fact she was the person who held her first before handing her to her parents. Pallas's father has made her Pallas's teacher and companion, though when Pallas left, Seloria took it upon herself to follow Pallas and keep an Eye on her without her knowing...until now.
Relationship with Jarko:
The luckiest of the unlucky. Jargo tricked Seloria in a deal she presumed to be to her benefit only to have her eye taken as the demon's prize. Now the Seloria seeks revenge for the wrongs that Jarko did to her.
ꝿ NEED:
To train and teach others in times of great need and sorrow, to make sure her pact with someone is fulfilled
ꝿ OBJECT:
Starbreather's Talon
ꝿ DETAILS:
Seloria as a child was taken by Pallas's father before Pallas was born. At first it seemed he only wanted to take in the child because she was starving and abandoned but she would soon find out what her purpose was really for. For what she didn't know was that Pallas's father was a great warrior, from where they came from he was known as a man of 1,000 cuts. When he picked her up, he wanted an apprentice, one that would be easy to train and easy to mold, so he would need a young mind. A Mind like hers.
After years and years of training, Seloria became a great swordsmen, but at a cost, she could never take a life, her mind would not allow her. And so Pallas's father deemed her be the teacher to his disciples. From then on she become a guard and a teacher. When Pallas was born, Pallas's father put Seloria as her personal companion, to be her teacher. From then on she was always by her side, right until Pallas left. She was ordered to keep an eye on Pallas but to make sure that she wouldn't find out, until now that is.
Personality:
Seloria has a very calming personality much of the time, like that of a mother or a grandmother, because of her experience as both a mother and grandmother. She learned to deal with a lot of problems and bickering and happens to have a very soothing voice that lets people calm down and almost want to sleep. She loves to go through problems with people and act like a mother or therapist giving her opinion on what they should do or say. She is over all the nicest when it comes to those sort of things and she loves helping others a lot. Even if they aren't the nicest she tries her best to help a lot of others with the problem, wether it be physical or mental she does her best to give her knowledge and smile at the person. Even arrancars would find her personality interesting as she wont fight them unless needed and would even help them depending on the task. As long as its not killing Seloria will help with almost, again almost, ever task. Though there are some boundries she will not cross, those involve her body, killing comrades, killing in general, hurting the wrong people. Those are the boundaries she will not cross even if her life is on the line and a sword is at her neck. |
3,569 | 81 | 42 | 278 | 12 | After seeing how mad Fade is, the Elf decided to confront the person who shot the gun. He stopped, spun around on his heels and began to stride quickly towards the man with the gun. He spoke loudly,
"Excuse me sir, what were you thinking! You could have killed someone. Do you have any brains at all?"
The Elf had a sour look on his face, obviously disapproving of the gunman. | Name: Teldryen Sera
Relationship with : Friend / intended victim, Fade has tricked Teldryen into thinking she was his friend but she is more interested in his ability to transform into great beasts. She wants to bind is power to herself and likely kill him afterwards.
Need: To overindulge in drink.
Object: Trapping Paralysis
Details: Teldryen is a painted elf, painted elves prefer a druidic lifestyle therefore they commonly live in forests. These elves live until they are 1000 years old and spend most of their time meditating in their groves. They are friendly enough but like seclusion. Teldryen is the exception though, not long after becoming a druid and mastering his transformation spells he moved to a city and began to indulge in gambling, drinking and fighting. He could transform into a bear and a medium sized dragon, he was not very intimidating in his human form but once he transformed he was very powerful. Teldryen was contacted but Fate years ago because she wanted his help with a quest. She needed a druid and Teldryen was happy to help. They became friends, or so Teldryen thought. Fate wanted his transformation but before she could obtain it, Teldryen was called away to another quest. Teldryen is currently 514 years old and is o his way to The Bawdy Dog to meet up with his old friend, Fate. |
3,570 | 81 | 43 | 1,201 | 1,278 | The commotion was quickly escalating. Edward had gotten hit in the arm with a knife, and shot from his contraption, hitting who knows what. Hopefully no one would get hurt, but that was wishful thinking. Pallas was approached by a dwarf who asked for her assistance in settling this mess of disputes. She immediately picked up her large sword, but was told by the stranger to handle Edward while she handled the bard and Drow. "B-but..." she started and sighed as the woman had already left. She could always jump into the chaos if the stranger could not control the situation. She walked towards Edward to make sure his arm was okay. The knife had gone in pretty deep and though it would be very painful, it wasn't anything that would kill him or disable him from using his arm ever again. "Edward... let me help you with that," she said in a gentle tone.
Then an elf appeared out of nowhere and began to scold the poor nobleman. "Do you not see he was hit by a flying knife? He did not mean to shoot or harm anyone. Shouldn't you be more concern about the one who has thrown the knife?" Pallas retorted. She could understand where the elf was coming from, but playing the blame game like that wasn't going to solve anything. Or maybe she just didn't like it when anyone spoke to her friend like that. Either way, she didn't think that Edward deserved the rudeness. | Name: Pallas
Relationship with Milo: Pallas is a bounty hunter, with Milo as her bounty. There is a high price for Milo's head as she is known for the suffering she has brought onto others.
Relationship with 's character/Seloria: Bounded together since she was young, Seloria is a protector, teacher, and important friend to Pallas.
Relationship with Edward: He hit on her one day in another tavern, which she mistakenly taken as him being friendly. They still get along with each other though and Pallas likes to think they are friends.
Needs: To be a hero by defeating all the horrible monsters that harm the innocent and poor.
Object: Dragonbane Blade
Detail: Pallas is young, new bounty hunter who is quickly going up the ranks. As soon as she turned 18, she took the Dragonbane blade her late father used during his adventuring days, and began her journey. Despite the reputation that bounty hunters have, she actually isn't in it for the money. She, of course, accepts payments for her kills, but just enough for her to survive. So far, she has only been doing smaller jobs, but hopes to one day rid the world of villains, one slash of her sword at a time. |
3,571 | 81 | 44 | 2,188 | 1,106 | Oh wow. Fate had been in quite a few brawls in her time, but never yet had she seen one escalate so quickly, nor so masterfully. It had gone from a few lose tempers to an all out battle field in the space of a few moves. Oh yes, this was gonna be fun. "Well hello again Fate. It's been a while." Fate blinked, cocking her head at the Drow who had talked. It took her a second to place her, or more accurately to place where she would have seen her before.
Had anyone been paying attention they would have seen a light-bulb flash over her head, although seeing as light-bulbs didn't exist, any person seeing it would have definitely decided they were drunk. Fate had suddenly recalled why this stunning beauty seemed familiar, she was one of the few to ever beat her in a fight, and, thanks to the deal they had made, was the one with whom Fate had agreed, if reluctantly, to a blood ritual.
"You shouldn't be giving him that drink, little wolf. He's just going to do something stupid."
"Mhm," Fate agreed, shrugging, matching Fades grin. As long as she didn't leap into a fight with Fade, Fate was comfortable enough around her, but that could be that for all her alertness she was quite oblivious to many things.
She must have been lost in thought, because the next thing she knew thunder had erupted all through the tavern, making her wince and clutch at her ears, a lucky reflex as it caused her to duck her head slightly, meaning that one of the stray projectiles only grazed the top of her head by a millimeter.
That was it. All the incentive Fate needed to fully lose her temper. She let lose a cross between a howl and a roar, the sort that would chill blood, that was if any one heard it lost in the mess of noise as it was. Her eye fully changed to yellow, her muzzle starting to elongate, she leapt forward, hammers swinging in wild tandem, missing many things by mere inches, as she worked up speed, rushing blindly towards the smell of blood.
Reaching her quarry, her prey, Fate swung her hammer, missing by half a foot. She snarled, showing fangs, Damn, she'd thought he'd been closer. Using the momentum of her previous swing, Fate spun a full circle, bringing her closer as she slammed her other hammer at the man's head.
She still looked much like a human, a human with an interestingly pulled out lower face, and the beginnings of deep grey fur sprouting all over, not the sort of sight most people wanted to be confronted with, along with a pair of hammers that were swinging nearly fast enough to become a blur. Nearly. | I can't seem to work out/decide on a Need, so for now, if that's alright, Fate just has a temporary goal, she will probably chose a real goal eventually.
NAME: Fate
RELATIONSHIP WITH WINK AND BUSKER: Fate works and lives at The Bawdy Dog, thanks to Wink’s not so soft heart, and constant requirement for an extra pair of working hands.
NEED: She’s not quite sure yet, for the most part however her short time goal is indulging in brawls.
She reckons she’ll wing it for now, and find something uh… bigger to occupy her time, hopefully fairly soon.
OBJECT:
DETAILS: Fate is a 16 year old Werewolf, able to shift at will, although the further from full moon it is, the harder and more painful it gets. New moon leaves her weak, and full moon induces a blood rage. The closer to full moon it is, the more violent she gets. Even in human form she is stronger than she looks, with stronger scenes, although there is the down side of sharing the same almost colorblindness as a normal wolf, all the time. Her eye is damaged, clawed scares sweeping through, and she suffers from a lack of depth perception.
This slightly impairs her fighting, as she can't judge the distance, this however she remedies by getting "up-close-and-personal" smashing them with either her fists or hammers. She keeps her fighting out of the tavern, most of the time. For 'blood moons' as she calls them, Fate disappears into the nearby woods, in the hope of lessening the number of humans she mauls, rather hunting game. |
3,572 | 81 | 45 | 1,690 | 313 | Well, he missed. And that was putting it lightly. When Dirion saw the Drow sidestep the knife he began to question how wise attacking her was.
He had already paled slightly when he saw the woman marching towards him. Fighting dirty he could take one, he was sure. But person to person? He was doubtful. He had heard the rumors of Drow! Well, mainly from Busker. But for all his faults the man was reliable with his information, well, sometimes. So when Busker says that a Drow can kill you with a thought that most definitely made Dirion sweat.
Dirion's slightly paling skin changed to a ghostly white when he saw that he hit the noble boy. That was just what he needed! Not only was he wanted for supposedly killing.. her. But now he had the good fortune to possibly mortally wound a man of the aristocracy. Bringing even more attention down upon him. Perfect. And then of course there was the boy's magic tool that exploded and sent shrapnel everywhere. One of the pieces of metal went straight through Dirion's mug. Putting two decent size holes from which all his ale poured onto the floor. Even better. Fate was going to kill him.
The Drow stomped right up to him. He could see pure hate in her eyes, even drunk. The Drow was taller than him. He hadn't noticed that before, but she was. Funny, now he felt small both metaphorically and literally. She said to him, "You want to die first?", with the same venom and malice that he had just yelled with a moment ago. All of a sudden Dirion's throat felt very tight. He felt something he didn't feel very often when traveling the roads or drinking. He was afraid.
The homeless man standing beside him beat a hasty retreat. Dirion felt he should be angry at the man but he couldn't blame him. He looked behind him to see not even Fate was nearby. Maybe she wouldn't have to kill him. Dirion went to lean back on the bar, more specifically away from the Drow, and then began to say, "I don't kno-", before he slipped in some of the ale that had started to spill all over the floor.
Right as he slipped Dirion felt something get briefly caught in his cloak. It was yanked out immediately and Dirion looked to see Fate brandishing two fearsome looking hammers. Dirion tried to catch himself on the bar, gripping the edge of it to keep from slipping. He then yelled out, "Fate?!"
He then lost his grip on the bar and fell on his back. Any other day Dirion would have cursed his now bruised body, but not today. Today as he fell he saw a deadly hammer narrowly miss splitting his head open. From his place on the ground Dirion began to quickly shuffle away from Fate on his back. | ꝿ NAME: Dirion Seryn
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH BUSKER: Dirion has been bumming around The Bawdy Dog for around a week and a half. During this time he has become somewhat of a regular. More to the point, he has grown quite the tab. Half due to his new drinking problem and half because of Busker's "business" practices. Dirion now only has enough to pay for half the tab. Dirion holds a strong disdain for Busker because of the hole he put him in.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH PALLAS: Dirion has picked up chatter over time in the Dog (Read: Just a second ago/right before she walked in.) That Pallas is a bounty hunter. Now normally an innocent man has nothing to fear from a bounty hunter. But sadly this is not a normal kind of time. For all Dirion knows there is a sizable bounty on him just waiting to be plucked up... He was have to be careful around her.
ꝿ NEEDS: To find and crush his enemies because they destroyed his life.
ꝿ OBJECT: His and Brigen's rings.
ꝿ DETAILS: Dirion was raised by a sellsword named Victor starting at the age of eleven. This is because he was forced to leave his home due to unfortunate circumstances. During his time he was taught how to fight along moving without a sound and ehm.. Cajoling women. Much to his now distaste. Eventually Victor died and Dirion went out on his own. Soon finding... Her.
Dirion fell in love with the daughter of a noble that ruled over a nearby city. Her name was Brigen. The father didn't approve but they were planning to get married one way or another. After fighting with the Father over their marriage for a long time Dirion and Brigen argeed to elope. The night they planned to leave Dirion went to Brigen's bedroom to find her dead, strangled. By who he didn't know. A second later guards burst into her room and arrested Dirion for Brigen's murder. He managed to escape on his way to execution. Not soon after fleeing the city.
Now Dirion stews in The Bawdy Dog all day. He plans to soon launch an investigation to find who killed his love. Once he gets enough coin to hire some help. And.... And maybe after just one more bottle..
Dirion's hair is long and his features thin and sharp. While his haired is naturally blond he died it grey to disguise as an old man to help him flee the city. He did not take into account how hard the blasted dye would be to get out once he had gotten it in. While you can see fringes of blond hairs starting to poke out from the roots the majority of his hair is still grey. He covers himself in a bland brown cloak. Underneath hides some decent grade garb. Better than what a regular peasant would have, but no where near as good as something of a lord or nobles cloth. |
3,573 | 81 | 46 | 2,311 | 82 | I am going to die. I am going to die. I am going to die. I am going to die. I am going to die.
His vision blurred and life flashed before his eyes, and he could see his mother, his father, even his servants. How sad they would be be when they found that their beloved Edward had passed in a tragic, but honorable death. His mother would sob and wail beside his coffin. Oh cruelty! Don't cry mother! Don't... cry... Why must the good die young? His hearing had faded into near oblivion, and he could just barely make out the sound of Pallas' voice. Oh beautiful Pallas. If only there was time left in life to wed you, and bring you into the family. We could have been happy. But I will die here. How did he get here? Bleeding out from his arm, with no one to save him. He would bleed until he was just a dry shell of skin and bones. Now he could hear other voices too. The voices of angry men off in the distance. But he couldn't hear what they were saying. They would bury him beneath the oak tree, where they buried all of the Hart-Ellington family for generations. For years on this day, he could see his father standing beside his grave, hands behind his back, growing old with sorrow. The Hart-Ellington line would die with him. Edward felt cold, and numbness began to spread throughout his body. He could feel the life draining from within. This was it. It is over. It is over. It is over. I am dead.
Edward fainted and collapsed to the ground clutching his arm, which had long ago stopped bleeding. | Name: Edward (Heir to the Hart-Ellington nobility and estate)
Needs: To see the world that he's been sheltered from, and woo as many lovely ladies as possible.
Object: hand cannon - sort of like an early primitive blunderbuss.
Detail: The cocky but intelligent 23 year old son of a rich nobleman, Edward has lived all of his life in the lap of luxury. Feeling cooped up in the world of the bourgeoisie however, Edward decided to flee his father's estate and see the world. On his way out, he managed to steal quite the hefty pouch of gold and one of his inventions, which he calls a hand cannon. As bright as he believes himself to be though, he's found that his refined upbringing and womanizing ways have not served him well on his journey so far.
(5'9", slim build, caucasian complexion, boyish, clean pretty face, blonde, blue eyed. Aristocratic wardrobe. Only difference is he always wears a top hat)
Relationship to Pallas: Met her at another tavern prior to the start of the narrative. Stricken by her confidence and ambition, Edward sought to get to know her better. To his surprise, Pallas returned his sentiments, and a wonderful evening was spent conversing with the young bounty hunter. Though the night ended without any sort of conclusion, Edward likes to think that something lovely could happen if they ever were to meet again.
Relationship to Ealdwine: Ealdwine took up residence at the house of Hart-Ellington as a musician and instructor when Edward was in his teenage years. He really didn't like him. |
3,574 | 81 | 47 | 302 | 2,579 | Oh, this was chaos. And even if it was fun, things would go bad pretty soon. So, Milo grabbed her drink and did what any reasonable Siren would do to stop a situation. She poured it on her head. It wouldn't last very long, and it wasn't water, but it would allow for what Milo needed to do. Sing one piercing note. A note, not the normal song, but just a single note, one that always seemed to work like a paralyzing potion. It would freeze whoever heard it for a shot period of time unless they were a siren of deaf. | NAME
Milo
RELATIONSHIP WITH PALLAS
"She's after me. Guess I did some bad stuff."
NEEDS
"To rule on a throne of my enemies' skulls."
OBJECT
Demon Summoning
DETAILS
Milo is a young Siren. She appears to be mute, but she carries an ability, known to all sirens, that allows her to write on air, allowing for easy communication. But Milo had never been a normal Siren. Her mind had always been twisted. She had always rejoiced in suffering, leading her to be banished. But, Milo has gotten better. She's become less crazy, or at least has been able to hide better and enjoys food. Especially fish. |
3,575 | 81 | 48 | 278 | 12 | The Elf frowned, the gunman didn't seem to her him or notice enything for that matter. A young woman that looked to be a warrior approached the Elf. She looked angry and told the Elf that he was wrong to accuse the gunman and that he was stabbed in the arm with a knife. The Elf looked embarrassed and said quickly,
"Oh dear! I'm sorry miss I didn't notice his injury, my name is Teldryen Sera."
Teldryen introduced himself with a smile, the girl was atractive and Teldryen was not one to insult a lady. Suddenly the gunman fell from his chair and landed on the floor with a loud thud. Teldryen was surprised and froze on the spot. | Name: Teldryen Sera
Relationship with : Friend / intended victim, Fade has tricked Teldryen into thinking she was his friend but she is more interested in his ability to transform into great beasts. She wants to bind is power to herself and likely kill him afterwards.
Need: To overindulge in drink.
Object: Trapping Paralysis
Details: Teldryen is a painted elf, painted elves prefer a druidic lifestyle therefore they commonly live in forests. These elves live until they are 1000 years old and spend most of their time meditating in their groves. They are friendly enough but like seclusion. Teldryen is the exception though, not long after becoming a druid and mastering his transformation spells he moved to a city and began to indulge in gambling, drinking and fighting. He could transform into a bear and a medium sized dragon, he was not very intimidating in his human form but once he transformed he was very powerful. Teldryen was contacted but Fate years ago because she wanted his help with a quest. She needed a druid and Teldryen was happy to help. They became friends, or so Teldryen thought. Fate wanted his transformation but before she could obtain it, Teldryen was called away to another quest. Teldryen is currently 514 years old and is o his way to The Bawdy Dog to meet up with his old friend, Fate. |
3,576 | 81 | 49 | 1,583 | 2,241 | THE STORY THUS FAR
Fade the Drow did not much like Ealdwine the Bard's singing, so she threw a knife that lodged in the wall by his head. A hush fell over the tavern. The bard, however, was undeterred. He insulted the Drow and commenced once again to sing, much to Fade's fury.
As this was happening, Jargo the Trickster secretly slathered blood on Dirion the Drunkard's neck and convinced him that he had been the target of the knife. Dirion was not pleased.
The smell of this blood caught Fate the Werewolf's sensitive nose, and her eyes began to glow a feral, hungry yellow.
Fade the Drow, with mounting hatred, cast a spell of darkness on Ealdwine the Bard. The Bard was suddenly blinded by an expanding darkness around his head. The music halted once more, and for a few moments the only sound in the tavern was the light conversation at the crowded table (among Edward the Noble, Pallas the Bounty Hunter, Seloria the Blade Teacher, and Luca the Priest). The Drow stepped toward the Bard with evil intent, confident in her power.
While silence fell on the tavern, Jargo the Trickster insulted Edward the Noble then retreated to the bar with a grin. Edward, offended and dignified, stood to defend himself: he pointed his hand-cannon (a curious weapon no one had seen before) at Jargo and loudly demanded an apology.
At this moment, Ealdwine the Bard began to laugh heartily from inside the blinding darkness.
Dirion the Drunkard, feeling he was owed justice for his imagined injury, yelled angry words at Fade's back. Dirion flung a knife at the Drow. The Drow neatly stepped aside and let the knife fly past her.
The knife instead sliced deep into Edward's arm -- the same arm that held the trigger of the hand-cannon.
BANG
Metal pellets exploded out of the hand-cannon. A pellet struck Fade's arm and left her injured and bleeding. Fate the Werewolf clutched her ears, and a pellet grazed over her head. Another pierced Dirion's tankard, and his ale made puddles on the floor. Teldryen the Elf jumped at the shot and spilled his drink.
A pellet struck the Bard's lute, chipping it and breaking a string. Ealdwine's laughter suddenly ceased.
Outside the tavern, Gharlyc the Dwarf was returning with a bottle of wine when he heard the shot. He raced to the tavern and entered through the back door.
It is at this very moment that all Hell broke loose.
The tavern shook with a howling, bloodchilling roar. This was Fate the Werewolf, who had grown a longer snout and a bit more fur, and was very angry indeed. She leaped toward the smell of blood (which source happened to be Dirion the Drunkard) and swung her hammer into a barstool with a CRASH, turning it to splinters. She swung again at Dirion's head -- but Dirion slipped in the puddle of ale and the hammer whiffed harmlessly over his head.
Meanwhile, Ealdwine the Bard screamed a string of horrible obscenities, angry for the injury to his lute. He drew his rapier and charged blindly, slashing and stabbing at everything in his way.
Gharlyc the Dwarf placed himself in Ealdwine's path while he called for the Bard and the Drow to withdraw from violence and make peace.
Seloria the Blade Teacher, at Gharlyc's call for assistance, jumped over a table and parried the Bard's slashes while urging him to calm down.
Edward, shocked at the blood on his arm, fainted dramatically.
Meanwhile, Jargo the Trickster danced on a table and hummed a bizarre tune.
Milo the Siren -- overwhelmed and enraged at the chaos around her -- dumped a pint of watery ale over her head and screeched a high, piercing note that rang in everyone's ears.
This was a Siren spell of paralysis: all who heard it are now unable to move. | Yer parents 're dead, yer house burned down and yer dog was kicked off a cliff. Revenge is a perfectly healthy way to cope, I think. How 'bout a refill on that ale?
Well, this development was slightly unexpected . . .
CHARACTER SHEET
ꝿ NAME: (the name of your character)
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH : (Pick a Relationship and someone else's character)
Siblings
Unrequited lovers
Spouses in an arranged marriage
Linked by blood ritual
Assassin/target
Rescuer/rescuee
Employer/henchman
Former cellmates
Bounty hunter/bounty
Creator/golem
Sorceror/apprentice
Diabolist/intended sacrificial victim
Werewolf/hunter
Same non-human race
Members of the same religion or guild
Longtime adventuring companions
Drinking buddies
Reluctant allies
Vicious scoundrel/pacifist healer
You each have a scar the other gave you
"You killed my father"
ꝿ NEED: (your character's major goal)
To be a hero
...by defending the little guy
...to that one special person
...so you can lord over everybody else
...in the public's eyes, even if you really aren't
To crush your enemies
...because they ruined your life
...and enslave them
...and they're all enemies
...just to get a moment's peace
To amass a hoard
...by killing every monster you see
...through shady dealings
...of forbidden lore
...to fund a private army
To fly
...with everybody else's treasure
...after one last quest
...before they realize who you really work for
...literally, using a spell or maybe a catapult
To rule
...by marrying a royal heir
...on a throne of your enemies' skulls
...an army of undead
...and impose your type of justice
To overindulge
...with wenches
...in drink
...in rampant thievery
...in forbidden rituals
...in bloodshed
...in tavern brawls
ꝿ OBJECT: (a nifty thing your character possesses)
Weapons
Flaming sword (sword of cataclysmic combustion)
Poisoned dagger (dirk of vicious viper's venom)
Big-ass iron warhammer
Ancient elven bow
Dragonbane blade (broadsword of scaly slaughter)
Catapult
Soul-stealing scepter (scepter of severed souls)
Sentient spear (longspear of wise council)
Cursed blade (cutlass of cruel calamity)
Seeking arrow (arrow of absolutely accurate archery)
Betrayer's axe (greataxe of pliant perfidy)
Staff of resurrection with one charge left
Spells
Enchanting Charm
Transformative Polymorph
Spectral Ward
Demonic Summoning
Trapping Paralysis
Exploding Lightning
Magic Items
Invisibility cloak
Crystal ball of future sight
Crown of fearlessness
Mystery potion (nobody knows what it does)
Impervious chain shirt
Trophies
Mounted troll's head
Genie bottle
Dragon's flame sac
Tome of dark rituals
Gold ring on a mummy's severed finger
Massive pile of gold coins
Sentimental
Strange charm left with a foundling
Invitation to a prestigious order
Statue of a deity (with a hidden compartment)
Old ally polymorphed into a toad
Royal lady's garter
ꝿ DETAILS: (anything and everything you're inspired to write here)
NON-PLAYER CHARACTERS
ꝿ NAME: Busker
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH WINK: Busker's the owner of this fine establishment and Wink is his daughter and most incompetent employee.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: Fate is another of Busker's employees, whom he hired when Wink demanded help with the heavy lifting. Usually Fate so good at her job that Busker forgets she works there, but some nights he hides under the bar while she flies into a rage at the patrons.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH GHARLYC: Busker and Gharlyc go way back, when Busker was young and Gharlyc was still an endearingly heartless bastard. He cherishes memories of drunken stories and exploits of cruelty and power. He credits Gharlyc for teaching him the value of self-preservation and of using others to get what he wants.
ꝿ NEEDS: To wring as much money out of his drunken patrons as possible.
ꝿ OBJECT: Mounted troll's head hanging proudly over the hearth.
ꝿ DETAILS: Busker is middle-aged and balding, with a wide girth and a toadlike nose. He stands behind the bar most nights, listening to rambling stories and adding up tabs. He's quick with a compliment and a smile that never quite reaches his beady eyes.
BUSKER IS DEAD. Sort of. He walks around all right, and some part of his mind still recognizes Wink as his daughter, and he's not murderous at all. At least not yet. But he is definitely dead.
ꝿ NAME: Wink
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH BUSKER: Wink is Busker's daughter. She's also the one who runs this dump, despite what Busker may claim.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: Wink and Fate both work at the Bawdy Dog; although technically they both equally work for Busker, Wink does not hesitate to order Fate to take care of the less savory chores. Despite this, Wink considers Fate as a friend and defends her unconditionally.
ꝿ NEEDS: To win the favor of a rich nobleman and run away with him.
ꝿ OBJECT: A rabbit's foot in her pocket.
ꝿ DETAILS: Wink isn't the prettiest in town, but she keeps her hair neat and her corset tight. She can be flirtatious one moment and coolly authoritative the next, especially when the tavern's well-being is threatened.
Wink is Busker's daughter. Right now her priority is to survive, and to make sure Busker doesn't hurt anyone. |
3,577 | 81 | 50 | 1,201 | 1,278 | When she noticed Edward had begun to lose consciousness, Pallas quickly moved in attempt to catch Edward before he hit the floor but was too late. She knelt down onto the floor and held him in her arms gently."Oh...Poor Edward. He fainted," she sighed with complete sympathy. She glanced back at the elf who had apologized for his misunderstanding. "It's okay, I am Pa-..." She wanted to say more, at least finish her sentence but for some reason she could not move. It had to be the work of the young siren, as she recalled hearing a loud, sharp note. "Was she trying to help restore peace in the tavern or did she want to kill us all?" Pallas wondered to herself. But she did not seem to do more besides that. Still, Pallas did not like being frozen and hoped that the spell would wear off soon. Especially since she needed to take Edward to see a healer or something... | Name: Pallas
Relationship with Milo: Pallas is a bounty hunter, with Milo as her bounty. There is a high price for Milo's head as she is known for the suffering she has brought onto others.
Relationship with 's character/Seloria: Bounded together since she was young, Seloria is a protector, teacher, and important friend to Pallas.
Relationship with Edward: He hit on her one day in another tavern, which she mistakenly taken as him being friendly. They still get along with each other though and Pallas likes to think they are friends.
Needs: To be a hero by defeating all the horrible monsters that harm the innocent and poor.
Object: Dragonbane Blade
Detail: Pallas is young, new bounty hunter who is quickly going up the ranks. As soon as she turned 18, she took the Dragonbane blade her late father used during his adventuring days, and began her journey. Despite the reputation that bounty hunters have, she actually isn't in it for the money. She, of course, accepts payments for her kills, but just enough for her to survive. So far, she has only been doing smaller jobs, but hopes to one day rid the world of villains, one slash of her sword at a time. |
3,578 | 81 | 51 | 278 | 12 | The lady had knelt over the gunman while speaking to Teldryen, he thought to himself, "She must be a friend of this man, he is looking pretty bad maybe I can help." Suddenly the lady stopped speaking in mid sentence and sort of froze in the spot. Teldryen looked confused. He frowned and asked the lady,
"Um, excuse me miss are you ok? Can I help you, your looking a little fazed."
She didn't anwser and Teldryen looked concerned, he had just met this lady, he didn't even know her name but he was still concerned. Teldryen then realized he was also frozen! He was afraid and didn't know what to do. | Name: Teldryen Sera
Relationship with : Friend / intended victim, Fade has tricked Teldryen into thinking she was his friend but she is more interested in his ability to transform into great beasts. She wants to bind is power to herself and likely kill him afterwards.
Need: To overindulge in drink.
Object: Trapping Paralysis
Details: Teldryen is a painted elf, painted elves prefer a druidic lifestyle therefore they commonly live in forests. These elves live until they are 1000 years old and spend most of their time meditating in their groves. They are friendly enough but like seclusion. Teldryen is the exception though, not long after becoming a druid and mastering his transformation spells he moved to a city and began to indulge in gambling, drinking and fighting. He could transform into a bear and a medium sized dragon, he was not very intimidating in his human form but once he transformed he was very powerful. Teldryen was contacted but Fate years ago because she wanted his help with a quest. She needed a druid and Teldryen was happy to help. They became friends, or so Teldryen thought. Fate wanted his transformation but before she could obtain it, Teldryen was called away to another quest. Teldryen is currently 514 years old and is o his way to The Bawdy Dog to meet up with his old friend, Fate. |
3,579 | 81 | 52 | 2,188 | 1,106 | Dirion had started to back away, a clever move as Fate had taken the time he spent toppling over to bring one hammer up behind her, pounding it into the ground where he had just been. She hissed, shifting more as she followed him, pummeling the ground with her hammers, leaving cracks in the cobble. Her skull started cracking, re-shifting it's configuration, Her bones creaking as they grew. Slamming her hammer into the ground once more, Fate tipped her head back to scream, shifting hurt, but as she reached for her voice, she found herself moving as if in honey, until she froze, wolf head tilted back on a slightly furry, but still very human, body. Her scream frozen before it passed her fangs. | I can't seem to work out/decide on a Need, so for now, if that's alright, Fate just has a temporary goal, she will probably chose a real goal eventually.
NAME: Fate
RELATIONSHIP WITH WINK AND BUSKER: Fate works and lives at The Bawdy Dog, thanks to Wink’s not so soft heart, and constant requirement for an extra pair of working hands.
NEED: She’s not quite sure yet, for the most part however her short time goal is indulging in brawls.
She reckons she’ll wing it for now, and find something uh… bigger to occupy her time, hopefully fairly soon.
OBJECT:
DETAILS: Fate is a 16 year old Werewolf, able to shift at will, although the further from full moon it is, the harder and more painful it gets. New moon leaves her weak, and full moon induces a blood rage. The closer to full moon it is, the more violent she gets. Even in human form she is stronger than she looks, with stronger scenes, although there is the down side of sharing the same almost colorblindness as a normal wolf, all the time. Her eye is damaged, clawed scares sweeping through, and she suffers from a lack of depth perception.
This slightly impairs her fighting, as she can't judge the distance, this however she remedies by getting "up-close-and-personal" smashing them with either her fists or hammers. She keeps her fighting out of the tavern, most of the time. For 'blood moons' as she calls them, Fate disappears into the nearby woods, in the hope of lessening the number of humans she mauls, rather hunting game. |
3,580 | 81 | 53 | 2,622 | 3,600 | Fade had heard the slight intake of breath behind her, the splash of water and the first hint of the young siren going to sing. She'd only ever encountered one of the creatures before and never against them, merely watch as they destroyed such a great level of civilization that she knew what could happen if that note finished the way it should. She dropped, speaking in that split second that it took her to throw the blade through the air toward her and vanish from few as she whispered her true, elvish name. Invisible she was barely able to begin to propel herself upward before she was frozen mid-word and, thankfully, continued to float until the invisible Drow woman was crouching in the air near the ceiling. It was not something she enjoyed either, being stuck though as that swift reaction had possibly saved her life, she may have mortally wounded the siren and would have to act fast as soon as the paralysis wore off. She wanted that siren's song and she would have it, even if she had to kill the child to do it. | ꝿ NAME: Fade
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: The two were linked by a blood ritual by Fade's favourite priestess over three years ago, giving Fade the pros of the werewolf without the downside.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH Teldryen Sera: The Drow and the Painted Elf met a long while ago when the Drow was trespassing in his territory in search of a great Goliath of a beast she'd heard was hiding a treasure horde. The Painted Elf offered his assistance and helped her out - though they were by no means friends. She plans to bond with him and kill him as a great sacrifice to Lolth for sending such a splendid creature her way.
ꝿ NEEDS: To overindulge in forbidden rituals
ꝿ OBJECT: Cloak of Invisibility; a black wool cloak, trimmed in warm wolf's fur it allows her to become invisible after she's spoken the magic word in the proper tongue - Fade in elvish.
ꝿ DETAILS: A drow and rockseer elf halfbreed she was born to the Matron Mother of the second house of Menzobarranzan with skin a soft grey and eyes a deep purple, her hair as fair and white as either race. She's quick to smile and lie, but even faster on the draw and killing for her beloved Lolth, the Spider Queen. She is allied with a drow priestess below ground who she often visits, and she's come to town looking for her next victim. She's been bonded with many others and possess her own innate magical abilities, as well as blind fighting and infrared vision without even mentioning her archery skills. |
3,581 | 81 | 54 | 302 | 2,579 | Milo saw the knife but couldn't dodge it. It flew straight at Milo, sailing towards her torso. Milo gasped and looked down slightly, the knife firmly lodged in her chest. Blood was oozing from the wound.Her hand moved to her chest. She wasn't going to pull out the knife, it would cause more blood loss. But, there was blood. Blood. Plenty of it. Milo had to keep calm. No torture, no killing, no violence right now. The can't move, and paralyzed victims are no fun. So no matter how much blood there was Milo shouldn't revert back to the good old days of torture. Not now. | NAME
Milo
RELATIONSHIP WITH PALLAS
"She's after me. Guess I did some bad stuff."
NEEDS
"To rule on a throne of my enemies' skulls."
OBJECT
Demon Summoning
DETAILS
Milo is a young Siren. She appears to be mute, but she carries an ability, known to all sirens, that allows her to write on air, allowing for easy communication. But Milo had never been a normal Siren. Her mind had always been twisted. She had always rejoiced in suffering, leading her to be banished. But, Milo has gotten better. She's become less crazy, or at least has been able to hide better and enjoys food. Especially fish. |
3,582 | 81 | 55 | 1,063 | 170 | The veil of supernatural darkness lifted from the bard's eyes, and for a brief moment he could see his target before him. Her magic was strong, that could not be denied. But by all that was good and holy he would drive his blade through her heart ere the sun rose again!
As Ealdwine came into striking distance, however, a dwarf inserted himself into his path. He said something to the drow, and deflected a stab intended for her, before turning to him.
“And you, Bard! Still yourself for a moment before you do me an injury! I have no quarrel with you. Perhaps we can reach an accommodation to appease you as well?"
It was certainly a tempting offer, Ealdwine knew, and would likely serve to alleviate his existential needs. But he was not thinking very rationally. The insults he had suffered must be repaid. Preferably in blood. He made to strike another blow, this one past the dwarf.
It was deflected again, this time by a strange, heavily-bandaged woman. She spoke hurriedly.
"Wait wait wait, this is a huge misunderstanding, honest! There is no need to kill people now is there?????"
Now this really was ridiculous. The quarrel was between himself and the drow. Who were these people, that would deny a man his honorable due? He made ready to stab again, calling out to the three before him.
“I am Ealdwine, son of Eadmund, of the Silverstrings! And-”
And. And. And, he could no longer move his mouth. Or, for that matter, any other part of his body. A horrible shrieking sounded. Some more damned magic, but not from his opponent, this time. It must have been some kind of spell. Curses! Were bards not supposed to be resistant to sonic effects? If he still had his tomes, he would have made a point to double check.
As it stood, he tried with all his might to attack the drow. But for naught. Just as well, she had disappeared! Ealdwine felt dimly aware, in the back of his mind, that he had chosen the wrong tavern that evening. Too many strange occurrences. He would have to take the dwarf up on his offer, just as soon as he could move again.
This moment of non-consensual peace did afford him the opportunity to scope out the crowd, however. In addition to those he had seen before, he saw an elf and a priest of some kind. The young lordling was on the ground, for whatever reason. Ealdwine squinted at the crumpled figure, and recognition dawned in his eyes. The man's identity had been bothering him since he had first entered the Bawdy Dog, and now he knew! It was Edward, his former student. Scion of the House of Hart-Ellington, the family his father had served faithfully for decades.
Maybe he had not chosen the wrong tavern after all. | Name: Ealdwine Silverstrings
Relationship to Edward: Ealdwine served the House of Hart-Ellington for several years as a musician and musical tutor, a position he received largely on the merit of being the son of one of the House's more notable retainers. Edward was his chief student, though their relationship was largely unproductive.
Needs: To write a song that will be sung for a thousand years after his death
Object: A finely-crafted lute, a gift from his departed father
Details: Well into middle age, Ealdwine's features still betray the handsomeness that marked him in his youth. His hair is light brown, streaked now with silver, and he is tall and lithe. Though often he broods on his poor fortune, now and again his blue eyes shine brightly with mirth. The rapier at his hip and the lute on his back show his profession as a bard and an adventurer, though he swears he is done delving into dusty dungeons, facing danger and pain for a mere pile of gold. But his tongue is sharp and his sword is sharper, and there is yet glory to be won.
He finds himself approaching the Bawdy Dog, fresh from a failed expedition into an already-looted tomb, hoping only for a drink, some company, and maybe a friendly audience for a song. |
3,583 | 81 | 56 | 2,311 | 82 | Ah well. It was a good life. I suppose I never did get to see the rest of the world, but what can be done? I feel awfully heavy though. I'd imagine that it's time I got started on my stay in purgatory. This'll take quite a bit of time. Heheh.
Edward felt a stirring from within. Perhaps it was the afterlife calling. It felt awfully cushy, though it smelled rather musty and dank... rather like that accursed tavern he had died in.
Slowly, he cracked open the lids of his eyes, and through the blurry haze he could make out a beautiful figure above him. Strange, he thought. This doesn't seem quite as bad as that old geezer Priest back at home said. But as his eyes regained their full spectrum, he gasped in shock. It was Pallas! She sat above him frozen like a doll, cradling him gently in her arms. In terror, he shot up, stumbling away from her statue like arms into the center of the tavern. His eyes darted back and forth, trying to gain his bearings.
It was The Bawdy Dog. He calmed down a bit, though his fear turned to dubious curiosity. His purgatory was a recreation of The Bawdy Dog, complete with still figures, like perfectly cast wax dolls of all the people who were present when he died. He exhaled in wonderment. Why did it turn out this way? And why the odd decoration?
He looked around again, to see what strange statues he'd spend the next several hundred years with.
The bloody feather clad demon who mocked him earlier was laid out across the table, caught in a pose that looked like a dance. He clicked his tongue in disgust.
His unsavory former music instructor was frozen in a duel with the scantily clad bandaged woman. Ugh. Now his smug face will haunt me for years.
A short dwarf stood in between them, appearing to be calling for peace.
The priest stood by Pallas, with a stern expression at the drunk, who was lying on his back with a panicked look on his face.
The unkind wolf girl bartender was frozen in a scream.
The bartender and the barmaid were frozen in fear.
The young girl was hunched over, breathing heavily, clutching at her bloodied chest, where a knife was lodged.
At least that odd grey skinned girl was nowhere to be found.
Wait. Edward’s head turned slowly to Milo. She was moving, and panting for air, appearing to be in dire need of immediate medical assistance.
What a dreadful apparition, thought Edward, not thinking for a second that he should help her.
He sighed, and sauntered over to the bar, taking a pensive sip from one of the tankards on the countertop as he surveyed the room again. This was reality for the next several hundred years, so he might as well get used to it.
He made his way back to the frozen duel, pulling off Seloria’s cloak and throwing it over Ealdwine’s face. At least that would help for at least several decades.
At the center of the tavern, he laid back into the bust of Pallas (oho), bemusedly cradling her concerned face in his hands. He smiled for a bit, before his expression faded into resignation. There would be no exit. At least not for a long while.
“Well, well, let’s get on with it.” | Name: Edward (Heir to the Hart-Ellington nobility and estate)
Needs: To see the world that he's been sheltered from, and woo as many lovely ladies as possible.
Object: hand cannon - sort of like an early primitive blunderbuss.
Detail: The cocky but intelligent 23 year old son of a rich nobleman, Edward has lived all of his life in the lap of luxury. Feeling cooped up in the world of the bourgeoisie however, Edward decided to flee his father's estate and see the world. On his way out, he managed to steal quite the hefty pouch of gold and one of his inventions, which he calls a hand cannon. As bright as he believes himself to be though, he's found that his refined upbringing and womanizing ways have not served him well on his journey so far.
(5'9", slim build, caucasian complexion, boyish, clean pretty face, blonde, blue eyed. Aristocratic wardrobe. Only difference is he always wears a top hat)
Relationship to Pallas: Met her at another tavern prior to the start of the narrative. Stricken by her confidence and ambition, Edward sought to get to know her better. To his surprise, Pallas returned his sentiments, and a wonderful evening was spent conversing with the young bounty hunter. Though the night ended without any sort of conclusion, Edward likes to think that something lovely could happen if they ever were to meet again.
Relationship to Ealdwine: Ealdwine took up residence at the house of Hart-Ellington as a musician and instructor when Edward was in his teenage years. He really didn't like him. |
3,584 | 81 | 57 | 2,532 | 122 | Gharlyc would of shat himself from the panic of not being able to move, if he were able to move...
Blasted siren for freezing everyone... Blasted drow, vanishing like that... Blast Gharlyc himself for even popping back into the tavern while all these angry lunatics are mucking about...
Blast... | NAME: Gharlyc
RELATIONSHIP WITH BUSKER: Busker and Gharlyc are old drinking buddies. They were pretty good friends, but that was many years ago.
NEED: To crush his enemies just to get a moment's peace.
OBJECT: Poisoned dagger
DETAILS: With a wide nose and perpetual bad breath, this middle aged dwarf is constantly looking around his shoulders with his large, almost lidless and bulging eyes. He has dark brown hair with silver streaks at the temples (too soon for his age). A shorter than average dwarf, Gharlyc fought his way through life by being faster and nastier than everyone else. Busker was Gharlyc's only friend. Has been away from town for 7 years, only to return just recently. |
3,585 | 81 | 58 | 1,583 | 2,241 | Freeze.
Busker and Wink had been huddled under the bar, their hands over their ears, when the siren song froze them.
The Drow was invisible and still deadly.
And Edward, who had been unconscious and thus immune to Milo's spell, was free to move about but certain he had awoken in Purgatory. No help would be had from him.
Milo lay bleeding -- dying -- and not one of them had brought a healing spell.
If only there were some deux ex machina to resolve the dire turn of events.
Release.
Edward had only just laid down his head when --
BLAM -- the door slammed open; icy wind burst into the tavern and the siren's spell was broken. Like a flipped switch, the patrons of the tavern could move once again.
While Wink cowered under the bar, Busker clambered heroically to his feet. He gripped the bar, scowling at the splintered stools and broken flagstones, the blood on the floor and the alarming absence of the Drow.
"EVERYONE OUT!" Busker roared, his beady eyes bugged with fear and rage. "Leave your money on the tables and get out of my establishment! Take your injured with you, I --"
Busker was suddenly cut off when a needle shot out from the doorway and pierced his throat. He stood gurgling, pale with confused horror, the needle protruding from his quivering neck.
Wink, on the floor behind the bar, screamed.
The Salvagers
Three masked figures stood in the doorway, dressed in pristine white and gold. They appeared to be faceless: the gold masks they wore were smooth and void of any human feature; there were no holes for eyes, only blank shining gold where the face should be. Each was clothed or wrapped from head to toe; there was no skin to be seen between the folds of white and gold cloth.
These were a few of those known throughout the kingdoms as the Salvagers. They were known for their silence, their smooth and efficient killing, and for taking objects and people of power. They were quiet pillagers and silent murderers, and they had been attracted by the shot of a hand-cannon and the scream of a siren.
One of them held a fistful of needles in his bandaged hand. He tipped his head slightly and shot a needle directly at Fade, who was invisible to all who could see.
One of them held a long dagger, and moved around the hearth, past the bard, with the intention to simply take Edward's hand-cannon for himself.
The third, who carried a scimitar, stepped into the tavern, heading directly for Milo with silent steps.
There were two well-known rumors about the Salvagers. One was that they never left anyone alive who had seen them. The other was that each Salvager carried with him a bottle of elixir that could cure every ill or injury.
Busker collapsed behind the bar, and Wink sobbed. | Yer parents 're dead, yer house burned down and yer dog was kicked off a cliff. Revenge is a perfectly healthy way to cope, I think. How 'bout a refill on that ale?
Well, this development was slightly unexpected . . .
CHARACTER SHEET
ꝿ NAME: (the name of your character)
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH : (Pick a Relationship and someone else's character)
Siblings
Unrequited lovers
Spouses in an arranged marriage
Linked by blood ritual
Assassin/target
Rescuer/rescuee
Employer/henchman
Former cellmates
Bounty hunter/bounty
Creator/golem
Sorceror/apprentice
Diabolist/intended sacrificial victim
Werewolf/hunter
Same non-human race
Members of the same religion or guild
Longtime adventuring companions
Drinking buddies
Reluctant allies
Vicious scoundrel/pacifist healer
You each have a scar the other gave you
"You killed my father"
ꝿ NEED: (your character's major goal)
To be a hero
...by defending the little guy
...to that one special person
...so you can lord over everybody else
...in the public's eyes, even if you really aren't
To crush your enemies
...because they ruined your life
...and enslave them
...and they're all enemies
...just to get a moment's peace
To amass a hoard
...by killing every monster you see
...through shady dealings
...of forbidden lore
...to fund a private army
To fly
...with everybody else's treasure
...after one last quest
...before they realize who you really work for
...literally, using a spell or maybe a catapult
To rule
...by marrying a royal heir
...on a throne of your enemies' skulls
...an army of undead
...and impose your type of justice
To overindulge
...with wenches
...in drink
...in rampant thievery
...in forbidden rituals
...in bloodshed
...in tavern brawls
ꝿ OBJECT: (a nifty thing your character possesses)
Weapons
Flaming sword (sword of cataclysmic combustion)
Poisoned dagger (dirk of vicious viper's venom)
Big-ass iron warhammer
Ancient elven bow
Dragonbane blade (broadsword of scaly slaughter)
Catapult
Soul-stealing scepter (scepter of severed souls)
Sentient spear (longspear of wise council)
Cursed blade (cutlass of cruel calamity)
Seeking arrow (arrow of absolutely accurate archery)
Betrayer's axe (greataxe of pliant perfidy)
Staff of resurrection with one charge left
Spells
Enchanting Charm
Transformative Polymorph
Spectral Ward
Demonic Summoning
Trapping Paralysis
Exploding Lightning
Magic Items
Invisibility cloak
Crystal ball of future sight
Crown of fearlessness
Mystery potion (nobody knows what it does)
Impervious chain shirt
Trophies
Mounted troll's head
Genie bottle
Dragon's flame sac
Tome of dark rituals
Gold ring on a mummy's severed finger
Massive pile of gold coins
Sentimental
Strange charm left with a foundling
Invitation to a prestigious order
Statue of a deity (with a hidden compartment)
Old ally polymorphed into a toad
Royal lady's garter
ꝿ DETAILS: (anything and everything you're inspired to write here)
NON-PLAYER CHARACTERS
ꝿ NAME: Busker
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH WINK: Busker's the owner of this fine establishment and Wink is his daughter and most incompetent employee.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: Fate is another of Busker's employees, whom he hired when Wink demanded help with the heavy lifting. Usually Fate so good at her job that Busker forgets she works there, but some nights he hides under the bar while she flies into a rage at the patrons.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH GHARLYC: Busker and Gharlyc go way back, when Busker was young and Gharlyc was still an endearingly heartless bastard. He cherishes memories of drunken stories and exploits of cruelty and power. He credits Gharlyc for teaching him the value of self-preservation and of using others to get what he wants.
ꝿ NEEDS: To wring as much money out of his drunken patrons as possible.
ꝿ OBJECT: Mounted troll's head hanging proudly over the hearth.
ꝿ DETAILS: Busker is middle-aged and balding, with a wide girth and a toadlike nose. He stands behind the bar most nights, listening to rambling stories and adding up tabs. He's quick with a compliment and a smile that never quite reaches his beady eyes.
BUSKER IS DEAD. Sort of. He walks around all right, and some part of his mind still recognizes Wink as his daughter, and he's not murderous at all. At least not yet. But he is definitely dead.
ꝿ NAME: Wink
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH BUSKER: Wink is Busker's daughter. She's also the one who runs this dump, despite what Busker may claim.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: Wink and Fate both work at the Bawdy Dog; although technically they both equally work for Busker, Wink does not hesitate to order Fate to take care of the less savory chores. Despite this, Wink considers Fate as a friend and defends her unconditionally.
ꝿ NEEDS: To win the favor of a rich nobleman and run away with him.
ꝿ OBJECT: A rabbit's foot in her pocket.
ꝿ DETAILS: Wink isn't the prettiest in town, but she keeps her hair neat and her corset tight. She can be flirtatious one moment and coolly authoritative the next, especially when the tavern's well-being is threatened.
Wink is Busker's daughter. Right now her priority is to survive, and to make sure Busker doesn't hurt anyone. |
3,586 | 81 | 59 | 302 | 2,579 | Milo coughed, expelling blood. She was badly wounded. She woukd die of blood loss. Then something dawned on Milo. The Salvagers were said to have an all-powerful healing elixir. And there was blood. Milo gathered some courage and dipped her hand into her blood and began to draw.
"Demon Summoning," Milo coughed again. She could barely talk. The blood was slowing for some vocal communication.
"Come to me, Protector," Milo said, summoning her most trusted demon, Protector. A demon who would insure his master's safety. He tuned to Milo and then back to the Salvager. If the Salvager tried to hurt Milo, Protector would try to kill it. | NAME
Milo
RELATIONSHIP WITH PALLAS
"She's after me. Guess I did some bad stuff."
NEEDS
"To rule on a throne of my enemies' skulls."
OBJECT
Demon Summoning
DETAILS
Milo is a young Siren. She appears to be mute, but she carries an ability, known to all sirens, that allows her to write on air, allowing for easy communication. But Milo had never been a normal Siren. Her mind had always been twisted. She had always rejoiced in suffering, leading her to be banished. But, Milo has gotten better. She's become less crazy, or at least has been able to hide better and enjoys food. Especially fish. |
3,587 | 81 | 60 | 1,222 | 110 | Was the party over? The demon lifted a sleepy head before turning his body onto its stomach atop his previous dance platform, letting his arms and legs hang over the sides looking like a grotesque spider creature as he surveyed the room again. Of course, it made him smile with a gleeful shiver. So broken. So… the scream sifted all his attention in a single direction and pulled him out of any other thoughts. He was shocked and intrigued that something horrible should be happening without his involvement.
The arrival of the three new figures brought a starry glaze to the jester’s black eyes as an angel’s choir sang and fireworks exploded in his mind and his body tingled, ecstatic in the presence of beings he had acquired an unhealthy infatuation for after having once witnessed their aftermath years prior. And here he was looking a mess! Jargo rushed to sit up, his clumsy hands fussing with his clothes and hair, only succeeding in ruffling them up in further disarray before slinking off his table and bounding for the nearest dagger-clad Salvager.
“My gentleman,”
Jargo frowned suddenly as he approached and bent his upper body almost completely upside-down, believing that the alteration in perspective would reveal particular distinctions if he could see under the long robes, but alas, too much cloth.
“Or, lady! You’re a vision!”
Like a curious animal investigating a foreign object, so was the white-haired fiend as he circled the cloaked being in search of anything interesting as he soon found himself admiring his own face in the golden reflection of a mask. Clear hesitation and caution in his movements as even he didn’t dare touch or disturb the Salvager despite how badly he wished to do so.
Suffering from attention-deficit, Jargo’s focus quickly shifted onto the other remaining mysterious persons. Jumping up on the bar counter, he used it as a breezeway through the obstacle course of people littering the floor. He stayed on the counter in a toad-like crouch as he hovered over the scene of the siren’s fallen body, winking at his demonic brethren before doting over the inspecting Salvager like child staring at unobtainable treats.
If rumors were true, there wasn’t a chance in Hell the demon was going to miss an opportunity to see the legendary elixir or at least where it was hidden. A tonic like that would sell for a king’s fortune in any market. | Name: Jargo
Relationship with : The luckiest of the unlucky. Jargo tricked Seloria in a deal she presumed to be to her benefit only to have her eye taken as the demon's prize. Now the girl seeks revenge for what she believes was injustice.
Need: To overindulge in the downfall of others.
Object: An empty hourglass.
Details: A merchant by trade, Jargo is a luck demon often mistaken as a genie (So rude.) His first love is altering fate for better or for worse; fortune doesn’t always smile. |
3,588 | 81 | 61 | 1,063 | 170 | Ealdwine watched as Edward rose to his feet and began to wander the bar. Aha! He had been unconscious when the siren sang her dreadful note, and had not been affected. Any joy he might have felt quickly dissipated when the boy tossed the bandaged woman's cloak over him. Was the young lord mad? Had he hit his head rather harder than he had imagined? Before he had time to contemplate this turn of events, he heard the crashing of the front door- and the barman yelling his head off.
Pulling the cloak up over his eyes to protest this unfair treatment, his words froze in his mouth to see Busker struck in the throat by some unseen assailant. He tightened his grip on his sword as a masked figure with a dagger moved right past him, clearly making for Edward.
Ye gods.
Could it really be? A Salvager? The Bard had heard tales of his kind, most often told in hushed whispers. When he had misbehaved as a boy his mother had often frightened him with stories about them, saying they seized unruly children in the dead of night, spiriting them away to their evil fortress high in the mountains.
They were all doomed if nothing was done. He knew they killed witnesses, in addition to their quarry. It could not end this way. Not here, not like this. He still had the element of surprise- or so he hoped. If he could just get his hands on that precious elixir, he could save the barman- and doubtless earn himself a meal! He cast off the cloak from his head with a flourish, shouting a challenge.
“Varlet! Tell your gods that Ealdwine sent you to Hell!”
The Bard had never fought a myth before, but intended to do his father proud. He charged headlong for the man with the dagger, his rapier thrust in a vicious stroke for the heart. | Name: Ealdwine Silverstrings
Relationship to Edward: Ealdwine served the House of Hart-Ellington for several years as a musician and musical tutor, a position he received largely on the merit of being the son of one of the House's more notable retainers. Edward was his chief student, though their relationship was largely unproductive.
Needs: To write a song that will be sung for a thousand years after his death
Object: A finely-crafted lute, a gift from his departed father
Details: Well into middle age, Ealdwine's features still betray the handsomeness that marked him in his youth. His hair is light brown, streaked now with silver, and he is tall and lithe. Though often he broods on his poor fortune, now and again his blue eyes shine brightly with mirth. The rapier at his hip and the lute on his back show his profession as a bard and an adventurer, though he swears he is done delving into dusty dungeons, facing danger and pain for a mere pile of gold. But his tongue is sharp and his sword is sharper, and there is yet glory to be won.
He finds himself approaching the Bawdy Dog, fresh from a failed expedition into an already-looted tomb, hoping only for a drink, some company, and maybe a friendly audience for a song. |
3,589 | 81 | 62 | 278 | 12 | Teldryen felt the warmth return to his body, his muscle relaxed and he stumbled to back onto his feet, the paralysis had worn off but the bartender was yelling at everyone to get out of his bar but he suddenly stopped. Teldryen turned to see the barkeep fall to the floor with a needle in his neck. Teldryen gasped pulling his hand up to his mouth, he thought, "there is only one kind of person who could throw with that accuracy".
Teldryen turned to see the three masked men standing in the doorway. Instantly he knew, Salvagers. Quickly Teldryen drew a small book from his pocket, he opened the book, placed his hand over the opened pages and then closed his eyes.
Suddenly he lifted his hand and pointed it at the Salvager with the throwing needles and shouted, "Alp!" The Salvager froze and dropped his his needles. Teldryen had casted 'Tapping Paralysis' on the Salvager and with a smile, Teldryen returned his book back to his pocket. | Name: Teldryen Sera
Relationship with : Friend / intended victim, Fade has tricked Teldryen into thinking she was his friend but she is more interested in his ability to transform into great beasts. She wants to bind is power to herself and likely kill him afterwards.
Need: To overindulge in drink.
Object: Trapping Paralysis
Details: Teldryen is a painted elf, painted elves prefer a druidic lifestyle therefore they commonly live in forests. These elves live until they are 1000 years old and spend most of their time meditating in their groves. They are friendly enough but like seclusion. Teldryen is the exception though, not long after becoming a druid and mastering his transformation spells he moved to a city and began to indulge in gambling, drinking and fighting. He could transform into a bear and a medium sized dragon, he was not very intimidating in his human form but once he transformed he was very powerful. Teldryen was contacted but Fate years ago because she wanted his help with a quest. She needed a druid and Teldryen was happy to help. They became friends, or so Teldryen thought. Fate wanted his transformation but before she could obtain it, Teldryen was called away to another quest. Teldryen is currently 514 years old and is o his way to The Bawdy Dog to meet up with his old friend, Fate. |
3,590 | 81 | 63 | 2,188 | 1,106 | Being frozen was no fun, really. but it ended, and not a moment to soon.
The door slammed, icy wind needling at Fate's stiff body. Only it wasn't stiff any more, just sluggish, the second long side effect of being paralyzed. Her scream finally pushed itself out of her mouth, dying instantly into a guttural, husky growl.
"EVERYONE OUT! Leave your money on the tables and get out of my establishment! Take your injured with you, I --"
"Tiisss" She released a breath of short sharp air from between her teeth in disappointment tainted with disgust as she struggled for control with the wild bloodthirsty beast that lurked inside. As such she missed what had made Busker stop yelling, but after a few more precious seconds she had snatched the majority of control of her now fully transformed state, in time to see a set of overdressed ………… humanoids occupying the door, although not for long, as they split up, each heading towards someone that had piqued their interest.
There was something awfully familiar about the spotless figures, a rumor or legend perhaps, as Fate was fairly sure she would know if she had seen this lot before.
Her sane side was pondering, trying to work out where she might have herd of something like this, while her psycho sliver was attempting to wrest control and attack them.
In any other circumstance it might have been an odd, almost funny sight; a nearly-seven-foot werewolf frozen like a fearsome statue, pondering rather than pillaging. But it was not another circumstance, and really? there was so much odd with this one, a curious werewolf didn't really make much of a difference.
Fate didn't really notice the man who had started all the trouble nosing around the strangers, so distracted she was, but when a challenge cut through the fog she glanced up, her eyes, slowly draining of their yellow, both the one she used to see and the scarred mess of one that was normally hidden under her eye-patch.
Her hammers swinging softly by her sides, their weight more like that of paper to her than the large metal objects they really were.
She wasn't really sure what she wanted to do…… No she did, she wanted to rip them apart, it didn't really matter who……… she had thought she was attempting Not to kill off random strangers, ……… But hunting each month really wasn't enough, she never got to play…… One should never play with her food…………………… Hypocrite.
Oh what the hell, no matter how much she argued against it, she really did enjoy playing with dinner, so she might as well, and no she wasn't referring to building castles with mashed potatoes in moats of stew.
Lunging at one of the newcomers from behind, the same one that the bard was attacking, as it was the closest moving thing she could see, Fate pulled her arms wide, yanking them together so as to crush the figures head, caught as it might be, between Hell and (a) Hard-place. | I can't seem to work out/decide on a Need, so for now, if that's alright, Fate just has a temporary goal, she will probably chose a real goal eventually.
NAME: Fate
RELATIONSHIP WITH WINK AND BUSKER: Fate works and lives at The Bawdy Dog, thanks to Wink’s not so soft heart, and constant requirement for an extra pair of working hands.
NEED: She’s not quite sure yet, for the most part however her short time goal is indulging in brawls.
She reckons she’ll wing it for now, and find something uh… bigger to occupy her time, hopefully fairly soon.
OBJECT:
DETAILS: Fate is a 16 year old Werewolf, able to shift at will, although the further from full moon it is, the harder and more painful it gets. New moon leaves her weak, and full moon induces a blood rage. The closer to full moon it is, the more violent she gets. Even in human form she is stronger than she looks, with stronger scenes, although there is the down side of sharing the same almost colorblindness as a normal wolf, all the time. Her eye is damaged, clawed scares sweeping through, and she suffers from a lack of depth perception.
This slightly impairs her fighting, as she can't judge the distance, this however she remedies by getting "up-close-and-personal" smashing them with either her fists or hammers. She keeps her fighting out of the tavern, most of the time. For 'blood moons' as she calls them, Fate disappears into the nearby woods, in the hope of lessening the number of humans she mauls, rather hunting game. |
3,591 | 81 | 64 | 2,622 | 3,600 | The Drow had watched as the scene began to unfold around her and several of the others began to move already, turning to help or hinder one another as the door burst open and three beings walked in. Allowing herself to drop into infrared vision she watched the heat signatures of the others move about and suddenly one was still, frozen by the Painted Elf who she'd attempted to avoid for a time but called him to her again pretending to need his help. In all honestly, she planned on slaughtering the tavern in the first place and the appearance of the Salvagers only made it easier for her as she looked down at them. The siren summoned something, a demon it looked like and she smirked, knowing that that thing would attack the first thing to go near it as she had dealt with such a thing before and as the Salvager neared a few others attacked it.
Fade glanced at the other, the one to have killed the barkeep and grinned again, allowing her spell of invisibility to fade away while she touched her cloud of darkness over the Siren and her Demon. Suddenly she dropped, spinning in the air to wrap her thighs around the neck of the third Salvager, bringing the dagger in her hand around to plunge into the things chest while she bore it down to the ground, elegantly flicking around so she would landing on it while repeatedly driving her dagger into all vital areas she could get near. The Drow did not linger to see if it was really dead, instead she rolled off and ducked to the side with a wicked glance at the Painted Elf while he stood not four feet from her, blood spattering not only her armor but her cloak and face, dripping from her grey skin while lavender eyes turned to the cloud of inky blackness.
She ducked beneath the hammers of the werewolf, grabbing a tankard and dumping it's contents on the floor as she slid into the darkness and followed her instincts. She cast her harmless Fearie Fire spell to outline both the demon and the Siren so she would be able to see them via the heat it created. She stood behind to girl, already chanting as she jammed the tankard against the girls chest, holding her in such a way that even if her summon creature sure her, it wouldn't be able to attack her from her field of vision. "All it takes is water right?" Fade paused in her chanting and the cold magic was threading through the both of their bodies while she pulled away the tankard and dropped her own blood in it. With another word she drank the mix of their blood and it was complete; she was bonded with the siren. She dropped the tankard and left the cloud of darkness to vanish again with the single spoken word, her name in Drow. | ꝿ NAME: Fade
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: The two were linked by a blood ritual by Fade's favourite priestess over three years ago, giving Fade the pros of the werewolf without the downside.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH Teldryen Sera: The Drow and the Painted Elf met a long while ago when the Drow was trespassing in his territory in search of a great Goliath of a beast she'd heard was hiding a treasure horde. The Painted Elf offered his assistance and helped her out - though they were by no means friends. She plans to bond with him and kill him as a great sacrifice to Lolth for sending such a splendid creature her way.
ꝿ NEEDS: To overindulge in forbidden rituals
ꝿ OBJECT: Cloak of Invisibility; a black wool cloak, trimmed in warm wolf's fur it allows her to become invisible after she's spoken the magic word in the proper tongue - Fade in elvish.
ꝿ DETAILS: A drow and rockseer elf halfbreed she was born to the Matron Mother of the second house of Menzobarranzan with skin a soft grey and eyes a deep purple, her hair as fair and white as either race. She's quick to smile and lie, but even faster on the draw and killing for her beloved Lolth, the Spider Queen. She is allied with a drow priestess below ground who she often visits, and she's come to town looking for her next victim. She's been bonded with many others and possess her own innate magical abilities, as well as blind fighting and infrared vision without even mentioning her archery skills. |
3,592 | 81 | 65 | 1,201 | 1,278 | Pallas could feel her body again, which meant she could move again. And then there was Edward who was holding her face, but she would think about that later. There was a more pressing issue: The Salvagers were here. One of them was coming after Edward, and while the bard and female bartender were going after them, Pallas pulled Edward away to somewhere safer and hid him behind one of the tables for now as it seemed impossible to get him out of the tavern. "Well, I might never see you again as I will probably die, but I'm glad I made a friend on my journey. Best wishes and try not to waste my efforts and live, okay?" Those were her parting words for him as she was not really good at good byes or other sentimental gunk. She gave him a (maybe the last) smile, and a kiss on the cheek.
As she returned to the terrifyingly chaotic scene, she watched in horror as the Drow was performing some sort of ritual on the siren, that from the looks of it, did more harm than good to poor Milo. The siren would desperately need medical attention as her chest wound was serious and whatever the Drow did seemed dangerous as well. What was the rumor again? That each Salvager had a potion that could cure any injury? If that was the case, then she should grab that potion or else Milo would die. Strangely enough, one of the Salvager was paralyzed, though if not by the siren's song then what? She noticed Teldryen slipping a book back into his pocket. Did he have something to do with it? Either way, there was no time to lose and she walked over to the paralyzed Salvager, and began to search him for a bottle or something that would contain the potion. She managed to find a weirdly-shaped container that she assumed must be the potion, so she grabbed it and made her way back to Milo, who was alone since the Drow magically disappeared somehow. "Here, take this. It will probably heal your wound," she told the siren as she handed her the potion. "At least I hope this is the right one..."
Now that was taken care of, she returned back to the paralyzed Salvager, who was still paralyzed fortunately. She got out her sword and stabbed it where its heart should be, and a few more times just to be safe. | Name: Pallas
Relationship with Milo: Pallas is a bounty hunter, with Milo as her bounty. There is a high price for Milo's head as she is known for the suffering she has brought onto others.
Relationship with 's character/Seloria: Bounded together since she was young, Seloria is a protector, teacher, and important friend to Pallas.
Relationship with Edward: He hit on her one day in another tavern, which she mistakenly taken as him being friendly. They still get along with each other though and Pallas likes to think they are friends.
Needs: To be a hero by defeating all the horrible monsters that harm the innocent and poor.
Object: Dragonbane Blade
Detail: Pallas is young, new bounty hunter who is quickly going up the ranks. As soon as she turned 18, she took the Dragonbane blade her late father used during his adventuring days, and began her journey. Despite the reputation that bounty hunters have, she actually isn't in it for the money. She, of course, accepts payments for her kills, but just enough for her to survive. So far, she has only been doing smaller jobs, but hopes to one day rid the world of villains, one slash of her sword at a time. |
3,593 | 81 | 66 | 302 | 2,579 | Protector took the portion from Pallas. He fed the potion to Milo. She coughed a bit but then color returned to her face. She reached down and pulled the knife out of her chest. The wound began to regrow itself. Stiching the wound cooked.
Milo stood you and dismissed Protector, the demon shimmering before vanishing. The potion had healed Milo. She was in the perfect fighting condition. And there ears Slayers to kill. | NAME
Milo
RELATIONSHIP WITH PALLAS
"She's after me. Guess I did some bad stuff."
NEEDS
"To rule on a throne of my enemies' skulls."
OBJECT
Demon Summoning
DETAILS
Milo is a young Siren. She appears to be mute, but she carries an ability, known to all sirens, that allows her to write on air, allowing for easy communication. But Milo had never been a normal Siren. Her mind had always been twisted. She had always rejoiced in suffering, leading her to be banished. But, Milo has gotten better. She's become less crazy, or at least has been able to hide better and enjoys food. Especially fish. |
3,594 | 81 | 67 | 2,532 | 122 | Even though Gharlyc could now move, he still stood frozen, watching Busker twitching in an expanding pool of his own blood. Busker, his best, if only friend, was dying.
We grew up together... Got into all sorts of trouble, but we did it together, usually laughing at the end. Hells, I was his best man. I stood by him, keeping him company while he was anxiously waiting for Wink to be born. He has been more family to me than my own flesh and blood...
And I was going to use him. Gods, what have these years done to me? I was going to use him and the tavern as a safe house, and scapegoat if necessary...
Gharlyc was oblivious to the fighting around him, lost in thought, until he noticed Milo drinking the potion. She healed! Healed!!
Coming to his senses, Gharlyc dashed over to the Salvager that Fade killed, quickly patted it down and found the healing potion. Running over to Busker, Gharlyc pulls out the needle and helps Busker drink the potion. Seeing him visibly start healing, Gharlyc lets out a relieved sigh. Gharlyc then stands up and holds his dagger out to defend Busker and Wink.
If we all get out of this alive, I will leave my life of crime behind and live peacefully, maybe work for Busker or something... | NAME: Gharlyc
RELATIONSHIP WITH BUSKER: Busker and Gharlyc are old drinking buddies. They were pretty good friends, but that was many years ago.
NEED: To crush his enemies just to get a moment's peace.
OBJECT: Poisoned dagger
DETAILS: With a wide nose and perpetual bad breath, this middle aged dwarf is constantly looking around his shoulders with his large, almost lidless and bulging eyes. He has dark brown hair with silver streaks at the temples (too soon for his age). A shorter than average dwarf, Gharlyc fought his way through life by being faster and nastier than everyone else. Busker was Gharlyc's only friend. Has been away from town for 7 years, only to return just recently. |
3,595 | 81 | 68 | 2,311 | 82 | Edward found himself screaming and shouting in horror as the chaos around him unfolded.
Everything had become a blur the moment the door burst open, unleashing a torrent of frosty air into the tavern. Suddenly all of the figures moved, and Edward jumped up as Pallas sprung alive. The bartender fell to the ground. As swift as the wind they came in, masked figures swept into the room and began to attack anyone and everyone.
In the haze, one of the masked figures approached him, noticeably eyeing his hand cannon. He backpedaled slowly, holding it close to his breast. But his foot caught, and he fell to the ground.
His eyes glued shut and he trembled in terror. But why was he so afraid? He had already died, and there was nothing to lose. So why was his chest pounding so violently?
Suddenly, he felt a powerful grip jerk him backwards, dragging him along the grimy floor behind one of the tables. He opened his eyes to see Pallas’ face hovering close to his. Her eyes wrestled with panic, but her voice carried across the chaotic tavern with a sober resignation.
"Well, I might never see you again as I will probably die, but I'm glad I made a friend on my journey. Best wishes and try not to waste my efforts and live, okay?"
With those words, Pallas smiled weakly. Her face came closer, graceful neck craning until her soft lips grazed his cheek with a short, clumsy kiss. Then she disappeared back into the fray, leaving Edward alone behind the table.
Edward sat there, frozen in fear. Slowly, he brought his hand up to his face, to the point where Pallas had kissed him. He could still feel the warmth of her breath, the girlish brush of her hair as she pulled herself back a bit too quickly. The contour of her collarbone, the little hairs that sprung up at the nape of her neck. The stillness in her eyes as she turned away from him.
He knew in his heart then that he was still alive. This was no afterlife. A surge of vitality began to well within his chest. He wanted to protect Pallas. Even if it cost his life.
But he could not move.
He looked down to see that his hands were trembling violently, caught in conflict between adrenaline and terror. His entire body shook in the same way. He could feel the burn and the chill coursing within his bones, and his legs shot with thunder in paralysis. His will bent and wretched a million times over to try and spark life into his body. He felt nauseous from the strain. But still, he could not move.
So Edward gave up. All of the energy coursing through his body collapsed in brutal catharsis as they turned into tears and heartbreak. Edward wept bitterly. Pallas would die, and he could do nothing to stop it. | Name: Edward (Heir to the Hart-Ellington nobility and estate)
Needs: To see the world that he's been sheltered from, and woo as many lovely ladies as possible.
Object: hand cannon - sort of like an early primitive blunderbuss.
Detail: The cocky but intelligent 23 year old son of a rich nobleman, Edward has lived all of his life in the lap of luxury. Feeling cooped up in the world of the bourgeoisie however, Edward decided to flee his father's estate and see the world. On his way out, he managed to steal quite the hefty pouch of gold and one of his inventions, which he calls a hand cannon. As bright as he believes himself to be though, he's found that his refined upbringing and womanizing ways have not served him well on his journey so far.
(5'9", slim build, caucasian complexion, boyish, clean pretty face, blonde, blue eyed. Aristocratic wardrobe. Only difference is he always wears a top hat)
Relationship to Pallas: Met her at another tavern prior to the start of the narrative. Stricken by her confidence and ambition, Edward sought to get to know her better. To his surprise, Pallas returned his sentiments, and a wonderful evening was spent conversing with the young bounty hunter. Though the night ended without any sort of conclusion, Edward likes to think that something lovely could happen if they ever were to meet again.
Relationship to Ealdwine: Ealdwine took up residence at the house of Hart-Ellington as a musician and instructor when Edward was in his teenage years. He really didn't like him. |
3,596 | 81 | 69 | 1,583 | 2,241 | The Dagger SalvagerGoal: To confiscate Edward's hand-cannon
The Salvager halted in the middle of the room as its way was blocked by Jargo's twisting and circling admiration. It waited there, still and silent as a tree, while Jargo stared into the reflection of the Salvager's mask. When Jargo had bounded merrily away, the Salvager continued undisturbed on its original course, a gloved hand stretched out to take Edward's ingenious hand-cannon.
“Varlet! Tell your gods that Ealdwine sent you to Hell!”
The Salvager did not raise its weapon, nor did it show any indication of tension or alarm. It only raised its masked head, and faced Ealdwine just as the bard's rapier drove deep into the Salvager's chest.
There was no blood. The Salvager did not flinch, even as the tip of the rapier thrust out its back. Again, bloodless.
The Salvager suddenly grabbed Ealdwine's sword-arm with an iron grip and swung the bard forcefully against the stones of the burning hearth.
At the same moment, Fate appeared behind the Salvager and slammed its head between her monstrous hammers.
A ghastly, wet sound of smashing bone filled the room -- and so did the stench of rotting flesh. It was as if Fate had broken a rotten egg.
Bits of bone and brackish ooze flew across the room -- and still there was not a drop of red blood, nor of any living flesh. The golden mask clattered to the floor, and the cold, suddenly limp body crumpled after it, no longer a danger.
At this moment, Fade completed her blood pact with Milo and vanished once more.
The Scimitar SalvagerGoal: To capture Milo
Fade appeared above the Salvager, and like a spider she dropped upon it. The Salvager did not defend or attempt to stop her attack, but appeared to be dead the moment its back hit the floor; a dagger in the Drow's grip drove deep, again and again, into the Salvager's motionless body. There was no blood -- not even a drop. The dagger stabbed and stabbed and caused nothing more than clean holes in the Salvager's white cloth. Thinking her work finished, Fade moved on to conduct a blood ritual with Milo, abandoning her victim.
The Salvager seemed very much cold and dead when Gharlyc descended upon it, groping and searching for the precious elixir. The dwarf found it among the folds of cloth and dashed away to administer the potion to Busker, who was very much near the brink of death.
The Salvager sat up, then crawled to its feet, the scimitar held firmly in its gloved hand. It was unharmed, save for the clean slashes in its garb.
The Salvager leaped over a bench and dropped behind Milo; with an unexpected swiftness it clamped a gloved hand over her mouth and pressed her back against its cold, unbreathing chest.
The Needle SalvagerGoal: To capture Fade
Thanks to Teldryen's spell, the Salvager was paralyzed midway through the act of readying another needle, and it stood like a statue in this pose, not even breathing at all.
Pallas found the bottle of elixir hidden inside a fold of the Salvager's clothing, and handed it to Milo's summoned demon. While the demon administered the elixir, and while Milo began to revive, Pallas drove her sword into the paralyzed Salvager.
Her blade poked clean holes through the Salvager's chest -- there was no blood, nor any sign that the statuesque Salvager was in any distress at all.
And then, the paralysis wore off.
Immediately, the Salvager's hand flicked and a needle struck Pallas in the abdomen. With great speed, the Salvager immediately gripped a needle in one fist and slashed at her throat, aiming for the kill.
Almost at the same time, another needle flashed through the air and struck Fade in the chest, driving deep and sharp. | Yer parents 're dead, yer house burned down and yer dog was kicked off a cliff. Revenge is a perfectly healthy way to cope, I think. How 'bout a refill on that ale?
Well, this development was slightly unexpected . . .
CHARACTER SHEET
ꝿ NAME: (the name of your character)
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH : (Pick a Relationship and someone else's character)
Siblings
Unrequited lovers
Spouses in an arranged marriage
Linked by blood ritual
Assassin/target
Rescuer/rescuee
Employer/henchman
Former cellmates
Bounty hunter/bounty
Creator/golem
Sorceror/apprentice
Diabolist/intended sacrificial victim
Werewolf/hunter
Same non-human race
Members of the same religion or guild
Longtime adventuring companions
Drinking buddies
Reluctant allies
Vicious scoundrel/pacifist healer
You each have a scar the other gave you
"You killed my father"
ꝿ NEED: (your character's major goal)
To be a hero
...by defending the little guy
...to that one special person
...so you can lord over everybody else
...in the public's eyes, even if you really aren't
To crush your enemies
...because they ruined your life
...and enslave them
...and they're all enemies
...just to get a moment's peace
To amass a hoard
...by killing every monster you see
...through shady dealings
...of forbidden lore
...to fund a private army
To fly
...with everybody else's treasure
...after one last quest
...before they realize who you really work for
...literally, using a spell or maybe a catapult
To rule
...by marrying a royal heir
...on a throne of your enemies' skulls
...an army of undead
...and impose your type of justice
To overindulge
...with wenches
...in drink
...in rampant thievery
...in forbidden rituals
...in bloodshed
...in tavern brawls
ꝿ OBJECT: (a nifty thing your character possesses)
Weapons
Flaming sword (sword of cataclysmic combustion)
Poisoned dagger (dirk of vicious viper's venom)
Big-ass iron warhammer
Ancient elven bow
Dragonbane blade (broadsword of scaly slaughter)
Catapult
Soul-stealing scepter (scepter of severed souls)
Sentient spear (longspear of wise council)
Cursed blade (cutlass of cruel calamity)
Seeking arrow (arrow of absolutely accurate archery)
Betrayer's axe (greataxe of pliant perfidy)
Staff of resurrection with one charge left
Spells
Enchanting Charm
Transformative Polymorph
Spectral Ward
Demonic Summoning
Trapping Paralysis
Exploding Lightning
Magic Items
Invisibility cloak
Crystal ball of future sight
Crown of fearlessness
Mystery potion (nobody knows what it does)
Impervious chain shirt
Trophies
Mounted troll's head
Genie bottle
Dragon's flame sac
Tome of dark rituals
Gold ring on a mummy's severed finger
Massive pile of gold coins
Sentimental
Strange charm left with a foundling
Invitation to a prestigious order
Statue of a deity (with a hidden compartment)
Old ally polymorphed into a toad
Royal lady's garter
ꝿ DETAILS: (anything and everything you're inspired to write here)
NON-PLAYER CHARACTERS
ꝿ NAME: Busker
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH WINK: Busker's the owner of this fine establishment and Wink is his daughter and most incompetent employee.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: Fate is another of Busker's employees, whom he hired when Wink demanded help with the heavy lifting. Usually Fate so good at her job that Busker forgets she works there, but some nights he hides under the bar while she flies into a rage at the patrons.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH GHARLYC: Busker and Gharlyc go way back, when Busker was young and Gharlyc was still an endearingly heartless bastard. He cherishes memories of drunken stories and exploits of cruelty and power. He credits Gharlyc for teaching him the value of self-preservation and of using others to get what he wants.
ꝿ NEEDS: To wring as much money out of his drunken patrons as possible.
ꝿ OBJECT: Mounted troll's head hanging proudly over the hearth.
ꝿ DETAILS: Busker is middle-aged and balding, with a wide girth and a toadlike nose. He stands behind the bar most nights, listening to rambling stories and adding up tabs. He's quick with a compliment and a smile that never quite reaches his beady eyes.
BUSKER IS DEAD. Sort of. He walks around all right, and some part of his mind still recognizes Wink as his daughter, and he's not murderous at all. At least not yet. But he is definitely dead.
ꝿ NAME: Wink
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH BUSKER: Wink is Busker's daughter. She's also the one who runs this dump, despite what Busker may claim.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH FATE: Wink and Fate both work at the Bawdy Dog; although technically they both equally work for Busker, Wink does not hesitate to order Fate to take care of the less savory chores. Despite this, Wink considers Fate as a friend and defends her unconditionally.
ꝿ NEEDS: To win the favor of a rich nobleman and run away with him.
ꝿ OBJECT: A rabbit's foot in her pocket.
ꝿ DETAILS: Wink isn't the prettiest in town, but she keeps her hair neat and her corset tight. She can be flirtatious one moment and coolly authoritative the next, especially when the tavern's well-being is threatened.
Wink is Busker's daughter. Right now her priority is to survive, and to make sure Busker doesn't hurt anyone. |
3,597 | 81 | 70 | 61 | 531 | Seloria
Seloria watched everything freeze and unfreeze suddenly watching everything go down at once. Watching Pallas, Seloria was still in a daze and couldn't stop Pallas before it was to late. Watching the Salvager quickly attempt to kill her, Seloria's left shoulder blade began to glow intensely and her left eye widen. Jumping over tables, she quickly made her way behind the unsuspecting Salvager. Her eye glowing red, she kicked it in the back with enough force that should have sent him through the wall.
Without looking back, she turned and quickly made her way to Pallas. Taking the bandages off her body to reveal a seal, one that Pallas unknowingly had to match. Seloria quickly bit her hand and put blood in her mouth. Lowering her mouth, she kissed Pallas. Moving her face away, she picked the girl up and quickly ran towards where Edward was. Looking down she looked at the boy "You will keep this girl safe, under all costs, if you must die so be it, but she cannot die" she put Pallas down as her wounds began to heal.
Standing back up she looked at the situation and her hand bled. Pulling off her eye patch, Seloria quickly began to unravel the bandages around her eye. Upon removing it all, a gruesome scar went down the right side of her face. She dropped her sword and took her cloak off putting it over Pallas. Turning to the Salvager that hurt Pallas, she slowly opened her eye and to everyone it would feel like the air in the room was surging towards her. Her Iris was pure red and suddenly her body started to glow. From her eye, aura like snakes began to crawl out of it and slither across her body until it completely engulfed her in a purple light.
From within the purple light, her body seemingly dropped to all fours and her backend sprouted tails. She let out a blood boiling howl and she waited to see if the Salvager was still able to move, standing protectively between Pallas, Fade and Edward. | ꝿ NAME:
Seloria
Relationship With Pallas:
She's been by Pallas side since the very child was born, in fact she was the person who held her first before handing her to her parents. Pallas's father has made her Pallas's teacher and companion, though when Pallas left, Seloria took it upon herself to follow Pallas and keep an Eye on her without her knowing...until now.
Relationship with Jarko:
The luckiest of the unlucky. Jargo tricked Seloria in a deal she presumed to be to her benefit only to have her eye taken as the demon's prize. Now the Seloria seeks revenge for the wrongs that Jarko did to her.
ꝿ NEED:
To train and teach others in times of great need and sorrow, to make sure her pact with someone is fulfilled
ꝿ OBJECT:
Starbreather's Talon
ꝿ DETAILS:
Seloria as a child was taken by Pallas's father before Pallas was born. At first it seemed he only wanted to take in the child because she was starving and abandoned but she would soon find out what her purpose was really for. For what she didn't know was that Pallas's father was a great warrior, from where they came from he was known as a man of 1,000 cuts. When he picked her up, he wanted an apprentice, one that would be easy to train and easy to mold, so he would need a young mind. A Mind like hers.
After years and years of training, Seloria became a great swordsmen, but at a cost, she could never take a life, her mind would not allow her. And so Pallas's father deemed her be the teacher to his disciples. From then on she become a guard and a teacher. When Pallas was born, Pallas's father put Seloria as her personal companion, to be her teacher. From then on she was always by her side, right until Pallas left. She was ordered to keep an eye on Pallas but to make sure that she wouldn't find out, until now that is.
Personality:
Seloria has a very calming personality much of the time, like that of a mother or a grandmother, because of her experience as both a mother and grandmother. She learned to deal with a lot of problems and bickering and happens to have a very soothing voice that lets people calm down and almost want to sleep. She loves to go through problems with people and act like a mother or therapist giving her opinion on what they should do or say. She is over all the nicest when it comes to those sort of things and she loves helping others a lot. Even if they aren't the nicest she tries her best to help a lot of others with the problem, wether it be physical or mental she does her best to give her knowledge and smile at the person. Even arrancars would find her personality interesting as she wont fight them unless needed and would even help them depending on the task. As long as its not killing Seloria will help with almost, again almost, ever task. Though there are some boundries she will not cross, those involve her body, killing comrades, killing in general, hurting the wrong people. Those are the boundaries she will not cross even if her life is on the line and a sword is at her neck. |
3,598 | 81 | 71 | 1,690 | 313 | With every crash of Fate's fearsome hammers into the cobbled floor Dirion's life flashed before him, faster and faster. His eyes were glued to the hammers as they sped towards him, leaving fearsome holes and cracks in the stone where they had missed. He was still prone on the ground, shuffling around like a cornered mouse.
Dirion's retreat from Fate was cut off when his back bumped into something hard and as far as he could tell quite unmovable. Though he had nary a clue to what it was in his state, it was in fact, a wall. His heart leapt into his throat when he realized he had no where else to go. Instinctively he put his arms up to protect himself from the coming harm, little it would do him, and tried to take solace in the fact that he may be seeing Brigen soon...... and that he wouldn't have to pay his tab to Busker.
With his eyes screwed shut waited for the inevitable. Instead he received an ear piercing shriek that ran throughout the whole room, forcing his eyes back open in surprise. He moved to clasp his hands over his ears, but it felt like he was moving through molasses. While again he may have been drunker than he thought, he found that a second later he couldn't move at all.
Dirion shifted his eyes upwards to look at Fate. He saw a mangled mess of hair and limbs. Her face had become deformed but Dirion thought he could see quite a bit of anger in her. Luckily, she too was frozen. Mouth open in a silent snarl.
He shifted his gaze from Fate to where the drow had just stood a second before. But now? Nothing. In a panic Dirion eyes looked in a frenzy for the drow, for fear that she would slit his throat any moment. But his eyes did not find her. Instead they found the young noble that he had struck with his knife. The boy began to walk towards the bar, and as he got closer Dirion tried desperately to speak, too say he was sorry, to beg for help. But nothing came out. Dirion could only plead with his eyes.
The boy took a drink from Dirion's ruined tankard and walked away. Apparently their was still some left in it. Normally Dirion would be upset with someone stealing his drink. But, considering he had wounded the boy he could forgive him this time. The boy continued to walk around the tavern. Doing all sorts of nonsensical things like throwing a cloth over the bleeding bard's face and resting himself in a women's... Ahem.
Continuing to fight for the ability to move Dirion began to feel his fingers and toes twitch, then he could bend them, next came his hands and his feet, then his arms and legs, before finally he had regained control over all of his body.
Suddenly the door to the Dog slammed open. Apparently Busker had regained the ability to move also. He yelled at a level that Dirion had only heard a small handful of times since his time at the Dog. "EVERYONE OUT!" He heard from behind the bar. "Leave your money on the tables and get out of my establishment!" That would be a problem. Dirion was quite nearly broke. No where near enough to pay his debt off. "Take your injured with you, I --" And then... he stopped. Save from a bloodcurdling rasping and gurgling noise that sounded a lot like Busker. That and a scream from Wink.
Dirion looked to see masked men standing in the front of the Dog. They were all holding weapons of some sort and wearing strange gold masks. The patrons of the bar all stood still for a moment. Before a tornado of action overtook the entire building. It was too much for Dirion's drunken mind to keep up with. He knew people were attacking other people and that was about it.
A raspy breath from Busker caught Dirion's attention. He turned his head to see a dwarf running behind the bar. Dirion knew he would be useless fighting. Would just trip onto the enemy's sword and kill himself for them. But there was something he could do. He got to his feet how you would imagine a drunk would: Inefficient and clumsy.
Once on his feet Dirion scrambled around the bar to the other side. With his words still somewhat slurred he said, "Is Busker okay?!. To no one in particular. Once he took a second to breath he saw Busker lying on the floor and Wink crouched behind the bar. The Dwarf was standing in front of Dirion and blocking him from checking Busker. He could see blood!
He turned his head to Wink and asked,"Wink? Are- Are you okay? Is Busker.. Dirion asked. He looked back at the Dwarf with fear in his eyes. "Is Busker okay!? He yelled down at the Dwarf. If he didn't answer him quickly Dirion was going to shove him out of the way. He hadn't even seen the man before. For all he knew he did it! | ꝿ NAME: Dirion Seryn
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH BUSKER: Dirion has been bumming around The Bawdy Dog for around a week and a half. During this time he has become somewhat of a regular. More to the point, he has grown quite the tab. Half due to his new drinking problem and half because of Busker's "business" practices. Dirion now only has enough to pay for half the tab. Dirion holds a strong disdain for Busker because of the hole he put him in.
ꝿ RELATIONSHIP WITH PALLAS: Dirion has picked up chatter over time in the Dog (Read: Just a second ago/right before she walked in.) That Pallas is a bounty hunter. Now normally an innocent man has nothing to fear from a bounty hunter. But sadly this is not a normal kind of time. For all Dirion knows there is a sizable bounty on him just waiting to be plucked up... He was have to be careful around her.
ꝿ NEEDS: To find and crush his enemies because they destroyed his life.
ꝿ OBJECT: His and Brigen's rings.
ꝿ DETAILS: Dirion was raised by a sellsword named Victor starting at the age of eleven. This is because he was forced to leave his home due to unfortunate circumstances. During his time he was taught how to fight along moving without a sound and ehm.. Cajoling women. Much to his now distaste. Eventually Victor died and Dirion went out on his own. Soon finding... Her.
Dirion fell in love with the daughter of a noble that ruled over a nearby city. Her name was Brigen. The father didn't approve but they were planning to get married one way or another. After fighting with the Father over their marriage for a long time Dirion and Brigen argeed to elope. The night they planned to leave Dirion went to Brigen's bedroom to find her dead, strangled. By who he didn't know. A second later guards burst into her room and arrested Dirion for Brigen's murder. He managed to escape on his way to execution. Not soon after fleeing the city.
Now Dirion stews in The Bawdy Dog all day. He plans to soon launch an investigation to find who killed his love. Once he gets enough coin to hire some help. And.... And maybe after just one more bottle..
Dirion's hair is long and his features thin and sharp. While his haired is naturally blond he died it grey to disguise as an old man to help him flee the city. He did not take into account how hard the blasted dye would be to get out once he had gotten it in. While you can see fringes of blond hairs starting to poke out from the roots the majority of his hair is still grey. He covers himself in a bland brown cloak. Underneath hides some decent grade garb. Better than what a regular peasant would have, but no where near as good as something of a lord or nobles cloth. |
3,599 | 81 | 72 | 1,063 | 170 | The Salvager simply stood there, the rapier sticking through it's chest. This was impossible. It was not possible. Fear mounted in the Bard's eyes as the creature seized him by the arm. He struggled vainly, keeping an iron grip on his sword. He was cast across the room, tumbling across the floor.
He slammed finally into the stones of the hearth. His legs took the brunt of the damage. He cried out in pain, hoping they were not broken. He was not a young man anymore, and had little hope of shrugging this one off. He tried to rise, but could not. So he crawled. Edging toward toward the daggerman, he watched in terrified awe as the wolfish creature crushed his head, and the salvager fell to the floor.
“Wolf-girl! Quickly!” Ealdwine called, his voice hoarse from so much yelling. “The elixir! On the body- give it to the barman! It will save him!”
He kept crawling, knowing he was in a very difficult position now. The barroom was a flurry of activity and, if he was lucky, he might avoid attention. But that was not really his style. Ealdwine Silverstrings was seldom content with remaining unseen.
He saw Edward on the floor not far away. He looked unhurt, so far as the Bard could see. Raising himself into a sitting position with a straining effort, he pulled Arthelia from his back. He tossed his sword across the floor, landing it a few feet from his former student.
“Edward!” he shouted, with all the gravitas he could muster in his present state.
“I once taught you- now teach me! Many of your forebears were storied warriors. You studied fencing as well as music, did you not? Show me how a Hart-Ellington faces death! I hope it does not involve crying on a filthy tavern floor. Take my sword- it is no use to me now.”
Ealdwine took his lute in both hands, and smiled grimly.
“A little music, to usher our enemies unto their eternal rest...”
And the bard's fingers began to strum a lively tune. The broken string was long forgotten, and of little consequence now. It was a piece he had learned many years ago, from a trio of dwarven musicians. The Dagger Dance, they had called it. It was an apt addition to the increasingly bloody and desperate ambiance. | Name: Ealdwine Silverstrings
Relationship to Edward: Ealdwine served the House of Hart-Ellington for several years as a musician and musical tutor, a position he received largely on the merit of being the son of one of the House's more notable retainers. Edward was his chief student, though their relationship was largely unproductive.
Needs: To write a song that will be sung for a thousand years after his death
Object: A finely-crafted lute, a gift from his departed father
Details: Well into middle age, Ealdwine's features still betray the handsomeness that marked him in his youth. His hair is light brown, streaked now with silver, and he is tall and lithe. Though often he broods on his poor fortune, now and again his blue eyes shine brightly with mirth. The rapier at his hip and the lute on his back show his profession as a bard and an adventurer, though he swears he is done delving into dusty dungeons, facing danger and pain for a mere pile of gold. But his tongue is sharp and his sword is sharper, and there is yet glory to be won.
He finds himself approaching the Bawdy Dog, fresh from a failed expedition into an already-looted tomb, hoping only for a drink, some company, and maybe a friendly audience for a song. |
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