CollectorOfMyst

The Depths of Blackmire Keep - Dare You Enter?

Apologies, but expect a bit of a delay on my end. I’ve just gone on holiday. I don’t still intend to post /m- it’s just going to take a little more time.

I, the Demon King, Will Summon My Own Damned Heroes!

Scott

---

Scott blinked as Naji and Ash told him to pay no mind to his inaction. "I... that's not the point. Something could have happened! Something-!" He cut himself off, grimacing as Naji gnawed on... whatever that was. His voice preceding his mind, the words slipped out, snapping at the other Pixie. "That's kind of gross, you know that?"

He swiftly realised what he'd said, flushed a deep crimson, and fell back behind Colchain.

When Naji posed that they were all dying anyway, Scott was... dubious. He looked down at his hands. Well. Not quite his hands. Or something. They weren't quite the hands he had before, at least. He looked at the scales that covered Ash and Colchain, the light of Danny, and he could feel the gossamer wings folded against his back. He might possess a powerful imagination, but no amount of his own dreams could result in something like this. He had felt hunger and pain, thirst and fear... no, this wasn't something from his dying moments.

A scene flashed before his eyes as he recalled that he wouldn't really be capable of dying moments anyway. The familiar sting of tears were in his eyes, but he blinked them away before anyone could see. What would even happen if he was sent back home? Would he just... cease to exist? Would fate conspire to see that he would die again? He was trembling slightly. But then he took a deep breath and moved on from that. Not now. Put it aside for later. He slowly laid a light hand on the nearest object - Colchain - to steady himself. He could do this. Just keep going.

His attention returning to the others, he heard Naji talking about tavern meet-up cliches and making an insight check.

"Naji..." he said with more caution than before. "...You do know that this doesn't work like that, right?"

The Depths of Blackmire Keep - Dare You Enter?

Flint

NAME: Flint Ambrose
SEX: Male
AGE: 35 (Middle-Aged).
HOMELAND: The Black Duchy, formerly the Kingdom of Lithenia.
BACKGROUND: Tradesman

TRAITS:

• Strider – Flint is not the strongest, the fastest, or the smartest. But he knows how to take what he has and use it to survive.
• Tactician – When you’re at this for half of your life, you usually develop an eye for strategy.

FLAWS:

• Sleepless – Most people go to sleep at night, but Flint... it takes a bit.

PROFICIENCIES: 16 +4 Skill points
Expertise:
Tactics II (3 points)
Folklore I (1 point)
Mathematics I (1 point)

Skills:
Cooking II (3 points)
Herbalism II (3 points)
Flute I (1 point)

Social:
Command I (1 point)

Weapons:
Swords II (3 points)
Shields II (3 points)

PERSONALITY:

Flint can be the stoic type; he has endured hardships and pain, but gritted his teeth and got on with it. That’s all he really has to do. Not much he can see ahead of him, and not much that would come after, either. This also extends to people. He’s not gone out of his way to make friends, and can often appear aloof. That said, he does try to care for the few people he knows – it’s simply that he’s lost enough people that it becomes hard to care for anyone more.
He tries to watch out for his friends, or rather, comrades, to make sure that they live to see another day. Whether this is interposing a sword or shield to halt a deadly blow, making sure they don’t make enemies of import or just plain shouting at them, he’ll do his best. If he doesn’t have any bodies to care about, he’ll just worry about making sure whatever’s trying to gut him gets gutted first.
And as for his beliefs… Flint practices some of the Old Ways, but he is no god-fearing man. In fact, he doesn’t fear much at all. Put him in a panic? Certainly. But there are only a two things Flint has truly come to fear. The first is meeting his end – a reasonable fear by any means, and one that has often kept him his hide. And second… Duke Garcell of the Black Duchy. That man is truly a demon to him.
He's also coming to regret how long he's been in the game... the number of creases on his brow have increased. He hasn't found any grey hairs, but it's only a matter of time. Both signify he's nearing an age where he won't be as effective a fighter as he used to be. Even if he became a captain of some kind, he would still see war. Or he could purchase some land, open a shop or an inn, get a pretty wife - the standard dream. He can't trudge dirt paths forever. So once again, his life falls to a choice.

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:

Not tall, not short, with tawny brown hair and gold-flecked brown eyes, he would not stand out among the people you might see in the Aldaric Sea, common as that is. He couldn’t even tell you from whom he is descended – though he has his presumptions. He’s fairly balanced in his athleticism, lean enough to be quick, muscled enough to be strong, and, well, he's had an admirer or two in his life.

EQUIPMENT:

A bastard sword and a simple iron shield are his primary tools-of-choice, with a leather brigandine, bracers and greaves, and steel-toed boots, with a plate helm and leather cap he wears if knocks to the head are likely. He has a crossbow and a dagger, too, but mostly it’s piecemeal things he’s picked up over the years. Most of it he just sold on to someone else. Add in his bags with enough food and clean water to get him to the next town, some dried herbs and strips of cloth in case he injures himself, kindling and a flint to light the occasional fire, a wooden flute which he whittled himself and occasionally plays, a whetstone and oil for his gear, a bedroll and blanket for sleeping, rope, which you always need, and his coin, and he’s set to go for his journeying. You might think that’s a lot for one man to carry, and you’d be right, which is why he brings along Gale, a bay-coloured mare. She’s not exactly one to ride, and she’ll kick if she’s made uncomfortable, but they seem to have a good relationship.

HISTORY:

Flint was born to a herbalist and a miner in a provincial town, in the Kingdom of Lithenia. He refuses to call it by any other name. He was twelve when Barthos Garcell staged his coup, and that was about when his father died, too. And under the Duke’s (now King’s) rein, things certainly changed. He remembers how harsh things were back then. The toll it took.

In lieu of taking up a pick-axe, Flint’s mother taught him her herb trade, how to grow some, where others grew wild, and which ones not to touch, and then how to mix them, cut them, mash them, brew them. It took several months, and a number of arguments, before he relented. He’d run the town to make deliveries and hiked into the mountains to go where his mother dare not. He met a few 'Low Aldonians' at that time, too. The ones who saw him were brash, and the ones who didn't... he came to pity these people. Their ancestors had left them quite the legacy. Aside from those distractions, he and his mother were still relatively happy... but as it always does in stories, that didn’t last.

Just before his sixteenth, his mother died, in a fit of Fate’s Irony, from illness. And that took everything from him. He didn’t have nearly the expertise his mother did in herbs, and the horror stories of explosions in the mines struck that off the list. That left starving, begging, or apprenticeship to a craftsman or trader… or enlisting. He was too old to find anybody who’d take him, and he’d seen enough dead in the streets to know that trying to beg would starve him anyway. And that left enlistment.

He remembered the time the King took over. He didn’t want to be a part of that. But what choice did he have? It came in the form of a mercenary company, in search of new work and fresh blood for the fold. They had no interest in a scraggly youth, untrained and untried, but a single man took pity on him. Menos was an old veteran, more one to bark than bite, and reaching his decline. But he claimed to see the fighting spirit in Flint. So Flint sold what he no longer needed, including the only home he knew, bought a rusted sword and mould-ridden shield, and left. His training took some time, years spent on the road until he was on par with his mentor. He helped his group wherever he could, and joined his company in fights when they happened. He turned twenty by the time he could afford a proper weapon. And he was more than distraught when, in a moment of hesitation from Flint, Menos took a blow for him. It proved fatal.

That was all it took for Flint. Despite the congratulations of his comrades and the coin in his pocket, he felt numb. Death was a thing that happened. He had always known that. But one after another, they’d left him behind. He’d lost most all he considered dear to him. Taking his share of coin from the company, he bought a filly pony and left on amicable terms with the men he’d known for the past four years. His time since has been spent as an escort, making sure bandits and pirates don’t lay their hands on his charges, and on occasion, grabbing the occasional thief or murderer. The only place he’s not gone in the last twelve years has been the Duchy itself.

The Depths of Blackmire Keep - Dare You Enter?

@Heyitsjiwon just a quick question- are you being ‘the stranger’, or no? Because if not, I will profess an interest

The Depths of Blackmire Keep - Dare You Enter?

@Chicken Thanks for letting me in! I greatly appreciate it, especially since I came down so close to the deadline *sweats*

As for Discord - well, there are pros and cons to both keeping it in the OOC, and to moving over to Discord. Putting conversations here lessens the feeling of missing out on potentially important conversations, as well as keeping everyone up to date. Not everybody has Discord, and actually, OOC chemistry does lend itself in part to keeping things running smoothly. However, Discord is a quick and easy medium, which allows people to have conversations much faster, almost all times of day, at the cost of almost killing the OOC here. I'll leave the main decision up to the rest of the crew. If a pull point is collabs, there are alternatives such as GoogleDocs and PiratePad.

And in terms of the RP - as I've said already, death and dismemberment are not on my list of favourites, but that's what improves the game. And Game Master autonomy is pretty much why we need you in the first place. Things get boring if things don't happen.

And dude. Your scrutiny was actually much appreciated, on my end. Can't learn what to improve if you're never aware of the faults.

I, the Demon King, Will Summon My Own Damned Heroes!

Scott - Chains and Carcasses

---

Hearing Ash's assurances that she was trying to tame the lizard, Scott slowed his pace. He wasn't sure about her methods, but... well, he knew next to nothing about lizards, and less-so about ones that could spit poison and talk. So she... wanted to befriend it?

...Colchain. The word rolled about as he mouthed the word. It was... pleasant? That was a good enough word. And it was familiar. He must have read it somewhere. Where he'd read it, he couldn't recall.

Unfortunately, his attempt at recollection was cut short by the snap of the leash, and Ash walking away, towards Naji.

"H-Hey! Wait up!" he called out, before running after her.

When they approached the dead goblins, he got his first close-up look of the green-skinned creature. He... wasn't actually as small as he thought. The goblin was only about four, five times larger than him. It was strange to think about, but there it was. Well. He was still only technically a week old. And he was much smaller than he was... before.

"Oh good. You got him to calm down!"

He turned to face Naji, drenched in gore like something out of a horror game. It was not pleasant to see, but at least he didn't have anything to chuck up. But mostly, Scott was again feeling that sinking guilt. For a few seconds, he opened and closed his mouth like a fish, before managing to stammer out a few words, before trailing off.

"I- Naji - I'm sorry I didn't..."

His eyes lowered to the ground, his face burning red with shame.

"I'm sorry I didn't do anything when you almost got hurt."

The Depths of Blackmire Keep - Dare You Enter?

Juuuuust gonna put this here.

Flint

NAME: Flint Ambrose
SEX: Male
AGE: 35 (Middle-Aged).
HOMELAND: The Black Duchy, formerly the Kingdom of Lithenia.
BACKGROUND: Tradesman

TRAITS:

• Strider – Flint is not the strongest, the fastest, or the smartest. But he knows how to take what he has and use it to survive.
• Tactician – When you’re at this for half of your life, you usually develop an eye for strategy.

FLAWS:

• Sleepless – Most people go to sleep at night, but Flint... it takes a bit.

PROFICIENCIES: 16 +4 Skill points
Expertise:
Tactics II (3 points)
Folklore I (1 point)
Mathematics I (1 point)

Skills:
Cooking II (3 points)
Herbalism II (3 points)
Flute I (1 point)

Social:
Command I (1 point)

Weapons:
Swords II (3 points)
Shields II (3 points)

PERSONALITY:

Flint can be the stoic type; he has endured hardships and pain, but gritted his teeth and got on with it. That’s all he really has to do. Not much he can see ahead of him, and not much that would come after, either. This also extends to people. He’s not gone out of his way to make friends, and can often appear aloof. That said, he does try to care for the few people he knows – it’s simply that he’s lost enough people that it becomes hard to care for anyone more.
He tries to watch out for his friends, or rather, comrades, to make sure that they live to see another day. Whether this is interposing a sword or shield to halt a deadly blow, making sure they don’t make enemies of import or just plain shouting at them, he’ll do his best. If he doesn’t have any bodies to care about, he’ll just worry about making sure whatever’s trying to gut him gets gutted first.
And as for his beliefs… Flint practices some of the Old Ways, but he is no god-fearing man. In fact, he doesn’t fear much at all. Put him in a panic? Certainly. But there are only a two things Flint has truly come to fear. The first is meeting his end – a reasonable fear by any means, and one that has often kept him his hide. And second… Duke Garcell of the Black Duchy. That man is truly a demon to him.
He's also coming to regret how long he's been in the game... the number of creases on his brow have increased. He hasn't found any grey hairs, but it's only a matter of time. Both signify he's nearing an age where he won't be as effective a fighter as he used to be. Even if he became a captain of some kind, he would still see war. Or he could purchase some land, open a shop or an inn, get a pretty wife - the standard dream. He can't trudge dirt paths forever. So once again, his life falls to a choice.

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:

Not tall, not short, with tawny brown hair and gold-flecked brown eyes, he would not stand out among the people you might see in the Aldaric Sea, common as that is. He couldn’t even tell you from whom he is descended – though he has his presumptions. He’s fairly balanced in his athleticism, lean enough to be quick, muscled enough to be strong, and, well, he's had an admirer or two in his life.

EQUIPMENT:

A bastard sword and a simple iron shield are his primary tools-of-choice, with a leather brigandine, bracers and greaves, and steel-toed boots, with a plate helm and leather cap he wears if knocks to the head are likely. He has a crossbow and a dagger, too, but mostly it’s piecemeal things he’s picked up over the years. Most of it he just sold on to someone else. Add in his bags with enough food and clean water to get him to the next town, some dried herbs and strips of cloth in case he injures himself, kindling and a flint to light the occasional fire, a wooden flute which he whittled himself and occasionally plays, a whetstone and oil for his gear, a bedroll and blanket for sleeping, rope, which you always need, and his coin, and he’s set to go for his journeying. You might think that’s a lot for one man to carry, and you’d be right, which is why he brings along Gale, a bay-coloured mare. She’s not exactly one to ride, and she’ll kick if she’s made uncomfortable, but they seem to have a good relationship.

HISTORY:

Flint was born to a herbalist and a miner in a provincial town, in the Kingdom of Lithenia. He refuses to call it by any other name. He was twelve when Barthos Garcell staged his coup, and that was about when his father died, too. And under the Duke’s (now King’s) rein, things certainly changed. He remembers how harsh things were back then. The toll it took.

In lieu of taking up a pick-axe, Flint’s mother taught him her herb trade, how to grow some, where others grew wild, and which ones not to touch, and then how to mix them, cut them, mash them, brew them. It took several months, and a number of arguments, before he relented. He’d run the town to make deliveries and hiked into the mountains to go where his mother dare not. He met a few 'Low Aldonians' at that time, too. The ones who saw him were brash, and the ones who didn't... he came to pity these people. Their ancestors had left them quite the legacy. Aside from those distractions, he and his mother were still relatively happy... but as it always does in stories, that didn’t last.

Just before his sixteenth, his mother died, in a fit of Fate’s Irony, from illness. And that took everything from him. He didn’t have nearly the expertise his mother did in herbs, and the horror stories of explosions in the mines struck that off the list. That left starving, begging, or apprenticeship to a craftsman or trader… or enlisting. He was too old to find anybody who’d take him, and he’d seen enough dead in the streets to know that trying to beg would starve him anyway. And that left enlistment.

He remembered the time the King took over. He didn’t want to be a part of that. But what choice did he have? It came in the form of a mercenary company, in search of new work and fresh blood for the fold. They had no interest in a scraggly youth, untrained and untried, but a single man took pity on him. Menos was an old veteran, more one to bark than bite, and reaching his decline. But he claimed to see the fighting spirit in Flint. So Flint sold what he no longer needed, including the only home he knew, bought a rusted sword and mould-ridden shield, and left. His training took some time, years spent on the road until he was on par with his mentor. He helped his group wherever he could, and joined his company in fights when they happened. He turned twenty by the time he could afford a proper weapon. And he was more than distraught when, in a moment of hesitation from Flint, Menos took a blow for him. It proved fatal.

That was all it took for Flint. Despite the congratulations of his comrades and the coin in his pocket, he felt numb. Death was a thing that happened. He had always known that. But one after another, they’d left him behind. He’d lost most all he considered dear to him. Taking his share of coin from the company, he bought a filly pony and left on amicable terms with the men he’d known for the past four years. His time since has been spent as an escort, making sure bandits and pirates don’t lay their hands on his charges, and on occasion, grabbing the occasional thief or murderer. The only place he’s not gone in the last twelve years has been the Duchy itself.

I, the Demon King, Will Summon My Own Damned Heroes!

@Zanderkvothe I don't know if you'd be accepted right now, and if you are, it would only be on special permission. You might see near the top of the page, just under the title, there's a thing which says 'Join Status: Full'. From what I know, there's three - 'Jump-In', where you join without any prior approval needed, 'Apply', where you can submit an application (usually it's a character sheet), or 'Full' - meaning that the game isn't currently looking for new players. You'd have to ask Zeroth personally, but I don't know if today's a lucky one for you.

The Last Embers (Dark Steampunk/Fantasy)

Keeping them on as NPCs would be our potential best bet, I think. The story has become integral enough that I don't know if we could feasibly leave them behind.

The Depths of Blackmire Keep - Dare You Enter?

Hmm... well, I'm definitely liking this. I wouldn't be happy if my character lost a limb or a life, but that's what makes the narrative worth it. Probably won't get a character sheet up just yet, but you can bet that you'll see something.