[OOC] The Insidious Night

[Hank]

A chill wind is blowing, like some great force gathering its breath. There are rumors going through the lands, talk of orcs and goblins stalking the woods at night. They say the men of the plains see lights on top of the old fortress, the Grim Spire, that cursed place abandoned so long ago. Whispers in the dark. Birdsong has left the air. Something is afoot.

One of the last remaining members of an order dedicated to the protection of the land has gathered a group of individuals to investigate this. People from all walks of life and different races have banded together, united in a common purpose. For their leader remembers the old tales and sees the warning signs that others have missed. Could it be that a terrible evil has returned? Or is there some other force driving these events, summoning dark servants out of hiding?

This unlikely band of heroes-to-be must journey far away from home, deep into the heart of darkness, to discover the truth and put an end to this menace before it can begin.

---

This roleplay takes place in a land called Brackenhorst. A mass of fertile, sprawling fields as far as the eye can see. Lots of little villages and townships, populated mostly by farmers. No king rules these lands, and men live free, honest lives.

To the north of Brackenhorst is giant forest that the men of the Bracken fields rarely venture into. As is typical of these simple-minded people, it doesn't have a particularly original name, and is merely known as the Dark Forest. It owes its name to the perpetual twilight that exists beneath its thick canopy. Elves live here, though they're quite secretive about where in the forest exactly. However, the forest is large, dense and mostly unexplored. The elves aren't the only creatures that dwell there and some say that even the trees themselves can come to life.

To the northeast of the Dark Forest is a mountain range, known simply as the Tall Mountains. Dwarves live beneath these mountains in great halls carved into the rock. According to the dwarves, there is a dark land on the other side of these mountains, which is where the orcs, goblins and other unsavory creatures come from.

To the south, in warmer lands, kingdoms and empires of elves, men and other races thrive and wage war on one another. But this roleplay does not concern them. The affairs of kings have no relevance here. I only mention them because if you, dear reader, fancy playing a more sophisticated, worldly character, having them hail from these lands is an option.

That's all the information you really need. Feel free to fill in the blanks and make up stuff yourself while creating your character. In fact, I encourage it.

---

Peace has reigned in Brackenhorst for a long time and the lands have been safe from invasions or threats. This is threatening to change, however, now that bands of orcs and goblins have been spied by the elves in the Dark Forest. They told the men of the Bracken Fields, who in turn have been gossiping among themselves. The dwarves of the Tall Mountains also know and have seen orcs traversing this mountain range, journeying towards the Dark Forest. Eventually, these rumors spread to other parts of the world. And from these parts, a man returned to Brackenhorst who has not been there in a long time. One of the last members of a very old order, the Watchful, established in ages past for reasons long forgotten to the uninitiated.

This Watchful Man has gathered a troupe. In order to join this illustrious fellowship, please fill out the form below.

Name: What do others call you?
Gender: Sir or mamzel?
Age: How long have you walked this earth, mortal? Yes, that goes for elves too. They live long, but not forever.
Race: Man of the Fields, elf of the Forest, or dwarf of the Mountains?

Appearance: How fair might you be to the eye? Written description is mandatory, though feel free to augment this with a picture if you have one to provide.

History: What has led up to this point in your life? Be concise, novels are not required. This is a simple roleplay.

Personality: What are you like? Again, a summary. Let your character's actions speak for themselves in the roleplay but give me an idea of what to expect.

Skills: What might you be good at? A master-at-arms, maybe? Or a stealthy pair of eyes in the night? What's that? Magic? No, I don't think so. That art has long been lost to time. Very few in these lands still know how and you are not one of them.

Possessions: What do you bring with you on this journey? Weapons, armor, trinkets, odds and ends, that sort of thing.

Miscellaneous: Did I forget anything? Tell me here.

As an example and my own character in this roleplay, the aforementioned Watchful Man and leader of this expedition, look towards the following.

Thaddeus

Name: Thaddeus.
Gender: Male.
Age: He would appear to be in his thirties.
Race: Man.

Appearance: The Watchful Man is a tall, striking figure. He looks decidedly weather-worn, from his unkempt, black, shoulder-length hair to the stubble on his face to the disheveled status of his ranger's gear. What stands out among all the grime are his startlingly green eyes, twinkling with... yes, with what exactly?

History: Born in Brackenhorst, Thaddeus has roamed the land from a young age. Nobody is quite sure how exactly he came to be part of the Watchful, an order that has been on the decline for a long time, its purpose lost to history. Thaddeus has always watched over the Men of the Fields, hunting down any signs of danger. Every time, however, it has turned out to be something minor. It's as if Thaddeus was looking for something that he couldn't find. Suspecting a taint that wasn't there. About ten years ago, Thaddeus left Brackenhorst. Where he traveled, one couldn't say. South, perhaps, to the greater lands there, with their kings and wars and giant cities and self-importance.

The rumors drew him back. Was there finally something worth pursuing? Whatever the case might be, orcs being sighted in the Dark Forest is more than enough reason for him to investigate. They haven't been seen on this side of the Tall Mountains in generations. And so he gathered a party of remarkable individuals. Now it's time to see what this fuss is all about.

Personality: Thaddeus is both serious and mischievous – a natural leader but always with a glint of humor in his eyes. He's easy to make friends with and generally quite likeable, but sometimes infuriating in his insistence to keep information to himself, expecting others to trust and follow him completely. He is protective of and loyal to those by his side but he won't let them get in the way of his mission. Keeping the land safe is his paramount objective. Anything else, and anyone else, is secondary.

Skills: Thaddeus is a ranger, skilled with both the sword and the bow, though a master of neither. His true strength lies in tracking and investigating. His sharp eyes see things that others miss, his nose picks up trails that others can't find, and his mind makes connections that others might not have thought of.

Possessions: A longsword, a bow, a quiver with homemade arrows, a map, his drab ranger's clothing (including a hooded cloak), a dagger, some coin, and an empty vial on a chain around his neck.

Miscellaneous: I don't think I forgot anything.

Let's see those sheets! I will list accepted characters below.

Rook, played by Asyrdar.
Lila, played by Elsa.
Sir Gehrhart, played by guyvolk.
Shi'mon, played by ShonHarris.
Thorianiel, played by Ellri.
Wolmak, played by Sep.
Celine, played by dreamingflowers.
Edward, played by Azathoth.
Mirion, played by TP.
Ghas, played by Keepvogel.
Kaell, played by Sanedraned.

[Asyrdar]

Name: Rook
Gender: Male
Age: 29
Race: Human

Appearance: While not unattractive, Rook is a man of fairly average stature, and would not stand out in a crowd were it not for his almost theatrical charm. A wild array of dyed head-scarves, almond brown eyes, and a soft smile distract from an otherwise rough demeanor, though it is impossible not to notice his 'once-too-many-times-broken' nose and clipped left ear. He keeps his brown hair cropped and simple, but his garb is often of high quality and intricately patterned, and his already-damaged left ear sports three golden rings.

History: Rook is a gambling man, and if anything can be said about him, its that 'he gets by'. Born to a family of too many children and too little means to feed them, he left at a young age, near fourteen - at the behest of his head-in-the-clouds mother but to the detriment of his far more 'grounded' father's health - to begin a life on the open road. Early on, he learned to appreciate three things - a quick tongue, a bit of coin, and a knob of iron at the end of a stick. Blessed with quick hands and a smooth voice, he made much of his way traveling from inn to inn, hustling the ignorant of their cash. In possession of a set of dice so loaded some have called them magical, the once flea-ridden youth found ways to divert fistfuls of gold into his lap, trading worn woolen garments for silks and becoming something of a local legend. He has only returned home once, when he was by chance informed of his father's pending funeral.

In the recent weeks, he chose Brackenhorst as victim to his curious brand of tyranny. While nipping spare coin from the foolish and ingratiating himself with the local populace, he by chance met a man named Thaddeus. He'd heard some whispers of the man but he truly knew very little, and his demeanor intrigued Rook, so he inevitably challenged Thaddeus to a simple dice game; guess odds or evens, and you win. He handily 'earned' the man's coin in three quick bouts, but in a not-uncharacteristic move, he bought food and drink for the man using his own lost wealth. It took more than a few mugs of ale, but Rook was able to tease out the vague details of Thaddeus' reason for returning home; some hoo-ha about orcs and the Watchful requiring aid. While he'd never been a man to follow 'noble' ideals, he was interested enough to gamble with Thaddeus one last time. Should Thaddeus guess correctly, Rook would join him, and assist in whatever ways he could; and against all 'odds', the Watchful won the bet. Not knowing quite sure what he was getting involved in, but excited for the possibilities nonetheless, Rook vowed to followed Thaddeus as far as he was needed.

Personality: Rook is most easily - and correctly - described as a free spirit, but most definitely not a reverent one. When asked what he finds most important in life (as often happens amongst the intoxicated), he lists simply 'wine, women, and song.' He ruthlessly sucks gold from the hapless, but he never leaves them helpless either; he just as often pays their stay in town as robs them of their valuables. Truth be told, he's not quite sure what he's looking for out of life, but he knows he could never just sit and manage a shop or till the land. There's too much fire in him for that.

Skills: Besides being quick with his hands and tongue, Rook has picked up many small, useful skills along his less-than-glamorous path through life, including lockpicking, small-time hunting, cooking, brewing, and the like; he can also charm people in many unexpected ways. His easy demeanor makes him hard to disagree with, and he uses it to his advantage. Finally, he is quite skilled with small blades and clubs; not a duelist by any means, life on the streets has taught him many ways to throw daggers and disarm and disable a warrior before he is able to swing his fancy sword.

Possessions: A three foot iron mace with a small, round head, and three daggers; two with short, broad blades and one slender blade nearing nine inches. His set of 'magical' dice, and a large ceramic jug of wine that seems near bottomless. He never carries much gold on him, but he has enough to get by, and can certainly always 'acquire' more. He also has a tin of chewing weed, a rare indulgence of his hometown with a sour bite that leaves the gums and tongue tingling.

[Elsa]

Here you go, I've added some stuff under misc;

Lila

Name: Lila
Gender: Female
Age: 28
Race: Human.

Appearance: Strong and lithe, particularly around her shoulders and thighs from a lifetime of physical labour. Her skin is naturally dark, made darker by the sun that she is so often working under. The tan of her skin has the effect of making her eyes look brighter and more green than they actually are. Her hair is a dirty brown colour, kept long and restrained in a braid. Her hands are worn and calloused, and she bears many smaller scars on her hands and arms from common household accidents, scars that heal within days but are frequently replaced by the same. There are also stretch marks around her waist and belly from the growth spurt that she experienced when she was twelve and a pregnancy that did not achieve full term when she was twenty-two.

History: Lila did not lead a particularly eventful life in her first twenty three years. She was born to a man who owned a farm and wanted sons, and though she helped him in the fields for many years he married her to a blacksmith twice her age in exchange for the blacksmith's bastard son to help him in the fields. She was sixteen when she was married, seventeen when she miscarried her first child, and twenty-three when she killed her husband because she had had enough of him being abusive to her when they were in private.

She told her neighbours that he had died of illness, buried him in secret, and took over his trade, quickly gaining a reputation as being almost as good as any man. Lila lost friends and customers quickly, and struggled for over four years trying to keep herself comfortable, a life made difficult by her father's unwillingness to take her in again as they had never got along.

By the time Lila was twenty-eight she was ready to move on.

Personality: Stubborn, angry, hateful, independent, manipulative.

Skills: Working on a farm and then in a smithy has made her strong, and though she can use a sword she prefers a weapon that she had use from a distance. She made herself a longbow, but because she is an amateur with that particular craft it is poorly made and can only be used with any accuracy for hunting smaller game. The bulk of her skills lie in keeping swords sharp and well made, and identifying the right sword for the right person. Lila can fight, but she would never call herself a fighter.

Possessions: A smaller sword of her own making that she can handle easily with one hand, her bow and two dozen arrows, a satchel containing her identification papers, a whetstone, and foot and water. She has few possessions that she genuinely cares to keep.

Miscellaneous: Met Thaddeus when he was passing through her home town and needed the use of her smithy, joined up with him when he returned years later which was immediately before he met up with Rook.

[Hank]

Welcome, both of you, old friends.

[Elsa]

I added a line to link it in with Asyrdar's character... and I'm thinking that Lila and Rook will not get along...

[Asyrdar]

Well Rook is a man of diffusing situations and taking people off-guard with puns, so she may be able to look past the fact that he's gone and 'redistributed' everyone's wealth in his favor...

Okay maybe not :P

[Elsa]

Unlikely. We'll have much more fun with loathing.

[guyvolk]

Sir Gehrhart

Name: Sir Gehrhart (Gehrhart the Gray)
Gender: Male
Age: 72
Race: Dwarf

Appearance:
Gehrharts face is one that bears the mark of many years and many battles but it is not unkind. His amber eyes have a certain warmth to them and he spends more time smiling than not. Like all of his people he is of a shorter stature and of a broad build. His hair has faded to a gray liken able to the steel of his armor and he has gone completely bald. He more than makes up for this with his beard, kept shorter than most other dwarves only just reaching his chest and braided in a very simple style, it is nonetheless as thick and as meticulously maintained as any other dwarves. His skin bears a few mementos of battles past most notably the thin scar running across his forehead and ending just above his left eyebrow. Gehrhart has large hands worn smooth from years of gripping an axe hilt.

History:
Old Gehrhart has seen more than his fair share of battles, having been born and raised in his order it's all he ever knew. Deep in the Dwarven kingdoms lies The Armory a great underground fortress that houses the Order of Agnemon an ancient and storied knighthood that has protected the Dwarven kingdoms for generations. Not any Dwarf can call himself a member as you must be born into it. When the men from the Order come and inspect a newborn babe it is a great honor to receive the iron ring that shows their approval. When the child is weaned they are collected and raised in The Armory trained in the ways of war from cradle to grave. Such was Gehrharts fate, he never knew his parents or normal life just the endless drill of knighthood. The Order was not unkind or cruel but Gehrhart always thought of life outside the armory and the what ifs that it held.

His time on the front lines has long since passed and he now spends his days training the younger pages so that they might become successful knights as well. This has made him a bit restless and he yearns for the chance to be back in action again and perhaps even see the rest of the world outside of the mountains. At least that's what he told Thaddeus years ago when the Watchful stopped at The Armory in his travels. Little did he know the man would return asking after old Gehrhart and offering him just that chance.

Personality: Stern, Caring, Kind, Blunt, Patient

Skills: Gehrhart is trained in the art of combat and is an expert at wielding his war ax with power and precision and defending himself with his shield.

Possessions: Gehrhart brings his armor an old but well cared for suit of plate mail bearing the Orders emblem on the breastplate, His War ax named Alda, And his shield a gift from the heads of the order when he set out with Thaddeus(a steel buckler with a nasty spike on the front).

Miscellaneous: Gehrhart does not expect to return to The Armory.

[Bugoycmike]

Arnold

Name:
-Arnold, Third son of Aidan.
Gender:
-Sir.
Age:
-18.
Race:
-Human (of the Fields).

Appearance:
-Youthful, if not homely appearance: Bushy brown eyebrows over a pair of grayish-green eyes; a sizable, curved nose; large lips, and a small, scar-like birthmark underneath his lower lip
-Blessed with the rich head of dark-brown hair often tied into a messy bun, much unlike the rest of his balding father and older brothers.
-Surprisingly developed muscular frame given his age; lower body contrasts his larger upper body.
-Stands a good head and a half taller than most men in the village, again surprising given his age.

History:
-The youngest son of an otherwise simple farmer, Arnold's imposing frame surprises a majority of his family, and the neighbours within his isolated village. Dwarfing his mother and standing inches over his father, many suspected him of being a sort of illegitimate child in his youth until his father publicly declared him his son. As a result, he toiled the fields at a faster, more productive pace than other boys his age, a work ethic complimented by his naturally durable, enduring body.
-Nothing particularly significant has occurred yet in his young life, although every so often he listens to his father's stories about their ancestors, men and women of formidable size who came from the South to escape the discrimination they were constantly subjected to. These in mind, he has taken it upon himself to illustrate said stories onto pieces of parchment, an expensive hobby he maintains with frequent extended stays in larger townships requiring strong, obedient hands.
-About a year ago, while enjoying a day of leisure from a three month long working tenure in the nearby town general store, he happened across a merchant from the South claiming to be selling legitimate artifacts, relics of the past in their most practical form: great war-axes, swords, and warhammers. Although skeptical of their historical value, Arnold did happen upon a trio of throwing axes featuring intricate but unidentifiable runic symbols that the merchant was more than happy to part with for a good amount of his work period pay. His parents, though upset at his foolishness, were otherwise impartial.

Personality:
-Introspective.
-Contemplative.
-Determined.
-Practical.

Skills:
-Rudimentary artistic abilities (nothing one would consider aesthetically pleasing but entertaining to most farm-folk).
-Powerful but inaccurate ability to throw his axes.
-Particularly strong for his age.
-Impressive but of course mortal endurance.

Possessions:
-Throwing Axes (x3) .
-Rucksack filled with: vittles, leather water bottle, torch with cloth, flint and steel, and a bedroll.
-Fastened belt holding his axes; another one across his back and chest holding a larger, two-handed woodsman's axe.

Miscellaneous:
-Overheard a recently swindled merchant speaking about the drunken rambling of the enigmatic Watchful Man and the con-man and became intrigued at the idea of embarking on an adventure.

Just joined up here, hope you don't mind a new, inexperienced face!

[Sep]

Been a while since I've done something not Sci-Fi. Colour me interested Capn, I'll work on something soon.

[ApocalypticaGM]

A simple fantasy with an interesting bunch of characters? Sounds absolutely wonderful.

Shi

Name: Shi'mon
Gender: Male
Age: He has seen a few weeks short of five decades -- just barely a man to his people.
Race: Elf of the Forest

Appearance: Shi'mon is an earthy tan and lighter than the southern elves. He is among those of the forest born shorter than Man as well as more slender, with disproportionately broad shoulders. He is gaunt with two lines curving along his cheekbones and ending at his lips. Shi'mon's faint hazel eyes are rounded, however, unlike his taller kin, near Man's size. His hair is barely longer than a grain until mid scalp, where several auburn, beaded braids stretch back into a bun. Shi'mon wears a maroon tunic belted at the waist and umber trousers. His boots, belt, and pauldrons are light leather and dark as the earth. He also favours a likewise coloured cloak. All in all, he is easy to pass over and takes pride in his even, stoic gaze.

History: Shi'mon and his kin are among the most southern within the forest. They regularly engaged with their kin from the southern empires, usually offering some measure of comfort for their war-weary cousins. Small festivals welcoming the warriors were common. Shi'mon served his father, an advisor, from early on helping to organize the honours. Yet, despite their kindness, rest turned to food, to precious metals, to enlistees. The clan feared war's taint ran deep in their kin, so as to deter violence, several youths were effectively sold into service -- Shi'mon among them. He was armed, marched far into the southern lands, and poised against the supposed enemy. Fighting in formations taught Shi'mon to respect a commander's intellect and to fear their cold logic.

Shi'mon escaped conscription a few years later. For fear of being exiled for his desertion, Shi'mon settled in a welcoming village in Brackenhorst south of the wood. He said little of his past, instead focusing on his hunting and craftsmanship. Though the work was tiring, each night Shi'mon found himself swinging the old sword. Perhaps a part of him yearned for the rush and chaos once more.

Personality: Experience has not spoken well of leaders to Shi'mon. He expects manipulation and apathy from authority, and perhaps without realizing it, he finds himself on edge when others dominate. Shi'mon is quiet and expresses himself as briefly and eloquently as way he can. He continuously thinks with great speed, often appearing stoic, though a careful eye can catch each flashing reaction. Ultimately, he is thoughtful, quiet, and suspecting of others motives.

Skills: Fighting for apathetic commanders meant seeing many cut down as fodder. Shi'mon has basic training with a sword and lance from his service, but is more skilled with a bow or dagger. He prefers to sneak up onto his enemy, using environment, wit, or even poison to his advantage. Like many Elves of the Forest, he has grown accustom to travelling in thick canopies and is well attuned to climbing in nature.

Possessions: Southern Kingdom Elven Short Sword, Two Iron Daggers, a Bow, a quiver with arrows, and a rucksack (bedding, a useful crafting tools, water skin, etc.). He wears a belted tunic, trousers, and light leather armour, and a dark, earthy cloak atop it all.

Miscellaneous: Shi'mon wears a small, dark, T-shaped root on a necklace. It is a common symbol for the Elven Goddess of Uncertainty, Travel, and Pilgrims.

[Ellri]

Name: Thoraniel Nee-Theranaziel Tormodsdóttir
Gender: female
Age: 37, looks mid to late teens
Race: Mostly elf of the forest, but she has about a third of her ancestry in among the men of the fields. (approximately 2/3rds elven)

Appearance: Compared to women of the fields, she is a beauty, having many of the softer traits of elvenkind. Alas, she lacks their height and is of slightly heavier build. To elves, she looks far too much like the men of the fields.

She stands about 163 cm tall, has dirty-blonde hair and half-pointed ears. Her eyes are a pale blue. As mentioned, Thoraniel is bulkier than most elves. At such a young age as she is, she is treated as much younger than she truly is, mostly due to her mixed blood, which gives her a lifespan closer to that of elves.

History

Her history is not a nice subject. She is a bastard child of bastards. Due to her thoroughly mixed ancestry, she is an outcast among her kind. She has had to live at the edges of two societies, truly belonging to neither. All her life, she has been used. Her elven kin wanted nothing to do with her. When she was old enough to be weaned, she was sent to her father, to be raised by him. He was an innkeeper, proprietor of a somewhat seedy inn. To say he appreciated getting another mouth to feed would be a lie. Especially considering that he was married. His wife did not exactly appreciate having to raise the proof of his infidelity. Still, she was raised. She received food. Poor food compared to what her half-siblings got, but it was food. As soon as she was old enough to work, she was put to work as a serving girl in the inn. It was hard work, for her siblings all bossed over her. No matter what she did, it was not good enough. There was always something she should’ve done better. Mockery, belittling and such was a natural part of her life.

There had over the centuries been some interbreeding between the men of the fields and the elves of the forest, but it had never been seen as positive by anyone. Such individuals were typically scorned, outcast. The more elven blood someone had while living among the men of the fields, the lesser his/her status. When she was sixteen and just entering her puberty, her step-mother found a new use for her. She started to sell her to her customers. being as small as she was, Thoraniel had no chance to say anything about the matter. In time, she grew a rather jaded view towards it. There was nothing else she could do about it after all.

As the years passed, her abuse continued. If she ever got pregnant, it did not last long. As she grew older, she slowly matured, gaining weight and strength. It was clear enough that she would not reach the height of her elven kin, but it was also clear that she had inherited the natural strength of their kind. Combined with some of the bulkier build of the men of the fields, this meant she eventually grew quite strong. After she killed one of her “clients” for abusing her, her family started tying her down before selling her.

When she was thirty-something and her father and stepmother were getting older, she had a chance encounter with the man who called himself Thaddeus. He encouraged her to strike out on her own, to leave the miserable life she had behind. She thought long on his advice, then decided to do it.

Over many a night, she worked the latches on her door with a purloined knife, eventually managing to break through them, the stout wooden bar blocking the door from the outside dropping to the floor with a dull thud. She made her way, first to her father’s room, then to that of her half-siblings. None had been woken by the falling bar, and with her knife through their hearts, neither did her family ever again. Alas, one of her half-brothers was away, so she could not pay him back for decades of pain, both physical and mental.

In addition to a good, sheathed knife, she took what coin she could, a simple longbow, some food and a stout cloak, and left her childhood home behind. Since then, she has wandered the land, staying far away from her home and other civilized places, due to there being a lofty prize on her head. At first, she struggled to survive, but in time she started becoming good at it.

Over the years in the wilds, she often camped in with various brigands, though she left many of them after unfortunate discussions ending with someone dead at her knife. Some of them taught her how to survive, including how to fire a bow and arrow. Sometime recently, she found an elf willing to teach her how to make a bow suited for her build. As yet, she has not mastered it. She joined Thaddeus’ mission after another chance encounter, having nothing better to do.

Personality

Thoraniel is fairly jaded. After decades of torture-like treatment, she has an unusually high threshold for pain. She has never been one for speaking much, but she does believe in fair punishment. Murder is something she has no qualms against.
Owing to more than a decade of being raped on a regular basis, she hates anyone belittling women, having a rather lacking belief in the fact that most men can be anything other than horny beasts.

More than any of that, she is a survivor. She’s been through hell (not literally) many times over and has come out stronger for it. Ever since escaping from her home, she has not been afraid to speak her mind. Anyone disagreeing too hard with that, has tended to find a knife either at their throat, or through their heart if unlucky.

However, if someone does not behave like a horny beast, she treats them with respect. She shows more respect towards women, though, giving them better benefit of the doubt.

Skills

She’s decent with a knife and other skills requiring brute strength. A rudimentary archer and tracker, but no master. If she has any magical aptitude she does not know of it, so that is irrelevant. Her patience, possibly inherited from eleven ancestors, has allowed her to become a decent hunter. She believes most arguments can be settled with a knife, and as no one yet has argued after her knife got stuck in their chest, she has no reason to change that belief. She’s an expert at holding grudges, a skill clearly inherited from her eleven kin. An insult is always paid back, even if it takes decades.

Thoraniel is also decent at good old highway robbery.

Possessions

Worn clothes. Somewhat mismatched and ill-fitting.
Hooded, water-proof cloak, possibly of elven make.
An ill-fitting boiled leather jerkin.
A good, long knife of dwarven make.
A heavy horn-and-wood bow made to her build.
Quiver of arrows, sized to the bow.
A pouch of various coins, hanging from a string around her neck.
A necklace holding the dried right ears of her slain family.
A pack with a simple bedroll and some traveling fare and survival gear.

Miscellaneous:
None yet.

[Sep]

Wolmak

Name:Wolmak (The Wizened) - No he is not a Wizard it is simply a title...
Gender:Male
Age:54
Race:Dwarf of the Mountains
Appearance:
I usually text and picture... never just text'd a appearance. Let us give it a go.

Wolmaks is marginally taller than most of his kin, about the height of an adolescent human boy. If it were not for his breadth and beard from afar he could be mistaken for as such. His skin is tanned and hard from years of servitude to the forges that make his kind legendary. He is has no battle scars but his brow is furrowed with man lines and the tip of his beard that extends down to his waist is singed from flame or heat. His hands are course and hard due to the constant abuse from the forges and while his body is more muscle than fat there is a clearly visible beer belly on him from too many visits to the tavern.

Personality:Joyful, Cheerful, Stubborn, Kind.

History:
Wolmak was born into the Second Mountain, known amongst his kin as Milta. This mountain is historically rich for ore even compared to its sister mountains that are also inhabited by Dwarven kind. He was born into one of the smith families, ever since he was a little dwarf he had been raised to work metal, even though he is still young by dwarf standards, When he was younger he worked merely on fashioning bars of metal out of ores as was the fashion amongst his family. However he was unsatisfied with this work and always strove for more. At the age of fifteen he fashioned his first dagger, twenty his first full set of armour. Of course he bragged about these proceedings due to still being young and naive until he was taken before the Master Smith, his father.

His father had two options, punish him or step down from position. Before he could make a decision the door flew off its hinged. Unknowingly the miners had distrubed a troll lair and the beast went on a rampage. His father was killed as were many of the other Smiths, during his mothers grieving she had to sit through a second trial as Wolmak was brought before the New Master Smith. Due to the recent killings, he was acquitted however he was punished with being forbidden from using protective gloves in his duties. For the rest of the time he became renowned as a master smith, being compared to his father and said to be even more skilful. However for years he suffered from blisters that after a days work left him barely able to lift his mug of beer and manage to eat his meal. However it merely made him more determined to become the best smith he could, and one day become Master Smith and bring back honour to his family. Then there was the Orcs. Movement through the mountains, the dwarves were called to arms and the forges ran non stop for weeks on end arming the military against a suspected attack, that never came. Again Wolmak proved himself an excellent smithy, his hands now so hard they were practically immune to the searing heat of the forges. Due to his skill and his need to bring honour back to his family he was attached to Sir Gehrhart as he joined the expedition.

Skills:competent warrior. Nothing special. (Basically in a battle he'd be skilled like one of those un-important characters who gets mowed down by the hero/heroes/villian/villans). Master Smith, pack mule(Strength).

Possessions:Armour with the crest marking him as one of the smiths of Milta, warhammer, bag full of basic tools.

Misc:

[dreamingflowers]

Celine

Name: Celine.
Gender: Female.
Age: She appears to be in her early twenties.
Race: Woman of the Fields.

Appearance: A woman of otherworldly beauty which incomprehensibly draws you in. Snowy skin which has never felt the touch of cold steel. Her raven hair is kept long to flow down her shoulders, reaching to her back. An enigmatic look is often present on her face, pale eyes cold and unreadable. While her stature might not be very impressive, standing at a modest height some would consider small. She makes up for her lack of physical prowess with a sharp tongue.

History: Born in a small unnamed village somewhere in the country the town was better known for whom it housed. There lived a Godswife with her granddaughter. Celine's parents young and foolish were not ready for the responsibility of a young babe. A sad turn of events, but very common. The girl was raised by her grandmother. Though her life was anything but dull. Her grandmother was a Godswife. Many people came to visit her, they asked questions none but she could answer, she found a cure where there was none and offered protection against evil. Through these people Celine learned much about the world. Aside from her responsibilities as a caretaker the old woman saw to it that her craft was passed on to the next generation, to ensure its survival.

As the years went by it was Celine whom the people came to visit, her grandmother keeping a watchful eye as her mentor and guide. The old woman had been of considerate age at Celine's birth and recognized her time on this earth was coming to an end but she wanted to ensure her granddaughter was well cared for. Celine now a young woman had caught the eye of a wealthy blacksmith. Her grandmother saw to it that they were married as her last act. The Gods were kind and her marriage was a happy one, though it did not last. A tragic tale which inspired pity in few and fear in many. The reason for her meeting with the Watchful man is unclear and so are her motives for embarking upon this journey.

Personality: Intelligent but also cold and detached. Rather emotionless she seldom even smiles. Strong and independent, she doesn't like help from others and does things on her own. This can make her appear distant and untrusting.

Skills: Celine is a Godswife and the common folk come to her for healing. A Godswife is a wise woman and a practitioner of a primitive folk magic. The people seek her out when life provides them with a challenge that can't be solved by mundane means. She can tell from experience which plants have healing properties and which are deadly. She is skilled in producing both healing smokes and ointments as well as deadly poisons to lace weapons. She creates amulets and fetishes from natural materials to either protect or harm and appeases to the spirits of nature, the sun and the moon for favors.

The Godswives hold a questionable reputation, both respected and feared. It's hard to tell if this magic really works but when one believes it does you're already halfway there. It carries a bad reputation and this is usually more effective than the real practice, which gave rise to many charlatans. The people believe a practitioner of magic is the same as a brewer of poisons. Witches and Sorcerers are able to brew potions, speak to birds and rats, and bend promises into curses. Magic is all in names and words, agreements and sacrifice. It is not a proper thing to do.

Possessions: A dagger, several pouches of healing salves, ointments and powdered incense, a simple peasant dress along with a hooded cloak, a coin purse and an amulet spun from her own hair which is hidden from view.

Miscellaneous: None

[Hank]

That's a lot of people! You're all accepted. Welcome to the crew. This is definitely enough to start the roleplay with. I'm not going to close signups yet (and I expect sheets from at least two other people) but you can all expect an IC post soon.

[Ellri]

Lovely to hear, hank.

You're much nicer as a GM than we are... We tend to almost tear CSs apart at times... (but then, your world is easier to deal with)

[Hank]

I could do that, or I could just put my faith in these people and roll with it. Everyone who took artistic liberty and invented new parts of the world did a good job. I like all the additions. I'm not looking for this to be a super serious roleplay, we're just going to have a good time.

[Ellri]

Both are good systems. it'll be nice and relaxing to have an RP without the same strict requirements as we've got in aftermath.

[dreamingflowers]

Very happy to be accepted I don't know why but I think Celine will be sympathetic towards Ellri's character. Probably because she's been through a lot. Girl power!

[Ellri]

you'll probably have to dig it out of her, though. She's not going to say out loud that she's been raped countless times.