Small update time! My power went out while at work and just now came on. I have missed a lot of writing time as a result but I am hard at work to get this IC post out. Most likely tomorrow evening, if not the day after that for the first IC post. This is lucky news to those few who are still working on their CS's
Don't wanna intrude, but instead o just "stealing" the life force how about they corrupt and transform the environment to one that resembles the demon realm? I mean that is corruption. Things dying is just decay and death.
Personality: Kestrel is usually very grey. Be it in her morals or her overall presence, she typically doesn't stand out too much most of the time, often sitting on the fence when it comes to any decisions that might be directed at her. Her strikingly center-bound compass points her in the lane of indecisiveness, realism, and a skill set that covers a great many things, yet excelling at none. Raised in a household where her opinion was often silenced by an older and younger sibling, Kestrel has become something of a shadow: forever observing, but never doing anything.
At least, that's how she appears on the outside. Inside, her head is a labyrinth of tales, tactics, and tolerance for others. Once opened up, the young lady can be quite talkative, and willing to admit her loneliness. She connects well with animals when not in the presence of others, and her horse, Greg, is fiercely protected by her. Needless to say she's a bit over the place, though in a world infested with demons, who isn't?
History: Kestrel is an orphan. Her blood parents, mother a knight and father a merchant, both died under circumstances she does not know. What she does know is she was taken in by a family of smiths, from where her surname was born, and the only connection to her former life is a simple, yet priceless ruby necklace.
The unofficial middle child of the Smith family, Kestrel was the pretty one; her hair a golden blonde like her adoptee father (before he turned grey), whereas both her sisters took their mother's brunette. Because of this, she was treated a little roughly by her other sisters, however it wasn't anything too harsh. The lot of them were tomboyish, even Kestrel, having learned how to wield a wooden sword before she could tie her shoes, leading to some very unfortunate accidents. With her older sister Robin being the responsible one, and her younger sister Allouette being the boisterous one, there wasn't much of a place for Kestrel to fill. She was quiet, and enjoyed reading and smithing in her own time, or tending to the animals.
By ten she forged a dagger all her own. It took her another year to make her own blade. Pretty soon, Mister Smith had an assistant in the forge, and Missus Smith was teaching a young Kestrel how to work not only with animals, but with nature. She picked up some handy skills at home, which have since come in use over time. Her older sister, Robin, went to join the war effort after The Failed Battle, being the most able potential soldier of the family. However her parents grief over what may happen to Kestrel's older sister has given her reason, too, to venture beyond the walls of her small town. With a fresh set of armour, supplies, and her trusty hand-and-a-half longsword, Kestrel left home to find her older sister, and to drag her back there.
Equipment:
Hand-and-a-half Steel Longsword - Recently reforged of better quality steel, with better quality skill behind it. It's sharper than most knives.
Supply Backpack - The kind with supplies in it! Able to hold, at most, five days worth of food and water. Currently has two days of each.
Steel Banded Armour - Basically the same as in the image but with a proper steel breastplate. She has a simple grey, long-sleeved cloth tunic under her armour, with blue cloth trousers.
Example post:
It was dark, but morning. It was agreed upon by her ma and pa that she would be sent off before the dawn, as it would give her more time to find a safe spot to set up camp the following night. The air was crisp and clear, a light rain from moments before having cleared up, yet leaving a river of puddles in its wake. Kestrel was thankful she would be riding Greg for most of the trip, if for nothing else.
At her side was her sword, and on her arms, her armour. "You can never be too careful out there," her father warned. "Sleep with it on if you're using a fire. You may need it."
"I'll be fine, pa." She told him; a petty white lie, whispered to the wind. "Ma's told me everything I need to know about sleeping in the wilderness. And you've told me everything I might need to know about defending myself. You know I'm capable."
"As much as Robin?"
Kestrel flinched somewhat. "I know you want me to have confidence in you, Kes." His words came like that of a sage - unwavering in tone and forever wise. It always astounded her how her father didn't always act this way. "But I want you to have caution. This won't be a simple task; what you're asking is something no daughter of mine should ever be forced to face. If I were in better condition I-" He winced, groaned, and Kestrel gently rubbed his leg to soothe the pain. Apparently hammering yourself in the shin really hurts.
"Are you alright, papa?"
He chuckled, gruff like the beard her bore. "You always call me that when you're worried about me..." He took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm OK. And before you ask, yes, you can call me papa like you used to. I'm not that grumpy."
He shifted his foot so it rested upon a nearby chair, a little more comfortably than before. "But as I was saying, if I were in better condition, I would be going after her. I just can't imagine what that girl is thinking. Just running off with little more than a letter! I bet she figured out we wouldn't have let her go..."
"Then she's already figured out I'm coming after her."
"Mmmmh..." Her father nodded slowly. Before he could speak, the door behind them opened, and out came two more familiar faces. "Ma, Allouette," said Kestrel, surprised. "I didn't think you were going to... see me off."
Allouette smiled with a tired sheepishness, whereas her mother a much more deceiving one. "No matter how terrible I am in the mornings, I wouldn't miss seeing you off, sis!" Exclaimed the youngest sister, before quickly being silenced by her mother. "R-right, sorry. But yeah, I wasn't going to miss this over some sleep. After all, I'm going to miss you... You better find Robin, OK?"
Kestrel could only offer a half-hearted chuckle and a nod. "I will, Ally. You be sure to take care of ma and pa for me, yeah? You'll have to pull your weight in."
"I will." Was her response, simple and short. As she turned to address the other person, she found arms wrapped around her chest and a face buried in her neck. She felt tears, but didn't comment, knowing it would upset her in a different way. "Mother, my ribs." Her warning was ignored but a few moments longer, till her mother finally pulled away, wiping her eyes. "Ma..."
"I'm still not likin' it, Kes. You, goin' out there, after Robin. It ain't right. But I'm not trustin' Ally, and I'm not trustin' John. And I can't use a sword, so it ain't like I can go. But..." She pauses, and tears threaten her eyes. There's a silence, and soon Kestrel is the one with her arms around her mother. They stay like that for awhile, though Greg's whinny of discomfort caught the attention of all who were present. "You should get ready, Kestrel." Her father said. Kestrel only nodded in reply.
Her backpack of supplies settled on Greg's back, and she on the saddle in front. Few words were exchanged; their goodbyes had been said, and everything had already been put in place well before the moment had come. All that was left now was to leave.
Dawn broke before Kestrel left that morning...
Other:
He's a bit of a dope; not the smartest horse you could ask for. But he's fast, strong, and awfully protective of Kestrel. Hard to communicate with at times, though.
Just leaving what I have done here so I can hopefully do a bit of typing on my phone at work if I get the chance!
Name: Andin Orik
Gender: Male
Age: 43
The Good Folk
Known amongst themselves as the Hyrdin, this word translates loosely to "The Good Folk" in the common tongue. The moniker of "halfling" came from their larger cousins, the humans, who are just about twice their size. While the two races have been distinct since time immemorial, many oral traditions among both societies make the claim that one is an offshoot of the other. Whether through some fluke of magic, a curse, or a some grand intervention, the fact remains that the two races bear a distinct resemblance and an uncanny ability to cooperate.
Independent to a fault, the Good Folk as a whole generally seem to have no interest in empire-building or grand projects, many halflings prefer to focus on the simpler and humbler virtues of family and community. Formerly a race of nomads, the current generation of Good Folk claim no cultural homeland and control no settlements aside from a handful of rurual independent villages. In modern times, most dwell at the knees of their human cousins in human cities, eking out livings as they can from the scraps of larger societies. Many halflings lead perfectly fulfilling lives in the shadow of their larger neighbors, while some feel the pull of their ancestor's trails and go on to live a more nomadic life.
Halflings rely on customs and traditions to maintain their own culture. They have an extensive oral history filled with important stories about folk heroes who exemplify particular halfling virtues, but otherwise see little purpose in studying history in and of itself. Optimistic and cheerful by nature, blessed with uncanny luck, and driven by a powerful wanderlust, halflings like to keep an even temper, a steady eye on opportunity, and are not as prone to violent or emotional outbursts as some of the more volatile races. Even in the jaws of catastrophe, halflings almost never lose their sense of humor. This ability to find humor, no matter how dire the situation, often allows halflings to distance themselves ever so slightly from the dangers that surround them. This sense of detachment can also help shield them from terrors that might immobilize their allies.
(Not the clothes, they're a bit too bright)
Standing at a proud three foot, three inches, Andin garbs himself in whatever fits in with wherever he is. He has a good eye for that. It's the ability to blend in, to belong. It's a common quality of the Good Folk and it's one that he takes to heart. As history has shown, the halfling that sticks out is the first one to get the lash. One thing he tends to keep common between his outfits though is having a multitude of pockets and pouches. The better to squirrel away whatever he picks up off the ground...or out of pockets.
Andin tends to leave his hair as he finds it each morning, sweeping it to the side by hand into some form of semi-controlled mess. His skin is a healthy cinnamon hue, surprisingly soft. According to him it's a side effect. His frame in itself indicates his lack of chops as a warrior or soldier. While he isn't out of shape by any means, it'd be a stretch to call him muscled. He's wiry and spry, maybe even scrawny. That isn't to say that he doesn't have battle scars of his own, a great many on his back and thighs.
On the surface, Andin is the quintessential halfling. Easy going, excitable, and terribly lucky. His smile is wide, his laugh hearty, and charity is as natural to him as breathing and eating. He likes others, and he wants to be liked. A life without friends is hardly fulfilled after all and when he's in good company his spirit is lifted. He takes solace in the company he keeps and, so he's fiercely loyal, always looking to smooth over spats, and bring out laughter when tensions are high. While he's no silver tongue, he's earnest, he's fun, he's always there with a quip or a compliment and a warm tea. He looks out for his own because the Good Folk know that family is everything. Some see this as weakness, that Andin is naive, predictable even.
And he likes it that way. Easier to outwit someone who thinks you can't.
This used to be all he was and others may have been able to attest if they were still around to do so. Tragedy changes people and while friends help, and keeping company soothes, only time fixes. Except, that it's been so long and it feels as if nothing's changed. Sometimes the smile falters, maybe it takes another minute to go get drinks. His eyes can be somewhere far off, contemplating a project but sometimes they're not. They just stare. It's easy to be with others. The more the merrier after all. It's when Andin is alone, that his bright eyes seems to lose their luster, his shoulders slump and he simply sits as if trying to find some respite.
There aren't many halfling in his line of work. Many simply don't have the intellect, many more just don't have the patience. Measurements must be precise, notes must be immaculate, and friends are not easy to come by. It's almost antithesis to what it is to be one of the Good Folk and yet, there he is deriving the trademark joy his kind are known for from where he shouldn't. While he enjoys the company of others, the excuse to take a breather and find solitude through work is held closely. Some find alchemy to be an abomination, an unnatural combination of magic and mundane, but for someone who had no talent for spells, or runes, or any other traditional arcane art, someone like Andin, it was and is an exhilarating adventure into the unknown with no other path but one's own.
Starting as an apprentice to an apothecary at the young age of twenty-two, Andin was a jolly fellow full of youthful vigor. With dexterous, careful hands, a sharp mind, and a halfling's natural inclination to organize and keep tidy, he was the perfect assistant. This was the way it was for nearly a decade and a when Andin came of age at thirty-three, he was an indispensable component to the aging apothecary's operation. Knowing the lad for more than a decade, it struck him as strange when one morning the normal "Good morning Thurman!" was replaced with a flatter "Morning Thurman." While he still had that happy spring in his step, the absent-minded humming grew quieter and less common. Andin began to volunteer more of his time in the shop and within the year, the young hafling was spending several nights a week in the shop, reading through his master's texts. In time, the apothecary began to find annotations, evidence of nighttime experiments, and soon after, Andin brought a notebook of his own to his master filled with slight improvements on the master's formulae. The halfling showed an almost natural understanding of alchemical methods and held great promise of his talents could be properly nurtured.
Whether that came to pass is up for debate. Eventually Andin moved on. While he had developed a familial fondness for his master, the aging human's library was too small. Some questions were refused and some work was not to be done. It wasn't enough for the budding researcher. After much coaxing, he was recommended to a former colleague, a certified alchemist with a proper lab. Potions were not the sole product of this man's labors and Andin dove in with zeal. In time, even that man's times grew stale, words were repeated and Andin felt as if he was stagnating. Not long after Andin broke off on his own to gain his own certification. It was easy. The questions he was asked had long been answered by alchemists before him and it disappointed him. He was hungry for more, and he realized then that he'd need to be the one to find that which would date him.
This led him to his many travels, contracts from various sources and the hunt for ingredients pulled him from city to city. It was when he received his first Royal Contract that he suddenly found something that he could really sink his teeth into. He worked and worked and worked. He had something to prove because as his kind know, opportunity begets opportunity if you don't let it slip from your fingers. This couldn't be his last Royal Contract, and it wasn't.
In time, he gained some renown within the Firen military as a top notch researcher. If a path needed to be charted and its creatures analyzed and documented, it was known that he'd be more than happy to volunteer. His potions and other alchemical products proved useful to the common foot soldier, ranging from tinctures that let a man keep watch through the night to small explosives that could clear away rubble blocking a march. This practical alchemy as he called it was Andin's claim to fame and when the forces of the Mad King marched across the land, Andin's lab was one of the many operating in the service to the Crown.
1. Portin's Patented Portable Alchemy Lab - Invented about six years ago by an alchemist with great love for his name and alliteration, The Triple P Alchemy lab is a useful and practical tool for any alchemist on the go. Conveniently able to fit into a backpack and containing all of the essential alchemical equipment one would expect to find at home, the Triple P Alchemy Lab will save you the hassle of having to rent lab space wherever you go! Don't let traveling take away from your valuable time with Portin's Patented Portable Alchemical Lab!
2 - Large (for a halfling) Backpack - Contains rope, a tent, a lantern, oil, quills, ink, loose paper, chalk, trail rations for about a week, fishing line and hooks, two water skins, and flint and tinder!
3 - A Wooden Tablet - Visibly aged and damaged by charring, this little tablet is inscribed with words in the Good Folk's tongue.
4 - A Silver Ring - Worn on the thumb, this ring is plain and meticulously polished.
5 - Medic's Kit - Filled with all of the various tools, salves, and materials necessary to deal with injuries common to the battlefield.
- Restful Vigil - A tincture that is dropped into the eyes. It allows a creature to stay awake through a night and not suffer any ill effects, the following night the user will sleep deeply. While it can be reapplied on consecutive days to avoid sleep, side effects of repeated use on consecutive days include irritability, delusions, paranoia, and in severe cases, blindness.
- Surgeon's Senses - A versatile salve that can be applied to the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, or body, this concoction increases a user's sensitivity to stimuli. For example if applied to the ears, it increases sensitivity to sound but doesn't expand the range of audible frequencies. Generally used by medical practitioners to help diagnose patients. Side effects if they occur can include fatigue, slight nausea, and lingering metallic taste. Not intended for intravenous use as this can lead to seizures, and mental impairment.
- Cool Mind/Inner Fire - A pair of potions with similar effects. These potions help a user mitigate the damage caused by extremely hot or cold climates by safely modifying a user's body temperature. Prolonged use of either potion can lead to heart arrhythmia, heart attacks, and death. DISCLAIMER: Does not protect user from fire damage or freezing.
- Owl Eye - Applied to the eyes, this solution increases a user's sensitivity to light, allowing for immensely improved vision in low light conditions. Unfortunately, sudden exposure to light will cause temporary blindness and painful contractions of the eye as it adjusts.
7 - A dagger - When all else fails and you're backed into a corner, a well hidden dagger can be the difference between a long life and a very short one.
Example post (Optional): (I ask that you write an example post, no longer than two solid paragraphs but at least a few sentences in length that involves your character. This section is optional but I do like to get to know you and your writing styles.)
Other: (Anything else we might need to know. Be it special skills, such as your character being able to play a musical instrument, random bits of information too small to include elsewhere, what have you.)
Hiya there everyone! Just wanted to say that I'm quite interested in this one, and am currently in the process of writing a character, I sense a need for a staunch manly-man to round out the cast. Anywho, I do hope there's room for one more, I realize there's already quite a few applications.
@Unraveller Good luck. There's no man manlier than me. Puff up that chest, hermano. We're going to face off with grunting and chest puffing. Like male elephant seals.
I may be an elf, but I've got a cool skull mask, ok. If you think I'm prissy just because I don't belch or grow facial hair, well then we have a difference of opinion.
