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7,900 | 211 | 82 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan struggled to keep his balance as Raven put him down. He still seemed short of breath and very cold, his bad leg so shot it was barely useable at all. He looked around, though he couldn't see much through his blurred vision. "Thank you for… allowing us stay. We appreciate" Ivan stammered as he caught sight of Regina, not sure how badly he was screwing up his Common this time. His head was muddled and cloudy, and he barely even seemed awake. A red flush crept across his cheeks as he slumped to the floor with his back against the wall, in too much pain to stay on his feet. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,901 | 211 | 83 | 32 | 217 | Skylar stepped warily into the building. Use of magic in the area was obvious and would explain how she found them in the woods. He smiled grimly, memories of his home rising at the clutter. He wandered aimlessly over to the bookshelves and started perusing her bookshelves. The feeling of worn bookbinding and the smell of well read paper... He sighed and turned away.
"Regina, do you have any books with healing spells? I'm not sure Ivan will make it without something at this point." Skylar continued perusing the shelves, looking for any that could help. | Name: Skylar Altzan
Age: 24
Description: Short for a male, Skylar stands 5'3". He wears simple garments, a tunic, breeches, and boots. He keeps an oil cloth coat for the rain in a large back pack. He cuts his black hair short himself, not caring his hair is uneven and unkempt. He limps slightly from a childhood injury but nothing that interferes with his day to day life.
Gender: Male
Personality: Open and blunt, Skylar could never be accused of possessing tact. That didn't mean he was rude. He just felt that honesty was the best option amd refused to play those silly social games others indulged in. Life was so much easier that way.
Backstory: All magically inclined, the Altzan family ran several magical shops in the south. He grew up around magic and fell in love with it. He had practiced since he could read his mother's tomes and discovered an easy talent with defensive magics. The more violent ones made him a little queasy. It was this affinity for magic that made them a target for demon worshippers. They were attacked , captured and sacrificed. A few even succumbed. Skylar decided to flee, keeping his magic secret in hopes he would escape. He decided to pass himself off as an explorer, looking to make it rich in the North.
Skills: Skylar specializes in defensive and utility magic. Since his distaste for offensive magics stopped him from learning them, he learned how to use a raiper if he ever needed a way to defend himself without magic. |
7,902 | 211 | 84 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan coughed loudly, barely stopping to inhale rattling breaths. No... now is not good time to have an asthma attack. He thought, looking around as if to see if anyone had noticed. He got up, limping his way into the corner of the room just as he started to fail to stifle the urge to retch. His stomach twisted into tight knots as he struggled to breathe. For whatever reason his first instinct was to get as far away from everyone as possible, but he wasn't about to run outside again. But if he was going to throw up, like he felt he was going to, it would be best not to do so indoors. So instead of acting, he just stood slumped in the corner, feeling extremely conflicted and still coughing wildly. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,903 | 211 | 85 | 179 | 5,558 | Regina frowned as she stood and walked to her shelves. Immediately dismissing the scrolls, she kneeled to have a look at the books closer to the floor, tracing the various bindings - some of which looked rather old indeed. She dismissed the books entirely after a minute.
"Nothing suitable, but I might have something to help." She walked over to Ivan holding nothing at all and crouched to meet his gaze. "May I?" | Please stick your CS into the OOC first, the drop it in here when accepted. If it's got larger images feel free to stick it in a hider, but I don't consider that a requirement.
NPC's will get a mention here with a short description, along with any important roleplay details, but I'm leaving them largely open to interpretation. Most of the time.
Caravan Master - an old, limping, rough and somewhat unpleasant fellow with a record for getting people up north in very good time and having survived trips through weather many don't dare tempt.
Caravan Master's Horse - I figured the poor sod needed a mention somewhere. He's almost as old as the caravan master and twice the pain in the ass. |
7,904 | 211 | 86 | 2,713 | 253 | Jameson followed behind as they entered Regina's house and took a quick glance around, the house seemed rather ordinary to him, cozy even in this weather. Although he wasn't certain of their safety, it didn't seem right to draw a gun in someone's house and so he holstered his gun back into his coat. He noticed that the house held an impressive collection of books and scrolls for a house in the middle of nowhere. It wasn't long before he heard Ivan's restless coughing, he turned around to see Ivan slumped in the corner while Regina crouched next to him. Jameson stood back and watched as Regina offered her help to Ivan, perhaps what she does next would give him a clue as to who she is. | Name: Jameson
Age: is 21, looks 21
Description: Jameson is your typical, run of the mill cowboy-type character, wearing a cowboy hat and a dark long overcoat. He is of average build and height, slightly bearded. He believes in travelling light and sufficient so he carries around a canteen, a knife and machete and 2 flintlock pistols (better safe than sorry he says). He looks worn from all the travelling but has the look of determination of a young man.
Gender: Male
Personality: Jameson keeps to himself most of the time but is a friendly guy who believes that travellers should help each other whenever possible, especially during times like these. However, he wasn't born yesterday and knows when someone is being "overly appreciative" of his kindness. He hates evil of all kind and will do his best to stop them whenever he comes across them in his travels even if it means bending over backwards at times.
Backstory: Jameson is from a land way down south, however he spent most of his adult years travelling and seeking a more meaningful life than tending to the livestock back home. He travelled to many places and has seen many things, but never did he leave the safety and familiarity of his own land. After hearing news of a caravan that brings people north, he decided that perhaps it's time to look for something more foreign to satisfy his adventurous young heart.
Skills: Jameson is no master of combat, but he handles himself well with most types of blades and close combat in general. At range, he is able to fire his strange contraptions gifted to him during his journeys (the pistols) with relative accuracy though at a slow speed. Living off the land for a few years taught him the basics of survival such as foraging and setting up camp from sticks and leaves. Also, he makes the best (nastiest) bug stew. |
7,905 | 211 | 87 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan nodded hastily, using all the strength he could muster not to vomit on the floor and pass out. It wasn't like him to accept help, but right now he was scared. He seemed to be ramping up towards a violent asthma attack, which certainly wasn't a position he wanted to be in. Not only was it highly painful, it was also extremely embarrassing. The last thing he wanted was for them to think they'd hindered themselves, bringing along a sickly child. He felt empty and useless, which hurt far worse than the pain that wracked his respiratory system and his right leg. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,906 | 211 | 88 | 179 | 5,558 | Regina put her hand on Ivan's bad leg, staring deeply into his eyes, as she pulled a small knife and lightly tapped it on his leg before putting it back as quickly as it came.
As she began to channel blue substance into his leg, she kept full eye contact and sent words into his mind.
Do not stay. There are no less than three demons here, and one of them is the cara-
She lifted her hand from his leg and stood to look at the group, sensing something behind her. "It is done." She went back to her seat. | Please stick your CS into the OOC first, the drop it in here when accepted. If it's got larger images feel free to stick it in a hider, but I don't consider that a requirement.
NPC's will get a mention here with a short description, along with any important roleplay details, but I'm leaving them largely open to interpretation. Most of the time.
Caravan Master - an old, limping, rough and somewhat unpleasant fellow with a record for getting people up north in very good time and having survived trips through weather many don't dare tempt.
Caravan Master's Horse - I figured the poor sod needed a mention somewhere. He's almost as old as the caravan master and twice the pain in the ass. |
7,907 | 211 | 89 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan's dark brown eyes widened as Regina stared intensely at him, channeling something blue into the warped, broken bones.
The pain in his leg alleviated to its usual dull ache, but Regina's message kept playing over and over again in Ivan's mind as if it was stuck. Why didn't it finish? What demons? His muddled brain could barely wrap itself around the cryptic message. Despite the pain in his leg being gone, his trachea was still spasming and contracting erratically, little air getting into his lungs. He couldn't hold himself anymore and he started to retch, bringing up what little was left in his weak stomach. His breath came in short, raggedy gasps, his face paling to a ghostly white. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,908 | 211 | 90 | 2,002 | 2,688 | Still untrusting the woman, Baldur swallowed his caution and followed the group inside the cabin for shelter. He looked around the quaint looking room which reminded him a lot of his home back to the south. Without asking he decided to sit down on one of the chairs and take a load off as the boy began to give out. It wasn't any sooner that his attention was once again drawn to the party did he notice the woman healing Ivan's leg with some fancy looking blue magic. Looks like his hunch about the magic was right but at the moment she seemed to be helping so he'd leave her be... For the moment at least. | Name: Baldur the Great
Age: 50 and looks it
Description: Baldur is in decent shape for his age but his ‘experience’ is beginning to show as his hairs are getting greyer and whiter.
Gender: Male
Personality: Baldur was once a very chipper and passionate magician and mage but now he is little more than a husk of a man. His previous attitude towards life is now buried beneath heaps of experience in the world but sometimes one can catch a glimpse of the wide eyed struggling magician beneath his beaten exterior.
Backstory: Baldur keeps his past pretty secretive but what he is more than liberal of sharing is his failed stint as a Magician. When he was younger he began studying slight of hand and similar fake magics while also learning some real magic on the side to spice up his act. His act didn’t go very far and he ended up needing to give up on his dream of making it big. Later on in life he worked as a librarian but decided that he wanted to move up North to get away from the political drama of the south.
Skills: He’s shown that ability to cast a few basic spells such as small fires or magic lights. He’s still very adept at slight of hand tricks and subterfuge overall. He’s pretty good at stick fighting and he can tell a mean story when he’s in the mood.
Extra: He carries around a notebook and has a strong wooden staff that he uses to bash people when in trouble. |
7,909 | 211 | 91 | 1,876 | 146 | Raven was seemingly unconcerned. Ivan was receiving medical care now, through magic. "Just as I thought... This is no normal lady." he thought to himself, clutching the antimagic charm close to his chest. He continued to think. "Well, at least she's helping instead of just killing us off now that we're in here." | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,910 | 211 | 92 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan had finished emptying his stomach and was now dry heaving and gasping for air, having collapsed to his knees with his hands over his mouth to keep himself as quiet as possible. Even as he was, sick and very nearly passing out, what worried him most was that he might be bothering his caravan mates. His coughs wracked his whole body, sending his frail form into near convulsions as he tried to clear his windpipe, which seemed fully intent on strangling itself from the inside. Ivan seemed to be trying to say something that sounded like "sorry", a mix of clear and red fluid running from his mouth down his chin and dripping onto the floor, adding to his puddle of sick. He lurched forward as if to be sick again, but instead just crumpled on the floor, conscious but not really breathing anymore. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,911 | 211 | 93 | 2,254 | 547 | Robart lifted his visor. Not enough to move the shadows from his face, but enough for a more unobstructed view of the books on the shelf. He scanned the spines for titles. This was in no attempt to judge the woman, but rather some interest. She was of the magical persuasion, and Robart had never exactly been close to a magic tome before. | Name:Robart "The Pilgrim" Garrithe
Age: 32, though he looks like he's been dead and buried in a salt pile for years.
Description: The remnants of what was once a powerful and imposing figure, has apparently shriveled underneath sandstone-looking, leathery skin. Like a tan, semi-muscular hollow from Dark Souls, but with functioning eyes and some streaks of blackish melanin left in his beard. He usually hides this under his armor and cloak, of course. He has a uniquely beaked helmet that sticks out from under his hood.
Gender: Male
Personality: Very austere and moribund in nature. He has the poise and mannerisms of someone who was once very 'Type A' and confrontational, but his bile has gone out of him and he doesn't know how to present himself in another way. Apologizes often when he imagines someone imagines that he slighted them.
Backstory: Used to be a kmight, got infected with "The Drying" and joined a sort of crusade movement called "The Leper Knights", felt that he could get no closer to 'Salvation' in battle, and went North to find a quiet, peaceful place to die. Or, at least one that wasn't fighting with itself.
Skills: He’s quite adept at fighting with his Crows beak staff, sword, and shield. Very efficient and brutal. He can also start fires and shoot things with a bow and arrow, but those would qualify more as survival skills than things with battle application, and they are not his forte.
Extra: It's not usually the case, but he always feels massively dehydrated. Any beverage he isn't suspicious of he will down with haste. Due to his disease, his skin is hard, solid, and durable, like hardleather, but it heals very slowly. Nearly any wound requires stitches and bandages. |
7,912 | 211 | 94 | 2,713 | 253 | Another mage, why am I not surprised. thought Jameson. He looked on as Regina performed her magic on Ivan's leg, the pain seemed to have been soothed and Jameson felt a slight relief knowing that she meant no harm, for now... However Ivan was still visibly sick, and Jameson winced at the sight of him puking his guts out on the floor. "Well that just ruined my appetite, but I'm glad you got it all out" said Jameson as he turned and slowly walked away from the scene, as tough as he is, Jameson couldn't stand the sight of vomit as it made him nauseous.
Jameson took a seat close to Baldur to empty his mind of that gross scenario. Then he turned to Baldur, and said in a quiet tone so as not to be overheard by the others, "Look Baldur, I can tell that you're not really fond of us, but we can all agree that we wanna get to the north alive and whole. Seems like the both of us are the only ones not distracted by the kid, and you're the expert in magic here, so tell me, what's going on here?". | Name: Jameson
Age: is 21, looks 21
Description: Jameson is your typical, run of the mill cowboy-type character, wearing a cowboy hat and a dark long overcoat. He is of average build and height, slightly bearded. He believes in travelling light and sufficient so he carries around a canteen, a knife and machete and 2 flintlock pistols (better safe than sorry he says). He looks worn from all the travelling but has the look of determination of a young man.
Gender: Male
Personality: Jameson keeps to himself most of the time but is a friendly guy who believes that travellers should help each other whenever possible, especially during times like these. However, he wasn't born yesterday and knows when someone is being "overly appreciative" of his kindness. He hates evil of all kind and will do his best to stop them whenever he comes across them in his travels even if it means bending over backwards at times.
Backstory: Jameson is from a land way down south, however he spent most of his adult years travelling and seeking a more meaningful life than tending to the livestock back home. He travelled to many places and has seen many things, but never did he leave the safety and familiarity of his own land. After hearing news of a caravan that brings people north, he decided that perhaps it's time to look for something more foreign to satisfy his adventurous young heart.
Skills: Jameson is no master of combat, but he handles himself well with most types of blades and close combat in general. At range, he is able to fire his strange contraptions gifted to him during his journeys (the pistols) with relative accuracy though at a slow speed. Living off the land for a few years taught him the basics of survival such as foraging and setting up camp from sticks and leaves. Also, he makes the best (nastiest) bug stew. |
7,913 | 211 | 95 | 2,002 | 2,688 | Baldur continued to ignore the boy for the most part, instead focusing on a familiar sense of dread he often got more and more as he got older. Began to get lost in thought before being snapped out of it by Jameson. Baldur considered what Jameson said, he did want to get out of here alive obviously and the more the group knew meant less questions he would have to answer later on. Baldur leaned over to Jameson and spoke in an equally hushed tone "I'm not an expert in magic, I know a lot but not everything, but I can tell you for certain that something isn't right here. There's a bad tint to the air." Baldur said in a serious tone. | Name: Baldur the Great
Age: 50 and looks it
Description: Baldur is in decent shape for his age but his ‘experience’ is beginning to show as his hairs are getting greyer and whiter.
Gender: Male
Personality: Baldur was once a very chipper and passionate magician and mage but now he is little more than a husk of a man. His previous attitude towards life is now buried beneath heaps of experience in the world but sometimes one can catch a glimpse of the wide eyed struggling magician beneath his beaten exterior.
Backstory: Baldur keeps his past pretty secretive but what he is more than liberal of sharing is his failed stint as a Magician. When he was younger he began studying slight of hand and similar fake magics while also learning some real magic on the side to spice up his act. His act didn’t go very far and he ended up needing to give up on his dream of making it big. Later on in life he worked as a librarian but decided that he wanted to move up North to get away from the political drama of the south.
Skills: He’s shown that ability to cast a few basic spells such as small fires or magic lights. He’s still very adept at slight of hand tricks and subterfuge overall. He’s pretty good at stick fighting and he can tell a mean story when he’s in the mood.
Extra: He carries around a notebook and has a strong wooden staff that he uses to bash people when in trouble. |
7,914 | 211 | 96 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan lay face down on the floor, curled up like a dead animal. He twitched for a while, then lay still and silent. His blank face was smeared with blood and vomit, but the way he was crumpled on the floor concealed that. If it weren't for the pool of his former stomach contents next to him and the stench that still hung in the air, and the dreadfully obvious fact that his gasps for air had ceased, he might have appeared almost peacefully asleep. But he wasn't. In scant minutes, the boy would be dead if the situation stayed as it was. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,915 | 211 | 97 | 179 | 5,558 | The Caravan
A Halloween Mini-RP
Day 3, Morning -
The bookshelves were composed of a wide variety of books, small, large, new-looking and some that looked like they should have by rights fallen to ashes decades ago. Most of the titles were not in the common tongue, typically having the apperance of books written in Arcanic, the language of magic, by authors ranging from unknown mages to the well known Jarjestys Magi order.
-------------—————~~~~~♠~~~~~—————-------------
Day 3, Morning - All Characters
Regina tapped her fingers on the table, staring at the door with a small frown and weary eyes. The caravan master himself stood by the door with crossed arms, gazing over the group before walking to the chest near the door and pulling out a blanket and a few pillows, which he then arranged on and around Ivan before returning to his position by the door.
A few moments passed before a loud banging knock sounded, to which Regina flinched ever so slightly. The caravan master turned to open it, revealing a small, diverse crowd of figures.
"Caught by the storm too, eh? Come'n in, come'n in..." he waved the figures in as he stepped aside.
The first was a young man in common clothes, looking soaked despite the porch's enchantments, a few years older than Ivan. He walked over to the chest and shook the mat of hair on his head around. "Can't be more rainy..." he muttered as he fruitlessly brushed at his clothes. He looked around. "Hmm. Company?"
Regina nodded as the next figure came in. The next was an older man in a reddish brown, rune-covered cloak, plainly a magic user of some sort. Should Skylar have looked at this newcomer's left arm, he would see a rune familiar from the cultists in the south. The third man was bulky and barely fit through the doorway, scantly clothed and with every appearance of an uncivilized barbarian, almost shoving his way past the second arrival as he plopped down on the stool near the door groaning as he massaged his legs. His age was difficult to tell, considering the majority of his body mass was hair. The fourth and final arrival was different altogether, with every appearance of a highwayman, sporting dark clothes and two long swords on his back. "That'll be all," He said in a British accent to the caravan master, who closed the door and went to the right hand corner.
"Shall we?" He asked to Regina as he climbed up the ladder to upstairs. Regina, shaking slightly and using the table for support, followed slowly. | Please stick your CS into the OOC first, the drop it in here when accepted. If it's got larger images feel free to stick it in a hider, but I don't consider that a requirement.
NPC's will get a mention here with a short description, along with any important roleplay details, but I'm leaving them largely open to interpretation. Most of the time.
Caravan Master - an old, limping, rough and somewhat unpleasant fellow with a record for getting people up north in very good time and having survived trips through weather many don't dare tempt.
Caravan Master's Horse - I figured the poor sod needed a mention somewhere. He's almost as old as the caravan master and twice the pain in the ass. |
7,916 | 211 | 98 | 1,876 | 146 | Raven was feeling like he was somebody who just listened to an inside joke and didn't get it. Who were these people? What did they have to do with anything? And most importantly, what did Regina have planned for them? Nevertheless Raven waved to the newcomers and greeted them. Just then he took notice that they were still wet for some reason. Why would Regina withhold her enchanting power on these people? Was it to signify that she didn't like them? That was a possibility. There was way too many questions that Raven had no answers to, so he just chilled across the room after waving to these visitors. | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,917 | 211 | 99 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan somehow managed to pull out of his unresponsiveness on his own, taking in a deep gasp and jolting as if he'd had a wire thrust up his spine. He took in deep, ragged gulps of air, the blue tint on his lips and cheeks draining away, leaving him pale with a thin sheet of sweat running down his forehead. His trachea finally relaxed back into a position where he could breathe properly. By the time his breathing slowed down, tears were running down his now flushed face. He registered a slew of unpleasant smells, looking down at himself and seeing what was once the contents of his stomach on the floor. He gagged a bit and almost went faint, quickly looking up and trying to remember where he was. He started with simple things, forcing himself to mentally recite his name, age, where he was from, where he was going... then the more complex details started to flood in, like the caravan trip and Regina, and his attack.... the last thing he remembered clearly was coming up to some kind of building, being carried by Raven. He assumed that was where he was now, although his vision was too blurred to clearly see much.
He carefully sat himself up, ignoring the ache in his chest. He was now surrounded by blankets and pillows on the floor, but other than that the room was a blur. "...Baldur? Jameson? Skylar? Vhere is everyvone.. о боже, у меня болит голова..." His words dissolved into an incoherent whisper, and finding he lacked the strength to hold himself upright he fell back on the blankets and pillows. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,918 | 211 | 100 | 2,713 | 253 | Jameson nodded to Baldur and said silently, "Seems like your intuition was right..." as the group of newcomers walked in one by one. Jameson's suspicions rose even more at the events that unfold before him, ever slight they may be to the rest of his group. It was clear that the caravan master knew Regina, but the way the caravan master stood by the door, it was as if he was expecting guests. The caravan master must have been here before, how else would he know where to get the blankets and pillow, but why did he hide this fact? Jameson didn't need a magic expert this time to tell him that something dark is afoot.
Jameson tipped his hat at the newcomers to show his friendly side, or rather to hide his skeptical eyes. He then gave Baldur a pat on his knees as if to warn him before walking towards Skylar by the bookshelves. Jameson stood in front of the shelf acting like he was looking for a book, then said to Skylar in a quick but hushed tone before the newcomers came much closer, "These don't look like the type of people you have tea and biscuits with, be on your guard." | Name: Jameson
Age: is 21, looks 21
Description: Jameson is your typical, run of the mill cowboy-type character, wearing a cowboy hat and a dark long overcoat. He is of average build and height, slightly bearded. He believes in travelling light and sufficient so he carries around a canteen, a knife and machete and 2 flintlock pistols (better safe than sorry he says). He looks worn from all the travelling but has the look of determination of a young man.
Gender: Male
Personality: Jameson keeps to himself most of the time but is a friendly guy who believes that travellers should help each other whenever possible, especially during times like these. However, he wasn't born yesterday and knows when someone is being "overly appreciative" of his kindness. He hates evil of all kind and will do his best to stop them whenever he comes across them in his travels even if it means bending over backwards at times.
Backstory: Jameson is from a land way down south, however he spent most of his adult years travelling and seeking a more meaningful life than tending to the livestock back home. He travelled to many places and has seen many things, but never did he leave the safety and familiarity of his own land. After hearing news of a caravan that brings people north, he decided that perhaps it's time to look for something more foreign to satisfy his adventurous young heart.
Skills: Jameson is no master of combat, but he handles himself well with most types of blades and close combat in general. At range, he is able to fire his strange contraptions gifted to him during his journeys (the pistols) with relative accuracy though at a slow speed. Living off the land for a few years taught him the basics of survival such as foraging and setting up camp from sticks and leaves. Also, he makes the best (nastiest) bug stew. |
7,919 | 211 | 101 | 32 | 217 | Skylar turned to take a glance after Jameson spoke. He went rigid and turned back a little too quickly. His face pale went pale before he took a shakey breath and gripped Jameson's arm tightly.
"We need to get together and near an exit." He whispered to Jameson. "Rune cloak is a demon cultist. We need to watch them carefully or we may be on the wrong side of a sacrificial knife." He wanted to leave. He could set up a few spells for security outside if necessary. The way they lounged around made it seem like they had been here before. The more he learned, the less he liked this.
He turned and leaned against the bookshelf to look at the newcomers a little more. Three people in the room. Mage, fighter, and a common boy possibly. He pursed his lips and started reviewing spells to himself. Two of the three he could take. The barbarian over there may be a bit more of a challenge. | Name: Skylar Altzan
Age: 24
Description: Short for a male, Skylar stands 5'3". He wears simple garments, a tunic, breeches, and boots. He keeps an oil cloth coat for the rain in a large back pack. He cuts his black hair short himself, not caring his hair is uneven and unkempt. He limps slightly from a childhood injury but nothing that interferes with his day to day life.
Gender: Male
Personality: Open and blunt, Skylar could never be accused of possessing tact. That didn't mean he was rude. He just felt that honesty was the best option amd refused to play those silly social games others indulged in. Life was so much easier that way.
Backstory: All magically inclined, the Altzan family ran several magical shops in the south. He grew up around magic and fell in love with it. He had practiced since he could read his mother's tomes and discovered an easy talent with defensive magics. The more violent ones made him a little queasy. It was this affinity for magic that made them a target for demon worshippers. They were attacked , captured and sacrificed. A few even succumbed. Skylar decided to flee, keeping his magic secret in hopes he would escape. He decided to pass himself off as an explorer, looking to make it rich in the North.
Skills: Skylar specializes in defensive and utility magic. Since his distaste for offensive magics stopped him from learning them, he learned how to use a raiper if he ever needed a way to defend himself without magic. |
7,920 | 211 | 102 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan grew somewhat upset when nobody answered him. He tossed and turned around in the blankets, feeling nauseous and tired. His face was still smeared with vomit and the blood he coughed up, but he didn't have the strength to wipe it away. Despite feeling dehydrated, he had actually been drinking quite a lot of water over the course of the caravan trip... but he knew he was going to have to hold it unless he planned on going out in the rain. He writhed around in discomfort, unable to see past a few feet. It seemed like nobody was in the house, as nobody said a word, but he could hear movement. Hoping it wasn't rats, he curled back up and tried to rest up so his vision would clear. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,921 | 211 | 103 | 1,876 | 146 | Raven tapped Ivan and whispered to him: "I'm still here kid. Something is definitely up."
Then, standing up, Raven put both gauntlets on and stood at the ready. His face was no longer one of laid-back happiness, but of a steely gaze as he looked around at everyone in the room. His eyes narrowed opon looking at the Caravanian. How did the lady know they were here? Why this particular time just when three people who so far haven't been exactly friendly showed up? He tried to be optimistic about this at first, but things were getting a little ridiculous. And now the pale fellow and the cowboy were chattering it up in whispers. Were they in on whatever was going on here? No, they were probably just suspicious as well. Hopefully. Everything about Raven's instincts were screaming danger. | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,922 | 211 | 104 | 179 | 5,558 | For anyone paying attention, there was an odd sight outside the back door – mud coming up from the ground in the back yard. The mud congregated in a large pool before rising up and taking the very rough shape of a human.
This mud-man slowly began to stride towards the door, leaving muddy footprints in the back doorway as it stood within the frame. “Quisel present.” It rasped in a distinctly inhuman voice. “Canaveron?”
The young man frowned, bringing his fist up to his chin and leaning on it as he leaned from his position on the chest. “He’s around these parts, though I get the feeling he’s skulking down below. We can start when he shows his face.”
Quisel nodded and raised an arm to Ivan. “Remove.”
The rune-cloaked cultist nodded and began walking towards him, to be met with the caravan master staring at him. “No.”
The cultist scowled. “Quisel’s right, you know.”
The caravan master continued to block his path. “’es no concern to ya. Shoo.” He turned to Quisel. “You too, eh?”
Still scowling, the cultist stepped back to take vigil near the front door. | Please stick your CS into the OOC first, the drop it in here when accepted. If it's got larger images feel free to stick it in a hider, but I don't consider that a requirement.
NPC's will get a mention here with a short description, along with any important roleplay details, but I'm leaving them largely open to interpretation. Most of the time.
Caravan Master - an old, limping, rough and somewhat unpleasant fellow with a record for getting people up north in very good time and having survived trips through weather many don't dare tempt.
Caravan Master's Horse - I figured the poor sod needed a mention somewhere. He's almost as old as the caravan master and twice the pain in the ass. |
7,923 | 211 | 105 | 2,713 | 253 | You've gotta be shitting me Skylar! exclaimed Jameson, trying to keep his voice down after hearing this shocking news. He quickly took a book from the shelf, flipped a few pages and showed it to Skylar. "We can't just walk out the door, it's too obvious, and besides, some of us are in no condition to flee." said Jameson as he flicked his eye at Ivan's direction. He flipped the book some more and placed it back onto the shelf, giving himself some time to think. "Alright, right now we outnumber them by one, not counting Ivan, but I'm sure big guy over there can take two of us so we're pretty much even", he gave a slight pause and took another book. "I say we stay at the side of the house close to the back door, if they decide to pull some shit, I can take down one or maim two, you cast a few spells to stun them and then we bolt." Jameson knew the plan wasn't at all a good one, but there's no way they could just walk out freely.
Before Skylar could reply, Jameson placed the book back and walked towards Ivan. The sight of Ivan's intestinal discharge mixed with other questionable fluid disgusted him but he cradled him with his soaked pillow and blanket anyways and placed him next to Raven. He then whispered to Raven, "Keep an eye on him, and those guys..." | Name: Jameson
Age: is 21, looks 21
Description: Jameson is your typical, run of the mill cowboy-type character, wearing a cowboy hat and a dark long overcoat. He is of average build and height, slightly bearded. He believes in travelling light and sufficient so he carries around a canteen, a knife and machete and 2 flintlock pistols (better safe than sorry he says). He looks worn from all the travelling but has the look of determination of a young man.
Gender: Male
Personality: Jameson keeps to himself most of the time but is a friendly guy who believes that travellers should help each other whenever possible, especially during times like these. However, he wasn't born yesterday and knows when someone is being "overly appreciative" of his kindness. He hates evil of all kind and will do his best to stop them whenever he comes across them in his travels even if it means bending over backwards at times.
Backstory: Jameson is from a land way down south, however he spent most of his adult years travelling and seeking a more meaningful life than tending to the livestock back home. He travelled to many places and has seen many things, but never did he leave the safety and familiarity of his own land. After hearing news of a caravan that brings people north, he decided that perhaps it's time to look for something more foreign to satisfy his adventurous young heart.
Skills: Jameson is no master of combat, but he handles himself well with most types of blades and close combat in general. At range, he is able to fire his strange contraptions gifted to him during his journeys (the pistols) with relative accuracy though at a slow speed. Living off the land for a few years taught him the basics of survival such as foraging and setting up camp from sticks and leaves. Also, he makes the best (nastiest) bug stew. |
7,924 | 211 | 106 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan jolted slightly as Raven tapped him, but calmed down slightly as he heard him speak. What he heard, however, was less than comforting. What Regina had said telepathically to him still echoed in his head, and the general air of the room was an uneasy one. Aside from the vomit still on the floor, something else smelled off... in a more metaphorical sense.
Ivan used the pillows to prop himself into a more upright position, having a look around. He could see the room more clearly now. A few strangers had entered the room, and it looked like everyone else was still there. He blushed slightly, knowing that they probably didn't appreciate having a sick boy around. He felt like he should leave or something, but he knew he couldn't. He could barely even sit up.
A man who appeared to be made of mud gestured to him, and said quite distinctly "remove". Ivan's dark brown eyes froze wide open and he cringed back slowly, not sure what to make of that. He eyed the going's on of the room warily, feeling very sick and confused. The next thing he knew, he'd been picked up and placed next to Raven. He tensed up, not knowing how to react. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,925 | 211 | 107 | 32 | 217 | Skylar turned back to the bookshelf and muttered a quick incantation. His eyes flare blue as he connected to his fellow travelers' minds excluding Ivan. He didn't want to spook the sick boy. He held his breath.
'Listen very carefully and don't respond. The man in the rune cloak is a demon cultist from the south. Jameson suggests we group towards the back door and get ready to bolt if we need to.' Skylar let out his shakey breath and the spell vanished. He leaned heavily on the bookshelf, trying to recover. He started swearing internally about thier luck, or lack thereof. Of course he'd stumble right into what he was fleeing from. | Name: Skylar Altzan
Age: 24
Description: Short for a male, Skylar stands 5'3". He wears simple garments, a tunic, breeches, and boots. He keeps an oil cloth coat for the rain in a large back pack. He cuts his black hair short himself, not caring his hair is uneven and unkempt. He limps slightly from a childhood injury but nothing that interferes with his day to day life.
Gender: Male
Personality: Open and blunt, Skylar could never be accused of possessing tact. That didn't mean he was rude. He just felt that honesty was the best option amd refused to play those silly social games others indulged in. Life was so much easier that way.
Backstory: All magically inclined, the Altzan family ran several magical shops in the south. He grew up around magic and fell in love with it. He had practiced since he could read his mother's tomes and discovered an easy talent with defensive magics. The more violent ones made him a little queasy. It was this affinity for magic that made them a target for demon worshippers. They were attacked , captured and sacrificed. A few even succumbed. Skylar decided to flee, keeping his magic secret in hopes he would escape. He decided to pass himself off as an explorer, looking to make it rich in the North.
Skills: Skylar specializes in defensive and utility magic. Since his distaste for offensive magics stopped him from learning them, he learned how to use a raiper if he ever needed a way to defend himself without magic. |
7,926 | 211 | 108 | 1,876 | 146 | Raven heard what Skylar said due to being right next to Ivan. He tensed up. Surely somebody would be bound to notice how uneasy the travelers were, he thought. He was most worried about the large man, and the random mud dude. And while normally Raven wasn't afraid of the occult, if these people summoned a demon it would really suck. Raven refrained from saying anything for now and he just stayed on guard just in case a fight broke out. | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,927 | 211 | 109 | 179 | 5,558 | {{OOC Note: Fourth post above this, swap with the next one up.}} | Please stick your CS into the OOC first, the drop it in here when accepted. If it's got larger images feel free to stick it in a hider, but I don't consider that a requirement.
NPC's will get a mention here with a short description, along with any important roleplay details, but I'm leaving them largely open to interpretation. Most of the time.
Caravan Master - an old, limping, rough and somewhat unpleasant fellow with a record for getting people up north in very good time and having survived trips through weather many don't dare tempt.
Caravan Master's Horse - I figured the poor sod needed a mention somewhere. He's almost as old as the caravan master and twice the pain in the ass. |
7,928 | 211 | 110 | 2,002 | 2,688 | Baldur had his back turned to the group of newcomers when they entered but he leaned around the backing of the comfy chair to take a look at the group. He didn't look at them too closely and returned to his resting position in his chair. He didn't trust these strangers either but right now he was still resting his sore legs from walking through all that mud to this small cabin. His suspiciousness of the group only grew as one of them led Regina up the ladder and when the mud man walked in and began to, quite clearly, make threats at Ivan. Baldur listened to Skylar's mental message and agreed with him with a slight nod towards Skylar. Baldur gave his legs a small shake before standing up and looking at the cloaked man "So your friends of Regina's I take it?" Baldur said, leaning on his staff for support even though he didn't need the extra help. He wanted to try to get some information out of this group before something less than ideal went down. | Name: Baldur the Great
Age: 50 and looks it
Description: Baldur is in decent shape for his age but his ‘experience’ is beginning to show as his hairs are getting greyer and whiter.
Gender: Male
Personality: Baldur was once a very chipper and passionate magician and mage but now he is little more than a husk of a man. His previous attitude towards life is now buried beneath heaps of experience in the world but sometimes one can catch a glimpse of the wide eyed struggling magician beneath his beaten exterior.
Backstory: Baldur keeps his past pretty secretive but what he is more than liberal of sharing is his failed stint as a Magician. When he was younger he began studying slight of hand and similar fake magics while also learning some real magic on the side to spice up his act. His act didn’t go very far and he ended up needing to give up on his dream of making it big. Later on in life he worked as a librarian but decided that he wanted to move up North to get away from the political drama of the south.
Skills: He’s shown that ability to cast a few basic spells such as small fires or magic lights. He’s still very adept at slight of hand tricks and subterfuge overall. He’s pretty good at stick fighting and he can tell a mean story when he’s in the mood.
Extra: He carries around a notebook and has a strong wooden staff that he uses to bash people when in trouble. |
7,929 | 211 | 111 | 179 | 5,558 | The rune-cloaked cultist looked somewhat surprised at the question. "...Friends, yes." He stated those words with a shortage of conviction. The young man sitting on the chest spoke up.
"We don't come around here much, but we've been on the path a few times. She gives us lodging, we tell a story or two, and we move along." He chuckled. "We've grown to know her a little. Did you know her mother was a sorceress?" The big man lifted his head and glared at the speaker, who simply nodded and idly toyed with a pair of small black knives. "Yep, we've been around the block. So it's you guys who have the busted caravan?"
As he asked, a female scream followed by crashing shelves sounded upstairs.
The young man winced. "He knows her best. They haven't gotten along lately..." | Please stick your CS into the OOC first, the drop it in here when accepted. If it's got larger images feel free to stick it in a hider, but I don't consider that a requirement.
NPC's will get a mention here with a short description, along with any important roleplay details, but I'm leaving them largely open to interpretation. Most of the time.
Caravan Master - an old, limping, rough and somewhat unpleasant fellow with a record for getting people up north in very good time and having survived trips through weather many don't dare tempt.
Caravan Master's Horse - I figured the poor sod needed a mention somewhere. He's almost as old as the caravan master and twice the pain in the ass. |
7,930 | 211 | 112 | 1,727 | 876 | The mud man was still freaking Ivan out even though he hadn't done anything since the first threat. The confusion and fear coursing thorugh him was enough to make bile crawl up his throat again. He clamped a hand over his mouth and gagged heavily. He had nothing left in his stomach, so he brought up nothing, only retching and getting blood tinted spit all over his hand. He shakily started scratching the dried vomit and blood off his face, his cheeks blushing deep red.
He was slowly regaining his strength, now able to sit up without the support of the pillows. He was crossing and uncrossing his legs, shifting around nervously under the blanket. He still felt disgusting, but was glad to have been carried away from his puddle of vomit at the very least. He looked up at Raven, who was still right next to him, but said nothing. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,931 | 211 | 113 | 2,002 | 2,688 | Baldur nodded at the response as he began to try to 'feel' around for anything especially magical going on in the house. While he expected something to come from the mudman, he did not count on something else he was feeling in the house. He had a sudden surge of urgency race through his mind but kept his cool on the outside. "So how do you all know the muddy fellow?" Baldur said as he began to walk towards Jameson nonchalantly. While he looked clam in his steps and overall bodily motion, Baldur's eyes were wide open, trying to make eye contact with either Skylar or Jameson as he would alternate between looking one of them in the eyes and then staring at the floor below them with a great deal of intensity. He stopped this once he made his way over to the book shelf and his eyes once again went calm. | Name: Baldur the Great
Age: 50 and looks it
Description: Baldur is in decent shape for his age but his ‘experience’ is beginning to show as his hairs are getting greyer and whiter.
Gender: Male
Personality: Baldur was once a very chipper and passionate magician and mage but now he is little more than a husk of a man. His previous attitude towards life is now buried beneath heaps of experience in the world but sometimes one can catch a glimpse of the wide eyed struggling magician beneath his beaten exterior.
Backstory: Baldur keeps his past pretty secretive but what he is more than liberal of sharing is his failed stint as a Magician. When he was younger he began studying slight of hand and similar fake magics while also learning some real magic on the side to spice up his act. His act didn’t go very far and he ended up needing to give up on his dream of making it big. Later on in life he worked as a librarian but decided that he wanted to move up North to get away from the political drama of the south.
Skills: He’s shown that ability to cast a few basic spells such as small fires or magic lights. He’s still very adept at slight of hand tricks and subterfuge overall. He’s pretty good at stick fighting and he can tell a mean story when he’s in the mood.
Extra: He carries around a notebook and has a strong wooden staff that he uses to bash people when in trouble. |
7,932 | 211 | 114 | 2,713 | 253 | Jameson was startled by the sudden appearance of this mud-man and thought to himself, "Well, there goes our other escape, and now we're definitely outnumbered." He stood silently and listened at their conversation, "remove", they wanted to remove Ivan, but why? The caravan master knows, more than he seems to know, no doubt about it. And "skulking below"? Jameson shuddered at the thought of what lies beneath them.
Jameson wanted to address the mudman-shaped elephant in the room, but before he could, he was interrupted by Skylar's telepathy. Jameson released a breath of relief after hearing what Skylar said, he was glad that the group knows about the plan. He felt grateful for having Skylar around, without him, this whole journey would be a total pain in the ass. Once again, before he could speak, he was interrupted by Baldur addressing it first. Though perhaps it's for the best, Baldur seemed much wiser then Jameson.
He listened as they conversed, "A sorceress mother... Is being a mage like the common flu and I somehow missed it?" thought Jameson to himself to lighten up the mood. Though the mood didn't stay, for not long after, he heard the scream and crash. Jameson reluctantly believed the young man's words, not wanting to bring up trouble, besides, Regina should be able to handle herself thought Jameson.
He noticed Baldur walking towards him, and then he caught his eye which seemed to be gesturing towards the floor. He couldn't really make out what Baldur was trying to convey, but as he stared at the ground himself, he started to feel uneasy. | Name: Jameson
Age: is 21, looks 21
Description: Jameson is your typical, run of the mill cowboy-type character, wearing a cowboy hat and a dark long overcoat. He is of average build and height, slightly bearded. He believes in travelling light and sufficient so he carries around a canteen, a knife and machete and 2 flintlock pistols (better safe than sorry he says). He looks worn from all the travelling but has the look of determination of a young man.
Gender: Male
Personality: Jameson keeps to himself most of the time but is a friendly guy who believes that travellers should help each other whenever possible, especially during times like these. However, he wasn't born yesterday and knows when someone is being "overly appreciative" of his kindness. He hates evil of all kind and will do his best to stop them whenever he comes across them in his travels even if it means bending over backwards at times.
Backstory: Jameson is from a land way down south, however he spent most of his adult years travelling and seeking a more meaningful life than tending to the livestock back home. He travelled to many places and has seen many things, but never did he leave the safety and familiarity of his own land. After hearing news of a caravan that brings people north, he decided that perhaps it's time to look for something more foreign to satisfy his adventurous young heart.
Skills: Jameson is no master of combat, but he handles himself well with most types of blades and close combat in general. At range, he is able to fire his strange contraptions gifted to him during his journeys (the pistols) with relative accuracy though at a slow speed. Living off the land for a few years taught him the basics of survival such as foraging and setting up camp from sticks and leaves. Also, he makes the best (nastiest) bug stew. |
7,933 | 211 | 115 | 179 | 5,558 | The young man chuckled again. "Muddy there? Aw, he's harmless. He just doesn’t like the way people look, so he made his own look. Tasteless, I must agree, but it’s his choice.”
The caravan master stepped besides Raven, staring intently. Telepathically, he told him;
Take the boy and leave.
-------------—————~~~~~♠~~~~~—————-------------
While there was nothing special about the floor itself, it did seem to ooze a feeling of unease - and if he listened closely enough, he would hear ever so slight scraping footsteps. | Please stick your CS into the OOC first, the drop it in here when accepted. If it's got larger images feel free to stick it in a hider, but I don't consider that a requirement.
NPC's will get a mention here with a short description, along with any important roleplay details, but I'm leaving them largely open to interpretation. Most of the time.
Caravan Master - an old, limping, rough and somewhat unpleasant fellow with a record for getting people up north in very good time and having survived trips through weather many don't dare tempt.
Caravan Master's Horse - I figured the poor sod needed a mention somewhere. He's almost as old as the caravan master and twice the pain in the ass. |
7,934 | 211 | 116 | 1,876 | 146 | Because of the sudden telepathy, Raven silently agreed it was time to gtfo. So he picked up Ivan, and calmly walked out of the building innocently. He tried to look as casual and non-suspicious as he could. | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,935 | 211 | 117 | 1,727 | 876 | Vhere are you taking me? Ivan asked, sounding more alert than he had been the last time he spoke. He curled his arms around Raven's neck and his legs around the man's middle to avoid being jostled around so much. He was a bit tense, his legs squeezed together as close as possible. They weren't quite out the door yet, so he looked at the caravan master as if to ask if he had permission to just up and leave like this. The whole situation was highly confusing. He hadn't even had time to pick his bow and quiver up, let alone been told where he was being taken. It seemed odd for Raven to just scoop him up and carry him out the door without a word. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,936 | 211 | 118 | 32 | 217 | Skylar jumped at the scream and narrowed his eyes at the man nonchalantly tinkering with his knives. He did a quick head count and stepped forward as he confirmed their party was behind him. He scowled and let his magic fly. A family trait, his irises glowed blue as flashes of blue swam through his viens as he stared down the cultist.
"So I'm going to be frank. We really aren't comfortable with this. A mud man and a giant at the exits, a boy playing with weapons as soon as the presumed owner of the establishment screams, and a demon cultist." Skylar spat the last word lie a curse. "What the hell is going on? And if it's nothing, I think I speak for the group that we would rather not be here anymore." He held one hand at the hulk at the door and one at the mud man, a violently swirling black orb in each.
However the orbs faded brief before returning as he watched Ivan and Raven walk out the door. His sudden intensity seemed to falter just a bit. | Name: Skylar Altzan
Age: 24
Description: Short for a male, Skylar stands 5'3". He wears simple garments, a tunic, breeches, and boots. He keeps an oil cloth coat for the rain in a large back pack. He cuts his black hair short himself, not caring his hair is uneven and unkempt. He limps slightly from a childhood injury but nothing that interferes with his day to day life.
Gender: Male
Personality: Open and blunt, Skylar could never be accused of possessing tact. That didn't mean he was rude. He just felt that honesty was the best option amd refused to play those silly social games others indulged in. Life was so much easier that way.
Backstory: All magically inclined, the Altzan family ran several magical shops in the south. He grew up around magic and fell in love with it. He had practiced since he could read his mother's tomes and discovered an easy talent with defensive magics. The more violent ones made him a little queasy. It was this affinity for magic that made them a target for demon worshippers. They were attacked , captured and sacrificed. A few even succumbed. Skylar decided to flee, keeping his magic secret in hopes he would escape. He decided to pass himself off as an explorer, looking to make it rich in the North.
Skills: Skylar specializes in defensive and utility magic. Since his distaste for offensive magics stopped him from learning them, he learned how to use a raiper if he ever needed a way to defend himself without magic. |
7,937 | 211 | 119 | 2,002 | 2,688 | Baldur quickly rushed next to Skylar and in a hushed tone told him "the Mudman has demonic magic about him so use any anti-demon magic you got with that one." and with that Baldur took a step back getting ready to sprint for the door. Raven and Ivan had the right idea of getting out there when they could since now things weren't looking good... or sounding good come to think of it as Baldur began to hear the noises coming from below. Baldur began to make his way closer to the ladder with a few small steps every few seconds. | Name: Baldur the Great
Age: 50 and looks it
Description: Baldur is in decent shape for his age but his ‘experience’ is beginning to show as his hairs are getting greyer and whiter.
Gender: Male
Personality: Baldur was once a very chipper and passionate magician and mage but now he is little more than a husk of a man. His previous attitude towards life is now buried beneath heaps of experience in the world but sometimes one can catch a glimpse of the wide eyed struggling magician beneath his beaten exterior.
Backstory: Baldur keeps his past pretty secretive but what he is more than liberal of sharing is his failed stint as a Magician. When he was younger he began studying slight of hand and similar fake magics while also learning some real magic on the side to spice up his act. His act didn’t go very far and he ended up needing to give up on his dream of making it big. Later on in life he worked as a librarian but decided that he wanted to move up North to get away from the political drama of the south.
Skills: He’s shown that ability to cast a few basic spells such as small fires or magic lights. He’s still very adept at slight of hand tricks and subterfuge overall. He’s pretty good at stick fighting and he can tell a mean story when he’s in the mood.
Extra: He carries around a notebook and has a strong wooden staff that he uses to bash people when in trouble. |
7,938 | 211 | 120 | 1,876 | 146 | Once outside, Raven whispered "I don't think it's safe in there. They have started to block the exits, so I had to move quick without explanation."
He looked behind him, and saw that the muddy fellow was now blocking the door behind him. "There's no going back, kid. I'm not going to push through Mr. I-don't-like-baths over there. So hold on tight, because I'm about to make a run for it." | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,939 | 211 | 121 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan balked, not really getting what was going on. He desperately wanted to go back for his weapon at the very least. "But if there is trouble, shouldn't we stay? We could... ah!" Ivan let out a sharp squeak, pushing his legs closer together so much that he was squeezing Raven's midsection in a way that must have been at least a little uncomfortable. "Sorry..." He rested his head on Raven's chest, wondering where they even planned on going. Back out to the caravan? Certainly not, what good would that be? The thing was stuck fast in the mud, and there was no way a single man and an ill could pull it out by themselves and get back on the road. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,940 | 211 | 122 | 179 | 5,558 | The rune-cloaked cultist stepped aside to let the pair out the door, to the odd looks of the young and big fellows. Still leaving the door open, he opened his mouth, but the young man gave him a shut up glare and stood, putting the knives away.
"Well, I for one am glad we can get underway. I must admit, we hadn't anticipated humans to walk in, especially in a time like this, and on this day of the year too. So I must say, you lot came in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why he-" he threw his arm in the direction of the caravan master- "Brought you folks in is well beyond me. I don't particularly care what you lot do, though I suppose he thought a couple of you had potential for joining in. All of you maybe? Who knows. I wasn't aware it was anyone besides us seven or so. Feel free to leave, I do-"
The mud man stepped forward a few feet, turning a dripping head to look over all in the room. "No. All remove. He said so."
The young man sighed. "Come on, we aren't here to ki-"
The trapdoor to upstairs opened, and the highwayman poked his head out. "All is well!" he yelled with a british accent to the low background of sobbing before the trapdoor closed again.
-------------—————~~~~~♠~~~~~—————-------------
Outside, the rain had abated considerably and the fog receded, and the forests stood almost silently, inviting Raven's entry... | Please stick your CS into the OOC first, the drop it in here when accepted. If it's got larger images feel free to stick it in a hider, but I don't consider that a requirement.
NPC's will get a mention here with a short description, along with any important roleplay details, but I'm leaving them largely open to interpretation. Most of the time.
Caravan Master - an old, limping, rough and somewhat unpleasant fellow with a record for getting people up north in very good time and having survived trips through weather many don't dare tempt.
Caravan Master's Horse - I figured the poor sod needed a mention somewhere. He's almost as old as the caravan master and twice the pain in the ass. |
7,941 | 211 | 123 | 2,713 | 253 | Everything just started going so fast for Jameson, one moment he had a weird gut feeling, the next, Raven carried Ivan out the door and now Skylar is casting some really threatening spells. He was surprised by Skylar's sudden actions. Jameson quickly snapped out of his daze and drew both his guns and pointed each at the young man and the cultist. "Yeah... I'm gonna have to agree with what he's saying here. We just wanna get on with your paths, unless you have something planned for us, then we're gonna have problems." said Jameson sternly, but inside he was nervous and uneasy, someone or something was messing with him and he had to get out fast. His eyes darted around the house looking for signs of trouble, he noticed Baldur close to the ladder, if his instincts were right, he's gonna go get Regina.
Jameson was too preoccupied to hear the trapdoor opening, he wanted to get this over with. "Humans? What are you talking about? Are you saying you lot are not humans? Then what the hell are you?" asked Jameson threateningly, he just wanted so badly to run, to burst out, but he kept his cool as much as he could. "And seven you say? By the looks of it, there's four of you who just entered, the caravan master and Regina, so who, where or WHAT is the seventh!?" | Name: Jameson
Age: is 21, looks 21
Description: Jameson is your typical, run of the mill cowboy-type character, wearing a cowboy hat and a dark long overcoat. He is of average build and height, slightly bearded. He believes in travelling light and sufficient so he carries around a canteen, a knife and machete and 2 flintlock pistols (better safe than sorry he says). He looks worn from all the travelling but has the look of determination of a young man.
Gender: Male
Personality: Jameson keeps to himself most of the time but is a friendly guy who believes that travellers should help each other whenever possible, especially during times like these. However, he wasn't born yesterday and knows when someone is being "overly appreciative" of his kindness. He hates evil of all kind and will do his best to stop them whenever he comes across them in his travels even if it means bending over backwards at times.
Backstory: Jameson is from a land way down south, however he spent most of his adult years travelling and seeking a more meaningful life than tending to the livestock back home. He travelled to many places and has seen many things, but never did he leave the safety and familiarity of his own land. After hearing news of a caravan that brings people north, he decided that perhaps it's time to look for something more foreign to satisfy his adventurous young heart.
Skills: Jameson is no master of combat, but he handles himself well with most types of blades and close combat in general. At range, he is able to fire his strange contraptions gifted to him during his journeys (the pistols) with relative accuracy though at a slow speed. Living off the land for a few years taught him the basics of survival such as foraging and setting up camp from sticks and leaves. Also, he makes the best (nastiest) bug stew. |
7,942 | 211 | 124 | 179 | 5,558 | Big oops. Ignure. | Please stick your CS into the OOC first, the drop it in here when accepted. If it's got larger images feel free to stick it in a hider, but I don't consider that a requirement.
NPC's will get a mention here with a short description, along with any important roleplay details, but I'm leaving them largely open to interpretation. Most of the time.
Caravan Master - an old, limping, rough and somewhat unpleasant fellow with a record for getting people up north in very good time and having survived trips through weather many don't dare tempt.
Caravan Master's Horse - I figured the poor sod needed a mention somewhere. He's almost as old as the caravan master and twice the pain in the ass. |
7,943 | 211 | 125 | 1,876 | 146 | Raven broke into a run, definitely going back to the caravan. His run wasn't all that fast, as he had to be careful not to trip what with Ivan in his arms and the mud on the ground. Sure, it seemed silly for their first stop along the getaway was the caravan, but significant rations were kept in there. Raven didn't know how easy it would be to hunt and gather here in the forest, so he wanted some food and water along with him just in case they had trouble collecting their own. Plus it could still provide some shelter if the storm raged once more. Certainly it would be a ridiculous idea to try and move the thing, but Raven felt it was important to save whatever resources he could. He said none of this however, because he was trying to save his breath for keeping up a speedy pace. He slightly regretted leaving the others to their deaths, and leaving the kid's bow behind, but it helped give the illusion that they were not running away and just going outside to pee or whatever. Hopefully buying them a valuable minute or two. | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,944 | 211 | 126 | 1,727 | 876 | The storm seemed to have eased up for the moment, but the ground was still a muddy disaster. Ivan was glad to be lifted off the ground as the made their way back down the road towards the caravan. Ivan's eyes slowly fell closed, his head leaned softly against Raven's chest. Aside from being scared and a bit tired, Ivan was actually feeling a lot better. While his attacks could be deadly if left unattended, they usually cleared up fast once they were over. Now he had other problems to focus on. He said nothing, gritting his teeth together as he tried to forget about the situation. He wanted to stay with the others to help, but he understood why they would want him out of the way. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,945 | 211 | 127 | 2,002 | 2,688 | I'm going to go off a hunch here Baldur began "that you lot aren't of this plane of existence, especially given the amount of magic radiating off the Mudman. If I had to guess I'd assume at least one of you is a demon of some degree." Baldur said as he got ready to rush up the ladder as soon as a brawl started. He was more than positive that this wasn't going to be resolved with words and at this point the sorceress upstairs seemed like his best chance of getting out of this alive considering she seemed to know something about what was going on.
Suddenly another wave of dread washed over Baldur as he thought he saw a figure outside but upon closer examination he saw nothing. He realized he nerves were likely getting to him now due to the stress of the situation. | Name: Baldur the Great
Age: 50 and looks it
Description: Baldur is in decent shape for his age but his ‘experience’ is beginning to show as his hairs are getting greyer and whiter.
Gender: Male
Personality: Baldur was once a very chipper and passionate magician and mage but now he is little more than a husk of a man. His previous attitude towards life is now buried beneath heaps of experience in the world but sometimes one can catch a glimpse of the wide eyed struggling magician beneath his beaten exterior.
Backstory: Baldur keeps his past pretty secretive but what he is more than liberal of sharing is his failed stint as a Magician. When he was younger he began studying slight of hand and similar fake magics while also learning some real magic on the side to spice up his act. His act didn’t go very far and he ended up needing to give up on his dream of making it big. Later on in life he worked as a librarian but decided that he wanted to move up North to get away from the political drama of the south.
Skills: He’s shown that ability to cast a few basic spells such as small fires or magic lights. He’s still very adept at slight of hand tricks and subterfuge overall. He’s pretty good at stick fighting and he can tell a mean story when he’s in the mood.
Extra: He carries around a notebook and has a strong wooden staff that he uses to bash people when in trouble. |
7,946 | 211 | 128 | 179 | 5,558 | The young man looked around. "Well, lets see..."
He looked at the caravan master, big fellow, up at the ceiling and down at himself. "Well, I can't say there is very much humanity in this bunch." He looked at the cultist. "I guess he's kinda human. Wouldn't tell at the altar, though." The cultist gave a grunt as he crossed his elbows. "Mud man? Good friend of our other good friend downstairs."
"So I guess we have a couple options. You could always go up that ladder and meet the Captain, though that might not be the best idea. You could leave and let us do what needs to be done" - he gestured at the open door - "or you could get in what will probably be a costly brawl, and even though I know your group isn't perfect humanity either, I can make a good guess where most of the cost will be, especially when Cav manages to find the trapdoor." As he spoke, the mud man slowly backed out of the rear exit, disintegrating into the mud.
He began pacing on the raised area. "So, I don't know about you, but I like getting things done expediently and without the mess. So you can head off to join your fellow outside, use the back door if you like, or you can waste time on a matter that you have no investment in." He stood still next to the door and placed an arm on the large 'man's shoulder. "So?" Another crash could be heard upstairs.
-------------—————~~~~~♠~~~~~—————-------------
Outside the caravan, not far down the path from Raven would enter to collect remaining rations, mud formed into a humanoid figure, this time much larger and with blunted arms the size of thick logs with boulders on the ends. | Please stick your CS into the OOC first, the drop it in here when accepted. If it's got larger images feel free to stick it in a hider, but I don't consider that a requirement.
NPC's will get a mention here with a short description, along with any important roleplay details, but I'm leaving them largely open to interpretation. Most of the time.
Caravan Master - an old, limping, rough and somewhat unpleasant fellow with a record for getting people up north in very good time and having survived trips through weather many don't dare tempt.
Caravan Master's Horse - I figured the poor sod needed a mention somewhere. He's almost as old as the caravan master and twice the pain in the ass. |
7,947 | 211 | 129 | 1,876 | 146 | Change of plans: Let's not go to the caravan. We'll hunt with my gauntlets and drink from streams. I don't know. But I'm pretty sure punching mud to death is difficult, so let's head this way instead shall we? Raven said, a little bit shocked by that thing just appearing there. Because he was carrying a sick child, Raven didn't feel particularly comfortable about getting into fights. He guessed that this thing wasn't very agile, and that he could easily dodge it's boulder arms, but better safe then sorry. Raven ran in a different direction, which was the direction where the caravan was originally going.(North) Once the muddy beast was out of his sight, he slowed his pace to conserve energy. "Ivan, buddy, we got to get out of this damn forest. I don't like it here." He said to the sick kid as he trudged along. "I'm not tired yet, but I'll need to sleep eventually. And I'd rather not do it wherever here is." | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,948 | 211 | 130 | 2,713 | 253 | Well turns out we can just walk out the door after all. quipped Jameson at Skylar. He felt relieved that the option was still there which made him relax a bit, although they were clearly into demonic magic, he was glad albeit suspicious of their kindness. Jameson began to calm his nerves and the gut feeling was subsiding, but he still felt uneasy towards the ground, something was below them, waiting to be unleashed. The obvious choice right now would be to just walk out the back door, but there was something stopping him, something rather tricky. He needed the caravan master or Regina, for now they seem to be on their side, and also because they know these parts better than anyone of the caravan group. If they wish to get to the north alive, they needed them. However, it was obvious that these non-humans would not let either of them go just like that, especially Regina who seems to be in trouble, it didn't felt right to leave her after the help she provided.
Seeing that they're still on talking terms, Jameson made a request which he doubt would be fulfilled, "We would very much like to move on with our lives and leave this place, but we got a problem, we can't survive out there, not without the caravan master and Regina. So.. if you could allow it, we would like to borrow their services, at least until we leave the forest." Jameson doubt they would hand him both the caravan master and Regina, his main goal was to bargain for one of them, he felt bad if Regina had to stay, but right now, the survival of the group is all that mattered. | Name: Jameson
Age: is 21, looks 21
Description: Jameson is your typical, run of the mill cowboy-type character, wearing a cowboy hat and a dark long overcoat. He is of average build and height, slightly bearded. He believes in travelling light and sufficient so he carries around a canteen, a knife and machete and 2 flintlock pistols (better safe than sorry he says). He looks worn from all the travelling but has the look of determination of a young man.
Gender: Male
Personality: Jameson keeps to himself most of the time but is a friendly guy who believes that travellers should help each other whenever possible, especially during times like these. However, he wasn't born yesterday and knows when someone is being "overly appreciative" of his kindness. He hates evil of all kind and will do his best to stop them whenever he comes across them in his travels even if it means bending over backwards at times.
Backstory: Jameson is from a land way down south, however he spent most of his adult years travelling and seeking a more meaningful life than tending to the livestock back home. He travelled to many places and has seen many things, but never did he leave the safety and familiarity of his own land. After hearing news of a caravan that brings people north, he decided that perhaps it's time to look for something more foreign to satisfy his adventurous young heart.
Skills: Jameson is no master of combat, but he handles himself well with most types of blades and close combat in general. At range, he is able to fire his strange contraptions gifted to him during his journeys (the pistols) with relative accuracy though at a slow speed. Living off the land for a few years taught him the basics of survival such as foraging and setting up camp from sticks and leaves. Also, he makes the best (nastiest) bug stew. |
7,949 | 211 | 131 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan cringed back as another mud creature appeared. He couldn't help but think that it was the mud creature from before, perhaps... they were following them. They weren't supposed to leave. Ivan tightened his grip on Raven and tried to think of something else. He thought about wanting to go home, the still existing ache in his lungs... and his bow.
Ivan fought the urge to protest and beg to be taken back to Regina's place for his bow. The bow had belonged to his father, and if he ever made it back home, he wanted to be able to return it. Besides, that was the bow he'd learned to shoot with. He didn't know if he could just as easily use another bow. A light hunting bow was about right for him, but most bows were larger and heavier, likely too much for someone so young.
He kept fidgeting around in Raven's arms, as if trying to find a more comfortable position, but he never seemed to. He just kept tossing and squirming like an anxious animal. Raven's pace was a bit fast, and Ivan kept getting jostled around. He was beyond grateful when the man slowed down to preserve energy.
For a brief moment, he thought about how suspicious it was for Raven to just take him and leave without consulting any of the other caravan members. Was Raven being entirely trustworthy, or did the situation just go from bad to worse to... whatever comes after worse but before worst? | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,950 | 211 | 132 | 2,254 | 547 | Do what needs to be done? The knight growled, tensing up, hiding the hand on his sword again, "And what does need to be done?..."
He knew it was probably for the best that he ignored everything that was happening here and ushered the rest of the group out the door. The North was a place full of demons. He couldn't confront them all, and he had enough of his own to deal with... But, for two years, this was his job. This was his path to a righteous death. This was how he would redeem himself for all those brothers and fathers and mothers and sisters that he killed in the Civil War.
There was a path to salvation for the violent soul, the priests had always said, A pious man must purge evil, within and without, and the only way for a warrior to reach paradise was not to fight for himself, but to offer his life for someone or something else... There was also something about making peace with yourself and the world, but Robart never paid attention to that. That was more about achieving happiness and enlightenment in paradise or some shite, but happiness could wait. The important thing was always getting out of Hell before it was too late. Struggling for happiness is what put him on the sinner's path to begin with...
What if he was one of the casualties that would follow a confrontation? Was the woman's life really worth dying for? Would his efforts be rendered null and void anyhow? Could he really call himself a repented man if he repaid a stranger's forgiveness and kindness by leaving her to these ruffians? At the same time, could he call himself a man of the Gods if, by his actions, his travelling companions were killed for a cause that he chose for them?... His thumb brushed anxiously back and forth over the handle of the blade. Would a pious man purge evil and die with surrounding innocents, or preserve his life and the lives of the other caravanners in the room and let evil destroy someone who never did him any wrong?
I will... I won't... I will... I won't... | Name:Robart "The Pilgrim" Garrithe
Age: 32, though he looks like he's been dead and buried in a salt pile for years.
Description: The remnants of what was once a powerful and imposing figure, has apparently shriveled underneath sandstone-looking, leathery skin. Like a tan, semi-muscular hollow from Dark Souls, but with functioning eyes and some streaks of blackish melanin left in his beard. He usually hides this under his armor and cloak, of course. He has a uniquely beaked helmet that sticks out from under his hood.
Gender: Male
Personality: Very austere and moribund in nature. He has the poise and mannerisms of someone who was once very 'Type A' and confrontational, but his bile has gone out of him and he doesn't know how to present himself in another way. Apologizes often when he imagines someone imagines that he slighted them.
Backstory: Used to be a kmight, got infected with "The Drying" and joined a sort of crusade movement called "The Leper Knights", felt that he could get no closer to 'Salvation' in battle, and went North to find a quiet, peaceful place to die. Or, at least one that wasn't fighting with itself.
Skills: He’s quite adept at fighting with his Crows beak staff, sword, and shield. Very efficient and brutal. He can also start fires and shoot things with a bow and arrow, but those would qualify more as survival skills than things with battle application, and they are not his forte.
Extra: It's not usually the case, but he always feels massively dehydrated. Any beverage he isn't suspicious of he will down with haste. Due to his disease, his skin is hard, solid, and durable, like hardleather, but it heals very slowly. Nearly any wound requires stitches and bandages. |
7,951 | 211 | 133 | 1,876 | 146 | Alright, let's try not to die out here. I hear a stream we can possibly drink out of. Probably not the cleanest water, but maybe we can boil it in a campfire...? No, we'd need a pot for that. Raven said. He had slowed his pace to a stop nearby a stream. "Kid, you look really broken up about something. Obviously we aren't in the happiest of situations, but at least we're not immediately in danger right?" He said as he gently sat the Ivan down on the driest spot near a tree he could find.
"And if this is about worrying about the other lads, I'll have you know that I was requested through a psychic telepathic message from the Caravanian that I should remove you from the situation. To be honest, if I weren't bringing you out here with me away from whoever they were, I'd have felt that running was too cowardly. But I have confidence that our companions will take care of themselves."
Raven flicked away an insect.
"Man this sucks. I still haven't figured out what we're going to eat and when, and what's worse is that the mud man could just pop back up again. Or a pack of wolves. Or herd of bears."
He stopped to think.
"Actually, bears are solitary or in pairs. They don't travel in herds. And don't usually hunt humans unless they are really hungry or if you're near their kids. So that's one less thing to worry about." | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,952 | 211 | 134 | 1,727 | 876 | Ve need to go back! I need my bow! Ivan cried out suddenly, bolting to his feet almost as soon as he was put down. He grabbed Raven by his arm, mostly to hold himself upright but also as a gesture of urgency. "It is not even mine! It is my father's..." He wasn't really listening as Raven talked to himself. He was still fidgeting around, shifting his weight from foot to foot and standing on his toes, bouncing up and down slightly. "Come on, you do not even have to take me. Leave me here, get the bow and come back to me. Please..." | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,953 | 211 | 135 | 1,876 | 146 | Raven sighed. "I understand. Try not to die while I'm gone, kid. I'll go get your bow. If I don't come back, assume I'm dead and go on without me. If I do come back with the bow, we'll be able to hunt with it. Remember that wolves can't climb trees. See ya." He turned and ran back in the direction of the house, having a very bad feeling about this. But hey, if he was able to get away with the weapon it'd improve their chances of survival. If he got into a fight and killed all the occult people, they'd pretty much be safe. But on the other hand, if Raven died, Ivan would have a tough time living out there. At least that's what Raven told himself. Coming into view of the building, Raven started creeping up low. He kept his eye on the doorway before him, and the ground beneath him. After a minute or so of sneaking forward, the gauntleted man was right beside the doorway, listening to the conversation within and waiting for his chance. | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,954 | 211 | 136 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan nodded, waving as Raven left. He did his level best to stay where he was, but it eventually hit him that he really needed to pee and he wandered off a ways into the woods.
On his way back, he tried to remember exactly which spot he'd been left in. He hadn't gone far, but all the trees looked exactly the same to him. Deciding not to get himself more lost than he had to, he climbed up a tree so he wouldn't have to sit in the mud to wait. He kept his eyes on the ground, listening for footsteps... or pawsteps, as the case might be. Wolves couldn't climb, but bears and wild cats could. Ivan shivered, resisting the urge to climb higher. He had to be able to get down by himself. Getting stuck up a tree would just make him look like even more of a fool. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,955 | 211 | 137 | 32 | 217 | Skylar knew they needed help. None of them knew these woods well enough to survive and the North wasn't a place to wander. Skylar heard Jameson asking and the Knight demanding answers while Baldur tensed himself, preparing for the ladder. He was a little lost with how to proceed. Should they help? Should they run? He heard something, happy and light, but shook it off. He started took a breath and said-
It was bright. A boy, no older than eight, laughed as they cube hovered a few inches off the ground before falling. The blue irises faded as he look up and Skylar picked him up and twirled him-
A woman sneered from across the room and suddenly everything was ablaze. The boy vanished from his grasp and Skylar screamed and screamed fornhim. His magic couldn't put the fire out fast enough so he bolted, coughing and gasping. He stumbled into a room and froze. A small altar in the dining room. The woman with lightning dancing on her fingers. The boy pale, eyes dead, stomach sliced open. He flung his fingers out and sent spell after spell flying but every spell broke, failed, and faded. She smirked. He growled and discharged one last spell-
Eyes unfocused, he stared straight at the cultist. The orbs engulfed his hands and a hand the size of himself appeared, solid black. "Give him back! Give me Alexander back witch!" Skylar screamed before sending them hurling at the cultist. | Name: Skylar Altzan
Age: 24
Description: Short for a male, Skylar stands 5'3". He wears simple garments, a tunic, breeches, and boots. He keeps an oil cloth coat for the rain in a large back pack. He cuts his black hair short himself, not caring his hair is uneven and unkempt. He limps slightly from a childhood injury but nothing that interferes with his day to day life.
Gender: Male
Personality: Open and blunt, Skylar could never be accused of possessing tact. That didn't mean he was rude. He just felt that honesty was the best option amd refused to play those silly social games others indulged in. Life was so much easier that way.
Backstory: All magically inclined, the Altzan family ran several magical shops in the south. He grew up around magic and fell in love with it. He had practiced since he could read his mother's tomes and discovered an easy talent with defensive magics. The more violent ones made him a little queasy. It was this affinity for magic that made them a target for demon worshippers. They were attacked , captured and sacrificed. A few even succumbed. Skylar decided to flee, keeping his magic secret in hopes he would escape. He decided to pass himself off as an explorer, looking to make it rich in the North.
Skills: Skylar specializes in defensive and utility magic. Since his distaste for offensive magics stopped him from learning them, he learned how to use a raiper if he ever needed a way to defend himself without magic. |
7,956 | 211 | 138 | 179 | 5,558 | The young man sighed. "I'm afraid either is not quite possib-"
Skylar's attack flew past towards the rune-cloaked mage, who kneeled and brought his robes over his head just as the magic made impact, knocking him onto the wall besides the door and turning the cloak's runes a bright red.
The cultist stood slowly, and as he brought his robe down, it was to reveal a pair of pitch black eyes and a face with every sign of murder written on it pointed directly at the one who had assaulted him.
"This farce has continued long enough. Tarizel, step aside." The young man opened his mouth in protest, to which the cultist snarled "You will step aside."
The large man stood and stared at Skylar as the cultist's eyes began to burn red. "I did not sacrifice a thousand human children to squabble with piddly humans. I did not deal with a demon lord to sacrifice a sorceress for a worm like you. Quisel was right. Remove the humans and outsiders. Remove them all."
At that he pulled out a pitch black sacrificial blade. "More souls to the cause is always appreciated, after all." He stood, leaving the last sentence to sit as loud scraping noise arose through the trapdoor to the depths of the unknown below.
-------------—————~~~~~♠~~~~~—————-------------
Behind Raven in the yard, mud began shifting once more. This time, however, it was not a single figure that stood, but three, all man sized and one ripping a section of fence from the ground at the same time the cultist had hit the side of the house.
Beyond the shifting of the mud, something else was happening outside - instead of the fog receding further, it had become much closer, the sky much darker and the rain at a complete stop.
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In the forest around Ivan, all was seemingly quiet - save the unusual noise of mud slowly sliming up the trunk of the tree. | Please stick your CS into the OOC first, the drop it in here when accepted. If it's got larger images feel free to stick it in a hider, but I don't consider that a requirement.
NPC's will get a mention here with a short description, along with any important roleplay details, but I'm leaving them largely open to interpretation. Most of the time.
Caravan Master - an old, limping, rough and somewhat unpleasant fellow with a record for getting people up north in very good time and having survived trips through weather many don't dare tempt.
Caravan Master's Horse - I figured the poor sod needed a mention somewhere. He's almost as old as the caravan master and twice the pain in the ass. |
7,957 | 211 | 139 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan heard a noise at the base of the tree. Assuming it to be some animal, he only wrinkled his nose a bit and closed his eyes, leaning against the trunk of the tree with the intent of getting some rest before Raven arrived with his bow. But the noise didn't stop. Raising an eyebrow to himself, Ivan looked down, then screamed bloody murder.
The mud on the ground was starting to creep its way up the tree, as if it had a mind of his own. Ivan was suddenly glad he'd had the foresight to relieve himself earlier, as he only had the one pair of pants and this would have been the end of their clean state if he hadn't acted earlier.
Though Ivan was light for his age, he quickly got to a point on the tree where the branches could barely support his weight. He knew if he went any higher, he'd just end up falling. He knew what he had to do next. He ran across the long branch, ignoring the ominous cracking sounds, and jumped into the next tree over, just barely catching himself on a branch. He was now hanging by his hands from a branch that was just about to about to break. Not good, to be sure. He tried to see if he could maneuver himself to a different branch, but this tree was sparse and the next few branches over he couldn't even reach. "Raven! RAVEN!! God damn it, Raven!" He cried, barely able to hold himself up. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,958 | 211 | 140 | 2,254 | 547 | Devil scum, Robart's mind was made up, and he snarled under his breath "My soul will never belong to you."
His sword moved quickly out of its sheath, and the shield appeared out from under his cape with an unintentional flourish. He had minimal experience fighting with magic, so, since there seemed to be one man for each of them, Robart decided he would take the big man. He seemed to handle big blunt force better ever since his flesh became wooden...
"Oi, hairy oaf!" The knight shouted, pounding his shield with his pommel, "Why don't you leave the old man and the cripple to your friends and take care of the heavily armed one like a good little henchman? You'll look like you actually know what you're doing!" | Name:Robart "The Pilgrim" Garrithe
Age: 32, though he looks like he's been dead and buried in a salt pile for years.
Description: The remnants of what was once a powerful and imposing figure, has apparently shriveled underneath sandstone-looking, leathery skin. Like a tan, semi-muscular hollow from Dark Souls, but with functioning eyes and some streaks of blackish melanin left in his beard. He usually hides this under his armor and cloak, of course. He has a uniquely beaked helmet that sticks out from under his hood.
Gender: Male
Personality: Very austere and moribund in nature. He has the poise and mannerisms of someone who was once very 'Type A' and confrontational, but his bile has gone out of him and he doesn't know how to present himself in another way. Apologizes often when he imagines someone imagines that he slighted them.
Backstory: Used to be a kmight, got infected with "The Drying" and joined a sort of crusade movement called "The Leper Knights", felt that he could get no closer to 'Salvation' in battle, and went North to find a quiet, peaceful place to die. Or, at least one that wasn't fighting with itself.
Skills: He’s quite adept at fighting with his Crows beak staff, sword, and shield. Very efficient and brutal. He can also start fires and shoot things with a bow and arrow, but those would qualify more as survival skills than things with battle application, and they are not his forte.
Extra: It's not usually the case, but he always feels massively dehydrated. Any beverage he isn't suspicious of he will down with haste. Due to his disease, his skin is hard, solid, and durable, like hardleather, but it heals very slowly. Nearly any wound requires stitches and bandages. |
7,959 | 211 | 141 | 2,002 | 2,688 | Baldur wasn't entirely sure what was happening anymore, some magic had been fired and the whole situation was now spiraling out of control. While most of the words simply went over Baldur's head he particularly latched onto the part the Cultist said about the sorceress whom he was now taking a educated leap with and guessing he was referring to Regina. Maybe that woman might be a saving grace to the group after all and with that final thought Baldur climbed more spryly than a man of his age should be expected to and rushed into the room above, likely completely unready to take on whatever was inside. Before doing any of this however, as a cautionary measure, Baldur casted an illumination spell in the room below just in case one of the magic users decided they wanted to mess with the lights or at least daze one of the enemies for a moment. | Name: Baldur the Great
Age: 50 and looks it
Description: Baldur is in decent shape for his age but his ‘experience’ is beginning to show as his hairs are getting greyer and whiter.
Gender: Male
Personality: Baldur was once a very chipper and passionate magician and mage but now he is little more than a husk of a man. His previous attitude towards life is now buried beneath heaps of experience in the world but sometimes one can catch a glimpse of the wide eyed struggling magician beneath his beaten exterior.
Backstory: Baldur keeps his past pretty secretive but what he is more than liberal of sharing is his failed stint as a Magician. When he was younger he began studying slight of hand and similar fake magics while also learning some real magic on the side to spice up his act. His act didn’t go very far and he ended up needing to give up on his dream of making it big. Later on in life he worked as a librarian but decided that he wanted to move up North to get away from the political drama of the south.
Skills: He’s shown that ability to cast a few basic spells such as small fires or magic lights. He’s still very adept at slight of hand tricks and subterfuge overall. He’s pretty good at stick fighting and he can tell a mean story when he’s in the mood.
Extra: He carries around a notebook and has a strong wooden staff that he uses to bash people when in trouble. |
7,960 | 211 | 142 | 1,876 | 146 | Raven suddenly rushed into the room, behind the largest cultist, and swung his spiked metal fist with full force at the back of the man's neck where the neckbone was. He took note of the muds behind him, but from the sound of it this guy was major business. Perhaps if he was dead, they would back down. He could not actually hear what Ivan said, so he made no response. | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,961 | 211 | 143 | 1,727 | 876 | Damn it, how far did we go? Thought Ivan, finally pulling himself up onto the branch and into a position where he was at least fairly safe from falling. However, he had nowhere else to go from here. He was completely trapped by the mud, unless....
Ivan was about to do something very, very stupid. He knew it, too. He took a small knife from his pocket, and started sawing away at the tree trunk where it was thinnest. He hoped to cut the tree top down, forming a bridged to the next tree over. This was an unbelievably dumb idea. He was more likely to hurt himself or simply waste time than actually form an escape from the sentient mud. But it was the only possible solution he saw.
The tree finally snapped, a few feet of branches and trunk falling into the next tree over, a sturdy looking pine. Ivan started to carefully climb his way across his makeshift bridge, feeling it bend precariously under him.
He got to thinking as he was making his way across... what was he going to do once he got to the pine? Throw pine cones at the mud until it stopped pursuing him? He growled in frustration, gripping the branches so tightly it made his fingers and palms start to bleed. He had no idea what he was doing. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,962 | 211 | 144 | 179 | 5,558 | Reference environment image (full left, other side)
Upstairs was a dark (literally and figuratively), dismal sight indeed.
Regina was pinned to the center wall with a sword buried to the hilt in her chest, slumped onto the stone table with dangling limbs and with every appearance of death save for a slight rasping from behind a curtain of messy brown hair. Sitting atop the bed was the man from earlier with the other sword in his lap and the same dark clothes from before, watching as Baldur came up.
"A mess down there, I hear." He said with a hint of amusement in his tone. "I must say, my colleges do like to have their fun. I'm hoping they take out the brute and the human before going down. I like the minor demon, though, and I'm sure you've met Quisel by now. I'm not sure what Cav is waiting for, but he has his own ideas on how to run things. Doesn't particularly matter." He stretched. "It'll all be settled soon enough. I thought I had her-" he pointed to Regina - "Properly managed the last visit, but as you might have heard, she still isn't cooperating. She'll live, as long as I keep her that way. It'll take more than death to get her to cooperate, unfortunately. It's good that they haven't found the bell, that would certainly complicate things..."
"But what about you? What's your next move? You seem to have tired of the commotion downstairs." He spoke as though the two were old friends.
-------------—————~~~~~♠~~~~~—————-------------
Ivan's trick was a success, giving him some extra escape time - sorely needed as the mud moved at an ever more steady pace and seemed to pursue him with vigor. It also began to make its way up the new tree for good measure. The fog growing ever denser, almost all that was visible was tree branches, leaves and suspiciously moving mud, the latter almost certainly to no good end. | Please stick your CS into the OOC first, the drop it in here when accepted. If it's got larger images feel free to stick it in a hider, but I don't consider that a requirement.
NPC's will get a mention here with a short description, along with any important roleplay details, but I'm leaving them largely open to interpretation. Most of the time.
Caravan Master - an old, limping, rough and somewhat unpleasant fellow with a record for getting people up north in very good time and having survived trips through weather many don't dare tempt.
Caravan Master's Horse - I figured the poor sod needed a mention somewhere. He's almost as old as the caravan master and twice the pain in the ass. |
7,963 | 211 | 145 | 2,002 | 2,688 | Ideally I'd like to be on my way with some assurance that I'll get up north safely. Baldur said in a somewhat flustered tone "And that woman of yours seems like my best bet all things considered. She seems to know this area well and all." Baldur explained in a more calm tone yet there was still a hint of anger to his voice. Baldur looked over the woman, just stifling the feeling of being sick. Before talking anymore, Baldur mustered all the strength of his aging limbs to move a decently heavy crate over the trap door to allow the duo some privacy. "How about a deal. You loan me and my party Ms.Regina here and let us be on our way, that way I have a navigator along with some extra muscle to help me get along through the forest, then once we've traveled safely to the North you can take Ms.Regina back and do what you wish with the others with the added help of my own set of... skills at your disposal to help with any resistance from the party. I'm also open to negotiation." Baldur said, now in a calmer state of mind as he sat back on the crate. However before the man could answer, Baldur was filled with a familiar sense of dread as he once more thought he saw another figure in the shadows of the room but, again, upon closer inspection this proved to be nothing. | Name: Baldur the Great
Age: 50 and looks it
Description: Baldur is in decent shape for his age but his ‘experience’ is beginning to show as his hairs are getting greyer and whiter.
Gender: Male
Personality: Baldur was once a very chipper and passionate magician and mage but now he is little more than a husk of a man. His previous attitude towards life is now buried beneath heaps of experience in the world but sometimes one can catch a glimpse of the wide eyed struggling magician beneath his beaten exterior.
Backstory: Baldur keeps his past pretty secretive but what he is more than liberal of sharing is his failed stint as a Magician. When he was younger he began studying slight of hand and similar fake magics while also learning some real magic on the side to spice up his act. His act didn’t go very far and he ended up needing to give up on his dream of making it big. Later on in life he worked as a librarian but decided that he wanted to move up North to get away from the political drama of the south.
Skills: He’s shown that ability to cast a few basic spells such as small fires or magic lights. He’s still very adept at slight of hand tricks and subterfuge overall. He’s pretty good at stick fighting and he can tell a mean story when he’s in the mood.
Extra: He carries around a notebook and has a strong wooden staff that he uses to bash people when in trouble. |
7,964 | 211 | 146 | 2,713 | 253 | Ahh goddammit Skylar! shouted Jameson as Skylar flung his spell at the cultist. He wanted to avoid any physical confrontation if possible, especially with demons, but it seems that it's not possible anymore. "I didn't come all this way to be some demon's sacrifice!" exclaimed Jameson after hearing what the cultist had said. The terrible gut feeling came rushing back to him, he felt like he could burst out at any moment and that would be good for no one, he had to end this quick. As Robart taunted the brute, Jameson fired both guns at the cultist, A loud boom echoed through the house, both shots hitting the cultist square at the chest. If everything is to be believed, the cultist is the only human of the group, made no sense to fire two small metal balls at the young man if he's a demon, and from Jameson's experience, hardly any human could survive two blasts from his guns. | Name: Jameson
Age: is 21, looks 21
Description: Jameson is your typical, run of the mill cowboy-type character, wearing a cowboy hat and a dark long overcoat. He is of average build and height, slightly bearded. He believes in travelling light and sufficient so he carries around a canteen, a knife and machete and 2 flintlock pistols (better safe than sorry he says). He looks worn from all the travelling but has the look of determination of a young man.
Gender: Male
Personality: Jameson keeps to himself most of the time but is a friendly guy who believes that travellers should help each other whenever possible, especially during times like these. However, he wasn't born yesterday and knows when someone is being "overly appreciative" of his kindness. He hates evil of all kind and will do his best to stop them whenever he comes across them in his travels even if it means bending over backwards at times.
Backstory: Jameson is from a land way down south, however he spent most of his adult years travelling and seeking a more meaningful life than tending to the livestock back home. He travelled to many places and has seen many things, but never did he leave the safety and familiarity of his own land. After hearing news of a caravan that brings people north, he decided that perhaps it's time to look for something more foreign to satisfy his adventurous young heart.
Skills: Jameson is no master of combat, but he handles himself well with most types of blades and close combat in general. At range, he is able to fire his strange contraptions gifted to him during his journeys (the pistols) with relative accuracy though at a slow speed. Living off the land for a few years taught him the basics of survival such as foraging and setting up camp from sticks and leaves. Also, he makes the best (nastiest) bug stew. |
7,965 | 211 | 147 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan grinned widely as he made it safely across to the next tree. Finally he'd done something competent and independent. If only the others had been there to see it...
His grin faded as he realized the mud was still pursuing him. He had a couple of other stupid ideas, one of which involved burning the tree down and jumping off at the last minute, leaving the mud to burn. Good thing he didn't have any flint, or else he'd probably be dead already.
This left him trapped up a tree, with nothing else to try to do except accept his fate. He caled out for Raven one more time, though he knew the man most likely couldn't hear him. From Ivan's perspective, this looked like the end. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,966 | 211 | 148 | 179 | 5,558 | Raven's attack was successful, snapping the cultist's neck. As the cultist sagged, the two shots from the gun knocked him into the wall, and he slumped to the floor, though the bullets rolled off the glowing red runes of the cloak.
Tarizel looked with just a slight expression of amusement at the fallen cultist. "Sore bastard. Should have left him at the altar. Oh well." He began to pace, waving a hand at the big man, "Stay there a moment, would ya?" The big man gave him a very dark stare but stood still.
"So, lets get the facts down. We got you gents up against big man, the caravan what's-his-name" - he pointed to the caravan master - "and me. We're all not so easy to take out, and Quisel out here is a pure demon. That means he can probably take you all out by himself. But there's another course here. Go back South. The North isn't a good place for anyone, especially humans, and there's weird shit up there that even I feel like keeping a distance from. So lets call it a draw. You guys walk back home, right out the door, and nothing happens."
He sat on the chest once more, that seeming to be his favorite spot.
"Lets see... you're safe enough in these parts during the day, and you should get to the border wood before nightfall, nothing to worry about down there... week journey, tops. No fighting, no nothing, just leave the witch here and take your leave. She deserves the next part anyways."
He raised his left eyebrow. "Yes?"
-------------—————~~~~~♠~~~~~—————-------------
The mud stopped as close as it could short of actually touching Ivan.
"Jump." A rasping noise arose from bubbles in the mud. "Jump now or lose all essence." The mud consumed a patch of leaves below and became a large gaping maw. "Jump..." | Please stick your CS into the OOC first, the drop it in here when accepted. If it's got larger images feel free to stick it in a hider, but I don't consider that a requirement.
NPC's will get a mention here with a short description, along with any important roleplay details, but I'm leaving them largely open to interpretation. Most of the time.
Caravan Master - an old, limping, rough and somewhat unpleasant fellow with a record for getting people up north in very good time and having survived trips through weather many don't dare tempt.
Caravan Master's Horse - I figured the poor sod needed a mention somewhere. He's almost as old as the caravan master and twice the pain in the ass. |
7,967 | 211 | 149 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan took a deep, ragged breath, looking at the mud creature with the straightest face he could must. "Vhy do you vant me to jump?" He asked, doing his best not to stutter. He knew that if he jumped from this height he would likely die or at least break nearly all his bones, so his only option was to try and reason with ht. It seemed incredibly idiotic, but he was out of ideas. He bit into his lip, hoping Raven would make a speedy return. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,968 | 211 | 150 | 1,876 | 146 | Demon huh? Oh yeah I'm real scared. Right shaking in me boots I am! Raven said with a laugh. "So the Caravanian isn't on our side anymore? I'm not surprised. He led us to this trap in the first place."
Raven walked over next to Skyler and Jameson.
"I'm with these lads. If they decide to go, I'm not going to fight you by myself. If they stay, well, I'm happy to fist some demons whenever necessary. Also, there's a kid out there who's probably getting bored without me. So it'd be great if we could make this snappy." | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,969 | 211 | 151 | 2,254 | 547 | Not sure about you lot, but for me, there's nothing South of here but people who would have me hanged or feathered for refusing to kill for a war that won't end, and others who would have me rob graves for their own gain... If you really don't want it to end this way, then that's fine... Dissappointing, but I'm supposed to be repentant, so I'll go. But I don't plan on leaving the North. There's nothing for me in the South. The knight said, "I dunno what's North, either, but hell, it's not war and mass corruption. Not enough people around for that." | Name:Robart "The Pilgrim" Garrithe
Age: 32, though he looks like he's been dead and buried in a salt pile for years.
Description: The remnants of what was once a powerful and imposing figure, has apparently shriveled underneath sandstone-looking, leathery skin. Like a tan, semi-muscular hollow from Dark Souls, but with functioning eyes and some streaks of blackish melanin left in his beard. He usually hides this under his armor and cloak, of course. He has a uniquely beaked helmet that sticks out from under his hood.
Gender: Male
Personality: Very austere and moribund in nature. He has the poise and mannerisms of someone who was once very 'Type A' and confrontational, but his bile has gone out of him and he doesn't know how to present himself in another way. Apologizes often when he imagines someone imagines that he slighted them.
Backstory: Used to be a kmight, got infected with "The Drying" and joined a sort of crusade movement called "The Leper Knights", felt that he could get no closer to 'Salvation' in battle, and went North to find a quiet, peaceful place to die. Or, at least one that wasn't fighting with itself.
Skills: He’s quite adept at fighting with his Crows beak staff, sword, and shield. Very efficient and brutal. He can also start fires and shoot things with a bow and arrow, but those would qualify more as survival skills than things with battle application, and they are not his forte.
Extra: It's not usually the case, but he always feels massively dehydrated. Any beverage he isn't suspicious of he will down with haste. Due to his disease, his skin is hard, solid, and durable, like hardleather, but it heals very slowly. Nearly any wound requires stitches and bandages. |
7,970 | 211 | 152 | 179 | 5,558 | Tarizel, true to his habits, sighed again while looking at the group. "If you want to go north, you'll have to do so alone. It's not all that they make it out to be is all I can say, but whichever way you go, it is perfectly fine. I just don't think you will want to stay for what happens next here."
The caravan master again silently moved around the table towards the back door, to an angle on the other side of the human group.
-------------—————~~~~~♠~~~~~—————-------------
"Oh, I don't believe I introduced myself. Call me Craxis. I don't usually walk around as a human, so human manners have escaped me." Apparently forgetting the traditional handshake, he leaned back, stroking the edge of his sword. "She" he pointed to Regina "Is unfortunately unable to go anywhere. Just keeping the blood in is a little annoying, she isn't particularly cooperative even now, so I can see her doing something dumb the moment she starts moving her limbs. It's a dilemma. But I could spare the caravan fellow, all I need are three of the gents down there to finish matters up. Take him with you if you like for good, he's always been odd around humans. Some form of unfortunate weakness. Regardless..." he lost attention for a moment, looking down to the floor after the noise of the gunshots. "If I understand correctly, I've lost the cultist. Ah well. Tarizel should be able to handle matters himself." He looked back at Baldur. "He's not much by demon standards, but he has a good sense of logic and he's a killer with obsidian shards."
-------------—————~~~~~♠~~~~~—————-------------
The mud swirled, like a very slow whirlpool below. "Jump." the voice repeated as the mud began to crawl up other trees in the area. The original tree Ivan was on began to lean forwards, stripped of underlying material to support its roots. | Please stick your CS into the OOC first, the drop it in here when accepted. If it's got larger images feel free to stick it in a hider, but I don't consider that a requirement.
NPC's will get a mention here with a short description, along with any important roleplay details, but I'm leaving them largely open to interpretation. Most of the time.
Caravan Master - an old, limping, rough and somewhat unpleasant fellow with a record for getting people up north in very good time and having survived trips through weather many don't dare tempt.
Caravan Master's Horse - I figured the poor sod needed a mention somewhere. He's almost as old as the caravan master and twice the pain in the ass. |
7,971 | 211 | 153 | 1,727 | 876 | I vill only jump vhen Raven comes back. Ivan told the mud sternly, as if it were his own petulant child. He stared down at it, trying to tell himself that he wasn't at all afraid of sentient mud. Of course he was, but since he had no idea how smart it was it seemed like the best idea not to show fear. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,972 | 211 | 154 | 32 | 217 | Skylar sneered as the woman slammed against the wall behind the altar and went still. Skylar sneered. Then frowned. Something wasn't quite right here. The scene slowly faded away along with the anger.He blinked a few times before reforming the large hand, placing it between the opposing group and themselves, swearing violently.
"Catch me up. What's happening?" Skylar whispered sharply. The hand in front of them. All but blocked their view, the fingers spread just enough to see their bodies. He gritted his teeth as his hands started stinging from keeping the spell up for this long. That was stupid, this situation was stupid, and he was the stupidest of all. His brother was dead, his mother very much alive, and here he was lapsing into memories in front of demons. | Name: Skylar Altzan
Age: 24
Description: Short for a male, Skylar stands 5'3". He wears simple garments, a tunic, breeches, and boots. He keeps an oil cloth coat for the rain in a large back pack. He cuts his black hair short himself, not caring his hair is uneven and unkempt. He limps slightly from a childhood injury but nothing that interferes with his day to day life.
Gender: Male
Personality: Open and blunt, Skylar could never be accused of possessing tact. That didn't mean he was rude. He just felt that honesty was the best option amd refused to play those silly social games others indulged in. Life was so much easier that way.
Backstory: All magically inclined, the Altzan family ran several magical shops in the south. He grew up around magic and fell in love with it. He had practiced since he could read his mother's tomes and discovered an easy talent with defensive magics. The more violent ones made him a little queasy. It was this affinity for magic that made them a target for demon worshippers. They were attacked , captured and sacrificed. A few even succumbed. Skylar decided to flee, keeping his magic secret in hopes he would escape. He decided to pass himself off as an explorer, looking to make it rich in the North.
Skills: Skylar specializes in defensive and utility magic. Since his distaste for offensive magics stopped him from learning them, he learned how to use a raiper if he ever needed a way to defend himself without magic. |
7,973 | 211 | 155 | 1,876 | 146 | Raven turned to Skyler. "Well me and the cowboy here kicked some ass on a cultist, and now I gotta run. Luckily they seem fine with me leaving, but I probably should not have stayed here so long away from Ivan." And then he turned, grabbed Ivan's bow and quiver, ran out of the building, and bolted towards the stream where he left Ivan. He probably didn't want to be around for what happened next anyway.
A few minutes later, he was up against the water. Looking around, he saw no sign of Ivan. "Where did he go, I wonder..." Raven thought. Luckily, the ground was wet and soft. Meaning that opon further inspection Raven could track the boy's footsteps. He followed them. Raven was getting tired of all this running around, so by this point he was panting for breath and wanting to stop and take a nap. He continued walking however. | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,974 | 211 | 156 | 2,713 | 253 | What do you mean what's happening!? You basically gave the cultist there a magic fist out of nowhere while shouting for some 'Alexander', then Raven gave him a real fist at the back of the neck and two shots from me to seal the deal. whispered Jameson sharply back at Skylar. Jameson had heard Raven's reply to Skylar but he just had to let some of his rage out. He stared at Raven with bewilderment as he grabbed Ivan's bow and quiver and bolted, he then took a deep breathe and exhaled, "Right now the offer still stands, we can walk out of this house in peace", then he turned towards the one named Tarizel, "but I still insist that we take either the caravan master or Regina with us, one way or another, we're heading North."
The immediate threat of the cultist seemed to be gone, Jameson managed to calm himself down a bit but he's not out of the frying pan yet. He eyed the caravan master suspiciously as he walked over towards the group while he reloads his guns, he believed that he wouldn't have to fire them again but at this point, he didn't want to take any chances. As the caraven master stood by their side, Jameson said to him, "You've been awfully quiet in all this, I know their plans, so tell me, what are yours? Did you plan to bring us all here to witness some demonic magic?" | Name: Jameson
Age: is 21, looks 21
Description: Jameson is your typical, run of the mill cowboy-type character, wearing a cowboy hat and a dark long overcoat. He is of average build and height, slightly bearded. He believes in travelling light and sufficient so he carries around a canteen, a knife and machete and 2 flintlock pistols (better safe than sorry he says). He looks worn from all the travelling but has the look of determination of a young man.
Gender: Male
Personality: Jameson keeps to himself most of the time but is a friendly guy who believes that travellers should help each other whenever possible, especially during times like these. However, he wasn't born yesterday and knows when someone is being "overly appreciative" of his kindness. He hates evil of all kind and will do his best to stop them whenever he comes across them in his travels even if it means bending over backwards at times.
Backstory: Jameson is from a land way down south, however he spent most of his adult years travelling and seeking a more meaningful life than tending to the livestock back home. He travelled to many places and has seen many things, but never did he leave the safety and familiarity of his own land. After hearing news of a caravan that brings people north, he decided that perhaps it's time to look for something more foreign to satisfy his adventurous young heart.
Skills: Jameson is no master of combat, but he handles himself well with most types of blades and close combat in general. At range, he is able to fire his strange contraptions gifted to him during his journeys (the pistols) with relative accuracy though at a slow speed. Living off the land for a few years taught him the basics of survival such as foraging and setting up camp from sticks and leaves. Also, he makes the best (nastiest) bug stew. |
7,975 | 211 | 157 | 32 | 217 | Skylar flinched at the name but let out a shakey breath and let the hand fade away. He shook the black mist off his hands and rubbed at the rapidly forming bruises. Too much magic, too quickly, and using the wrong preperation methods took a toll. He winced and looked over at the caravan master. Staying here would be insane at this point and he just needed rest.
"If the offers still on the table, we should get out while we can. Though we're missing someome?" Skylar counted heads, "I remember Raven taking Ivan but where's Baldur?" He took sometime to look around, think maybe he was being them or outside. | Name: Skylar Altzan
Age: 24
Description: Short for a male, Skylar stands 5'3". He wears simple garments, a tunic, breeches, and boots. He keeps an oil cloth coat for the rain in a large back pack. He cuts his black hair short himself, not caring his hair is uneven and unkempt. He limps slightly from a childhood injury but nothing that interferes with his day to day life.
Gender: Male
Personality: Open and blunt, Skylar could never be accused of possessing tact. That didn't mean he was rude. He just felt that honesty was the best option amd refused to play those silly social games others indulged in. Life was so much easier that way.
Backstory: All magically inclined, the Altzan family ran several magical shops in the south. He grew up around magic and fell in love with it. He had practiced since he could read his mother's tomes and discovered an easy talent with defensive magics. The more violent ones made him a little queasy. It was this affinity for magic that made them a target for demon worshippers. They were attacked , captured and sacrificed. A few even succumbed. Skylar decided to flee, keeping his magic secret in hopes he would escape. He decided to pass himself off as an explorer, looking to make it rich in the North.
Skills: Skylar specializes in defensive and utility magic. Since his distaste for offensive magics stopped him from learning them, he learned how to use a raiper if he ever needed a way to defend himself without magic. |
7,976 | 211 | 158 | 2,713 | 253 | Jameson turned back to Skylar and gave him a weird look then thought to himself, "Wasn't he here when everything happened? Hell, he was the one who escalated everything!". He shook his head slightly and replied, "Baldur is upstairs with one of them and Regina, he's-", Jameson's words trailed off into his thoughts, "What IS Baldur doing up there?". Jameson knew Baldur wasn't too fond of them, but would he somehow sacrifice them for a safe passage to the North? Given Baldur's talents in magic, and the lack of a human cultist right now, would he end up in their ranks instead? Jameson dismissed those thoughts not long after and gave Baldur the benefit of the doubt, Baldur was self-centered, but not selfish.
Jameson then turned back to the caravan master, "So, still waiting for your answer." | Name: Jameson
Age: is 21, looks 21
Description: Jameson is your typical, run of the mill cowboy-type character, wearing a cowboy hat and a dark long overcoat. He is of average build and height, slightly bearded. He believes in travelling light and sufficient so he carries around a canteen, a knife and machete and 2 flintlock pistols (better safe than sorry he says). He looks worn from all the travelling but has the look of determination of a young man.
Gender: Male
Personality: Jameson keeps to himself most of the time but is a friendly guy who believes that travellers should help each other whenever possible, especially during times like these. However, he wasn't born yesterday and knows when someone is being "overly appreciative" of his kindness. He hates evil of all kind and will do his best to stop them whenever he comes across them in his travels even if it means bending over backwards at times.
Backstory: Jameson is from a land way down south, however he spent most of his adult years travelling and seeking a more meaningful life than tending to the livestock back home. He travelled to many places and has seen many things, but never did he leave the safety and familiarity of his own land. After hearing news of a caravan that brings people north, he decided that perhaps it's time to look for something more foreign to satisfy his adventurous young heart.
Skills: Jameson is no master of combat, but he handles himself well with most types of blades and close combat in general. At range, he is able to fire his strange contraptions gifted to him during his journeys (the pistols) with relative accuracy though at a slow speed. Living off the land for a few years taught him the basics of survival such as foraging and setting up camp from sticks and leaves. Also, he makes the best (nastiest) bug stew. |
7,977 | 211 | 159 | 179 | 5,558 | The caravan master spoke simply. "Of that I know, one thing is sure - 'irty-one mortals have seen Quisel, and 'irty-one men 'ave died after seein' Quisel. An' ye know... another thing...hmm..." He placed his next words into Jameson's mind. What they've planned is somethin' even demons shan't abide by.
On that last statement, Tarziel stood up from the chest and looked out the door. "Ah, any time now I figure," he said. The fog outside had become very close to the house, and a cold breeze swept through the open doors. "So, what'll it be?" he asked looking back at the group.
-------------—————~~~~~♠~~~~~—————-------------
As the fog became ever more dense in the forest and on the walkway, the voice rose from the mud to Ivan. "If you insist..." The mud fell back to the ground with a loud splash shortly before Raven's arrival into earshot. | Please stick your CS into the OOC first, the drop it in here when accepted. If it's got larger images feel free to stick it in a hider, but I don't consider that a requirement.
NPC's will get a mention here with a short description, along with any important roleplay details, but I'm leaving them largely open to interpretation. Most of the time.
Caravan Master - an old, limping, rough and somewhat unpleasant fellow with a record for getting people up north in very good time and having survived trips through weather many don't dare tempt.
Caravan Master's Horse - I figured the poor sod needed a mention somewhere. He's almost as old as the caravan master and twice the pain in the ass. |
7,978 | 211 | 160 | 1,876 | 146 | Hey Ivan! What're you doing up there? Raven called up to him, walking up to the tree. "Kid, your hands are not looking so good. But anyways I got your bow and arrows! Also punched out a cultist. It was awesome.. So if you want, you can come on down now." Based on the freshly mixed texture of the mud, he supposed that the demon had attacked. Raven took off his gauntlets however, and held out his arms in case Ivan wished to hop on down. "Or if you want you can instead chill up there for a while, and I'll just rest here for a bit. Kinda tired and all." | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,979 | 211 | 161 | 179 | 5,558 | ...and on that note, the mud began to lose solidity, to the detriment of Raven. It made no noise, it was barely even noticeable, but it was certainly losing its ability to sustain human weight, and it was rather sticky stuff.
If the mud (?) was lucky, Raven wouldn't even notice. The sight of Raven getting shorter would likely not be missed on Ivan, though. | Please stick your CS into the OOC first, the drop it in here when accepted. If it's got larger images feel free to stick it in a hider, but I don't consider that a requirement.
NPC's will get a mention here with a short description, along with any important roleplay details, but I'm leaving them largely open to interpretation. Most of the time.
Caravan Master - an old, limping, rough and somewhat unpleasant fellow with a record for getting people up north in very good time and having survived trips through weather many don't dare tempt.
Caravan Master's Horse - I figured the poor sod needed a mention somewhere. He's almost as old as the caravan master and twice the pain in the ass. |
7,980 | 211 | 162 | 1,727 | 876 | Agh! Raven, vatch out!! YOU'RE STANDING IN IT! Ivan cried like a madman, pointing at the mud as if it were turning to acid. He edged his way further up the pine, breathing in ragged, shallow gasps of panic. "Come up here,quick! There is room for both of us!" | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,981 | 211 | 163 | 2,713 | 253 | The caravan master didn't exactly answer his question, but his reply gave Jameson even more questions and worries. So they're planning on something even demons consider taboo, Jameson shuddered at the thought of what that could be but he tried to keep his composure to not reveal anything. Everything points to running being the best choice right now, 'thirty-one dead men', Jameson doesn't intend to add himself to that number, and the unnatural-looking fog is coming visibly closer, whatever they decide next they had to decide quick.
"Alright, I got the hint." sighed Jameson, feigning disappointment. "Guys, we have no reason to stay here any longer, there's nothing we can do if they do not intend to lend us either the caravan master or Regina. Skylar, pack up your books on the table, we're leaving. Robart, you too, see if you missed any of your stuff. I'm gonna go get Baldur." said Jameson as he made glances between them and the table. Jameson walked towards the ladder and knocked on the trapdoor and shouted, "Baldur, we're leaving, weather doesn't seem well and they might be expecting other guests, this house ain't big enough for all of us." | Name: Jameson
Age: is 21, looks 21
Description: Jameson is your typical, run of the mill cowboy-type character, wearing a cowboy hat and a dark long overcoat. He is of average build and height, slightly bearded. He believes in travelling light and sufficient so he carries around a canteen, a knife and machete and 2 flintlock pistols (better safe than sorry he says). He looks worn from all the travelling but has the look of determination of a young man.
Gender: Male
Personality: Jameson keeps to himself most of the time but is a friendly guy who believes that travellers should help each other whenever possible, especially during times like these. However, he wasn't born yesterday and knows when someone is being "overly appreciative" of his kindness. He hates evil of all kind and will do his best to stop them whenever he comes across them in his travels even if it means bending over backwards at times.
Backstory: Jameson is from a land way down south, however he spent most of his adult years travelling and seeking a more meaningful life than tending to the livestock back home. He travelled to many places and has seen many things, but never did he leave the safety and familiarity of his own land. After hearing news of a caravan that brings people north, he decided that perhaps it's time to look for something more foreign to satisfy his adventurous young heart.
Skills: Jameson is no master of combat, but he handles himself well with most types of blades and close combat in general. At range, he is able to fire his strange contraptions gifted to him during his journeys (the pistols) with relative accuracy though at a slow speed. Living off the land for a few years taught him the basics of survival such as foraging and setting up camp from sticks and leaves. Also, he makes the best (nastiest) bug stew. |
7,982 | 211 | 164 | 1,876 | 146 | Raven jumped up and grabbed a lower branch, pulling himself up. "Thanks for the warning kid... I thought the ground was a bit unstable. I'm surprised it was being so slow and casual about it. Weird."
He looked down at the mud and yelled down at it. "Hey, can you please leave us alone?! I'd rather not deal with you making me all filthy, and you know, dead!" Raven was getting a little ticked off by this thing always being around and being a bugger. | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,983 | 211 | 165 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan was slowly losing it, it seemed. He reached up for his bow and quiver, with a pleading and desperate look in his eyes. The weapon probably wouldn't do much against the mud, but he was very attached to it. He was out of ideas on how to deal with the mud demon, and now it looked like all he'd done was trapped himself and Raven up a tree. "I'm sorry" he mouthed, unable to say the words out loud. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,984 | 211 | 166 | 2,002 | 2,688 | Bladur mulled over the demon's offer, giving Regina a once over as if considering the option of pushing the demon further for the sorceress. After a few moment's in thought Baldur heard Jameson call from downstairs and he noticed that the commotion had seemed to calm down. "One minute!" Baldur called down in a somewhat irritated tone of voice before turning back to the demon. "I'll take you up on your offer. We're not going to get far without someone leading the way and the Caravan man seems like the best option at this point." Baldur said giving Regina one last look before moving the box and heading back down the ladder.
Once down, Baldur ushered for the Caravaner to follow along with a simple arm motion as he headed for the door, walking past the bookshelf and putting his arts of subterfuge and slight of hand to the test as he took a book at random from the bookshelf and slipping it under his robe. Really Baldur didn't need the book but he figured he might as well get something out of this whole ordeal even if it may just be a sappy romance novel or perhaps tips on how to prepare squirrel. | Name: Baldur the Great
Age: 50 and looks it
Description: Baldur is in decent shape for his age but his ‘experience’ is beginning to show as his hairs are getting greyer and whiter.
Gender: Male
Personality: Baldur was once a very chipper and passionate magician and mage but now he is little more than a husk of a man. His previous attitude towards life is now buried beneath heaps of experience in the world but sometimes one can catch a glimpse of the wide eyed struggling magician beneath his beaten exterior.
Backstory: Baldur keeps his past pretty secretive but what he is more than liberal of sharing is his failed stint as a Magician. When he was younger he began studying slight of hand and similar fake magics while also learning some real magic on the side to spice up his act. His act didn’t go very far and he ended up needing to give up on his dream of making it big. Later on in life he worked as a librarian but decided that he wanted to move up North to get away from the political drama of the south.
Skills: He’s shown that ability to cast a few basic spells such as small fires or magic lights. He’s still very adept at slight of hand tricks and subterfuge overall. He’s pretty good at stick fighting and he can tell a mean story when he’s in the mood.
Extra: He carries around a notebook and has a strong wooden staff that he uses to bash people when in trouble. |
7,985 | 211 | 167 | 32 | 217 | Skylar nodded curtly and turned, picking up the scattered texts and scrolls across the various tables and sweeping them into his bag. He buttoned the the bag and wandered his way towards the door Raven bolted from, leaning against the doorframe to wait for the rest of the group. He kept a close eye on the other group, a conjuring spell on his tongue. The wall it would create wouldn't hold long again them but it would give them a second to catch up.
He sighed. He was going to have to meditate after this fiasco for weeks. This wasn't doing his mental health any favors and his sleeping daughter shattered in the accident. At this point, he hoped they could just get this trip over with. | Name: Skylar Altzan
Age: 24
Description: Short for a male, Skylar stands 5'3". He wears simple garments, a tunic, breeches, and boots. He keeps an oil cloth coat for the rain in a large back pack. He cuts his black hair short himself, not caring his hair is uneven and unkempt. He limps slightly from a childhood injury but nothing that interferes with his day to day life.
Gender: Male
Personality: Open and blunt, Skylar could never be accused of possessing tact. That didn't mean he was rude. He just felt that honesty was the best option amd refused to play those silly social games others indulged in. Life was so much easier that way.
Backstory: All magically inclined, the Altzan family ran several magical shops in the south. He grew up around magic and fell in love with it. He had practiced since he could read his mother's tomes and discovered an easy talent with defensive magics. The more violent ones made him a little queasy. It was this affinity for magic that made them a target for demon worshippers. They were attacked , captured and sacrificed. A few even succumbed. Skylar decided to flee, keeping his magic secret in hopes he would escape. He decided to pass himself off as an explorer, looking to make it rich in the North.
Skills: Skylar specializes in defensive and utility magic. Since his distaste for offensive magics stopped him from learning them, he learned how to use a raiper if he ever needed a way to defend himself without magic. |
7,986 | 211 | 168 | 1,727 | 876 | R-R-Ra-Raven? Stuttered Ivan, climbing closer to the young man and leaning his head on his chest. This was strange. Ivan almost never sought out physical contact. "I-I just vanted to say that... i-if we die, it vas m-my fault. I do not vant you to go to your grave... thinking you let me d-die. I did this, okay?" Ivan hugged his bow close to himself, as if he were afraid it were about to be snatched away. It would be a pity if he never got to bring it back to his father... if he never saw his father again, for that matter.
He remembered what his father told him before he left for the North. "плохие вещи случаются в северных лесах. Будьте осторожны, сын." He supposed his father was right. This whole trip had spiraled into a crazy supernatural disaster faster than he could blink. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,987 | 211 | 169 | 1,876 | 146 | This is by no means all your fault, kid. Don't blame it on yourself. I made a couple bad decisions on the way as well. In fact, it's really the Caravanian's fault. This was all a trap you know. Raven spoke, trying to sound calm. His mind was racing as he said this, trying desperately to think of a way out of the situation. But for the first time, he had nothing. No wild plans, no tricks left up his sleeve, no weak points to punch. He was surprised at first when Ivan got so close to him, but it made sense as despite everything, Ivan WAS still just a scared child. He patted the top of the boy's head, in an attempt to be comforting. He clutched his amulet.
Then he realized something: The stream was probably the best bet for being safe from the mud demon, at least for a while. It couldn't be reached by foot however, and the branch did not go far enough. However... Would the amulet work on a material that wasn't a human being? Could he possibly throw it into the mud to create a patch of ground that the demon could not control? It had worked on cursed items to cleanse them of dark magic. It was worth a shot right? And even if it didn't work, maybe, just maybe, Raven could still get close enough to the water to throw Ivan into it.
"Ivan, I'm about to try something a little ridiculous... Okay, a lot ridiculous. But it logically could work and it means we have some small chance of living. We're not that high up, so jumping isn't going to hurt a man like me. If neither of us survive this... Well, I'll see you in the afterlife in that case. Just get ready to swim okay?" Raven whispered to Ivan. "Also, hold your breath."
Raven flung the anti-magic amulet in front of the tree, just nearby the stream. It landed in a mud puddle that was likely to be possessed. Raven ran to the end of the branch and leaped into said mud puddle (while holding Ivan) where the amulet landed and, with much of his leg length buried in soil, threw Ivan into the water just a few meters ahead. Then he struggled to get out of the mud and into the water himself. That was easier said then done however, because the impact of landing with their combined weights made his legs pretty well wedged into the mud.
Whether or not the amulet works on the mud depends on what the mud is. If it's possessed mud controlled by the demon, it would make sense for it to work. If it's the demon's body and it just happens to look and behave similarly to mud, then it wouldn't work. | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,988 | 211 | 170 | 179 | 5,558 | The amulet, secret weapon as it was, proved uniquely successful. It was successful at the task it was thrown for, yes, and it was also successful at pissing the entity off - immediately after Raven jumped off the tree, the material keeping it in place was sucked out, causing it to fall in Raven's direction. Though an impact would not be fatal given the angle that the tree fell (the main trunk off half a foot from Raven's head), it would certainly make the process of escaping more difficult if he failed to dislodge himself from the mud in time.
-------------—————~~~~~♠~~~~~—————-------------
Craxis watched as Baldur took his leave, looking idly at Regina. "A good end in this case, well, I see not." He stated with a chuckle. "No need for the Hidden, nor Cav, nor much at all. Indeed... not much at all to pull an abyssal into this world. Why you kept that particular book is beyond me, but I thank you for it." He stood up, regarding her one last time. "I did hope it wouldn't come to this, and for his personal flaws, the cultist was a professional. But realize there is no setback, as I can do the job just as easily. It just won't be as quick."
Moving towards the ladder, he stopped as he quickly pulled a mirror off the nearest shelf. "Quisel... I feel two less presences. Have you dealt with them?"
They have gone into the forest. Complications arising. Definate conclusion impossible due to split attention.
"Very well, I'll have Cav and if necessary some Hidden clean matters up. Do what you're doing."
He went back down the ladder with a dismissive glance at the wall of magic. "So they're out?"
Tarizel nodded. "Grabbed their things and are just leaving."
"Good, good." Craxis walked over to the bookshelf. "I'll have this set in- where's the book?"
Tarizel blinked. "What book? The group just grabbed their stuff and left."
Craxis went over to the table. "I had those books laid out, they were there when I went in. Where are they? Where are the materials? You realize I can't summon shit without the materials, right?"
Tarizel frowned, a slight look of weariness coming over his eyes. "You didn't specify anything-"
"And didn't I tell you that all witnesses are to be eliminated? Removed, as I explicitly told Quisel?"
As the caravan master left the room last, Craxis glared at the bookshelf, the table, and the open doorway. "Almost a half dozen witnesses and the entire fucking ritual just picked up and left, along with the book to put it all together. What the fuck did I bring you for? Those scrolls had detailed instructions. The book had every key binding spell in it. If we still had the cultist we'd be able to advance, but you two idiots just let the entire bloody ritual walk away out the door. If Quisel hasn't killed them already, I'll kill them myself, and you fools will be lucky if I don't spoon-feed you to Cav!" He stormed out the door as the two remaining demons looked at each other with helpless shrugs.
The trapdoor to downstairs burst open as a rotted, clawed hand grabbed for traction on the floorboards.
-------------—————~~~~~⧳~~~~~—————-------------
Outside, Craxis stood on the porch, a half silhouette in the thick fog. "Just one moment. Who sent you lot? Who, exactly, told you it was a good idea to steal documentation that you have absolutely no right to?" He crossed his arms with his sword on his back. "A mixed group such as yours is no coincidence. None of you will last 'till nightfall, but return the items you stole and I will deal quick ends and leave your souls as they are." | Please stick your CS into the OOC first, the drop it in here when accepted. If it's got larger images feel free to stick it in a hider, but I don't consider that a requirement.
NPC's will get a mention here with a short description, along with any important roleplay details, but I'm leaving them largely open to interpretation. Most of the time.
Caravan Master - an old, limping, rough and somewhat unpleasant fellow with a record for getting people up north in very good time and having survived trips through weather many don't dare tempt.
Caravan Master's Horse - I figured the poor sod needed a mention somewhere. He's almost as old as the caravan master and twice the pain in the ass. |
7,989 | 211 | 171 | 2,713 | 253 | The fog was as thick as soup outside, but the feeling of dread in that house was even thicker and Jameson was glad to be out of it. "Glad you guys caught on, opened books and trinkets strewn across the table? They had to be related to whatever they have planned for Regina to be studying them. We best look for Raven and Ivan, we'll discuss everything further afterwards once we regroup." said Jameson to the group. "But before we say anything more...", he then turned to look at the caravan master, "...you best explain what's going on, starting with your name." Jameson couldn't believe that after all that has happened, they still had no idea of the caravan master's name.
It wasn't long after Jameson spoke that he heard a voice coming from the house. Judging by the accent, it must've been the one upstairs with Regina. Jameson turned around to listen and examine the figure, from what he could make out from the dense fog, the man doesn't seem like he intends on giving chase which seems awfully suspicious given that he just confirmed that the group had took something important. One thing's for sure - they just angered a really mean demon.
"You guys heard that right? We took something important, but for some reason he isn't coming after us after those threats..." said Jameson quietly as not to be heard by the demon, although they had quite a distance between them, it was better to be safe than sorry. He then quickly turned towards the caravan master, "...unless the threat is already here." | Name: Jameson
Age: is 21, looks 21
Description: Jameson is your typical, run of the mill cowboy-type character, wearing a cowboy hat and a dark long overcoat. He is of average build and height, slightly bearded. He believes in travelling light and sufficient so he carries around a canteen, a knife and machete and 2 flintlock pistols (better safe than sorry he says). He looks worn from all the travelling but has the look of determination of a young man.
Gender: Male
Personality: Jameson keeps to himself most of the time but is a friendly guy who believes that travellers should help each other whenever possible, especially during times like these. However, he wasn't born yesterday and knows when someone is being "overly appreciative" of his kindness. He hates evil of all kind and will do his best to stop them whenever he comes across them in his travels even if it means bending over backwards at times.
Backstory: Jameson is from a land way down south, however he spent most of his adult years travelling and seeking a more meaningful life than tending to the livestock back home. He travelled to many places and has seen many things, but never did he leave the safety and familiarity of his own land. After hearing news of a caravan that brings people north, he decided that perhaps it's time to look for something more foreign to satisfy his adventurous young heart.
Skills: Jameson is no master of combat, but he handles himself well with most types of blades and close combat in general. At range, he is able to fire his strange contraptions gifted to him during his journeys (the pistols) with relative accuracy though at a slow speed. Living off the land for a few years taught him the basics of survival such as foraging and setting up camp from sticks and leaves. Also, he makes the best (nastiest) bug stew. |
7,990 | 211 | 172 | 32 | 217 | So we took stuff. In my opinion, we should just blow it up. Skylar said after listening to the voice from the house. "I mean if anyone here can do that. Fire is really not my department." He clutched the bag tightly in his arms. Worse comes to worse he could try and seal it as best as he could and hope it was enough. Times like these made him wish he'd suffer through combat magic. It just made him too sick.
Now they just had to find Raven and Ivan. At night. In the fog. In the woods. This night certainly wasn't getting any better. | Name: Skylar Altzan
Age: 24
Description: Short for a male, Skylar stands 5'3". He wears simple garments, a tunic, breeches, and boots. He keeps an oil cloth coat for the rain in a large back pack. He cuts his black hair short himself, not caring his hair is uneven and unkempt. He limps slightly from a childhood injury but nothing that interferes with his day to day life.
Gender: Male
Personality: Open and blunt, Skylar could never be accused of possessing tact. That didn't mean he was rude. He just felt that honesty was the best option amd refused to play those silly social games others indulged in. Life was so much easier that way.
Backstory: All magically inclined, the Altzan family ran several magical shops in the south. He grew up around magic and fell in love with it. He had practiced since he could read his mother's tomes and discovered an easy talent with defensive magics. The more violent ones made him a little queasy. It was this affinity for magic that made them a target for demon worshippers. They were attacked , captured and sacrificed. A few even succumbed. Skylar decided to flee, keeping his magic secret in hopes he would escape. He decided to pass himself off as an explorer, looking to make it rich in the North.
Skills: Skylar specializes in defensive and utility magic. Since his distaste for offensive magics stopped him from learning them, he learned how to use a raiper if he ever needed a way to defend himself without magic. |
7,991 | 211 | 173 | 1,876 | 146 | Raven spat and cursed and wriggled about in the mud. His gauntlets were back on, and he furiously punching through swathes of branches and clutching the amulet once more. "Make room for me kid, I'm coming in!" he shouted. Raven pulled himself out of the mud clearly by using the fallen tree for leverage. His boots were sadly unobtainable and remained stuck. With multiple grunts and growls, Raven was able to position himself in the midst of the fallen tree's branches and was atop the trunk. He looked all scratched and battered from the tree assault, and far more angry then he had been before. This was because a combination of pain, desperation, and tiredness had worn his patience down. Now that the gauntleted man was astride the fallen wood, there was but one thing to do. Which was run and jump into the water. This was a slower process then you'd think, because he was walking along a tree's side which was still covered in branches. With some swift punches however, he managed to get close enough to the stream to make a jump into it. There was a loud splash as Raven leaped into the water, and floated on the surface. He looked around, and took Ivan by the arm and held him up to stop Ivan from sinking. He was fairly sure the boy knew how to swim, but this was by no means a gentle, lazy steam. And he couldn't risk putting his feet down at the bottom. So until he had received some sort of confirmation that Ivan was fine staying up without Raven's help, Raven made sure to prevent Ivan from drowning. After all, being thrown can be startling. | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,992 | 211 | 174 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan gritted his teeth to keep himself from shrieking like a little girl as he was plunged into the stream.
Swimming was not a common skill to have in his village, but thankfully Ivan's father had taught him. After a few moments of trying to recover from the sheer startle of being thrown into a rapidly moving bottle of water, he found himself being held up by the arm. "Th-thank you, Raven." He coughed out, taking in frantic gasps of air. "You vere right, this was... what is the word.... stupid. Very stupid. How do you think ve are going to get out!?" He tugged himself out of Raven's grip, slapping the young man across the face. "Mud is all around us! Ve cannot get out, nor can we swim forever! Within the hour, ve vill be out of energy..." | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,993 | 211 | 175 | 1,876 | 146 | Raven didn't necessarily look hurt, but instead seemed offended when Ivan slapped him. "Hey, at least now we're moving kid. But here's a tip: if you're tired, lay on your back. Humans are naturally buoyant. And this water is fast enough to keep us afloat as long as we maximize our buoyancy... And maybe we'll end up somewhere else downstream where the mud creature is not... Okay, you're right. This was a stupid idea. Remaining up in a bloody tree that wasn't going anywhere was a much better plan. A tree which, as you saw, the demon could make fall over. Yep, we'd totally still be alive right now if we just stuck there."
Raven then noticed that without swimming, it was difficult to stay afloat with all the metal stuff he had on including his gauntlets and chain mail jacket. Since Raven knew there was no way he was going to swim all the way downstream, he took these things off and threw them to the side. They landed near the stream. This necessary action only irritated Raven more, as he lay on his back in the water and floated downstream, carried along by the current. | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,994 | 211 | 176 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan stayed where he was, struggling a bit to stay afloat. He was small and very skinny, so he wasn't naturally all that buoyant. He watched Raven floating downstream, and not wanting to be separated from the only companion he had he followed, letting the water pull him downstream. He was still a bit cross with the young man, but he realized in retrospect that doing this was probably the only thing they had left to try. Staying up in the tree and waiting for death wasn't any smarter. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,995 | 211 | 177 | 179 | 5,558 | The Caravan
A Halloween Mini-RP
The House
Craxis stepped aside as Tarizel stepped out on the small porch. "Minus one objective?" Craxis asked, leaning on the wall of the house.
Tarizel nodded. "It appears to be the case. And without the cultist we can't finish the first one. We'll need to make do with the second and third. I know you wanted to be the one to do the summoning... but who knows, maybe we'll find another one of the daughters."
Craxis scoffed. "That'll never happen. We were lucky to find this one."
Sighing, Tarizel stared at the fog, watching as it began to quickly recede. "Grab a cultist and hunt. Second plan."
Craxis nodded. "Second plan." He turned to the mud and spoke to it. "Quisel, desist, clean everything up, and please, find a real body. This isn't a dead forest, you know, have some variety. You're getting as bad as Cav."
Listening to the scratching and scraping inside the house, Craxis shrugged. "Well, Cav is going to be happy. I must admit even I don't want to see what he'll do up there. Lets have a drink, some human things are rather enjoyable." He turned back to the door and began stepping in.
Tarizel nodded. "What about the scrolls? And the book?"
"We'll manage. Let them have their... victory." Craxis stepped in just as a scaled foot vanished through the upstairs trapdoor. "We did plenty. North or South, it doesn't matter. In a year they'll all be the same. No way they could come out anything less than they are supposed to."
-------------—————~~~~~⧳~~~~~—————-------------
Raven & Ivan
The stream carried Raven and Ivan a considerable distance in a short amount of time as the fog began to clear and the sky brightened, revealing freshly wet trees. It was a rather nice scene as they went along.
A few minutes later the sounds of camp rose in the air. Though there was a ledge obscuring view of the surrounding area, the sound of human voices was audible through the trees.
-------------—————~~~~~⧳~~~~~—————-------------
The Main Group
The caravan master said nothing as he walked up the path to the North, trudging slowly through wet mud and muttering in a low tone. The fog had cleared up considerably, and the sky had brightened some as well - by all indication, the worst of the storm had passed, with not a single drop of rain and the frequent sound of drops coming down from the trees. | Please stick your CS into the OOC first, the drop it in here when accepted. If it's got larger images feel free to stick it in a hider, but I don't consider that a requirement.
NPC's will get a mention here with a short description, along with any important roleplay details, but I'm leaving them largely open to interpretation. Most of the time.
Caravan Master - an old, limping, rough and somewhat unpleasant fellow with a record for getting people up north in very good time and having survived trips through weather many don't dare tempt.
Caravan Master's Horse - I figured the poor sod needed a mention somewhere. He's almost as old as the caravan master and twice the pain in the ass. |
7,996 | 211 | 178 | 1,876 | 146 | Raven drifted along, half asleep atop the water. The sound of human voices woke him up fully.
"Hey Ivan! You hear that? Sounds like company. Maybe our companions have set up camp. If they're fine out there, hopefully the demon hasn't followed us. I mean, how far can it really go from it's alter?"
He stepped onto land and pulled Ivan out of the water, sighing contently. "We'll be able to spot any sign of the demon much better now that things are brighter, eh? I'm gonna go see if I can scout out who those voices belong to. Feel free to join me."
Raven crept through the foilage in the direction of the human sounding voices. | Name: Raven.
Age: 19.
Description: Raven has a fairly tall, muscular body. He's six feet and 2 inches in height and his build isn't like that of a bodybuilder, but one can clearly see that he is fairly strong and agile. His clothes consist of a chainmail jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His pants are dark green and have several pockets. His shoes are black boots. He wears clawed gauntlets that have spikes on the knuckles, these are his primary weapons. He also has a amulet on a necklace shaped like a dragon's head that gives him full immunity to unwanted spells, curses, hexes, jinxes, and the like. Although some things can bypass it. (like, a spell that makes an anvil fall on you. The emblem doesn't make you immune to falling anvils, just stuff like death spells, spells that turn him into something else or manipulate his body or mind, curses that make inexplicable bad things happen to him, etc.) his face is fairly slender and smooth as he dies not grow facial hair. His eyes are a bright green and his hair is black and medium length. His eyes are deep and intense looking, or cheerful and jovial looking, or fierce and wild looking, depending on his mood. Raven's skin is pale and smooth.
Gender: Male.
Backstory: Raven was a martial arts student in a city caught up in civil war during his teenage years. However he had a distrust of the military and the government due to some shady things he had evidence of them being up to, such as his friend's sister mysteriously disappearing and reappearing now remembering what happened to her but having injuries showing sighs of interrogation on her body. Not only that, but multiple times guards broke into and searched his private space, when Raven despised. So when he was at the age of 18, and was drafted into war because of his hand-to-hand combat proficiency and healthy body, he ran away from home. Not wanting to join the ranks of the same people who ransacked his room on multiple occasions and taxed the hell out of him as soon as he started his first job as an assistant to the teachers at the martial arts school. Not to mention the possibility of the violent interrogations. All these things were because his city was losing the war, and Raven didn't intend to join a battle that was pointless, a waste of time in the first place, and where his side was about to lose before long anyway. He definitely didn't want to end up dead on the battlefield all because some rich Noble in his city wanted more land and resources. So he fled from the military to head north, hoping to get away from the constant wars and commonly occuring street fights where no bystander was safe. (all the town guards had been appointed into the front lines and the wall defenses. The result? Near-anarchy.) along with other poor conditions. His family was barely connected to him, and his friends had moved on to other cities, became soldiers, or mysteriously disappeared. So with nobody to stay for, raven then left the city altogether and headed north where he found the caravan. Deciding that with his combat training, durable claw weapons, an amulet that was said to help him protect himself from sorcery and the occult, he could be of some assistance to the other travelers and stuck around them because they were likely to have food.
Personality: Friendly, rarely that excited about anything, cheeky and sarcastic at times when someone does something to irritate him, confident, and easily scoffs at romance and sex. He is completely asexual and aromantic with no interest in being more then best friends. He is fairly energetic and optimistic, but will speak his mind when he's tired or the situation isn't good for him for a long period of time. Maybe even a little too much. Sometimes he strokes his own ego about his skill with the combat gauntlets and his athletic capabilities, but Raven rarely puts down the abilities of others and its not especially difficult to earn his respect. Earning his trust is a bit more difficult.
Skills: To sum it up, he is good at hand-to-hand and gauntlets and knives. Good at athletics and agility-based tasks as well. Fairly strong and can take a few hits if he has to. Knows a lot about the anatomy and weaknesses of the human body, and just how to take advantage of them. Also has lots of balancing skills as part of his athleticism. |
7,997 | 211 | 179 | 1,727 | 876 | Ivan followed, creeping along as quietly as he could. He was small and very light, so he was quite good at this. He kept his eyes on the ground, careful not to step on any branches or trip or anything. He remained aware of Raven's presence in front of him, sticking close. | Name: Ivan Levin Mikhailovich
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it. |
7,998 | 211 | 180 | 32 | 217 | So now that you aren't part of the band of evil and horror, Skylar gestured back towards the mansion wearily. "What exactly was going on? I mean you know, what exactly would that ritual do?" Skylar didn't particularly want to know but he needed something to keep him awake and alert. In reality, he just wanted to pass out but this wasn't the place nor the time.
Still fading in and out, he opened the pack and pulled out a random scroll. Reating always helped him focus. He slung his bag on his back, gently placed a hand on Jameson's should wither an apologetic smile, and started to read using Jameson to guide him over the awful terran. PLus, who knows what new magics he might find! | Name: Skylar Altzan
Age: 24
Description: Short for a male, Skylar stands 5'3". He wears simple garments, a tunic, breeches, and boots. He keeps an oil cloth coat for the rain in a large back pack. He cuts his black hair short himself, not caring his hair is uneven and unkempt. He limps slightly from a childhood injury but nothing that interferes with his day to day life.
Gender: Male
Personality: Open and blunt, Skylar could never be accused of possessing tact. That didn't mean he was rude. He just felt that honesty was the best option amd refused to play those silly social games others indulged in. Life was so much easier that way.
Backstory: All magically inclined, the Altzan family ran several magical shops in the south. He grew up around magic and fell in love with it. He had practiced since he could read his mother's tomes and discovered an easy talent with defensive magics. The more violent ones made him a little queasy. It was this affinity for magic that made them a target for demon worshippers. They were attacked , captured and sacrificed. A few even succumbed. Skylar decided to flee, keeping his magic secret in hopes he would escape. He decided to pass himself off as an explorer, looking to make it rich in the North.
Skills: Skylar specializes in defensive and utility magic. Since his distaste for offensive magics stopped him from learning them, he learned how to use a raiper if he ever needed a way to defend himself without magic. |
7,999 | 211 | 181 | 2,713 | 253 | Jameson sighed at the caravan master's silence and wondered what else is he keeping from the group. The caravan master has been helpful all these time but Jameson was still worried about his true allegiance, could he be a spy sent here to monitor them, ordered by their leader through telepathy? Only time will tell. Jameson was hesitant to talk about the group's plans with him around but it doesn't seem like he had a choice, he'll just have to spare details if need be. He then said to Skylar, "I suppose destroying these materials might slow down whatever they have planned, but I doubt it would stop them or else they would've came after us. I think we should learn what we can from them for now."
"No point in asking him too, he doesn't seem like he wants to answer our questions." said Jameson as Skylar placed his hand on his shoulder. He turned to have a look at Skylar and he could tell that he was visibly exhausted which was no surprise, Skylar has been casting spells non-stop in the past hour or so and it's beginning to take a toll on him. Jameson then said to Skylar in a softer tone, "You wanna talk about what happened back there? You were clearly absent and you mentioned an 'Alexander', was he someone you knew?" | Name: Jameson
Age: is 21, looks 21
Description: Jameson is your typical, run of the mill cowboy-type character, wearing a cowboy hat and a dark long overcoat. He is of average build and height, slightly bearded. He believes in travelling light and sufficient so he carries around a canteen, a knife and machete and 2 flintlock pistols (better safe than sorry he says). He looks worn from all the travelling but has the look of determination of a young man.
Gender: Male
Personality: Jameson keeps to himself most of the time but is a friendly guy who believes that travellers should help each other whenever possible, especially during times like these. However, he wasn't born yesterday and knows when someone is being "overly appreciative" of his kindness. He hates evil of all kind and will do his best to stop them whenever he comes across them in his travels even if it means bending over backwards at times.
Backstory: Jameson is from a land way down south, however he spent most of his adult years travelling and seeking a more meaningful life than tending to the livestock back home. He travelled to many places and has seen many things, but never did he leave the safety and familiarity of his own land. After hearing news of a caravan that brings people north, he decided that perhaps it's time to look for something more foreign to satisfy his adventurous young heart.
Skills: Jameson is no master of combat, but he handles himself well with most types of blades and close combat in general. At range, he is able to fire his strange contraptions gifted to him during his journeys (the pistols) with relative accuracy though at a slow speed. Living off the land for a few years taught him the basics of survival such as foraging and setting up camp from sticks and leaves. Also, he makes the best (nastiest) bug stew. |
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