CassidyTheButch

In The Black (A Clean-Up Crew RP)

@Terrans Currently, I’m between a manmade vampire and a hacker witch/occultist as far as character concepts go. Just depends on if I want DA or CT.

In The Black (A Clean-Up Crew RP)

<Snipped quote by CassidyTheButch>

Post length is dependent on what you need to convey. I don’t mind three sentences posts if that’s what you need to move your character forward. If you want a wall of text go ahead.

As for frequency. IRL happens and this isn’t our jobs. I don’t mind leave of absences. Though long stretches might risk the death of characters in tragic and/or funny deaths as needed.

@Terrans

And for characters, I notice characters thus far have been pretty human - how weird are we allowed to get with our characters? Are we good just as long as it doesn’t contradict the “world,” section?

In The Black (A Clean-Up Crew RP)

Thinking about joining up here - what post length and frequency are you hoping for?

A Journey Through Space - A DnD story

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Interactions: Large man trying to tell her what to do @Cosmic, Tiefling taking leadership @FernStone
Outfit: Wet and starting to freeze

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Mannie had enjoyed not taking orders the past few months - going where she wanted, doing what she wanted, bound only by her oath (and the chain that signified it). It was nice not to have to listen to some preaching prick prattling on about how it was immoral to kill these people and immoral not to kill these people. Now that Armageddon had resolved to strike, however, she was quite happy when someone else decided to start handing out orders. Her instinct was to unheroically cut and run, but her oath would have her ass if she did that. So, letting a couple of more capable women tell her what to do was A-OK with her.

She was a little less A-OK with the giant calling dibs on the closer folks in need and telling her to kick rocks - she wasn't a misandrist, just a bit of a dyke. If someone was gonna tell her what to do, she wanted them to at least have a pretty voice. And if she was being honest, she really wanted an excuse to fight him. He was bigger than her, so he'd probably be a helluva lot more fun to practice on than a punching bag. With a chilly huff, she kicked a stray tankard under the door to prop it open and ventured out into the cold, almost running over Dev.

"Picked quite a day to wander away from home, little fox," she said after a quick curse at having nearly squashed the poor thing. She hoisted up by the neck, preparing to toss it onto the laps of the recovering honeymooners. Feeling its warm fur against her skin, though, she paused. The chattering of her teeth needed to be addressed, especially as she could feel her clothes stiffening around her. And the fox would make for one hell of a scarf…

Mannie draped the animal over her shoulders, its little legs a whirlwind of scratching made immediately worth the pain by the warmth of the critter. Mannie’s teeth grinded to a halt. She was more comfortable with pain than she was with cold, so this arrangement was fine by her.

The red flash from earlier - Mannie could see now that it was a tiefling woman - directed her to her mark. A balding man lay strewn across the ground. He was only half buried, but the rubble that covered him waist down was heavy enough to warrant aid. Mannie began to discard the masonry, revealing the man's legs underneath. And man, were they fucked up. She saw less skin than she did split meat and splintered bones, flattened nearly beyond recognition. Mannie wasn't a stranger to gore, but the sight nearly turned her stomach. The man let out a cry as Mannie picked him up, one hand under his back and the other cradling his thighs.

Once she made her way back to the tavern, she put the man down. She was more careful with him than she had been with the newlyweds, though perhaps not quite as careful as the man would have liked based on his mewling. The fox, too, was quickly becoming more trouble than it was worth, leading Mannie to lift it by the neck once more and place it inside.

"Don't let the little ingrate run back into the chaos," she told the one man incapable of doing anything if it did, earning only a groan of pain as affirmation. Moments later, she was outside once more, turning her face up to the spotlit tiefling and shouting, "ready for the next one, boss!"

A Journey Through Space - A DnD story

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Outside the Outhouse of the Waystone Inn
Interactions: No one, no one, no one, no - fuck! (everyone outside)
Outfit: Startlingly unfit for the weather

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Mannie had just wanted to take a piss. If she'd known it'd lead to witnessing Armageddon, she probably would've held it.

The outhouse door swung closed behind her as she stepped out, the freezing cold air conjuring goosebumps across her bared skin. She kinda wished she hadn't ditched her tunic when the arm wrestling had started - it had probably been recycled into a bar rag by now, and her chest bindings did jackshit against the blistering air outside. And, shit, she could feel the icy chill of snow in her boot, no doubt having snuck its way through the hole in the toe. She hopped on one foot out the alley, the chain that connected her to her sheathed sword rattling as she reached down to pull her shoe off. Upon reaching the corner, she twisted the chain around her arm, quieting it.

A kerfuffle of some sort was stirring just outside Waystone: two pretty women, a cat, and a twink. She recognized one as the evening's entertainment, even though her focus had been more on the hot orc dominating a bunch of men in arm wrestling than the music. The Twink she recognized too, namely from the betting pool her and a few on-again, off-again coworkers had on his cause of death. Her money was on 'killed in the street for his stuff.' She leaned against the corner of the building as she slowly made a show of dumping her shoe out, hoping it'd be a good enough cover if any of the group glanced over at her. Any luck, and there would be blood tonight. Dead person blood, not this pussy ass 'first to injure,' bullshit. Sure, she was betting against the Twink - if he went down, she could make sure it looked like a robbery by...robbing him - but she was ready to swoop in all vulture-like no matter who ended up bleeding out in the snow.

Tensions fell as quick as they rose thanks to the bard; nothing like a song to muck up a perfectly good fight. Mannie was disappointedly putting her boot back on when the quakes began. Mannie toppled assward, her one actually warm piece of clothing soaked through with cold muddy slush. She was perfectly prepared for wet pants to be her evening's biggest problem when Greyharrow began to die.

Panic kept her rooted in place as the weird fucking tower Mannie had never thought to ask about began to do weird fucking tower nonsense. The moment she saw two men gruesomely pancake together, she wizened up and lifted a hand in front of her eyes.

She'd learned to go with a see no innocence, hear no innocence strategy when it came to fulfilling her Oath. If she wasn't aware of any innocents that needed protecting, she was in the clear. She followed her memory to the Waystone's entrance, a hand on the wall keeping her stable and guiding her way with a quiet, "nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope."

“Don’t just stand there! Help.” Fuck. Why'd she have to go and say that? Mannie was almost sure she recognized the voice too: a nun who set broken bones for free. Annoyingly fucking innocent. Only way she could be more innocent would be if - hey, look, she's carrying a kid.

"God damn it!" she hissed as she pulled her hand away from her eyes. It seemed a short dragonborn had already rushed to her aid, but unfortunately the cat was out of the bag; Mannie could see a freshly unburied pair that couldn't be older than twenty clinging to each other, a boy and a girl. They were shivering like crazy, weakly trying to push themselves to their feet. Mannie wasted no time in gliding in next to the Goliath who'd freed them, tossing one over each shoulder with ease. Her teeth clattered as their snow-soaked bodies draped over her, pushing passed the blue twink that had come out to join the blonde one. She shouldered the door open and unceremoniously threw her cargo into the inn, then turned back to the nun, the woman, the kid, and the dragonborn and Goliath who'd joined them. She kept the door propped open and waved for them to get inside.

"Can't let you die, get in the bar!" she demanded - she was being literal, but it sounded real goddamn heroic.

A Journey Through Space - A DnD story

Lymantria, Sworn Sword of Imago

"If I got a gold every time I stopped a mob boss from getting assassinated, I'd get paid double."

_______________________________________________ Lymantria, Sworn Sword of Imago She/Her | 25 | Human | Poor | 6'2 | 200 lbs | _______________________________________________ Ne'er-do-well _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "I had a friend who told me once, 'Mannie, you treat every problem like a hammer treats a nail.' Nicest thing she ever said to me." ___________________________________ [+] Tavern Brawler ⫻ Mannie doesn't fight clean and she doesn't fight fair. Thanks to her oath, she doesn't get in nearly as many fights as she used to, meaning she savors what she gets with gleeful brutality. Her bastard sword leaves a hand open for throwing things, grappling, and other dishonorable tactics, which is just the way Mannie likes it. Crime a Dozen ⫻ Mannie was practically shuffled towards a life of crime from cradle to courtroom, so she has a pretty solid understanding of how underground crime networks operate. Her perspective can be a bit narrow, though; she doesn't come from the angle of master thief or mob boss, but of a grunt. Not that she minds. Grunts talk to grunts after all, and there are grunts everywhere. Chain Gang ⫻ Mannie would never consider the chain that binds her to her weapon or the weapon itself to be an asset, but they both have their uses. The priests who blessed them allege they're unbreakable and that the sword will never dull. Try as she might, she's yet to prove them wrong, but she's gotten good at utilizing her peculiar condition. Not many people can effectively throw a bastard sword at someone five feet away without disarming themselves. She's a Brick...House ⫻ She big.

Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Preening isn't exactly easy when you've got sword chained to your hand." The first thing most people notice about Mannie is her size - the woman's hulking figure's enough to start rumors of goliath heritage, rumors which Mannie basks in. She's always been a fan of her size. Besides just keeping her alive, it made for a helluva canvas, one she's made sure to take advantage of. She's got a smattering of tattoos from head to toe (some of which she even remembers getting!), as well as a handful of piercings and more scars than she can count. She used to have (slightly) longer hair, but the Swords of Imago shaved her head when she joined and she never looked back. She now keeps it cut in a close-cropped style, the jet-black color making it pop against her tan skin, pairing well with her piercing amber eyes. Out of armor, she prefers to show off, taking great pride in her body - if she's wearing sleeves, something is definitely wrong. Sleeveless tunics, open vests, and chest bindings are all staples of Mannie's fashion, but must never be worn at the same time. For pants, she'll wear whatever's cheapest and least stained, and she has exactly one pair of boots that are getting to the end of their life. If she has to work, though, she'll likely wear her armor - dodgily cobbled together hide armor pieced together mostly from bits and pieces Mannie poached, stole, or found along her journey to Greyharrow.

_{Psychology
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"Nah, you can say it, I'm a cunt."

MAIN GOAL ⫻ Right now, her goal is to figure out a way to get her sword off her wrist and ditch her oath without the other Swords of Imago hunting her down for desertion. After those likely impossible tasks are done...who knows? Get a cushy job cracking heads for some crime boss maybe?

PHILOSOPHY ⫻ "You are who you are, and you ain't getting better. I've seen plenty of pricks get swords clamped to their wrists and told to redeem themselves, but nine times outta ten, they just end up as pricks with swords clamped to their wrists. Myself included. You want people to stop being pricks...I dunno, teach 'em how to read and give 'em a book about how much of a prick they've been." As strange as it might seem considering her oath, Mannie isn't really sure people can change. If they could, she'd have changed by now, right? Not even swearing herself to the God of Redemption could unfuck her up. So it must be that everyone is like this, that only the truly special can carve a new life for themselves. And that ain't her.

At the same time, buried underneath her nihilism and self-pity, she understands intimately the role that systems of power play in leading someone into a life of crime. In this, her and her oath are in agreement - usually it's not cruelty of heart that leads to cruelty of action but rather cruel actions that lead to a desensitized heart. For many, Mannie included, very few options were available to her other than a life of cruelty.

SECRETS ⫻ While there was a lot outside of Mannie's control that led her to pursuing a life of crime, that doesn't mean she's absolved of the pain she's caused. She killed a lot of people and hurt more, not always for survival. Sometimes for greed, for pride, for personal satisfaction. The morality of her punishment is up for debate, but there's no doubt that she's earned her chains.

SEXUALITY ⫻ Lesbian, and previously a notorious rake. Unfortunately, the Swords of Imago are discouraged from seeking out romance. Mannie's not sure if doing so would be enough to break her oath, but she's so far not been desperate enough to risk it. Not to mention that bringing a sword to bed is a dealbreaker for most (and Mannie's kinda scared of those for whom it's not).

FEARS ⫻ Her rawest, most prevalent fear is that her siblings in arms will find her. That she will face the full force of the Swords of Imago, and end up gutted, disemboweled, or vivisected like every other deserter and traitor to the Order. Deeper than that, though, she's afraid that she actually can change, and that if she were to, the weight of what she's done will crush her.

WHAT BROUGHT THEM TO GREYHARROW ⫻ Like a lot of folks in Greyharrow, Mannie's on the run. After being chased by the Swords of Imago for months, she settled in Greyharrow. Not only is it her kind of place - it reminds her a lot of the poorer districts of Chrys she grew up in - but it's also right at the precipice of a desert wasteland. At the first indication her former comrades have found her she plans on grabbing her go bag and lose herself in the red wastes.

WHAT DO OTHERS IN TOWN THINK OF THEM ⫻ Having only been in Greyharrow for a few months, she's yet to shake the reputation that comes with being a Sword of Imago - they're known to be killers honed into weapons of protection by the Order of Imago, terrifying and awe-inspiring in equal measure. People who know her (employers and coworkers, mostly) have learned she's got more in common with the underpaid bouncers of Greyharrow than the fearsome harbingers of justice from the stories. Already, she's managed to cobble together a pretty stable career as a low-level criminal in Greyharrow; her unwillingness to break her oath is overshadowed by her ability to take a punch for someone from across the room. Bodyguard, bouncer, gambling cheat - whatever gig gets her enough for a room and a pint of ale.

EQUIPMENT ⫻ The only weapon Mannie keeps on hand (if you'll forgive the expression) is her sword - a hand-and-a-half sword enchanted to never dull, bound to her wrist by an equally unbreakable meter-long chain. It usually does the trick, and if she needs a ranged weapon, she'll throw whatever's closest and heaviest. Since her desertion, she's favored hide armor. It's cheap and easy to get, and her own supernatural durability gives her the extra defense that (the much more expensive option) heavy armor would offer. Other than that, she packs light. She's got a go-bag with a few weeks' rations, a bedroll, a tarp, a well-stocked first aid kit, and a deck of cards.

FLAWS ⫻ Mannie's more motivated by self-interest than she is in any higher ideals. Even when she does stand up for others, its more out of loyalty or selfishness than altruism. Her reasons for actually playing paladin tend to be shallow - a drinking buddy needs help, or a pretty face is about to be struck. In rare occasions where someone undeniably innocent is being threatened, she'll begrudgingly step in solely because her oath is very clear on its stance of protecting the innocent. But she's not going to enjoy it.

_{Backstory
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"Hey, if you want to blame a bad childhood for my bullshit, I'm not gonna stop you."

Big kids eat first. This was the first rule that Mannie remembers ever learning, the rule that defined life at the Saint Cardui Orphanage and Chrys' poor districts in general, and the rule that went on to inform many of Mannie's decisions later in life. If you wanted something, you had to be big enough to take it. Mannie got lucky - she became Saint Cardui's biggest kid in her early teens, outclassing kids who were years older than her. Thanks to her ability (and willingness) to throw her weight around, she spent her teenage years fatter and happier every year than the year before. This likely would've ended the moment she left Saint Cardui's were it not for Larv.

If Larv knew about the 'big kids eat first rule' rule, she never showed it. She'd been small even for a halfling, and yet she defiantly broke lower Chrys' one rule with unwavering smugness. In another story, she might've overcome Mannie the Big Bully in a show of mind over matter. As it was, Mannie wasn't so prideful that she needed to display her dominance over the clever little halfling, and Larv wasn't dumb enough to let good muscle go to waste. Their friendship started at the orphanage and would continue well into adulthood.

Larv's schemes, after years of saving and honing her craft, culminated in a fencing business that got the pair out of Chrys. They didn't travel far - they stayed pretty close to Chrys, occasionally coming back to do business where it all began - but these were still the best years of their lives. They were seeing the world! More of it than they'd ever hoped to within the walls of Chrys. They were on top of the world, a couple of criminals bound by no one. Even looking back, knowing what it all would lead to, Mannie's not sure she'd have given up those years for anything.

Mannie was 22 when she was caught. Her and Larv were on one of their prideful trips back home, confident despite the famously overpoliced streets of lower Chrys. They figured they knew how to navigate the streets of their youth and who to trust. Streets might be consistent, but people aren't. Since they'd been gone, a contact they'd had since childhood had turned rat. A few guards showed up to what was supposed to be a business meeting. Mannie fought. Larv ran. Larv got away. Mannie didn't.

On some level, Mannie wasn't surprised by her fate. Kids like her, kids born and raised in lower Chrys, know the stories. Get caught committing a crime, it's either imprisonment, or becoming a Sword of Imago. For assault and larceny, she had a bastard sword bound to her right wrist with a meter of chain. Had they known of the crimes she'd committed outside the city walls, she'd have probably been sentenced to a greatsword or a maul. Lucky her.

She took the oath all Swords of Imagos are bound to and received nothing in return but duty - being blessed with the power of Imago is something one has to earn through service, something most initiates never achieve. For a few years, Mannie was shuffled around by the Order of Imago, the church that oversaw the Swords and Chrys itself. Some days it felt like adventure, being sent to protect towns under Chrys' protection, aiding allies of the Order. Most days, though, it felt like grueling, deadly, unrewarding work. Work that Mannie did for two and a half years.

Mannie's not sure about the nitty gritty politics of her last mission - some duke who'd seceded from Chrys' theocratic government was allegedly playing around with spacetime in a way that made the Order uncomfortable. All she knew was she and a bunch of other Swords were being sent to lay siege to a small dukedom. It was actually easy, as far as missions go - Swords are Chrys' greatest export, and even unblessed initiates are well trained warriors. The petty defenses of the dukedom never stood a chance.

The ultimate objective was the duke's academy, where his research was allegedly taking place. The students had already been sent away, and the professors who remained did their best to defend their school. It was a slaughter. Amoral as she considers herself, Mannie's still haunted by that night. That didn't stop her from partaking in it. She was with the group that found the duke. He and a few others were in a classroom, still working on a looming machine. They never stopped, even as the Swords began tearing through them. Mannie's not special - she was two kills in before she saw her.

Larv. Lying there on the ground, shivering, eyes wide with recognition and horror.

Surprise. Anger. Intent to kill. All these and a million others flashed across Mannie's mind as she readied herself to kill her old friend. Her sword never came down. She had time, she knew she could cut the little runt in two. Hip to hip would be easier, but she was sure she could do head to belly if the little wretch didn't weasel away. But her sword never came down. Even as the machine lit up with a crackling portal, even as Larv bolted into it and disappeared, Mannie was frozen.

It wasn't until she felt a warhammer collide with the side of her head that she was pulled out of her stupor. Having secured the duke - others had escaped through the portal, but not him - half had set to smashing the machine, and the other half now began surrounding her. The Swords of Imago had witnessed her disloyalty, disloyalty to Chrys, to the Order. And a disloyal initiate was a dead initiate.

Except she wasn't an initiate. An initiate would have died from the blows she'd received as she waded through her former comrades to the flickering, unstable portal, yet she came out the other side alive, collapsing the same second as the portal. She later found out that whatever that machine was, it had teleported weeks of travel away from the dukedom and Chrys both.

So she had a head start. That was something, at least.

_{WARLOCK, CLERIC, & PALADIN
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"I consider myself an Oath of the Divine Cock Up Paladin."

TYPE ⫻ Oath of Redemption Paladin

PATRON ⫻ Lymantria been bound to the service of Imago, the Butterfly King. Imago's a god of redemption and new dawns, and is the patron deity to the city of Chrys where Mannie was born. She's a member of the Swords of Imago, criminals who've pledged their service to the Order of Imago in hopes to earn redemption for their crimes.

TERMS ⫻
"We the guilty swear to protect the innocent."
The Swords of Imago are meant to act as a shield between the evils of the world and those untouched by evil deeds. They are sworn to protect those who've done little to no harm in their lifetimes.

"We the selfish swear to fight selflessly."
Many of the Swords are criminals who've hurt and killed people in the name of survival, greed, and anger. Under their oath, they cannot enact violence in the name of personal gain or satisfaction.

"We, full of folly, allow His wisdom to guide our fury."
Before Mannie deserted, 'allowing His wisdom to guide our fury,' meant following the orders of the high priests. Now that she's on her own, she's still trying to figure out the whole wisdom thing for herself.

"Until our blades dull and our chains break."
It's a life sentence, simple as.

In Chrysalis ⫻ Swords, more than anything, are meant to bear the pains of others. It is in the spirit of mercy that Imago grants those who've earned His favor with the gift of divine resilience. Once she's passed a certain threshold, though, she starts getting into trouble - if she's truly beat to hell, she might not be able to stay up once the adrenaline of combat fades.

We the Guilty ⫻ Mannie's found that she can offer people blessings that split the damage they take between her and them. While this bond is in effect, the recipient also has a very subtle aura of protection, giving them a slightly better chance of avoiding attacks and certain effects. She's found that, while it can be dangerous, she can offer this blessing to multiple people at once. As of now, she hasn't yet managed to stretch the range of this ability past roughly twenty yards.

CURRENT WANDS/TOMES/STAFFS ⫻ Mannie's holy symbol is her sword. It's subtle, but their are four rings built into the guard, two big stacked on two small, reminiscent of a butterfly. It is the two bigger rings that her chain is linked to.

LIMITS ⫻ In addition to the limits put on her by her Oath, Mannie can't endure magical effects inflicted on someone unless they do damage. If she's gonna tank it, it's gotta hurt. She also can't tank psychic damage - it's too personal of a damage type. Seeing other people's most painful memories flashing before her eyes doesn't really do it for her.

WEAKNESSES ⫻ Her abilities are hampered by her own views on redemption. Specifically, her own redemption. Her abilities have a tendency to backfire and will often lead to harmful results, such as damage amplifying through her body when she takes a blow, thus leading to a broken bone where normally her sturdy frame could withstand the blow. The more she doubts her own potential for redemption, the more this will appear when she uses her magic. On the flip side, should she progress through her journey of healing she might find her spells work even better than anticipated.

^{Other
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"YO BARKEEP! You wouldn't happen to have a paladin discount, wouldya?"

-Mannie's a simple woman - she just wants a drink, a warm meal, and a cozy bed.
-Also, I want to mention that In Chrysalis and We the Guilty are flavorings of False Life and Warding Bond respectively!