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    1. Leonerdo 10 yrs ago

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Hi, welcome to RPG. Before you get accustomed, familiarize yourself with the local vocabulary: "Freebies" "Filthy Casuals" "AdvancED" Now go get 'em tiger.
<Snipped quote by Jonnyh447> Bro calm down. Nick is about as harmful as a de-clawed anorexic kitten with osteoporosis. He found it genuinely funny because I get mad all the time for the dumbest reasons (reasons that not even I understand sometimes).
It's the whoremones.
Kane Bounevialle
When the centaur refused to be taken into custody, it only made the tension build in the alley. Oscar's normally joyful face had turned serious and Kane's expression and poise sank from a dignified to grim, albeit woeful of the coming altercation that would soon arise. He was fortunately proved wrong following the centaur's resignation, and the air itself no longer seemed to weigh a ton as it did before. The two guardsmen relaxed, and Kane rested his spontoon on his shoulder, where Oscar simply sat the bottom of the shield on the ground and leaned against it, once more adopting his silly grin. “Fine!” Said the centaur as he threw his hands down. “Bloody marvelous!” Oscar chimed, beaming a proud smile at Kane. Kane, now feeling relaxed, briefly sighed to himself and looked to Oscar with mild amusement. “But tell me,” the centaur continued, prompting Kane to look back at him, “what is your name? And why won't your pathetic king allow Kuruk or the guards to fight the Legion head on?” Kane would have surrendered a guilty smile were he not on duty. Pathetic king. If there was any one thing in which he could consider himself alike to the brute before him, it'd be their mutual disdain for the king of Talbor. “I am Sir--” 'Damn, I'm still doing that.' “...Captain Kane Bounevialle of the G-2 Maceron guard division. Alongside me is one of my men, Oscar Gene.” Kane answered with a salute, a fist pressed squarely in the center of his armored chest. Oscar, with his smile, followed suit. “I cannot say for certain what the king's motivations are... but the guards and the walls surrounding Maceron is this city's last line of defense, and therefore, are requiring of fortification. The soldiers in Talbor's armies are the offensive branch of this country's military, and are making preparations to mount an offensive as we speak. You are free to fight the Legion as you please, outside the name of Talbor. Though due to their superior numbers and weaponry, that would be foolish.” “In layman's terms,” Oscar added, “we're working on it. You can throw as many rocks at the Legion as you'd like.”
You fucking ruined it.
...if somebody wants to interpret their actions in a different way than you intended them then, just like real life, that's their prerogative and you shouldn't let it bother you. ...
Nobody realizes this often enough, I swear to god. This. This is so, incredibly important. Characters perceive words and actions in different ways because of their differing experiences, values, and beliefs. The fact that so many people don't intentionally make their characters misinterpret a phrase or action really makes it hard to get sucked into the setting. A lot of roleplayers make it feel like the story you're in is a game that you're supposed to try to win.
Playing with more experienced writers is oft the best way to improve.
Kane Bounevialle
The centaur had stomped one of his hooves defiantly against the brick-layed road, snorting in exasperation, and indignant in his posture. This was certainly not a good thing. While Kane kept his poise and Oscar reacting in little more than raising his eyebrows in interest – John, in the back, was slightly anxious; his dominate hand had one of his fingers twitching. It shown to his captain that John was all ready to go in case the situation went south. They all were. “So you say I can't fight yet?!” The centaur argued. “Now you're saying I can't fuck either?! Maybe I should get some new armor?!” Kane found Kuruk staring at him smugly. Kane looked down at his own armor and back to the centaur. The corner of Oscar's mouth smirked as he briefly glanced at his captain. Kane maintained his stoic demeanor and his expression has not changed a sliver. “Fighting, brawling, pugilism...” Kane began, “violence and assault of any sort, as well as acts of public lascivia, is not tolerated within the walls of Maceron, as decreed by the king of Talbor. If you do not cooperate with the G-2 division, then it is our solemn duty to subdue and detain you in the dungeons of Maceron.” Kane's spontoon that had been in the resting position this entire time had now been erected, but not pointed at Kuruk. Oscar had taken his tower shield from his back and held it in his arm. John's hand rested on his sword's pommel. It was something of a tense moment, to be prepared for the centaur's outburst, but another interruption had come along. “He's hurt! Somebody help him, please!” Kane's attention had shifted a moment, moving his eyes to the sound that was behind Kuruk. Kane placed his eyes back on the center as he steadily paced around the sensitive beast of a man to get a look at what was happening. A girl was huddling over something - a bird, it seemed. A... bird. “I've got money, please! Lots of money, just do something, one of you! Please?!” “John!” Kane hailed. Almost instantly, and uncharacteristic of the anxious guardsman that had his hand on the pommel of his sword instantly stood erect with his fist saluted against his chest. “Show her to the town's alchemist immediately, thank you.” He said. “Yes sir.” John replied and hurried over to attend the elf girl with her injured bird. Kane turned back to face Kuruk, slightly inconvenienced by the two situations in this short period of time. “As you can see,” Kane told him, “I am a busy man. I advise you to leave the scene and not cause any more trouble this day, or to leave the city. You have no third option.” Meanwhile John knelt beside Adelaide and looked at the weak, limp looking vulture that was cradaled in the elf's arms. He was a bit stumped why she couldn't see there was already a situation, and that this much noise over a carrion bird seemed a bit over the top – he wasn't sure what she expected guardsmen to do to help – but he still had Kane's order to follow. “It's okay, it's okay, just follow me. I'll bring you tot he front door of our town's alchemist, okay?” John told her softly. He looked much more boyish than the other guards of G-2. His soft brown hair was parted down the middle and framed his face like a curtain, and his armor was rather much like that of a knight's, if a bit regular in its design and construction. “She's a sweet old lady, she'll fix your... bird... vulture, up in no time. I swear on my life.” With that said, he began leading her away from the scene between Kuruk and the other two G-2 guards, Kane and Oscar. They'd be okay. He believed Kane along would be enough for him. With Oscar around too, the centaur would have to be a fool to fight them both. Especially in the middle of the streets of Maceron.
Wizzlebee de LaShtüp
“So, you see, the strength potion really is tricky. Shave off some of the keratin from the bear's claw, take the barley milk you've been soaking the poppy seeds in, and mix it in with the egg yolk – that's reason why I can't drink most strength potions, you see, I'm allergic to eggs – and finally, whisk in that, uh, jelly. Yeah, that. It smells because you have to let it sit and ferment for a while.” Wizzlebee was in middle of showing a young tyke the process of developing a strength potion, and it was safe to say, he probably wasn't being entirely honest about the ingredients. The egg yolk was only partially true, while in reality, it had been sat in a metal bowl of orcish adrenal glands, the neurons of which Wizzlebee had enflared and excited with some light magic via electrical pulses. The secretions were incredibly high in testosterone. As for the jelly? An outright lie. It was the emulsified blood of a centaur. “Then it's just a big process of heating the mixture and then cooling it. The end product is something of a runny jelly, but it is extremely potent! Especially for a young'n like you, just take sips at a time. One small sip a day and it'll bolster your growth!” The kid just gave the weird old gnome a toothy and rosy-cheeked grin from ear to ear. “Thanks mister! I bet Blake won't make fun of me anymore!” “Uh oh...” The alchemist mumbled as he watched the child march out of his shop. Now that he thought about it, didn't poppy-seed infused barley milk, aged alcoholic jelly, bear claw, and a yolk act as something of an anesthetic? Something like a drunken stupor, where jelly immediately intoxicates the drinker, the milk numbed the body, and the yolk and claw just gave the body enough energy to remain conscious. Really, it was an excellent poison if you wanted to dispose of somebody without actually harming or killing them. They could see and think and everything, they just couldn't walk or move or speak. It rivaled paralytics in effectiveness, but lacked the neuronal damage that it often caused. “Hey!” A feeble and croaky voice shouted out from beneath the floorboards. Wizzlebee bent over and looked through a little hole that was in the planks. There, below the deck, stood his skeletal father with his hands on his hips. “If you're done selling fake drugs to children, I'm gonna need your muscle down here!” “Shh! Shh! Keep quiet!” Wizzlebee insisted frantically as he saw potential customers lingering just outside the shop's door. “And what do you mean muscles, pappy? I'm a hundred and sixty and covered in wrinkles!” “I don't HAVE muscles!” “You also don't have vocal chords! Make it work!” “I swear to--” “Shh! Just keep it down!” The swung wide open again. He saw only a handsome young man hurrying inside. He wasn't exactly interesting in any of the stock, per se, more along the lines of “soiled pants and unadulterated terror as he ran balls to the wall”. The gnome looked at him curiously. “What's the matter, Bonny?” The young man, for a moment, looked at Wizzlebee incomprehensibly; almost offended. He then shook his head and peered out the window before finally spitting out, “...dragon!” “What?!” Wizzlebee cried incredulously. “What?!” Echoed the voice downstairs. Immediately, Wizzlebee rushed over to the door and poked his head out the door. Just before looking up, he saw a great shadow being cast over the ground. Looking up, he just saw a silhouette of a giant flying beast circling overhead, against the sunny blue sky. Wizzlebee squealed in terror and retreated back inside, slamming the door, and bracing it with his body. A dragon?! He hasn't seen or heard of dragons since the stories of the hundred-year war back in Ostracus! How evildoers would fly down from the sky on their devil-steeds, scorching the land and troops with searing fire! Stories about how the dragon riders tamed the beasts through torture and dominance, and asserted their will over the most fearsome creatures of Tithe. Stories how, even without their dragons, the riders themselves were nearly as deadly and unforgiving. This was of course the war propaganda that had been perpetuated, and even to this day, still is perpetuated among the Ostracus gnomes. His father, Bartleby de LaShtüp, would perhaps have greater reason to fear dragons than Wizzlebee did. The old man was probably alive for it, after all. If not, then his father. Wizzlebee has long since come to terms that Ostracus was an estranged nation that was considered an outsider among the the current collection of countries... but he still could not forget the stories. Perhaps sixty years of condition within those Ostracian walls were enough to instill and maintain the fear of dragons. Not... that it was... hard to be afraid of dragons. Any sensible man or gnome would be afraid of dragons! The riders? Well, any aspiring rider must have a death wish or something. On the other hand... this was an amazing opportunity. How often did Wizzlebee have access to dragon scales? Hair? Teeth or claws? Skin off the tongue? Blood? Oh goodness, the potions he could make! The discoveries! Perhaps he could find a cure for the magical disease that one strange minotaur man had. That would just be fantastic. Given people's fear of dragons, who knew how they would react? Some might even try to... kill it. That itself meant a huge supply of resources and ingredients, or... instead... “Fufufufu...” Oh... man, oh, man. Wouldn't his necromancy love to get its hands on that? It would probably take a while. He's never worked on something so... big before. But he wouldn't outright kill it, no. Gods, how could one even kill a dragon? Yeah, Wizzlebee had a store full of potions and poisons, but no. No, no, no, no, no. Wizzlebee wouldn't get anywhere near that. Too risky, too scary. Let someone else deal with that. “I'll be right baa-aack!” Wizzlebee called out. “O-okaaay...!” The voice downstairs whimpered back. The gnome stepped outside the door and looked back up overhead. It was gone. He felt his heart drop. Hearing the conversation nearby, much thanks to some man yelling out “you're a dragon rider?!” - why that person felt the need to point out the obvious was none of the gnome's concern, all Wizzlebee could wonder was why a dragon rider was flying around the city like that scaring people. Dragons were frightening! Still, there was something compelling about the beast. Never having before seen one, Wizzlebee couldn't help but inch closer and closer at the sight of it. “Oh boy, oh boy...” Three quarters of his concern was his fear of the dragon. The remaining quarter is that the people who surrounded it, they themselves, also seemed dangerous and not particularly friendly. Save the one carrying a lute, but sitting on top of the dragon didn't help his amiability.
Kane Bounevialle
The winter day was bitter and harsh, but not even a snowflake would fall over the city – not that it would be called as such. With the steel workers slaving away in the factories, and the smoke of coal fires billowing up into the sky, any and all snow would either melt in its heat and rain down as acid water, or take in its impurities and fall gently down black as the smoke itself, as though it were simply ash. It was curious in its symbolism. Talbor had a beautiful countryside. Its fields and mountains were wonders to behold, yet here, in the city, it was filth inside and out. Centered around industry. There was a time that Kane could see the beauty in the town, but the ignorance that had once blinded him to the truth has since faded, enacted by the catalysts that were all around him. The poor in the streets. The sick in their beds. The rioting at the steps, and the sinful in hiding; he had saw most but not all before three months ago, but finding the final jigsaw piece allowed him to put the whole picture together. Maceron really was filth. If by anything other than its government, there was hope for restoring the country to the way it used to be. Full of pride and innovation, making its riches off the plentiful resources that had surrounded them. The Ferdinand monarchy, however, was the blockade that halted Talbor's recovery. For as long as they remained in control – as long as they allowed their people to suffer – there would be no healing Talbor. Kane sighed heavily as his post near the statue of Draco Ferdinand in central Maceron. Such introspective monologuing and depression was exhausting. And distracting. He looked up at the statue next to which he posted himself. What a shame that the artists couldn't capture the serpentine eyes that he brandished, or his forked tongue. A pair of footsteps and clatter of armor approached him from the side, and Kane turned to face a friendly face at the sound of a man clearing his voice. It was Oscar. “How're you doing, cap'?” He said with a smile. Rosy cheeks almost as red as his curly hair was quite a peculiar sight to behold of a man decked in some of the heaviest armor in the guard. Most guards had to share a uniform, but as G-2, they did at least have the perks in wearing and using what they excelled in. Kane just met him with a gentle smile. “I am doing fine. Thank you.” Oscar appeared to pick up on his solemn mood, and went to take his mind off Draco Ferdinand. “So, you know how you had me posted by the front gate, right?” “Yes?” Kane replied as he narrowed his brows. “Right, right – before you get upset about that, I got Alexander covering for me. So like I was saying. Just before the front gate, there was this noble-looking fellow, right? Obviously not from around here, probably from Nepharie or something. He was an absolute goon. He was talking to a cat and everything. But no, listen, not just talking to the cat, but he was angry. A full blown argument.” Kane raised a suspicious eyebrow in response. “That sounds... fictitious.” “Look, I know that, I know. But it happened. He's probably not right in the head or something... but that's not all! This cat, you see – perfect timing, I kid you not – projectile vomited all over his face. A whole big spiel, a big rant – just dismissed in the most perfect way possible. By a cat. I don't know if I'll ever be able to beat that.” “I don't think I can believe all that.” Kane said, sounding slightly unamused. “Okay, well, just trust me. I let him in and he should be walking around town. I don't think you'll be able to miss him.” “Oh. So, assuming this isn't another joke of yours, we now have a crazy person roaming Maceron?” Oscar only shrugged. “No crazier than the lot we already have. Really, he might be a few ingots short of a beam, but I believe he's harmless. Not like... the kind of people already here, you know?” Oscar managed to crack a smile out of Kane, but it was one more solemn. A smile of pity for the city's sake. “You're right about that. I'll give you that one.” The two of them walked away from the city square, turning their backs to the statue of king Draco Ferdinand. As the two walked down the brick-layed streets – an unfamiliar viewpoint, as they had always rode on their horses inside of town back when they were knights – they acknowledged the expressions of the people they walked past. Once they were full of awe and respect, and admiration. They still wore those faces even now, but they were impure expressions. They now also bore pity in their faces, and sympathy. Once great Knights of the Ram reduced to guardsmen. The common idea of thinking that being a guard even remotely amounted to anything resembling a knight was borderline heresy. Disrespectful. And to reduce a knight to “simple” guardsmen, the common folk felt, was to add insult to injury. And perhaps to some knights, that'd be the case. Not for G-2. True knights served the common folk, were honorable, and abide by the code of chivalry. Nobility had nothing to do with that, and even as guardsmen, they were greater knights than even Sir Rudolph Fallon. At least G-2 served the people for the people's sake. All five of them shared this sentiment. They had become brothers since they shared a bottle of Bounevialle wine one night, and since then, that bond had not even wavered. Kane looked up at the sky to see another black cloud. Not one from inside the city, but further off. Red Legion. To keep Kane's regiment within the walls was an insult to their skills. Ferdinand probably wants an eye to be kept on the regiment, to be sure they didn't run off and perhaps return with an army. He could still take advantage of this though. Garnering the support of the local citizens. That's what was most crucial. The rest could wait. The peculiar sounds of squealing and mooing echoed out further down the road. Kane and Oscar looked at each other, puzzled, and hurried their pace. Moving around the corner, they saw the cause for commotion. A large, burly centaur – likely the one that they saw marching through the gates earlier today. “Oh come on! You can have her back afterwards...” His heavy voice droned. A small elven farmer was nearby and mortified. “No! Leave Daisy alone! He's trying to have it off with my cow! Someone help!” "This is so wrong..." Oscar muttered. Another young man in armor came marching in to his rescue. It was John, from Kane's own regiment. “Hey!” He shouted at the centaur. Of course it was him. Nobody outside of G-2 would have bothered to help. “John!” Kane called out to him. He and Oscar approached the scene as well. With the centaur trying get frisky with a cow, a distressed elf, and three-fifths of the esteemed G-2 regiment present, the alleyway was starting to gather quite a bit of attention. Kane was perceptive of this and the forming crowd. If he could get through this without instigating a fight, that'd be ideal. John looked over to see his captain, and gave him a nervous smile. Kane simply nodded to him in praise and looked up at the tall centaur to handle this matter himself. Oscar stood next to him with his arms crossed. “What seems to be the problem here?” Kane interjected, his forceful voice projecting over the background noise and carrying through the air. He damn well knew what the problem was; it was a tagged cow belonging to the farmer, and the centaur couldn't get a hold of his fetishes. This was protocol, however. “He's having his way with my Daisy!” The old elf cried. “Get him to stop! T-this... this isn't right!” Kane nodded and looked up at the centaur. He was mostly unfazed, but he was worried about the possibility of such a large creature getting angry and having a fight break out in this busy street. “Sir?” Kane said in his address to the centaur. “If this is indeed the case, then I cannot permit you to continue this behavior. If you back away from... Daisy, now, there won't be any issues. I'm sure you'll find plenty of undomesticated cows out in the countryside.”
I finally finished my second character and may now begin shit-posting.
*edited 02/19/15 9:57 PM EST: "adding Morag-nog relationship."
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