▼ E X T R A I N F O R M A T I O N ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► DOB - 02/14/1895 ► Height - 6'2" / 188cm ► Weight - 157 lbs / 71 kg ► Hair Color - Syracuse ► Eye Color - Capri Blue ► Classification - Scout ► Rank - Private ► Sexuality - Bisexual
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D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
True to Oceanic fashion, Rocco can always be found to be at least a little unkempt. Always stylishly disheveled,
---P E R S O N A L I T Y
Rocco is a bit of an odd bird: When most in the Federation think of an Oceanian, their mind is immediately imprinted by the thought of the brash assault of a jovial, jolly man, long hardened by the rigorous climate and fearsome wildlife of the region. The cultural impression is one that is difficult to escape, yet Rocco has - perhaps more impressively - both mold to and reject these notions. On first impressions, Rocco appears quiet, perhaps a bit awkward. Portraying himself with remarkable modesty, his speech itself is simultaneously well-mannered and charmingly uncouth, often peppering his language with the trademark obscenities that pass for regular conversational diction in his home country.
Yet, not far beneath this balmy, mild-mannered picture lies perhaps the "real" Rocco. Rocco's has little concept of the words shyness or timidity, for he will very rarely avert himself from the fullest - and most dangerous - experiences that life has to offer, to which he gorges himself generously on this apex of sensation. In the thick of conflict, when one is pushed toward limits, Rocco finds himself and others capable of feats they very well knew nothing of prior. Rocco adores this sensation, and covetously prowls for the next euphoric experience. Simply incapable of remaining still, to put Rocco in a desk or standing observation position would be little aside from incarceration to the lad.
When the moment has subsided, and the memory has condensed well into his head, Rocco impulsively begins writing down the encounter in loving detail, all the while murmuring cackling reminiscences while his mind rushes through the emotions at once. He is all too happy to share his adventures - in one form or another - and simply will not hesitate to enthusiastically recite his most recent ordeal in full measure...or to cast fortune to the wind, and allow his audience the pleasure of the same experience.
---B I O G R A P H Y
WIP
---P O T E N T I A L S
Adventurer: Being an Oceanic was just the start. Some say that Rocco is audacious by nature; After all, Zwollian passion mixed with Oceanic hardening can only make one who is as irreverent as him. Rocco is, perhaps, an impulsive thrill-seeker, and beneath his outward awkwardness belies a keen daredevil. There are few risks that the Oceanian is willing to shy away from, for even in the most intense of artillery barrages can he be found enthusiastically taking photographs in disturbingly loving detail.
"Experimental" Journalist: The turn of the century proposed a whole new definition of the art of writing and media, and Rocco intends to be the harbinger of this new artistic revolution. Rocco is simply enchanted by the possibilities of the new era that is to be ushered in of "immersive media", and he has determined that this new phenomenon is to be solely created by transporting media away from a detached, analytical worldview and towards one which is solely perpetuated by the experiences of the writer, as if to tell the story if the reader were there themselves. He is far from shy in his endeavours, and will enthusiastically explain his purpose in the war in this advance (if it also earns him many an odd look in the process).
Twitchy: Rocco just can't sit still for the life of him. His hyperactive demeanor puts him in a constant state of intrigue and interest, to the degree that he simply must be constantly engaged in something or another.
Eccentric Inheritor: Having been the only surviving child between the late Savage family, Rocco stands as the sole heir to the formidable Savage family fortune. Although legally this immense inheritance is bound to his foster guardians and his grandmother, their aloof (and equally self-serving) attitudes toward the matter have done little to prevent Rocco from attaining his sums from a very young age. As such, Rocco is accustomed to being able to solve any inconvenience with a liberal application of liquid assets. While he has, in his youth, had experiences most could only dream of with his wealth, such also has inevitably distorted his worldview.
// Title: Living After Midnight - A Post-Dieselpunk Nation RP
The Age of Petrol and its consequences have had disastrous consequences for the human race.
In 1935, what does not seem so long ago, the fragile status quo which presided over the World in the wake of the Great War would find itself in peacetime - and found itself lacking. Founded upon fragmented ideals baked behind half-witted land grabs and cynical imperialism, the simple compromises forced unto it could simply not stand the test of time. Even the Assembly of Nations - for all the good it was founded upon - could only do so much to curb the forces it had so desperately attempted to curtail just years prior. A peace designed to last a thousand years scarcely lasted three decades, for little more than a generation after, the industrial world and tide of change would plummet the world into war once more.
The dissatisfaction and discontent aroused by both the Great War and the influence of the Socialist International quickly gave rise to the most notorious and
In their wake of this conflict - which had reduced women to but war-machines and gentlemen to gears - the unleashed might of the power of petrol and diesel unfurled itself with wrath so terrible as for all to know.
Their victory would be accepted as nothing short of total - a task that all the powers of the world have apocalyptically agreed to. Naught ever dissuaded them before the gargantuan battle, and so it was that the teeth-clenched teamwork of the pact tore through the SocIntern - even as they forded the great oceans, shattered every cliff-bunker, marched through every village, and steadily grinded away any so foolish nor valiant to resist their advance. From this uncompromising slaughter, the heart of the SocIntern gradually collapsed, and, for that moment of hard-pressed victory, there was unity in the world. If only for a time.
In the wake of the SocIntern's rotting corpse came the vultures and the worms to their carrion, each awaiting their turn at the feasting table as to how this great falling shall slake their appetites. Yet, like all old rivals, the goals of both these groups have done little aside from squabble aside. Between an iron curtain would the corpse of the country be divided amongst its victors, each spanning across a .
But even with such catastrophe laid bare for all the world to see, not even the millions among the dead could hail prelude for what was to come next.
The Demon Lord is indubitably an intelligent presence - He had muscled and crawled and scampered through the ranks of the Underworld, and even as a Emberling He showed tenacity to even make a Great One show appreciation. Lord Ahriman - The Fires fuel His soul - has made great strides in the advances of Sheol unto Earth, even rivaling those decadent bastards in the Church! The apostates in the service of the Goddess are nothing but a cabal of villains, rogues, and those who so priggishly defend the former two! They so shamelessly appropriate the tenants of Demonhood and so utterly corrupt them under veils of "light", "restraint", "order", and other such nonsense. It is nepotism, preying on the disenfranchised and desperate, and little besides. We, on the other hand, offer freedom and true merit, and the Demons shall never once cease until ever last agent of light is likewise cast down. In our righteous crusade, Lord Ahriman leads as the forefront of this campaign, coming from our Demonic home of Sheol, Crux of the Underworld.
Yet like clockwork, every time there was the problem. Not quite the same problem each time, but ones so similar as to which their similarities could never be disputed nor refuted throughout Demonkind. Like the Deus Ex Machina of mortal tales, a mystical hero, prophesied to come from a far-flung land, would turn unto the Demons and from the Darkness usher in Light. Some even say it must be the Curse of Saint Zariah, but none expected her revenge to be so...persistent. They are each unassuming, fumbling fools who have bumbled before an unknown world and only spared a fittingly anticlimactic death by Her Clairvoyance. Her Guidance shall propel her champions - Her summoned sheep-in-paladin-dress, and whatever sorry whelps have been drugged by Her meddling - and their inexplicable machinations have thwarted the plans of even the most cunning of Demon Kings.
Well, to Heaven with that! Lord Ahriman did not muscle and grime and plot and plan his perfect revenge for some magical tart to come along and muck it up, all because some cooky, overzealous old crone gave him a magic sword! He has faced a foe far greater than himself several times before, and while he still sits upon his Obsidian Throne, the night shall not fade! He, in all his infernal preeminence, has done far beyond the simple squalor on his crawl to the top: He has studied - quite impressively - and in His findings has so ascertained his study a most intriguing pattern. Her Guidance is a persistent pestilence, but not one without reason. She shall summon weak champions with each one fallen, another to exact her reprise. The sorts by which find their way into our world have all been cut from similar cloth. They are foolish, vain, weak-minded simpletons, devoid of personality and so insufferably lifeless that those who might know better shall call them what they truly are: Mere puppets of Her Will. Yet, such base desires are easily thwarted, for so simple the promise of wine and women may just as soon deter his attention - and his loyalty. Lord Ahriman - in all His eminent brilliance - hatched a most cunning plot, and instead has convened a most supine corps, who shall likewise infiltrate, interlope, and hunt down these would-be "champions". A defeated foe might one day return tenfold stronger for nemesis, but a reconciled one is truly, utterly vanquished. And if they so love to lap the boots of Her Will? Well, we can sure teach them a thing or two on how to lick...
Heartbreaking, isn't it?
So, who wants to be an Isekai Hunter?
As perhaps slated by the introductory blurb - and perhaps the tags (insofar that anyone really goes about reading those nowadays...) - Heartbreaker is a different take on your usual isekai romp. You are not the isekai protagonist. You've likely lived here your entire life, in Anime Fantasy Land working in some appropriately relevant field as to ascertain something which is not a life of agriculture or servitude. Her Guidance is a vexing thing, no doubt...but that is why you have sought out the Powers of Sheol, isn't it? The idea of a pre-ascertained life is a...depressing, incarcerating thing, only predetermined to an uneventful life, from which one's eternal soul shall be likewise unceremoniously plucked from its rotting prison and likewise re-incarcerated in its next banal life. But, really, where is the fun in that? Fortunately, Lord Ahriman is quite keen to intervene the affairs of mortals, and is readily here to correct this.
Before you ask: Yes. It does deal with the usual assortment of anime tropes - on the receiving end. Her Clairvoyance gives your very annoying target a surprising amount of foresight and protection, but as with everything that involves plot armor, we should hope that you will be savvy enough to subvert the typical array of augurs our poor hero will be credo to. Not just anyone can be a Heartbreaker, and only the smartest, strongest, swiftest, and serendipitous of souls survive long enough to rightfully call themselves one who might subvert Her Guidance. Yet, any plan which involves an unresponsive enemy ceases to be such and instead turns into fantasy. Her Vengeance shall twist and thwart in turn while she eternally plots in turn, and on the fields of mortals shall engage the greatest battle of wits to ever grace the land.
Expect a usual assortment of absurdist horror and its friend in humor: The Immortals often have a - forgive the pun - demented sense of comedy, and so too when Those Above and Those Below shall clash in the fields of mortals, they shall likewise adapt to their senses. A more "gonzo" sense of humor should be expected - and expect a lot of comedic tropes in anime to be parodied.
Interested? Vunderfaal! Here's a Character Sheet template I made off of this morning's caffeine binge, if you're so engrossed.
Name: How in the Seven Fires can you be of use to Lord Ahriman if you do not even know your own name?!
Age: Age is just a number: Much like how the prisons of Tartarus are simply rooms. Death is likewise but a mere inconvenience for those in the service of Sheol. Under normal circumstances, Demons cannot be killed: Only banished to Sheol for an indeterminate amount of time. Mortals who find themselves facing an inconvenient demise find their souls under the wing of Lord Ahriman, who shall revive them back unto their old self.
Race: There's all sorts of garden-variety fantasy races out there in the world, and all of them pale in comparison to what truly matters in the eyes of the Demons. One is either a Mortal or a Demon, and whatever other...connotations are preferred are really only window dressing to most in Sheolese society. Those still in the Land of the Living, however, will take more interest. Even the most well-trained of mortals never come close to the near-limitless potential of Demonhood, yet Mortals shall likewise go unnoticed throughout "polite" society, as Demons are easily revealed by Holy objects or Detection spells, no matter how well-trained they are to mask themselves.
Appearance: Cough up a suitably anime-inspired portrait of a figure that bears the likeness of your character. A description will also suffice, but please limit it to a paragraph or two. Background: Lord Ahriman posses the time for your life story, but not the patience. He is a prudent fellow (by the "generous" standards of a Demon Lord), but His Excellency insists that you spit it out: Not maunder on like a chattering maidservant.
Skills and Abilities: Something sets you above the usual charlatans thrown at the feet of Lord Ahriman. You are no grovelling aspirant. You are one of His finest and most trusted of henchmen - you are likewise required to prove it. Demons reward the successes of their champions generously with hellish magics and demonic powers, and Lord Ahriman is a most generous soul indeed. He - however - should prefer that you handle things with tact, even if the twisting of Her Guidance is a messy business.
Quips: If you have any miscellaneous character details, quirks, inspirations, 'anime-isms', or what-have-you, feel free to list them here.
Hyusis - the favoured land of God, Lodestar of Eminora, Beacon unto the Cosmos, Siren to Her Faithful and Condyle of Naika with Her Seven Lunar Sons - and all other flavourful euphemisms to describe this crater that is this magnet of Metsu-Yun. It is for some perplexingly convenient reason that such is the will of our cosmos to direct energy of the suns unto this northerly waste, but alas, for Her favoured land too produces Akhrana from the eternal foci of its position on Earth. And for what coincidence do her most Holy of lands likewise draw her champions there, like moths to a bonfire!
It is for that simple reason, in my decades of study, that all her champions have convened in this fated territory on this island Naika. It serves as her hallowed ground, and it is from this worldly centre that she finds herself abundant with faraway fellows. Many have called this land their righteous home, and through virtue of conquest has She found it righteous to do proclaim her homeland in the domain of others.
The so-called "Empire" is such an eclectic mess, permeating the West Banks, which runs so proudly from the Silver Marches, from which the Twin Plumes bellow in eternity to the whispering blue Arratz. It is simply nightmarish collection of noble houses, counties, duchies - all petty kingdoms beneath the banner of its electoral emperorship. It's lords care for the health of their nation once every four months, at the convening of their Diets, and are likewise so thoroughly entangled in their interpersonal affairs that it proves as a seedbed for intrigue. They yammer and squabble with so regular basis that the cries of foul play in the courts of Ouran are likened to the sound of bird song, and for this incessant bickering does it make for fine interloping.
They do love their imitation of the ancients - first-fold of Xandrian's Empire of yore, for which the Ourani do incessantly emulate in their far-forgotten fashions, in futile hope that they might earn but a shred of their long-lost glory - and second-fold in their cannibalization of the High Elves. From its cradling capital of Zariahr, most all the region of Hyusis remains under their nominal peerage. A few stragglers remain, of course, but Zariahr very much loves its vassals under heel. With their manyfold slaves in tow (Ouran insists upon calling its man-property "peasants", "subjects", "serfs", "helots", "servants", and all other manner of epithets - I only call them for what they are) this Empire of Ouran has far moved beyond its eponymous city-state and has transformed into the figurehead of a multi-national empire. Its scenescape varies far from the graceful, temperate lowlands of the Vestia to the ashen, snow-capped peaks of Spitta-Lyir.
The esteemed Lusavor dynasty preoccupies the Ivory Throne - the sixth or so, I believe - and their reign has such proved to be an aggressively conservative affair. Few in the Imperial courts are believed to be happy with their arrangement of iron-lipped dismissals, but even fewer are willing to possibly openly jeopardize their meagre worldly holdings in display to change their dismay. Emperor Lusavor serves as Pontifix Antaram's mouthpiece it so seems, and has thus far not shown much ambition towards ever changing this. His beloved betrothed, on the other hand, is quite the scene for rumour...
Ah, the elves. Those in the Ouran Empire are awfully proud of the integration of the High Elves - much like a zookeeper is proud of an old lion. What remain are only the scattered remant of the Low Elven folk of Rha-Mara. They are a fierce folk, with such belligerence and spirit that even an orc chieftain might blush to hear their feats. Many are subject yet to a life of vassalage beneath the Empire, yet there still exist the many who refuse to bow their heads before the Ourani yoke.
The Aran Mountains around which they convene nurture the woods of what they might call, "Great Išnaši". Their subbornness to hold out against the ever-threatening encroachment of the Clions into their sacred lands is nothing short of admirable, if their pursuit appears to be for naught. A good few of their clans stand divided in their approach to how quite deal with the Clionist threat. Quite a few favour a manner of ceasefire, penance, or perchance integration - depending on how deep they are into Ourani's coffers - yet the youngest and best-eyed of their clansmen have taken up a staunch anti-Ourani stance, determined to keep any manner of their influence free from their territory. The Low Elves have sacrificed much, and it seems unlikely that there will be any further appeasement in the near future - but cooperation is another matter, and some of the more "civil-minded" of their ilk seem quite pressed to reach an agreement. As it seems, though, the scenario between them and the Empire remains a tenuous one, for any sort of full-fledged incursion would almost certainly unite the clans into one front.
The orcs are such an easily...misinterpreted peoples. Coarse hills and jagged badlands far dominate the fields of Uli-Töva from whence they come, to which their peoples have found themselves in incessant conflict with both the elves of the north and the dwarves of the Far East - to say nothing of the humans - for what resources remain in easy access of their native hearth. Most so-called "civilized" nations are quick to dismiss the orc as an avatar of brutishness: They simply treat unkindness with reprisal of their own, and it is by this same virtue that the violence of the Empire is called "law" and the violence of the orcs called "banditry".
Most petty chieftains of Sela Orda are routinely extorted for tribute from Ourani - be it in the form of labour, coin, or promising slave-warriors. Few, naturally, are thus satisfied with this arrangement, but the varied and aeons-old feuds between clans and families deter any attempts at a truly united Orcish political entity. I believe, however, that this might be remedied with a few good marriages of opportunity...
Since the time of The Prophets have there been those so enterprising as to ascertain the whims of those greater than themselves. Their own prophet - the one we now know as "Clion of Arkhaila" Nevertheless, Clionism stands as the primary religious denomination found throughout the land, where they displace the aboriginals of Her favoured land with the same zeal as any might remove any vermin or parasite.
The Church is split into two predominant sects: Xandrian thought and Alytian thought. They have fought many a war to resolve very specific differences over what are largely the same ground tenants. Their most noteworthy symbol resolves the Three-Pronged Cross, for which they adorn almost every last preface with simply confusing iteration.
The Ecclesiarchy of Clionism - regardless of sect or geography - acts with so utter of impunity it has driven even the most draconian of kings mad with envy. Likewise, any such organization would indubitably need a militant arm, for which they shall stamp out the slightest signs of heresy or witchcraft. Their robber-knights routinely scrounge throughout the Imperial countryside, from where they righteously pluck the promising from their homes and grant unto them a life of but indenturement. These holy robber barons are unbeholden to petty lords, but might be routinely whored out to such nobles with the right circumstances...or connections.
Of note, one might be wary of the ones known as Namissaries in their service. The Namissar (Feminine: Namissara) are undoubtedly among the strongest corps of any Order. Namissaries are an elite cabal of slave-knights which have been granted servitude under the banner of an Order in exchange for absolution - and of course, status, with cattle of their own. Thorughout the years, the status of Namissaries have grown bloated, content to become cliquish with each passing generation, but mistakes shall not be made by insisting these old dogs no longer possess teeth.
You need me not to describe the painstaking astronomical theories under which the power of the cosmos is projected unto the power of Akhrana. All but the most insignificant of beings are capable of the manipulation of Akhrana, and its minute details for which its implementation are used on Naika would be a fruitless and wasteful endeavour. Primarily, the main cause for concern in regards to the power of Akhrana would be in its incredibly tangible nature; By virtue of being found within every most being on Naika, the more powerful one's instruments in its use, the more its reverberations are echoed, until even the most minute actions by the most powerful of mages sends ripples throughout the world in ways they could never possibly forsee. I would hope not to remind you of the consequences of reckless use of Akhrana, but needless to say, any half-intelligent being would be mindful of the trail one leaves when engaging in the magics.
Decided i'd put these notes here, in the event anyone needs any headway when I make any of these things.
ECCLESIASTICAL NAMES: The original names for the continent of Hyusis come from Graeco-Armenian and other Early Semetic languages. This includes most of the names for planetary bodies, and the world of Naika itself. The Ecclesiastical language (High Alytian) is still predominantly spoken for religious and ceremonial purposes, and every self-respecting nobleman knows it; Many nobles do not even know the common languages of their holds in question, only speaking High Alytian and requiring manservants to translate their orders.
IMPERIAL NAMES: Given the multi-ethnic nature of the Ourani Empire, there's all combinations of nomenclatures that could be possible.
RHA-MARANESE / ELVEN NAMES: I've written Elves to use something based off of Baltic languages. High Elves would use a Western Baltic similar to Old Prussian while the Low Elves of Rha-Mara would use something apropos Old Lithuanian.
ORCISH NAMES: I used Northwest Turkic languages for my basis here, so think of Kazakh and Tatar.