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Arathys Menenon







Character Sheet: Arathys Menenon

Background

Arathys Menenon never knew his parents. He was raised as the ward of one Mytharion Amontel, an elven wizard of some small prominence, residing in the tiny elf village of E'othyr. Though acting as his father, Mytharion insisted he be referred to as as “Mentor” or “Master”, and often admonished the boy that he was, in fact, no orphan, but rather, he was what Mytharion referred to as a “Promise Child”. His mother, being unable to conceive, had come to him many years prior, seeking a wizard's aid for her condition. Mytharion had agreed, but only on the promise that the woman's first child would belong to him. Arathys was that child.

For much of his youth, Arathys was left in the care of his master's varied summoned servants. His childhood was one spent dancing with devils, playing music with angels, discussing philosophy with demons, and having tea parties with faeries. He also received an education in the basics of arcane magic, though Mytharion was a touch overprotective, and often stressed curiosity be tempered by restraint. That all changed around Arathys' thirteenth birthday, no longer was he left in the care of summoned minions and tutors. Now he would accompany his mentor whenever he went away on business, and assist him in whatever way necessary. His magical education also began in earnest. His days were suddenly filled with hand drills and lessons ranging from spellcraft to arcane theory, world history to languages, his night filled endless practice and candlelit study.

Under the wise tutelage of the sage, Mytharion Amontel, Arathys Menenon grew into a formidable young wizard, specializing in the arts of conjuration, summoning, and teleportation. Ever the loyal student and friend, Arathys stayed on with his master for many years, despite his apprenticeship having been finished. However, lately Arathys has begun feel restless residing in his tiny hamlet home. Not satisfied with the prospect of winding up as some village mystic and not comfortable with idea of becoming a court magician in the hall of some lord, he has instead opted for a life adventure. He knows not what the future might bring, but one thing his certain of is that there is still so much he has left to learn, and he can he can do so best traveling the road as a journeyman mage.
I'm new to 5E, but I'd be willing to give it a shot, if you'd have me. :)
A heist. Of all the jobs they could possibly have been hired for, it had to be a fucking heist. Willard hated thieves. Almost as much as he hated mercenaries. Funny then how it seemed life was constantly conspiring to turn him into both. Complicating matters more, he was now tasked with doing his part for the plan, all the while dodging the thrown explosives of a pack of bloody spellslingers. Willard hated mages.

He reined in his horse, pulling up short and to the side, narrowly avoiding the small explosion which took place right in front of him. “Fucking mages!” He growled through gritted teeth, dust and smoke stinging his eyes, and making it bloody hard for him to breath.

"Watch those bombs, boy!" He heard the pirate, Covell, bark at him.

But too late, as the next thing he was aware of was a shower of fire and death. He and his horse were sent flying and tumbling through the air, as three bombs exploded, nearly simultaneously, right underneath him. Ill luck for the young Willard Cavanaugh, or was it...

* * *

He rose slowly to his feet, every last inch of him aching from the fall. Of course his horse was dead, the poor black mare blown to Kingdom Come as she was. Fortunately for him, she had caught the brunt of the impact, which was probably what had saved his life. But now he was alone, miles from civilization, his comrades and the carriages they were chasing long gone.

“Shit,” He swore out-loud, more for his own sake than any other.

He torn the bit of ragged, sweat-stained linen he wore from about his face and tossed in on the ground. Then he started to walk, hopefully in the same direction his “friends” had been going. He knew he had no chance of actually catching them, not on foot as he was now was. But at the very least, he thought, once they were finished, one of them would surly come looking for him. That last thought made him laugh. They probably thought he was dead, or worse. Most of them most likely relished the thought, evil bastards that they were. Still, they and the others of Black Lily were closest he had to kin anymore, and he would rejoin them by any means necessary.

He was jarred from his contemplation by a rustling in the underbrush, and at first he feared it was some beast attracted by the earlier magical discharge. Never in all his life was he more relieved to see a horse, as he was when the buckskin stallion stepped into view, Amara's saddle still strapped to his back. He gave a silent prayer of thanks to whatever powers may have brought him such good fortune, as he swung up onto the gift horse's back. A good, hard kick. and a snap of the reigns, and he and his newly acquired steed were racing off along the trail.

He was confident he would soon catch up with the others now.
Okay, now that all the cast has put up their characters, let’s get this discussion started. My proposition is simple. I’m all for OOC discussion in the thread and such, but would guys like a discord server in addition to this? I don’t know how people feel about discord, but it’s a good way to get messages across fast as you can respond instantly and all. I also know some of the concerns are that discord servers take away from OOC activity so I don’t know what the best course of action is.

Besides that, there’s a few IC related things I need to go over. So the IC will start pretty soon (still debating exactly when) and I’m aiming to keep this at a steady pace. As the rules say, a post a week should be good and if you everyone happens to post before that, I’ll gladly come and move things along. The narrative will generally be split amongst two paths: Operations and Off-time.

Operations will see the group handling a contract wherein there will be an investigation phase, planning phase, and execution phase. I won’t actually label them as such in the IC in the aim to keep everything organic, but you’ll be able to tell in the general flow of the plot. Off-time will allow characters to engage in their own player-directed activities either with other players or on their own and it encourages character development to a significant degree. As I said before, there will be an overarching plot to this whole thing, but I’m hoping to allow the plot to develop organically by dynamically reacting to the choices you guys make.

This is a character-driven affair and I really want the characters driving plot direction if we’re not following a key plot point. Of course it’s easy to say all this, but you’ll understand better in practice.

For now, what say you all about a discord server?

@Rockette@Heat@Narcotic Dollie@LokiLeo789@Nox Grimoire


With a group this small, I'd be all in favor of a Discord server. It'd help get OOC messages out quicker, plus adds the possibility of voice chat plotting.


Name: Willard Cavanaugh

Alias(es): Wil, Wil C., Mister C., Mad Willie, Mad Willie C.

Age: Twenty-something years

Gender: Male

Appearance: An average man, of average height, and of average appearance. Nothing noteworthy to look at. He has shaggy, dirty blonde hair, and dull, glassy green eyes. Typically he is seen wearing a grungy gray shirt, which was probably white at one point, black leather breeches with matching coat, and raw hide boots, which he fashioned himself. In combat, he wears a simple chain shirt. His face is grimy with dirt, and he looks as though he hasn't bathed in months. He has patchy, uneven stubble. Leftovers from not properly shaving. His teeth are yellowed, and are likely very close to rotting. A small scar rests just above his left eye. He has a noticeable twitch at the left corner of his mouth.

Personality: Quite, pleasant, laid back, and amicable are all fine words to use to describe the personality of young Willie C. At least as long as he's calm. Piss him off or get him drunk, and a demon comes out in him. One spitting fire, shouting obscenities, and swinging fists. They say he once beat a man to death barehanded for nothing more than laughing at his name. Other than that, just watch yourself around him. He's the sort that'll shake your hand and call you friend to your face, and then stick a knife in you as soon as you turn to walk away. Why? Who knows? Maybe he didn't like you. Maybe he didn't like the way you look. Maybe you unintentionally insulted him or caused some other perceived slight. Maybe he was paid. All that matters is there was a reason. He always has a reason. Even if it was just because he felt like it.

Weapon(s): Willie is skilled in the use of fists, knives, and swords. Other than that, he's damned scary with that bow of his. A skill he picked up traveling with a company of mercenaries. He carries the standard issue hand-cannon, but he seldom ever uses it.

Magic User: Yes

History: Willard Cavanaugh was never a man prone to violence. He was just a farmhand living in a quite village, a few miles outside the Disk. But when mercenaries looking for easy sport gang-raped his fiance, and caused her to commit suicide three days after, something in him just broke. He took to drinking, and he took to brawling. The local constable was forced to lock him up, and threatened to throw him out of town on multiple occasions. He was a man without peace, and he was a man for whom there was no rest. 'Till the day that those same mercenaries came back through town.

He was sitting at his table in the local tavern, nursing his ale, when they came in shouting, and boasting, and guffawing. Right then and there, he decided what he was going to do. Right then and there, he began to plot his revenge. He enlisted with the same company as those men. He trained with them, fought with them, and, on several occasions, he very nearly died with them. He was part of their team, and they regarded him as a brother. Little did they know, he was to be the death of all of them.

It was to be a job like any other, they were just supposed to be escorting a group of merchants from one town to another several leagues away. In a clearing, only a few days walk from their destination, they were set upon by brigands, looking to rob and kill anyone traveling the road. At once, the men jumped into action, and prepared to earn their fee. Willard did as he always did, and fell back into the brush, readying his bow. Only this time it wasn't the bandits he was aiming at, it was his own men. What nobody would find out until later, was that Willard had been saving up his pay for months, biding his time just for this very moment. After they'd accepted the escort job, he hired a rival team of mercenaries to act to as bandits and help him murder his whole crew. Revenge for what they'd done to his beloved so long ago.

He loosed the first arrow, and hit his mark dead between the eyes. His second mark he scored twice, once in the kidney, and again through the heart. The third he shot through the throat. The other four fell to the “brigands”. After it was over, he and his hired cronies shook hands and parted company. But the story didn't end there.

He'd thought that they'd killed everyone. He'd though that there were no witnesses. Imagine then his surprise, when travelers brought in, naked and half dead, one of the mercenaries he'd so long plotted to kill. They cleaned the man up, and tended his wounds, and in return, he told them what had happened. He told them of Willard's betrayal. Of course by the time that happened, Willard was long gone. However, he knew his face would be plastered to every notice board and on the wall of every tavern from there to the Disk.

So, he took to the roads, robbing, and killing, and doing whatever he had to do to survive. He kept to himself, never stayed in one place for too long, and he spent many a night camping out under the stars, a vagabond with no home to call his own. He learned some small magic during this time, taken from a pair of sages he met on the road, whom he forced at knife point to teach him whatever they could. Two spells in particular he became very good at. One which set the tip of his arrows ablaze, and the other which caused his arrows to seek their target wherever they tried to hide, so long as they stayed within a certain range.

This life of struggle, and murder, and wanton slaughter lasted for years. Willard began to think it would never come to an end. Then he received the letter, mysteriously slipped under the door of his room in the inn he was staying at. It spoke of him, and of his reputation as a killer. It spoke of evil fighting evil, and of money to made doing so. And most of all, it spoke of a place he might at last call home. The next morning he packed his bags and signed onto a caravan heading to the Disk. He's never looked back...
I'm game. I'm always up for something light and simple.
I'll bite. Never played the system before, but I'm willing to learn.
What's the saying? "I am at my best when doing my worst." Haha. I'm in...
G'day all! Like the title says, I be a new fellow around these parts. While I'm no stranger to Rp, it is an activity I've not engaged in since high school (9 years ago). So, apologies in advance if my skills have atrophied and are not up to par. As far as Roleplay genre is concerned, I'm open to just about anything, though my favorites tend to be Medieval Fantasy, Urban Fantasy, Cyberpunk (Shadowrun anyone?), and Supernatural Horror (In theory, I'm a HUGE fan of classic World of Darkness). Oh, and Superheroes. I do enjoy a good comic book adventure. :P

Outside of roleplay, my other interests include video gaming (MMORPGs mostly), amateur writing (not as much as I'd like these days), amateur cartography (fantasy maps), and HEMA (Historical European Martial Arts).

That said, I am truly glad to have stumbled onto this place, and I look forward to happy times conspiring with you all. Just remember to be gentle and...don't eat me, please. :)
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