Gethein Deludere RP
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| Author | Topic: Gethein Deludere RP |
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BANNED
Member # 4
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written Monday, December 8 2003 09:44
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SCENE: Dvesti Iron-clad, brown leather boots clomp loudly on the cobblestone walkways. Somewhere distanced from reality in the depths of the hopes and dreams of the fanciful, the sun shines. Alas, descending clouds inhibit the progress of light from the sun, marring the granite spires and stout roofs of the city in a veil of darkness. A grizzly and unshaven head briefly looks up to the sky briefly with the expression of a mendicant before turning back towards the false suns burning in the streetlights, lit on account of the persistent darkness. Nobody roams the streets, and the marketplaces lie complacent in their misuse. The town guards are nowhere to be seen. If dim, electric lights were not lit in the windows of each house on the street, any other spectator would assume that this town was devoid of life. Ahead, the castle reached into the clouds with its five spires in a gesture resembling an open hand stretched upwards into the sky. The small, sleeve-like ramparts were the best-guarded portions of the city, but they too saw little use, filled with less than half of what would be required to defend this city from any major raids. One of the guards pulled a switch without even questioning the approaching, iron-clad warrior strode through the giant, metal gates. Colonel Prcchati was a man who had absolutely no place in his position. His skills in combat were mediocre at best, and his unkept uniform, loose-fitting armor and poorly groomed countenance suggested of his lack of discipline. He entered the military at the unusually premature age of 17 to evade familial pressure to find a job five years before the war broke out. He was promoted to the rank of colonel in a secretarial mishap which to this day remained unbeknownst to all involved. He knocked on the giant, wooden doors of the castle. Noting no response after loitering by the door for a whole ten seconds, Prcchati opened the doors. They were unlocked. The interior of the castle was bare, save for a wrinkled, red carpet and four plain light fixtures lining the walls, two of which had burned out ages ago. The sound of metal on tile sounded from the stairs that lie ahead, as the direct result of a lumbering, overweight man brandishing a polished axe with a keen edge. He had a frizzled beard that reached down to his hairy chest which was revealed by his buttons not being fastened up the entirety of the length of his shirt's seem. He put his silken sleeve up to his large, pimply nose and drew it swiftly across while making a noise that indicated his preference of his sleeve in lieu of a tissue. Prcchati: Hey... You must be a guard of some sort, am I right? Guard: Yeah. Prcchati: I have a plan for General Azzahr. Guard: Hunh? Prcchati: I'll just get it from my pocket here... Guard: Hell, that's okay. I just wasn't informed that you were coming. So, uh... You want to follow me? Prcchati: Well, sure. Guard: Right... The guard turned to his left and began walking down a side corridor while Colonel Prcchati followed impatiently. The hallways was plain, and the walls were lined with plain, iron doors. Occasionally, small pieces of trash would coalesce in small piles towards the periphery of the walls' margins. The guard stopped abruptly in front of a door with a button by it that was at some previous point red before the incessant pressing of smutted fingers rendered it a brackish crimson. Guard: Just press that button over there, and stand in the elevator thingy. General Azzahr will be waiting for you at the bottom, so be sure to press down. Prcchati: You won't be escorting to me to your general? Guard: Well before you came barging in here, I sorta did have an important card game going. Prcchati: Do you really have nothing better to do? Guard: Hell, if you really NEED me to... Prcchati: That's okay, you go back to your game. I'll be fine. Guard: Damn right you will. Don't get lost now, you hear? The guard stomped back the way he came, while Prcchati pushed the finger with his mouth visibly agape by a bare minimum of two inches. Whatever prayers he had for this city's defenses, they would not and could not be answered by the supposedly vaunted royal guard present. The door creaked and halted occasionally as it churned open, but eventually it came to a point where Prcchati could weasel his way in, despite its obvious disrepair. Prcchati pressed the button that he inferred was "down". The "up" label was still present, but the second button was bereft of its "down" label. The door was even less competent as it closed, and Prcchati manually pushed it shut. The ride down made screeching noises that shouted of the imminent collapse this elevator faced. When the elevator stopped, Prcchati was mentally releaved, but the whiplash that the abrupt halt had given him was of no help to his rising stress level. The door opened, revealing a room paved with pale and yellow linoleum, and a plastic table surrounded by wooden chairs dominated the otherwise bare chamber. Sitting in one of the chairs was a man who Prcchati saw as what the ideal General should be. Azzahr wore a thick suit of steel armor, had two pistols and a custom sword hanging from his belt, and wore shining, golden ornaments on his armor. His face was stressed but shaven, and his eyes spoke of a passion to defend Dvesti that Prcchati wished he had himself. As the Colonel approached, Azzahr swiftly raised his head with a surprised look on his face. He rose out of his chair, came to attention, and gave the salute. Prcchati attempted to do the same, but ended up performing a vigrous yet derogatory mockery of his superior's display of discipline. Azzahr was noticably disturbed but pretended to act as if he was unfazed. He extended his armored hand to the colonel as Prcchati approached. The two shook hands briefly. Azzahr: Colonel Prcchati. What good news do you bring me from the war with Corporeus? Prcchati: That is for you to figure out, sir. General Letzttich left me with this message to give to you. He calls it plan "Gethein Deludere". Azzahr: Gethein Deludere...? Prcchati: That's what he told-- Azzahr: What are you waiting for, colonel? Produce the document! Prcchati dug into the pocket of his black trousers, personally selected in order to decieve others of his cleanliness when he soiled himself. He produced a vellum scroll with half of General Letzttich's seal on it, the other having detatched and crumbled in Prcchati's pocket. Azzahr grabbed it eagerly and looked it over. The colonel stood uncomfortably and slouched out for a minute that felt like an eternity. Azzahr: No way... Prcchati: What is it? Azzahr: This is mad. Does he expect us to defend the city with sticks and stones? Prcchati: What the hell is it? Azzahr: Damnit, sit down. Get away from the table, I meant on the floor. Colonel Prcchati sat awkwardly on the floor. Azzahr went to the corner of the room and tore off a poorly-attached slab of linoleum, carrying it by Prcchati. He broke it into many pieces and put the pieces on the floor. He took one of the larger pieces and laid it on the floor down so that the gritty, filth-covered, ridged, black side showed. He took a host of smaller pieces and laid them a few inches away from the large black piece, also face-down. Then, he took three chipped-off morsels of tile and faced them on top of the large, black slab. He placed a large number of tiles in-between the two piles of black ones with the white side up, and then placed a relatively small number of pieces with the white side up ontop of some of the black ones. Azzahr: The 66th Army has none of the famous Glider Ballista that Corporeus prides itself on. Prcchati: Good. So Letzttich is against the 66th Army, eh? Azzahr: Unfortunately, not really. The 66th Army must have met with the 21st Army before approaching Dvesti, because they have fifteen Glider Ballista and enough gliders to send most of their army above our own. Prcchati: So what's the plan? Azzahr: According to this piece of crap? We're supposed to hold off the gliders until 10:00 PM in the evening, while at the same time responding to orders sent by runners to contribute troops to the front. Prcchati: Well, what's the time now? Azzahr: You should have a watch. It's 7:06PM on the minute. Azzahr pauses. While he almost feels like the question shouldn't be asked, he asks anyway. Azzahr: Colonel Prcchati, when did you recieve orders to give me this plan? Prcchati: Hunh? At least an hour ago... Azzahr: Good god, weren't you running? Prcchati: Well I was at first, but I just plain ran out of breath. Azzahr scowls at Prcchati impatiently. Azzahr: Evidently, General Letzttich has neither the ability to compose coherent plans nor the ability to assign competent underlings. Prcchati: Right, right. So what are we going to do? Azzahr: The Glider Ballista take time to set up. According to this note, and assuming that it was written an hour ago at 6:00 PM, the Ballista were just being set up. It takes thirty minutes to prepare one for firing and approximately one minute to set up each rider for take-off. Goddamn-it, you do the math. Prcchati: What's a thousand divided by fifteen? Azzahr: What I'm trying to say is that we have an hour to organize a feasible defensive force! Prcchati: What?! Azzahr: Time to make an instant plan. We have three gun stores in the city, enough to potentially arm one hundred citizens, give or take ten or so. The blacksmith has a surplus of swords and otherwise lethal farming equipment capable of suiting fifty. I'll go to the gunsmiths, you go to the blacksmith, and I won't forgive you if you get lost, you hear me? Prcchati: Okay. So... when do we get go-- Azzahr: You stupid bastard, get on this elevator before I shut it for you! Prcchati, only now not oblivious to Azzahr's going up the elevator, quickly rushes in before the door closes with much screeching and otherwise undue processes. The ride up was silent, as per Azzahr's solemn mood. ---- SCENE: Dvesti, The Last Bar The tavern is mostly silent, with the parasitic rabble-rousing typical to an institution of its nature being ebbed under the circumstances. While the bar is stuffed, few people are talking. Sitting alone at a table is... ---- This is where you introduce yourself. BE AWARE OF THE RULES AND SUGGESTIONS. 1. Characters ARE NOT VALID until they are verified by myself, HENCEFORTH KNOWN AS THE 'Despot'. Suggestions for making feasible characters: * Make the character interesting. This should be obvious, but if you make a character that is nothing but a poorly mapped-out clone of RP cliches, your character will not be accepted. * Keep the character's abilities reasonable in both their scope and proficiency. Magic in this RP is scarce among those who possess it, limited to a few bolts of flame or lightning per day. If your character is a marksman, his skill in the melee is severely limited and vice-versa. Characters can mix-match skills. An example of this would be General Azzahr who possesses both two pistols and a sword, but is skilled only decently in either. * You may have multiple NPCs throughout this RP, but only ONE may be powerful. As an example, I currently have two characters, however Colonel Prcchati has negligible combat skills. 2. RPers whose post quality drops CAN BE ELIMINATED. One pitifully non-descriptive or poorly written IC (acronym for "In-Character) post once in a while may be acceptable, but repeatedly poor posts will have one removed from the RP until further notice and the RPer's character will be claimed by the Despot or assigned to another RPer by the Despot. Apart from being non-descriptive, posts can be the basis for removal if they have no continuity with posts before them, separate plotlines that may develop aside. The first poor post will earn a warning, along with constructive criticisms. The second will often eliminate the RPer. (In the chance that someone is able to post twice in the time span it takes you to post once, that person's posts will be reviewed and yours will receive impunity.) 3. All other rules, stipulations or otherwise unmentioned clauses may be written by the Despot at any time. All decisions made by the Despot are final. 4. NO CROSSOVERS FROM ONE RP TO THE NEXT. Nobody who is directly from the Arena (including 3i/Ablis), Echoes, Ring of Fire, Zombie Attacks 1 *or* 2, Tavern Front, or any other Spidweb RPs I am forgetting. Please realize that these rules exist to provide a quality output for creative energy at a level unprecedented by other roleplays at Spidweb thusfar. This means that "one-paragraph posts" common in the previous Tavern and Zombie RPs will not be tolerated. Effort is encouraged, and talk to me if you disagree with my decision(s). And remember, I don't bite. ^_^ Thanks. EDIT: PS, the colonel's name is pronounced "Pur-cha-tee". [ Monday, December 08, 2003 18:22: Message edited by: Siam Shade ] -------------------- We're all amazed but not amused By all the things that you said you'd do. You're much concerned but not involved by Decisions that are made by you But we are sick and tired of hearing your song, Telling us how you are going to change right from wrong, 'Cause if you really want to hear our views, You haven't done nothin'. Posts: 6936 | Registered: Tuesday, September 18 2001 07:00 |
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Lifecrafter
Member # 3320
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written Monday, December 8 2003 11:18
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While I am not too interested in this one, I openly welcome an RP different from the others. I need to be in one where I don't use magic for once. Therefore, I want to make a request to be in this RP. Here is my character. Name: Brutus Sneed (Nickname): Wild Bill Eye Color: Ice Blue / Hair Color: Dirty Blond Height: 6'2'' / Weight: 200 lbs. Stamina: Average. Gets wild bursts of energy occasionally but is often rather sluggish when not going about daily work in keeping the peace in the town. Build: Semi-muscular. / Demeanor: Varies when in rage. Normal when calm. Weapons: Revolvers and Throwing Knives. Can adapt to the use of anything at hand, but is only skilled well in the above two. Clothing: Dresses like John Wayne in a cowboy outfit. Has a patch over one eye for looks, or at least that is what he tells people. His eye looks abnormal but it somehow developed a strange oddity. It developed with a strong binocular lens, allowing him to see much farther in that eye than the average person. However, at the same time it is light sensitive, so he keeps it covered. He has a ring on his finger inlaid with rubies that he keeps as a memento of a lost love, but refuses to ever explain the story behind it. He wears emerald green-tinted glasses, making the patch look strange. His under shirt is a red brick color while his outside button-down shirt is gray and plain. He wears a blue bandana around his forehead and has long hair down to his mid back in a ponytail. He wears blue jeans mostly but has no misgivings about wearing tan, white, or dark colored khakis. He wears dark red leather boots with steep tips and hidden knives in them. He carries around an oak antique-finished cane that he uses to disguise his perfect health by adding a limp to his standard gait. He wears leather gloves with finger pieces that can be pulled back so he can whip out a gun, pull the trigger with ease, and still manage to keep his fingers warm. Equipment: He carries his paltry belongings around in his backpack and duffel bags. He stores his collection of guns and knives in his cabin home on the side of the nearby Framino Mountain, which he rarely visits due to its location and his brick house in the town. The cabin's unorthodox location on a rocky cliff and the security systems protecting it keep his mind at ease that his collection is safe. All of his weapons and ammo are in that cabin except for the ones he carries around with him. His favorites. His Peacemaker revolvers and his ivory handled throwing knives. He keeps lots of ammo with him in his pack and lives by the phrase, "Shoot now, and ask questions later." He hates swords, but will use one if there are no other weapons at hand. Not skilled in sword use at all. He loves his throwing knives though. He even used to shave using them, but hasn't done so in a while and has a thick dirty blond beard that is rather a lot like that of a Swedish person. I await your permission to be a part of this RP. I will develop his character as I go, and I am very good at that. -------------------- Mrs. Peacock: "Everything all right?" Colonel Mustard: "Yep. Two Corpses. Everything's fine." "Keep your wits about you, the game is afoot!!" - Sherlock Holmes Posts: 935 | Registered: Friday, August 8 2003 07:00 |
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BANNED
Member # 4
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written Monday, December 8 2003 11:59
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Your character is perfectly fine. -------------------- We're all amazed but not amused By all the things that you said you'd do. You're much concerned but not involved by Decisions that are made by you But we are sick and tired of hearing your song, Telling us how you are going to change right from wrong, 'Cause if you really want to hear our views, You haven't done nothin'. Posts: 6936 | Registered: Tuesday, September 18 2001 07:00 |
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Infiltrator
Member # 2940
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written Monday, December 8 2003 12:11
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Defend a city against the Glider Ballista? Mmm...maybe...I guess Kel-Aziz is to melee strong to be in this RP right? He has no magical abilities or defenses whatsoever, but as a former Royal Guard he is an elite warrior and has a neat armour and a pair of great weapons. No?...A thief character maybe? Nickname: Rat. Age: 18 Eye Color: Black. Hair Color: Black. Skin Color: White, somewhat tanned. Height: 1.70m. (I use meter sistem) Stamina: Very energetic and fast, due to the demands of his job. Build: Skiny. Weapons: A pair of daggers. (does not use poison, he is not an assasin.) Clothing: Dresses like a Bum. A bunch of raggs over him, thats pretty much it. Equipment: He always carries a pouch for gold and othe things he may take. Background: He is a little thief known very well by the locals, he has been in the Castles dungeouns more than once. He likes to steal from outsiders and he usualy lives in the basement of a local alchemist called "Leo" who alows him to stay there as long as he collects some alchemy ingredients for him every now and then. Like Rat?...or should I just use Kel-Aziz, your call Despot. -------------------- "I don't want to achieve immortality through my work, I want to achieve it through not dying." Posts: 469 | Registered: Thursday, May 1 2003 07:00 |
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Triad Mage
Member # 7
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written Monday, December 8 2003 12:50
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Lieutenant Abdulhadi sat at the table, his long, droopy mustache floating in his beer. The years had been hard on him, and while he was a good soldier he never had the necessary people skills to command more than a platoon and he didn't have the book smarts to be promoted to an office job. He lived and breathed the trenches and the sulfurous air was doing nothing to keep him going for much longer. Abdulhadi looked up disinterestedly when a young captain rushed into the bar, shouting about something or other. He had tried not to resent the younger men who passed through the ranks quickly, and he now realized that he would never advance beyond lieutenant. He was too dangerous to the new commanders of the military, but he was too well respected to be fired, so they kept him around for his experience and his tactical knowledge. He had resisted the switch to bigger guns and grenades, but he still knew how to use them effectively. Abdulhdai shifted in his seat, fingering his old pistol; its mahogany frame felt cool in his hand. His other hand moved to his belt knife, which he could use to some degree of aptitude. He was a survivor, and a good one at that, but he could never deliver the spectacular results that other single men were capable of. His daughter, Marisa, gave him something to live for, and he could never go all-out anymore without thinking of Marisa, and how she would go on without him. Still, his platoons were always willing to go to Hell and back for him, and his brash manner inspired trust and camaraderie. (OOC: But nobody else knows most of this. They all know him as an older, stubborn lieutenant - a remnant of a past authority.) -------------------- "At times discretion should be thrown aside, and with the foolish we should play the fool." - Menander ==== Drakefyre's Demesne - Vahnatai Did Do It desperance.net - We're Everywhere The Arena - God Will Sort The Dead ==== You can take my Mac when you pry my cold, dead fingers off the mouse! Posts: 9436 | Registered: Wednesday, September 19 2001 07:00 |
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BANNED
Member # 4
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written Monday, December 8 2003 13:04
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Drakey's character is good enough (although there are no "bigger guns" yet). Naz_gul? Your character needs more description. Making him feel alive rather than a random RP stereotype will keep him alive longer than a random RP stereotype. :P -------------------- We're all amazed but not amused By all the things that you said you'd do. You're much concerned but not involved by Decisions that are made by you But we are sick and tired of hearing your song, Telling us how you are going to change right from wrong, 'Cause if you really want to hear our views, You haven't done nothin'. Posts: 6936 | Registered: Tuesday, September 18 2001 07:00 |
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Guardian
Member # 2339
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written Monday, December 8 2003 13:32
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I guess I'll try to join... Name: Courz(Coo-urz) Eye color: Brown Hair color: Black Race: Aztec human Skin color: You should know already, he's an Aztec Weapon: A long wooden spear with a sharp obsidian head with 2 feathers tied right behind the spearhead. Both feathers are white. Class: Eagle warrior Looks exactly like a blue eagle warrior from Age of Empires 2: The Conquerors(Couldn't find a picture.) Personality: Mercenary/Bounty Hunter, Religious Aztec(Speaks english) Skills: Skilled with the spear and dagger(Nothing else), night vision, fast, cunning, and he's good at climbing. Description: He is a quick, merciless warrior. He often uses his speed and cunning to his advantage in a battle. Is he approved? -------------------- This is MY link. Click here,or here for the yoga dance mix!Click here to get to the misc. boards! Attack, icons, attack!THIS PAGE ROCKS!! Vicious virus stalks the web, has already infected over 150 computers: read more! We have tried to not harm anything in the making of this commercial, but we failed miserably. One Small Step for man, one giant leap(SHCKXXXXXX)STOP POKING ME!!! -Starcraft Observers R.I.P-Here lies NSI, may this rp be remembered. Posts: 1779 | Registered: Monday, December 9 2002 08:00 |
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BANNED
Member # 4
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written Monday, December 8 2003 13:55
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Aztecs? My god, did you even take the time to read my initial post? I'd like to think you'd have the decency to adhere to the culture and tech level. And plus, he's horribly under-described. If I didn't accept Naz_gul's, there's no way in all seven hells I'm accepting yours. -------------------- We're all amazed but not amused By all the things that you said you'd do. You're much concerned but not involved by Decisions that are made by you But we are sick and tired of hearing your song, Telling us how you are going to change right from wrong, 'Cause if you really want to hear our views, You haven't done nothin'. Posts: 6936 | Registered: Tuesday, September 18 2001 07:00 |
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Guardian
Member # 2339
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written Monday, December 8 2003 14:12
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What about an Aztec descendent? And what culture are you talking about? What, he has to have a gun!? OK, I've got a better description: A fit man wearing blue shorts(With a ring tied around both legs with 2 feathers tied to them.), a ring around both shoulders with 2 feathers tied to them, a T-Shirt, a hollow helmet that looks like an eagle head, with the lower beak and the front of the neck missing(The Upper beak just above his eyes.), a pair of blue moccasins. [ Monday, December 08, 2003 14:20: Message edited by: Zephyr Tempest ] -------------------- This is MY link. Click here,or here for the yoga dance mix!Click here to get to the misc. boards! Attack, icons, attack!THIS PAGE ROCKS!! Vicious virus stalks the web, has already infected over 150 computers: read more! We have tried to not harm anything in the making of this commercial, but we failed miserably. One Small Step for man, one giant leap(SHCKXXXXXX)STOP POKING ME!!! -Starcraft Observers R.I.P-Here lies NSI, may this rp be remembered. Posts: 1779 | Registered: Monday, December 9 2002 08:00 |
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Shaper
Member # 517
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written Monday, December 8 2003 14:39
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Delgar stood up, and leaned out of his window. How was he to finish the accounts with all this noise? 'Hey! You there! Quiet it down!' The interlocutors below ignored him completely. 'It can't be!' 'Don't waste my time. It is, and that's all.' 'But what about the army? What about Letzttich?' 'Who knows? I don't. But this much is true: Glider Ballistas will be dropping troops into the city within the hour. They're calling for anyone who can shoot to come to the gunsmiths for an emergency defense. I know you can shoot. Come on.' The two move on, but the noise outside only increases. People are running here and there-panicking people, soldiers, and members of the very newly-formed militia. Delgar shrank back from the window. Turning to his desk, he quickly picked up his papers, returned them to the safe on the wall, and locked it, restoring the disguise charm. Then he descended, and ran to his storeroom. The trouble with being a wine merchant, he reflected glumly, is that when your city is invaded, you won't keep your stock past the end of the day. Jamerson down the road with his carpentry-how I laughed...and look who's laughing now... Looking around, he saw his private weapon stash. Three swords, one strictly ornamental, one a great useless cavalry sabre that had belonged to his grandfather, and his own sword...not that he was any great swordsman, but he knew how to hold a rapier, and that was often all that was required. Delgar looked briefly at the ancient musket, but he wasn't even sure he knew how to load it, let alone which end to stand when you fired the thing. The pistol, however, was worth taking. A very new model that had cost him slightly more than he would have liked to spend on it, the thing gave him six shots before he had to reload, although the process of reloading had taken Delgar several minutes the one time he'd tried it. If he got up close enough, he couldn't miss, and a hit just about anywhere was enough to deal with an enemy. With a bit of luck, he'd be able to do his share. Maybe his wine cellars would still be full the next day. Buckling the rapier carefully inside his cloak, and concealing the pistol in an inside pocket, he locked up his storeroom and house and proceeded, rather cautiously, to the gunsmith's. OOC: Although I've hardly alluded to it, Delgar is an illusionist. He's capable of making himself invisible and creating an illusory double, although that's about the limit of what he can do at once, and he can't keep it up for too long (read: a five-ten minute period is OK, but not much longer too regularly.) And no, he isn't a good shot at all with the pistol, although he can use the rapier to a reasonable degree of proficiency (and he only needs to go invisible for a few seconds to take someone down with it, after all.) -E- -------------------- Let them eat cake! Polaris Boards: The System is Up. Perennially. Posts: 2314 | Registered: Tuesday, January 15 2002 08:00 |
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BANNED
Member # 4
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written Monday, December 8 2003 15:23
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Omlette's character is fine. Zephyr... Please, more descriptiveness. I've put in better paragraphs for Arena entries. What is his personality like? How does he fight? How good is he at fighting? What is his background? What does he look like (because really, the description you gave was somewhat shallow)? I'd suggest using a Thesaurus. Whenever you want to use an adjective, see if there's a more descriptive way to say articulate (pun intended). EDIT: Oh yeah, and having a gun isn't required. It's just that this RP does not take place in the time of the Aztecs, so logically one would NOT BE AROUND. This nullifies both of your characters. You might be able to make a strained explanation for having a native-like person, but having someone from a specific Earth civilization is explicitly not allowed. [ Monday, December 08, 2003 15:28: Message edited by: Siam Shade ] -------------------- We're all amazed but not amused By all the things that you said you'd do. You're much concerned but not involved by Decisions that are made by you But we are sick and tired of hearing your song, Telling us how you are going to change right from wrong, 'Cause if you really want to hear our views, You haven't done nothin'. Posts: 6936 | Registered: Tuesday, September 18 2001 07:00 |
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Law Bringer
Member # 2984
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written Monday, December 8 2003 15:29
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Zephyr. If you'll look closely at the characters that were accepted, and the characters that weren't, you'll notice the 'unwritten' requirements. If you still don't see, here, let me show you: (*notices that TM has in the meantime already explained to Zephyr how to make a char description. Well, this example was fun to make, anyway.) ((what's he going to do now, participating in an RP with one week to go to semester finals in the Senior high school year?!? Anyway. I'll do this one IC just to keep in practice.)) If I was wrong in deducing and this kind of character won't get me in, feel free to laugh. Razrocc Onallas Yeshri, called "Roy" by his friends, was in a glum mood. Again. There's not much else to choose from in the way of moods when you're sitting in a bar trying to drown yourself in noxious beverages. Which was almost precisely, if figuratively spoken, what Roy was doing ? and had been doing every day for nearly a week now. The events that had led to him taking up that particular pastime, normally distasteful to him, was a long story that applied, in one version or another, to half the glum unemployed mercenaries in any pub and as usual had to do with his last employers. Roy was a sorcerer. At least that's what his kind liked to call themselves. They were probably as far from the sorcerers of fable as energy rays were from crossbows, but the same principle applied. The comment on all his identification and employment references was "Specialist on Mental Matters". Nowadays the people were as scared of his kind as they had been in those days, and they preferred not to speak of such things outright. But it was enough to take one look at him to recognize him as a Psi-wielder. The stature alone, tall, his frame narrow to the point of being skinny, his skin so unweathered that nobody could mistake him for a fighter. Unbelievably long, slender fingers. A lot of shoulder long very dark hair hung down from his head, falling down onto his neck, onto a long black robe with the hood pulled back. There was a deep, enigmatic expression on his face, even in this mood, with the evening already half sunk in drinking. His dark black eyes, standing out in his pale narrow face might be slurred by the intoxication, but they were still piercing as Roy gazed at every single detail of the bar in turn just to keep occupied. His thin, but dark brows creased as he frowned again, remembering with irritation his last employment. A routine job, they had said, and it had turned out to be. But as many who doubted or denied the power of Psi users, there were at least as many who overestimated them. It would have been a standard mission, but the people who had hired him had made him out to their superiors like some magical wonder machine that would walk alone into the heart of the fray and cut down with ease anything that opposed him. So they had hired no one else, saving almost nine tenths of the budget. As an apprentice advanced not even to the fifth tier, Roy was far from what could be called powerful. He could shield, he could read thoughts as long as the opponent was not skilled at the powers himself, and he could throw a small blast to incapacitate opponents, which he could precisely adjust in strength to do anything from mildly confusing to concussing or even killing. That and a minor talent at telekinesis, which allowed Roy to be somewhat adept at picking locks, was all he had been equipped with when he had faced his task. What had happened could have been expected. Roy managed to accomplish in part what he had been instructed to do, but had to retreat in the end. The contract cancelled, Roy had lost all of his pay except for the meager advance payment. Which he was now, bit by bit, soaking in what passed for booze in here. He had heard the rumors as well of course. The city was said to be liable to be attacked any day now. Well, so the much better for him; he might at last get a chance at some pay again. Accepted? :) I might have to drop out suddenly due to work pressure, but I'll give advance notice in that case. [ Monday, December 08, 2003 15:32: Message edited by: Arancaytar ] -------------------- "And all should cry, Beware, Beware! His Flashing eyes, his Floating hair!" S. T. Coleridge --- "It is as if everyone had lost their sense Consigned themselves to downfall and decadence And a wisp it is they have chosen as their beacon." Reinhard Mey. --- Quote of the Week: "I have a high opinion of myself, which makes up for my total lack of intelligence." Anon. Posts: 8752 | Registered: Wednesday, May 14 2003 07:00 |
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Guardian
Member # 2339
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written Monday, December 8 2003 16:32
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My characters, TM? The new description was of the same character. Are ALL the RPs going to take place on Er....errrrr.....was it called Ermarian? Here we go again: Name: Courz(Coo-Urz) Gender: Male Class: Warrior Species: Human Attributes: Skilled with the lance(He carries a light, good lance), he doesn't mave much skill in any other weapons, night vision, fast and cunning. Not afraid to scratch and bite if he needs to. Description: His full name is Courz Zyrt Hiquay(Coo-urz Zie-ert Hee-kway). He is often called "Cat", because of his agility and night vision. He is a tall person at 6 ft. 6". He has short, thick brown hair and brown eyes. There is a scar on his right eye running from just above his eyebrow, across his eyelid, and down onto his right cheek. His eyes glow like a cat's when it's dark, making it creepy to see him when it's very dark. He is fit and wears leather armor(An aqua color, too.), and aqua pants. He wears a leather helmet(Also aqua). He wears mocassins and has a tower shield. Equipment: See description, he also has a rope, a bag of gold, and a pair of healing and curing potions. Personality: He often uses his cunning and swiftness to his advantage. He is a shifty and shy person(And a mercenary). When in battle he always has his shield out to block blows, and of course, it keeps him safe while he stabs the heck out of his opponent with his lance. Has he been approved? [ Monday, December 08, 2003 16:36: Message edited by: Zephyr Tempest ] -------------------- This is MY link. Click here,or here for the yoga dance mix!Click here to get to the misc. boards! Attack, icons, attack!THIS PAGE ROCKS!! Vicious virus stalks the web, has already infected over 150 computers: read more! We have tried to not harm anything in the making of this commercial, but we failed miserably. One Small Step for man, one giant leap(SHCKXXXXXX)STOP POKING ME!!! -Starcraft Observers R.I.P-Here lies NSI, may this rp be remembered. Posts: 1779 | Registered: Monday, December 9 2002 08:00 |
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Law Bringer
Member # 335
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written Monday, December 8 2003 16:42
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Kuhr Ahurav muttered to himself as he stalked through the arsenal, eyeing the guns distrustfully. He had checked them all earlier that morning, but it was so hard to trust his assistants. They didn't have proper respect for a fine piece, not at all. Why, just a week ago they'd tried to teach some poor infantryman how to shoot and nearly gotten him killed loading it wrong! Incompetence, everywhere. A guard interrupted his vengeful thoughts about ramming a priming rod down his assistants' throats. "Sergeant, sir? The Gliders will be attacking soon. We need all the guns you have." Kuhr sighed. It was what the guns were for, but he almost worried more about their fates than the soldiers who would fall. Idiots were a copper a dozen on the front lines, but a fine weapon and good powder horn were hard to come by, especially in this dump of a city. "Send the men in. I'll see to it that they're properly outfitted. And by all that's holy, make sure you at least give me men who know how to load!" The messenger saluted and left. Kuhr lifted a bandolier laden with a very fine brace of pistols and an ample supply of bullets and powder and buckled it on over his immaculate uniform. He adjusted it, ran a hand through his close-cropped hair that was black under its coating of gunpowder, and straightened his shoulders in a hopeless attempt to make his compact build look more intimidating. With one last glance at the fading bilious yellow walls of the arsenal and a feeling approaching nostalgia in his heart, he waited for the first requests for armaments. And after all too short a time, he knew, his guns would all be gone and he would have to report for duty. He was not a religious man, but he prayed fervently that no incompetent bureaucrat would assign him to a position entirely unsuited to his skills. It would be just like the military nabobs to waste his talent just like they wasted the potential of firearms in favor of the clearly outmoded melee weapons of yesteryear. —Alorael, who hopes that the character is clear. For those who can't follow or can't be bothered to read, Kuhr is a supply sergeant and gun lover. He knows how to use them, how to care for them, and even how to repair them in a pinch. Posts: 14579 | Registered: Saturday, December 1 2001 08:00 |
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BANNED
Member # 4
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written Monday, December 8 2003 17:59
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Zephyr, your character needs to be alive more. Giving him a personality in more than two words would be nice. Oh yeah, and this RP does NOT take place on Ermarian, and potions are not allowed. Arancaytar and Alorael are both accepted. (Aran's in particular was interesting, due to its German-influenced idiosyncrasies.) -------------------- We're all amazed but not amused By all the things that you said you'd do. You're much concerned but not involved by Decisions that are made by you But we are sick and tired of hearing your song, Telling us how you are going to change right from wrong, 'Cause if you really want to hear our views, You haven't done nothin'. Posts: 6936 | Registered: Tuesday, September 18 2001 07:00 |
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Bob's Big Date
Member # 3151
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written Monday, December 8 2003 18:18
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Name: Xao Lena. Or, in European format, Lena Xao. (Inexplicably pronounced more like Jao than Xao.) Eyes: Green Hair: Orange, gray streaks. Unkempt. Race: Ermarian human. Skin color: Very, very pale. Height: 5'11". Build: Thin. Weapon: TnOcka-15's clockbow -- think the love-child of an M-16 and a repeating crossbow and you wind up with this. General Role: Command / Combat Support Attire: Wears a dark khaki uniform -- calls the color butternut, though -- with quite a few obscure medals, along with a cape and a gas helmet. Personality: Laid-back but domineering; silver-tongued and eloquent, despite a slight accent we'd call an odd portmanteau of Dutch and Japanese. Has a long memory, especially for any sort of perceived slight, and an adventurous but pensive character. Skills: Has an extreme degree of control over people; the sort of person who would invariably have been a fascist dictator had the cards played just a tad differently. Oh, and she isn't too shabby with the clockbow or vehicles, either. Description: Those who meet her in person generally consider her irresistably attractive despite the fact that she's not particularly beautiful. At present, she seems rather happy with the state of affairs, and those who know her well don't tend to be in a hurry to make her unhappy about things. [ Monday, December 08, 2003 18:21: Message edited by: USA-se Xenerali-boariku CUSITURA ] -------------------- In a word, gay. --Bob the Impaler Posts: 2367 | Registered: Friday, June 27 2003 07:00 |
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Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
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written Monday, December 8 2003 18:19
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"Hey! You! Ever fired a gun? We need a militia, we're being attacked!" Khalhudra turned in suprise to look at the man shouting beside him. He had heard rumors in the inns, of course, but if inn rumors were true, then there were pink trees in the doctor's courtyard, cats could fly, and most of the world was, quite literally, on fire. Years of sitting in the corner listening to bar talk had dulled Khalhudra's ears a bit; the only words that had any real effect on him anymore involved money. But this man standing in the middle of the alley was wearing an official military-type uniform, and seemed sober. "Well, I've hunted rabbits a bit, and -" started the rustic-looking man, as Khalhudra stopped to watch. "Good. Could you hit one on that wall over there?" asked the military man, pointing. "Well, maybe, if -" "Right then! Follow me!" Now intrigued, Khalhudra started off after the military man and his new recruit. "Wait! Sir!" The military man looked around. "Sir!" Khalhudra finally caught the man's eye. "Yes? Don't waste my time!" "You need able-bodied militia men?" "Didn't you hear me? We're being attacked!" "I heard! Watch." Khalhudra's hand want to a long dirty leather bag at his belt, fingers brushing the small money pouch on the way, by force of habit. In the folds of his cloak Khalhudra's hand found a bruised leather hilt. In a sweeping motion, he drew the blade from the bag; the military man let out an involuntary gasp. The sword wasn't the best, but it was far more than he had expected on such a man. Khalhudra flourished the blade and began a complex sword dance, a flickering light of joy in his deep brown eyes; the military man and his recruit drew back, astonished. Khalhudra advanced on a wooden pole and began hacking at it, slicing with a speed that could come only from years and years of practice. His dark green hood fell back, revealing long brown hair down to his shoulders. "Hey! What are you doing!" The merchant whose stall was under attack came over, yelling. "You'll knock it down! Hey! Stop!" The military man quickly stepped forward and grabbed Khalhudra's arm. "Can you fire a gun?" "Yes, if I must," replied Khalhudra; the recruit noted the change in his voice with surprise. "Come with me then, both of you." Smiling insanely, Khalhudra sheathed the sword, again with a flourish, and fell in behind the military man. Still with a suprised look in his eyes, the recruit fell back behind him. "What was that all about? The sword dance and all -" "I've been practicing that for years. I've never done it in public before." "It was beautiful, really glorious; but can you actually fight with that thing, or just show off?" Khalhudra's eyes darkened a bit at that. "I can kill if I must," he replied, fingering the hilt. "It wouldn't be the first time..." He trailed off, and the recruit shut his mouth. "Sir, where are we going?" Khalhudra asked. "To war," the military man replied, with a smug smile. "I meant... never mind," muttered Khalhudra, realizing how rediculous it would be to criticize this man for being melodramatic after his little display back at the market. One thing he knew, other than swordplay, was that in times of war, the soldier can become a rich man very quickly. He absently stroked the money pouch and jogged after the recruiter. -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon TEH CONSPIRACY IZ ALL Les forum de la chance. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
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BANNED
Member # 4
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written Monday, December 8 2003 18:21
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New stipulation (I'm adding this to the top)- No direct cross-overs from one RP to the next. Nice try, though! -------------------- We're all amazed but not amused By all the things that you said you'd do. You're much concerned but not involved by Decisions that are made by you But we are sick and tired of hearing your song, Telling us how you are going to change right from wrong, 'Cause if you really want to hear our views, You haven't done nothin'. Posts: 6936 | Registered: Tuesday, September 18 2001 07:00 |
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Bob's Big Date
Member # 3151
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written Monday, December 8 2003 18:22
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Direct crossovers? Bah. Who said Lena was Aixoan? :P (What I'm saying is that Lena Xao here doesn't have to behave like Lena Xao there, or Lena Xao elsewhere. It's just a name and a face and a bit of background, really, that doesn't take particularly hard effort to transplant.) [ Monday, December 08, 2003 18:23: Message edited by: USA-se Xenerali-boariku CUSITURA ] -------------------- In a word, gay. --Bob the Impaler Posts: 2367 | Registered: Friday, June 27 2003 07:00 |
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BANNED
Member # 4
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written Monday, December 8 2003 18:26
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Sir David's character is somewhat borderline, but I'll accept him. -------------------- We're all amazed but not amused By all the things that you said you'd do. You're much concerned but not involved by Decisions that are made by you But we are sick and tired of hearing your song, Telling us how you are going to change right from wrong, 'Cause if you really want to hear our views, You haven't done nothin'. Posts: 6936 | Registered: Tuesday, September 18 2001 07:00 |
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Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
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written Monday, December 8 2003 18:52
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Thank You, O Grand and Glorious Despot :P Seriously. Umm, also, when should we start in on more than character description type posts? -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon TEH CONSPIRACY IZ ALL Les forum de la chance. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
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BANNED
Member # 4
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written Monday, December 8 2003 19:04
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We've got plenty of people here, I'll probably set the first story arc in motion soon- within a day or two. -------------------- We're all amazed but not amused By all the things that you said you'd do. You're much concerned but not involved by Decisions that are made by you But we are sick and tired of hearing your song, Telling us how you are going to change right from wrong, 'Cause if you really want to hear our views, You haven't done nothin'. Posts: 6936 | Registered: Tuesday, September 18 2001 07:00 |
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Shake Before Using
Member # 75
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written Monday, December 8 2003 19:06
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So the rumours at The Last Bar are true. Good... Perhaps my wanderings will soon come to an end... An imposing figure, taller and broader than most men, walked through the streets of Dvesti, garnering some strange looks from the townsfolk, but not many. Clothed as he was in rags, albeit rags that covered his entire body, even wrapped around his hands and feet, and a helmet of beaten bronze that covered his face, with only small, crosslike openings for the eyes, he seemed an outlandish sight at first, but one that the townsfolk had gotten used to over the last fortnight that he had been staying in the city. A long, dirty ponytail of grey hair came out from the back of his helmet, swishing around his waist as he walked slowly around, looking. He had never been seen unclothed by any of the village people - he would always take his food back to the room which he had rented the day he arrived in town. Suddenly, his glancing around stopped, as he sighted an army officer and walked up to him, then cleared his throat. "I... I..." "State your piece and move along! I've got no time for this!" He coughs again, then speaks. "I would like to... offer my arms, my whips, my spirit, and my life to this city, may it use it to defend itself however it may." "A bit overdramatic, but you're saying you'll help us? If so, then you'll need a gun... or swords... which are you better with, then? Gun or..." "I... would prefer to use my whips." He takes two strange red rods, each with a black tip to them, shaped like a rose, out of a tattered piece of fabric that held them much like a belt would on a normal man's outfit, and suddenly tosses the one in his left hand high into the air. Quickly, he raises his right arm, and with a flick of his wrist, the tip launches off, a cord flying behind it. The tip curls back towards the earth just as it passes the rod thrown in the air, causing it to strike the rod back to the earth, where it lands in the dirt in front of the man. He kneels and picks up his other whip, and with a twitch of his thumb retracts the head of the one he had used. "Forgive me... I am... out of shape... for I had meant to catch it as it came down." "That's alright, that's alright. Move along now to the militia station over there, we can use able-bodied men..." The recruiter then turned and strode off, in search of more recruits. Meanwhile, the fighter wreathed in rags turned, seemed to sigh, and walked towards the militia station. I was not expecting a... warm greeting... and it seems as if I got exactly what I had expected... and deserved. Posts: 3234 | Registered: Thursday, October 4 2001 07:00 |
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BANNED
Member # 4
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written Monday, December 8 2003 19:18
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Imban's character is fine, as long as it doesn't turn into some microcosm of an 3i character. :P -------------------- We're all amazed but not amused By all the things that you said you'd do. You're much concerned but not involved by Decisions that are made by you But we are sick and tired of hearing your song, Telling us how you are going to change right from wrong, 'Cause if you really want to hear our views, You haven't done nothin'. Posts: 6936 | Registered: Tuesday, September 18 2001 07:00 |
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Bob's Big Date
Member # 3151
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written Monday, December 8 2003 19:24
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"Be diplomatic about it," came what she was sure would be the last words she'd ever hear from her father. She wasn't so sure about this mission; lately the Houlenu Republic had sent her out, along with all of its neo-aristocrats, to negotiate trade deals with minor nations, bordering on savages -- some of them more so. But even they were more progressive than the latest assignment. Am empire -- an honest-to-God kingdom (the idiom passed through her head without her really pausing to reflect on it; the house Xao was, like most of the Houlenu aristocrats, thoroughly agnostic.), which had managed to get weapons easily as modern as their own. The Teirenpova were master smiths, but they only produced things like the gun she kept in pieces in an alto-cello case when the Republic fed them the designs and gave them a generation to work on them. And indeed, the gun was something of a cipher to the world -- the only thing a man could decently carry with a cyclic rate quite so large, only a slight downward step from the crank-rifle, and an innovation that couldn't seem to be properly downsized to the level of a bullet gun. Too bad for this little kingdom -- little indeed, although the term 'city-state' left a foul taste in the mouth of anyone who would expect city-states only to encompass a single city -- that they couldn't and wouldn't try to refine on their weapons. The Houlenu had offered them weapons, but they adamantly refused, insisting on inane schemes like glider troops. Oh well. More's the loss for them. She was at least glad the ship that would be taking her there was Houlenu, along with a great many of its inhabitants; she couldn't let her hair down in the majority of the world as the Houlenu allowed (in some senses quite literally), and she would sorely miss the country as soon as she left it. --- A month or two later, a port in the south of the kingdom. "This couldn't be a worse all-buggered excuse for a diplomatic putoff," said the man next to her. Black hair, olive skin, breath smelling of potato whiskey -- Teirenpova. But he spoke wonderful, soothing Houlenu, as his people tended to; the sort of accent that would have thrown her into some man's arms if anything could. "It's so damn close to the front that we're liable to get shelled if things go any worse. To make matters worse, it's the rainy season in this part of the world. I took along the family rifle just to be sure, but I'd feel a whole lot safer with a revolving Haiyugo than this old single-shot piece of junk." Lena's enigmatic smirk while she tapped the alto-cello case told him all he needed to know. He grumbled out a few profanities in Teirenpova even she recognized as accented and rusty. As if to underscore his earlier point, the sharp crack of an explosion reverberated through the harbor. Someone groaned, and half of the people on board the ship hit the deck, a clear sign of combat experience. Others just milled around or, worse, jumped out of the damn boat. Even without combat experience, Lena doubted that being in the ocean in late winter in this miserable part of the world could do anyone much good from a tactical perspective. Reading her thoughts, the Teirenpovo -- they had separate names for men, women, and children of each persuasion, for some reason that had never occurred to Lena -- clucked his tongue angrily. "Damn fools," he said, and she nodded. --- It was another month later that she made it to the city where the fighting would enter her life first-hand. She had run into a corps of brigands from the Armja Corpuritska -- that's what they called themselves, anyway, no matter how the kingdom whe was supposed to be attached to pronounced or spelled it -- who thoroughly ransacked all of their possessions. She turned out to be lucky; there was a Houlenu traveling with their convoy who was a genuine musician, carrying a Xelaiki violin -- the Xelaiki didn't carry theirs whole, but rather carried the parts in a jumble and assembled them on the spot. The brigands clearly couldn't tell a Xelaiki fiddle from a hole in the ground, so when they came to her clockbow, they didn't give it any second thought; the sign she carried said Foreign Musician in four-inch letters, not Foreign Combatant. It was later that day she donned the Houlenu Officers Corps uniform, padded in strategic locations to ward off glancing blows that would otherwise be lethal, but generally comfortable to move and fight in. Better to stand a fighting chance and look like a guerilla than get shot in the back wearing a thin blouse. Fate is petty, they said in Houlenu, and they didn't know the half of it. It was soon thereafter that she found herself in the company of, and indeed fighting with, guerillas. Portions of the country were occupied by nothing but bands of foreign troops, portions she neeeded to cross to get to that city on any kind of time. Before she left, she was instrumental in badgering several troops convoys. When she left the guerillas in friendly territory, she took with her a greatcoat -- she didn't really need it, being as how she scoffed at what the natives called cold, but at least it changed the odd stares she got from people who saw her uniform from being about her being obviously a foreign national to being about her being obviously a woman. That she could handle; she had been in enough of the savage little despotic nations where the men ruled the roost and the women were to be seen and not heard to get used to that kind of attitude. She walked into the Last Bar at the same time as the recruiter. With a sneer, he demanded to know exactly what she thought she was doing taking her games of dress-up to him. "Representing the Republic of Houlenu as a military attaché, of course." He blanched a little at that. She loosened the top button of her greatcoat just enough for the Steel Saltire to peek out. "Fine, fine. Can you fight?" She scowled. "I'm more of a leader than a fighter..." "We have plenty of leaders without involving foreigners." Another dirty look. "...BUT I happen to have a weapon I doubt any of your forces will be able to match." "What kind of weapon?" "Bolts, standard-sized." The man gave a loud, indignant cough. "Firing rate forty-five per minute." At that, the cough stopped midway through, and he just stared at her. "Forty-five per minute. Forty-five bolts." "I am sorry. I am aware I have an accent -- or is it that you have a hearing impediment? Yes. Forty-five shots per minute." "Well. You might as well come along, then, but see to dusting that greatcoat off a little. It's in a shameful state." (The personality isn't too similar :P ) [ Monday, December 08, 2003 19:47: Message edited by: USA-se Xenerali-boariku CUSITURA ] -------------------- In a word, gay. --Bob the Impaler Posts: 2367 | Registered: Friday, June 27 2003 07:00 |