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Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by Oddsbod
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Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Oddsbod
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<This one too>
Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by Life in Stasis
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Ansi Envolier


"Take the sturgeon. Yesterday he was his own fish; today he's my dinner. His life was cheap, and his death was nothing to me. The efertide feels the same about you and I."




27 | Carnelian | No Mage-Eyes


P E R S O N A L I T Y

❖ Reserved
❖ Cynical
❖ Pragmatic
❖ Highly principled
❖ Begrudgingly good-natured

Over the years, Ansi has accumulated a grim understanding of the merciless world in which he lives. Virtue or iniquity, the efertide devours it all. The constant nearness of death has driven the remaining pockets of civilization into a frantic sort of apathy. Every last man for himself.

That being said, Ansi does reluctantly hold that if there can only be one last honest and unselfish soul left in this bleak existence, then it may as well be him. He may not make friends easily, it seems folly to try when anyone you know may be gone tomorrow, but he admits that life without compassion isn’t a life worth living.

A P P E A R A N C E

In the sunlight, Ansi’s black carapace boasts an iridescent, bluish sheen, though it’s rare to see him out before sunset at all. He drapes himself in a drab, hooded cloak, relegating all expression to the occasional smile on his pale, unnervingly inhuman lips. Otherwise he’s usually seen in faded, leathery hued linens, with his bow on his back and a quiver of arrows on his belt. He forgoes light armors, relying on his natural chitinous plating to help deflect harm if he gets into a scrap.

Ansi is a tall fellow, just about six feet, and agilely built with long, three-jointed limbs and a deliberate, spidery gait. The Carnelian possesses an smooth, unnerving grace, natural to his kind. The sort that makes his allies glad to be his allies. Despite his arguably forbidding presence, his voice is perpetually young and airy, if often dry.

H I S T O R Y

It’s been nearly six years since Ansi’s release from a prison in Ingen Biot, where he spent a year of his life serving for a count of brigandry. In that time, he’s put as much distance between himself and that harbor city as he has been able to manage. And there hasn’t been a moment since when he hasn’t appreciated the clean air of an open sky or the smell of a cold river.

In the past half-decade, Ansi has lived a transient existence rebuilding his life. Upon arrival in a new settlement, he offers his skills to the nightwatch in return for an agreeable wage or room and board. Length of limb and his natural dexterity aid his marksmanship by affording him high perches in trees or atop architecture. When time comes to move on, whether it’s after days or years, he hires himself out to a traveling caravan seeking guards, one that doesn’t seem especially doomed (or sometimes, ones that do). The journey is then spent atop a swaying wagon, chatting if the conversation’s good, or simply staying alert to fend off threats.

Though an adept marksman in present day, Ansi did not study under a master or receive any formal military training. Rather, he got his start as a bowfisher in the small Quishan village of Kilhorn, just north of the Autumn Hills. Though the village received occasional aid from King Masbeth, he was one of many siblings in a household that was far from well-to-do, so he fished from the river mainly to keep his family from going hungry.

In those days, he resented all the young Carnelian men who left home to chase life on the water as sailors, or to work at the drydocks in larger cities. If nothing had ever changed, he might have been a simple fisherman for the rest of his life. The gift of a pristine, well-tuned crossbow from his sister was the highlight of a decade.

As he grew, some of his siblings went off after their own pursuits. Two never reached adulthood. His parents died. Gradually he began to lose touch with all the things that made Kilhorn special to him. Ultimately, to the dismay of his former self, all it took to draw a young Ansi away from the only life he’d ever known was an errant infatuation that ended in disappointment and left him in an unfamiliar city.

Circumstances and misplaced self confidence would change his trade from bowfisher to marksman. This eventually landed him in prison, where he found little else to do but sit and regret his choices. Surprisingly, it only afterward that he discovered the cheapness of life. In his travels, he came to know messengers and traders who vanished in the night, never to be heard from again. Witnessed once thriving villages, where he’d restocked or once been employed, become deserted and empty.

He hasn’t even been back to Kilhorn since he left almost ten years ago. Most likely he’s afraid of what he might find.

Or what he won’t.

I N V E N T O R Y

❖ Bow
❖ Rusted crossbow (still line-rigged and used for fishing)
❖ Belt-mounted quiver
❖ Arrows and specialized bolts
❖ Simple knife
❖ Antique Nephilim harquebus

O T H E R

Although Ansi just came into possession with his latest love, a Nephilim-built harquebus, he hasn’t had much chance to practice with it. Ammunition and black powder are hard to come by. And besides, the thing is blooming loud.

Ansi is also also accompanied by a young but steadfast gelding named King, which he acquired two towns ago.

Most recently, and for roughly over a week now, Ansi has found himself employed in Alonso's local militia. He has been there long enough to rest and recover, so he plans to head out again whenever a sound opportunity presents itself.


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Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by CrimsonAmaranth
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CrimsonAmaranth Rogue Nerd

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Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by KremeSupreme
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KremeSupreme im here

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Forbhin Scarl

My steel is yours. Unless there's a strong possibility of death. What? Loyalty can't bring me back from the next world!




54 | Human | No Mage-Eyes


P E R S O N A L I T Y

❖ Selfish
❖ Bitter
❖ Temperamental
❖ Liar
❖ Greedy


A P P E A R A N C E

Forbhin has a triangular face with a pointed chin. He has a well-groomed gray flattop connected to his shorthaired chinstrap beard. Over his left eye is an eyepatch, from when he lost it in battle years ago. He stands at 6"2' and weighs 160 lbs, with a lanky build with some muscle.

He wears a suit of black splint armor, with grey chainmail protecting his elbows and knees. Over his armor, he wears an orange tabard with The Cockatrice on it. He also has a short white cape that reaches the middle of his back. He wears black leather gloves, rather than actual gauntlets. Though he claims he bought it himself, it's just a lie. He stole it from his master when he died.

H I S T O R Y

Forbhin's history begins as a peasant child in the town of Wetleaf. When he was seven years old,his parents became horribly ill with a dangerous infection, forcing him to work day and night to pay for their medicine. Yet the medicine could not cure the disease, only put it off from worsening. It was infectious, meaning that he was not allowed to see them. When he was a young man, he finally had enough; He was breaking his back just to put off his parents inevitable death, and between them and a Drunkard Uncle, he hardly earned the gold he deserved. He hardly even saw his parents anymore, and he was finally tired.

He told his best friend whose parents had died years ago, and he worked in the same conditions Forbhin did, to keep their graves well maintained. His friend tried to convince Forbhin to stay multiple times on the evening of his departure, to which Forbhin stated that working to keep his parents alive for no gain was just as stupid as his friend keeping his parents graves clean. His friend lashed at Forbhin in a fit of rage, starting a fight which Forbhin won, but continuously beat his friend, even after the point of surrender and pleading. Though he hadn't killed his friend, one more strike would have. Forbhin left that night, and never saw him again.

After leaving Wetleaf, Forbhin eventually came across a knight's garrison. Lying, he managed to convince them that he was sent by some noble family from far off. Convinced, he was taken under the training of his master. After months of training, the two joined the Army of Heroes, and later defected to the People's Legion once the civil war broke out. The two were caught into a situation during a battle between the two forces where the Army of Heroes were being defeated by the People's Legion. Valuing his own survival above all else, Forbhin looted the insignia of a fallen Army soldier, and pretended that he was under their flag, and pretended his master was trying to kill him. He watched uncaringly as his master was cut down by six soldiers much stronger than him. Forbhin remained in the Army of Heroes for many years, when an absence of gold had him leave and travel as a Sellsword.

Now, fate, or in his case a lack of gold, beckons him to the Great Southern Road's hamlet.

I N V E N T O R Y

-Black Splint Armor
-A Brown Horse
-Rapier
-Three Days Rations
-Army of Heroes Insignia
-Tabard of the Cockatrice
-Eyepatch
-Black Gloves

O T H E R
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Odran Tarlach

"The stroke of a plume, the strum of a string, the scream of a blade, the slumber of the Efertide."




42 | Human | Mage-Eyes


P E R S O N A L I T Y

❖ Charismatic
❖ Knowledgeable
❖ Warm-hearted
❖ Pragmatic
❖ Perceptive

Kindly but reserved, Odran is a warm and gentle soul- at least as much as one can be in such a harsh world. He often appears lazy and relaxed when interacting with others, and is difficult to offend and slow to anger. Generally amicable, Odran has no problem engaging in song and story with others, and appreciates any with artistic and musical talent- trades often forgone entirely in these trying times. Stories and song hold a soft spot in Odran's heart, some of the only things Odran has kept from his old life. To him, song and story bring hope and light to an otherwise bleak world.

Odran is an old soul; ambition and lust for power supplanted by compassion and pursuit of knowledge and tempered by practicality and realism. Stricken with wanderlust, Odran is driven by the desire to seek out more knowledge and the unknown, and is loathe to stay in one place for long periods of time- though time has lost concrete definition for the man. He might stay in a single town for little more than a night, or longer than a year before picking up and moving on again. Insightful and intuitive, it is difficult to confound Odran with lies and deceit, and he often appears to know more than he lets on- whether he actually does or not. Odran can be fairly generous with what little he has, and holds a sense of compassion for the outcast and downtrodden.

A P P E A R A N C E

Broad shouldered and approximately 6 feet tall, Odran looks more like a veteran warrior than he does a travelling bard. His posture is decidedly casual, but his build is obviously of one used to travelling. Course black hair with flecks of gray are pulled into a short ponytail and his beard is the salt-and-pepper deal of a man past his prime. His skin is lightly tanned and travel-worn, and his mouth is typical worn in a wry grin. His face has a single visible scar cutting inbetween his right eyebrow. His grey eyes are devoid of visible pupils, and seem to constantly swirl with some sort of milky-foggy liquid or substance. His voice has lost its youth, bright and clean tenor tones replaced by more mature, gravelly bass.

Like many other travelers in Tempesta, Odran's frame is often covered by a thick brown hooded cloak, its bottom edges fraying and dirty from the mud, dirt, and grime of the outside. A slight clink can be heard as he walks, underneath his cloak wears a shirt of mail and leather over a thick long sleeved shirt for a modicum of protection. Thick breeches are tucked into a pair of worn leather boots and are secured in place by a wide leather belt. In a belt worn across his chest, are four sheathed daggers. He blends in well with the other tired travelers of the Tempesta, and his only notable ornament is a pendant he wears over his clothes, a silver raven's skull hanging on a dense cord.

On his back, Odran carries the entirety of his worldly belongings in a leather rucksack. His belongings few, the rucksack often appears partially deflated, as Odran often opts to hang many of his belongings off of the rucksack instead of placing them inside. A waterskin, hangs on the rucksack's back, and a sheathed sword wrapped in a bedroll are strapped to its top.

H I S T O R Y

An aging storyteller hailing from the northern regions of Tempesta. Odran was born as Braum Samson, in a small and unremarkable town in the Causeway. The second son of the family that ran the local inn and tavern. Though Braum's town was simple and poor, it was still a fairly regular stopping point, being on one of the few maintained roads between the Tempesta and Andrea's Fault. Braum spent most of his childhood helping out around the inn, carrying food and drink to weary travelers and would often listen to the travels and stories of those when came and went through the Causeway. Much of Braum's knowledge of the world outside the tavern came from the words and tales of others- be they truthful or not.

As Braum matured, he joined the town's small militia, and was trained by an aging, irksome old member of the Army of Heroes. As the Army of Heroes was the primary military force in the town, hiring only the most promising of individuals, the rest of the town's militia were little more than a group of auxillaries that defended the tiny town from the occasional monster, or rare bandit and thief when the Army of Heroes couldn't be bothered to, and typically just defended the town from rowdy drunks and inebriated travelers. As a result, even with his new profession, Braum spent much of his teen years in the inn he grew up in, doing much of the same that he did as a child. Though now that he was older, and held the status of a warrior- albiet a small time and simple one, he would often take the stories of others, and spin them off as his own to visiting travelers, and gained a knack for reciting things he had heard in a more amusing or compelling way.

After a leg injury forced Braum to temporarily take his leave from the guard, he returned to his family's inn and served as a barkeep at the age of twenty. It was sometime during the next few years that Braum met his soon to be mentor, a travelling mage and storyteller by the name of Odran. Originally just another traveler passing through the Causeway, Braum found himself drawn to the storyteller, mystified and and cautious of at the same time. Unlike other humans, Odran's eyes were entirely white, which marked him as a man of magic, and while in the tavern, very few locals outside of Braum himself interacted with the magical storyteller. This magical storyteller stood in stark contrast everything Braum knew in his life. Stability, regularity, normalcy, all of these values were swept up like a storm.

Braum occasionally tried to impress the storyteller with his own stories- tales of others he had appropriated for himself. Odran with some sort of mysterious foresight- or plain logic, easily poked out flaws and falsehoods in the young man's stories, asking how could a man that had never left his village have any stories to tell. Still, Braum pressed on, eager to impress this storyteller, show him that he was more than just a forgettable welp in a forgettable town with a forgettable name. This storyteller, this mage, had everything Braum wanted in life- the power to control what happened around him, the ability to bend reality with magic-intoned words, freedom to do what he liked and come and go wherever and whenever he damn well pleased. Eventually, Odran the storyteller left the town, and Braum followed him, his burning desire to be more than who he was surpassing the comfort and safety his life currently possessed.

Managing not to die in his first few months of travelling with Odran, the old storyteller finally took him in and began teaching him the intricacies of Concordance, the magic of Julieta Sinqueleur, youngest of the legendary Nine Sisters. Braum found his first lessons difficult- almost impossible even. He sought the power to bend the world to his will, and here with Odran, Braum learned that the way of Concordance did naught but help, heal. He wanted to know words of power, the strength to tear down walls, yet his master would continuously chide him and his more aggressive tendencies. For the first few years of their travel, Braum reluctantly picked up the singing, along with musical lessons in various instruments from Odran, becoming a bard instead of a mage.

Though dismissive and and reluctant to adopt his mentor's teachings, believing the world to be too harsh and cruel a place for the relatively pacifistic powers of Concordance, years on the road eventually showed Odran's virtues to be more powerful than Braum's arrogance. Braum slowly learned to accept the values and teachings of his mentor, his strength and control over Concordance growing in turn. Braum became the face of their new two-man bardic duo. His younger voice and unwarped eyes more pleasant to behold than the older man's coarse gravel and unseemly eyes. The pair traveled together for close to a decade, Braum slowly shifting from a youthful singer, to a deep voiced bard in his own right.

Odran would eventually pass away, but not before teaching Braum as many of his secrets as he could. As an ode to his mentor's legacy, Braum took on the name of Odran Tarlach, casting aside his old name for the moniker of the old storyteller and bard. His eyes had become lost by that point, and significance of his old name with it.

Now Odran Tarlach, with the mantle of his mentor, took to traveling the Tempesta much like his old mentor. Odran managed to survive the war and bloodshed between the Legion and Army of Heroes by avoiding it as best he could, escaping this dark time alive, but not completely unscathed. Having honed his craft over the course of a decade, Odran now travels from town to town plying his craft and following his mentor's goals- seeking out the lost songs of Julieta Sinqueleur.

I N V E N T O R Y

❖ An aging steel sword of decent craftsmanship, its blade rusted in places but still sturdy and serviceable.
❖ A quartet of enchanted throwing daggers, formerly the property of Odran's mentor. Intricate enchantments cause them to begin slowly and gradually fading from existence after being drawn, reappearing in their sheaths a minute later.
❖ A cittern, along with a few spools of wire to replace broken strings
❖ A harmonica
❖ A Book of Concordance: spells, songs, and music written on parchment and bound by thick leather covers.
❖ A pouch of herbs and a pipe.
❖ A rucksack carrying all a traveler would need - a spare set of clothes, dried rations, a waterskin, bedroll, flint, and the like.

O T H E R

Anything that doesn’t fit in the other sections? Throw it here!
Can't think of anything else at the moment.
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