Back when dinosaurs ruled the Earth, I got started with writing online on the Spore forums. Man, those were the days. We're talking like 12 years ago 2010-ish!
I've been here on and off for almost as long, and have GM'd a bunch of different things to varying success.
Nobody has a shamanistic or druidic character, if that helps you find a niche, though we do have one shape-shifter. Maybe you could fill in that gap. Just an idea.
I still need all of you to post an intro. The IC will be moving on without you at Midnight tomorrow, in 27 hours.
It's possible for your character to simply arrive late, but it is sternly frowned upon. That's right, I'm frowning on you. Can you feel it? CAN YOU FEEL THE FROWN?
Just to vex you, I posted within the 27 hour limit but am still showing up late =P
It seems fitting for Crompter to be late, and I really wanted to have that one encounter in my post.
Crompter lied down as still as a dead man in the bed of the wagon. The ride was peaceful enough when he could get into a drunken slumber so deep as to be able to ignore the bumps in the road, or the small ones at least. The horse drawn wagon suddenly hit a rut where the road was not even and one side of the carriage leaned over, flipping the sleeping passenger over and slamming his head into the side.
Muttering a half dozen curses below his breath Crompter at last woke up. His head throbbed, the pounding pain the result of a hangover as much as it was from just slamming his head into the wooden side of the wagon. Grumbling, the miserable drunkard rubbed his eyes. The wagon's cloth cover was partially transparent and while it only let the faintest bit of sunlight through, that was enough to worsen his headache. It would not do; the pain and exhaustion were enough to almost make Crompter delirious. Fortunately, hangovers had a cure and that cure involved a wondrous form of medicine. The grouch reached for a wooden mug and then filled it from a nearby keg of grainy ale. After a few drafts he felt much better.
The young man that was the driver heard the thuds and low muttering coming from behind. After sleeping through the night and much of the morning his damned passenger seemed to have at last awakened. That was good; they were almost upon another hamlet and he hated having to rouse the cranky nobleman. "Aldwin," the driver cried out, "there's another village up ahead. You owe me more gold."
Searching for his coin purse for an embarrassingly long time, Crompter began to grow afraid that he had let it fall out of the wagon while he was in some state of torpor. Eventually he found the thing in his pocket, though. Scowling at how droll and pathetic his state of mind was, he emptied the leather pouch of its last few coins and then pushed aside the curtain. Squinting in the light, 'Aldwin' handed the driver his fare and then retreated into the shade of the wagon's inside to consult his map. "You'll go north at the next crossroads," Crompter curtly told the boy. Just as he had withheld his true name and disguised himself to avoid being recognized as a wizard, he had similarly been giving the boy direction as they went. Telling the driver to simply go to the Idolized Tower would blow his cover.
With that done the still dazed wizard settled back down in an attempt to go back to sleep. Some time later, just as he began to drift away, the wagon suddenly came lurched to a stop. Angrily Crompte's eyes shot up, and through the cloth curtains between him and the driver, he saw the silhouette of the boy's hands up. His hands were off the reins. Just as he was about to shout a word or two at the incompetent fool, a loud voice sounded from the side of the road.
"That's it boy. Hands up and surrender your valuables, or you get an arrow to the throat," came a sneer.
Crompter considered the possibility that he was dreaming or hallucinating, but the voice was all too real and so were the footsteps from outside. Quietly, he pulled out his wand from its sheathe on his belt and opened the pouch next to it. As the robbers outside cautiously came closer, they took no note of the tiny wooden figurine that clattered out the back of the carriage. They did see the blast of light that followed it, and the massive orc that appeared where a moment ago there had only been a carved toy.
With a ferocious bellow the orc clutched its axe and charged. Crompter leaped out the back of the wagon just in time to see it maul the closest bandit. There was another one some distance away that held a bow. Suddenly ignoring both Crompter and the driver, that terrified villain loosed an arrow at the orc before running. The bestial warrior howled with pain upon being shot, but that did little save aggravate it. The fleeing archer stood no chance as an arc of light flew from the wizard's wand and struck the bandit's leg, turning it to stone and instantly immobilized it. Falling to the ground in a heat, he was quickly dispatched by the orc.
Suddenly, the green-skinned brute spun around and noticed the driver and Crompter for the first time. With a savage roar it charged, but the wizard was prepared. Cackling, he stumbled forward and shot a bolt of magic. Too drunk to aim, he missed. The orc was now almost upon him, but that only made things easier. The Drunkard smiled and merely Altered the gravity in front of him, reversing its pull and sending the warrior shooting skywards. A beam of light trailed from his wand to the flying orc, and suddenly the brute's green body was grey and made of stone. In any case, he fell like a stone and smashed upon hitting the ground. Crompter grimaced; that was a harder landing than he had intended. His magic had grown rusty over the years, and it looked like that was one more figurine that would need replacing.
The bewildered driver could only look at his passenger for a few moments, jaw wide open in disbelief. After a few painful moments of a stare that conveyed both awe and horror, he stammered, "Y-you're a wizard!"
Crompter spat. With a wave of his hand his disguise faded; the Alterations on his body and items gone, the impressive nobleman called Aldwin was now Crompter, a weathered old man. The luxurious silk robe turned into a filthy, rough-spun tunic. The golden letter opener in his hands revealed itself to be a wand, and the handsome yet indulgent face of an arrogant noble transformed into the visage of a wrinkled old man, complete with greying hair.
"Yes, I'm a wizard," Crompter admitted. "I'm the Drunken fool of a wizard that was a 'permanent guest' for the last few months at the Wild Bear Inn, if you've heard of me. And my name isn't Aldwin." After a moment of pause and thought, he went on, "Now that you know who I am, I reckon that I may as well tell you that we're on our way to the Idealized Tower. No need to wake me asking for directions any more, eh?"
Once again Crompter spat. He walked to a small brook along the side of the road and filled his favorite mug with its dirty water. He swirled his finger through the water inside, and suddenly the liquid was his favorite mulled wine. He drank deeply, then stooped down to pick up a rock. He squeezed the thing in his hand, and when he released his grip it shone like the sun, transmuted into solid gold.
"For your troubles," Crompter said as he tossed it to the amazed driver. "But don't ask for more. You don't deserve it."
The boy's smile vanished in an instant, and Crompter returned to the wagon to try his luck at going to sleep once more. They still had a long journey ahead of them, and the wizard knew that there was no way he would make it in time to the Tower. That was of no concern, though; he couldn't truly be bothered to care much. He wasn't entirely sure why he bothered to make the trip anyways, though he admitted that it was good to do something. The occasional trip like this was necessary to keep him alive.
I PERSONALLY have found that Google is far better than it's competition
I didn't get the feeling that Arena was implying Google was bad. In any case I prefer Duckduckgo as a search engine. Ironically one of my better friends found it on his own, but I've yet to meet a single other person that's even heard of it.
Appearance: Crompter's appearance is not elegant by any means. He looks every bit like your run of the mill pauper, with worn and filthy (but comfortable) clothes, the face of a man down on his luck, and the reek of alcohol so pungent that it can almost mask how rarely he bathes. He stands at about five and a half feet tall, a few inches shorter than most men. His build is far from puissant as well, for while he is not fat or even flabby he certainly wouldn't be described as muscular either. His hair is unkempt and down to his shoulders, mostly light brown but with a good deal of grey beginning to appear. He has short but scraggly facial that's all grey, and his face is slightly wrinkled.
Still, through all of that roughness it's easy to see that he was once a handsome and happy youth. Things have changed, though, robbing him of that allure and giving him a weary look. His brown eyes are wizened if you look closely enough, though of course few people do. In any case, for all the intelligence behind those eyes there is an equal amount of apathy, contempt, and cynicism at the world.
Altogether he appears to be in his mid forties, which is incidentally about as old as he actually is. In an age when most men die young, you could call him an elder, though of course his ragged appearance ensures that he receives none of the respect that most his age are able to command. He looks exceptionally young and robust for somebody with his indulgent and depressed lifestyle and temperament, which is most likely due to his magic being capable of slowing down his age.
Backstory:
In a faraway kingdom across the sea there was once a young orphan, as nameless and faceless as the rest of his kind. He spent his early days growing up, or more accurately starving, in a great city named Castlepass. That city was like a man-made mountain, with great buildings of brick and stone rising from everywhere to form a labyrinth of busy streets and shady alleys.
On one side of Castlepass was an ancient and looming castle that was the town's namesake and home to a knightly order as well as the king. The other side of the city was dominated by a newer but far grander structure: a great keep known only as the Castlepass Mages' Institute. Many of the Institute's founders were good people, former apprentices to Primus that had returned to their homeland to take on apprentices of their own and spread their knowledge. That first idealistic, founding generation brought magic to those faraway lands. Previously they had been rather isolated from any innovations in the field, and talent was rare as any who wanted to learn as an apprentice would have had to travel across the sea.
The second generation were the golden ones: they surpassed their masters and the first generation in both numbers and knowledge, and brought the Institute and the kingdom to new heights. A friendly rivalry with the Idolized Tower was formed, and while the Institute was nowhere near as grand its wizards did make the occasional breakthrough to boast about. The Mages' Institute was a benevolent force, their benevolence bringing prosperity, curing sickness, and offering a chance at advancement to any youngsters that had a talent for magic.
One of those youngsters was the orphan that this story began with. Brave as a fool and with nothing to lose, he tried to pickpocket the Institute's Archmage on one fateful day in the markets. He was caught of course and shackled with magic, but instead of being handed over to the guards the Archmage took pity on the youth. Seeing potential in the boy, he named him Crompter, adopted him as a son, and took him on as an apprentice. Crompter excelled and was the at the forefront of all his classes. By the age of fifteen he was bestowed the rank of Master Alterist, and by eighteen the previous Archmage at last died peacefully in his old age and Crompter was chosen over many older mages in the institute to be the next Archmage.
Being a mere boy in charge of men twice his age, he was of course only the Institute's master in name. He quickly learned that he had no true power over the others, and began to become solitary and do his own research. The third generation of wizards in the Mages' Institute came, and these were not like the first two. The spirit and morals of the Institute's wise and noble founders had not been passed down well, and many in this generation grew too ambitious. The ones with less scruples eventually took over. The Mages began to terrorize Castlepass, their experiments growing increasingly cruel and their once rigid Code of Honor being blatantly disregarded. Any that spoke out against the tyrannical masses and their treachery were driven out of the Institute and the kingdom, or worse.
In a selfish bid to maintain what little power his title gave him, Archmage Crompter went along with the others, though he certainly was no ringleader. There came a day when the entire Institute at last plotted to depose Castlepass's rightful king and disperse the knights that guarded it, for those men and their laws had of late chafed with the Institute's goals and become too much of a thorn in the side.
When they attacked the castle, there was no challenge. The arrows that flew from the battlements towards the wizards were blown away by unnatural gusts of wind, the wooden gate and all atop the walls were incinerated by fire magic, and the castle was stormed by undead and demonic minions before the wizards themselves went in. There were still many who doubted his loyalty, so Crompter himself petrified the king and the entire royal family. After all, the king had been no angel. Perhaps the other mages were right when they said that the kingdom would be safer and more prosperous under their rule, with no two competing factions to disturb the peace.
In the following years the entire nobility was overthrown while individual wizards struck out to conquer the kingdom's cities, towns, and hamlets. They declared themselves lords, and there were a few that were unimaginably cruel in their tyranny. At last, when Crompter reached the age of twenty and five, he could no longer ignore what his heart had told him the entire time. He determined to end the Institute.
He invited all of his peers to a feast in the keep of the old Institute, and while many had their own palaces, castles, and towers they all attended. Crompter had both their trust and respect, his title ironically meaning something now that he no longer wanted it. As the wizards all filed in to the feast hall, they began to talk amongst themselves and dine. Crompter announced that he had some matter to attend to but that he would be back within the hour. He went outside the keep to where he had already hidden and prepared a gigantic ritual circle, having spent weeks empowering it. With a tiny flick of his wand, he unleashed all the power that had been stored in the circle in his countless hours of meditation.
He unleashed what was perhaps the largest Alteration in history, almsot instantly converting the entire Castlepass Mages' Institute into sand. It was fitting, that the once grand castle was now a petty toy of a sandcastle, just as the once great wizards were now petty fools. Unable to support itself, the collasal structure of loose sand collapsed in on itself and buried all the tyrants beneath a dozen feet of crushing sand. Taken by surprise, none managed to survive.
Crompter used his magic to ensure that the statues of the old royal family would slowly be reanimated into living people once more. Then, he left the kingdom in self-imposed exile. He now styles himself just Wizard Crompter; the Institute is gone, so he's no longer an Archmage, after all. He goes from hamlet to hamlet, trying to hide the fact that he's a wizard so as to avoid any annoying requests from the locals. He transmutes pebbles into gold nuggets as he needs them, using his essentially infinite wealth to stay in taverns drink himself into oblivion rather than build a mansion or anything ambitious like that. Ambition is a vile thing, as his late peers showed him.
Weapons: Wizard Crompter always wears a belt, no matter the outfit, and on his belt he keeps two objects: a wand and a small leather pouch.
The wand's purpose is obvious, being used by many sorcerers to project their magical powers more accurately and easily. Crompter has an especially exquisite one that was crafted from magical wood by elven wood-singers, before being doused in all sorts of strange oils and undergoing various enchantments and imbuements to make it more conductive to its user's will. The result is a rare and effective tool, a remnant from his time as a affluent and prominent members of the Institute.
The pouch that he carries is for a stranger and much more secretive purpose. Inside of it he carries tiny, thumb-sized figurines and dolls made of wood, stone, metal, and all manner of other materials. They would be fine toys for any children, the wildly varied collection sharing the sole trait or being flawlessly crafted with amazing detail and precision. There are savage orcs clutching axes, sly bandits with bows, ferocious bears, and all manner of other things from across the world. While Crompter might keep some as souvenirs, they are certainly not toys. Instead, they are like acorns; tiny seeds that can grow into mighty oaks, or in this case, live monsters and beasts to aid him in combat.
He merely has to open the pouch, toss a few of the figurines onto the ground, and use his magic to grow them to life-size (or bigger) and convert their inanimate composition into flesh and blood. While such a feat is unheard of and considered impossible by the other, narrow-minded and incompetent mages that follow study the art of Alteration, Crompter is in another class entirely. It certainly isn't easy for him to create more than one or two bears or trolls in the thick of combat, and once they are summoned he struggles to control them in even the most basic of ways, but nobody ever sees this trick of his coming. Still, they make a good distraction most of the time. One has to wonder though whether all of those 'toys' stowed in his pouch are just what they seem or if they were once living beings...
How did you find out about the tower?: He was not invited; in fact, most of the world thinks that he died with the rest of his peers and that the gods turned the Institute to sand in order to smite the evil mages that had abused their powers. Rather, going from tavern to tavern and occasionally being sober enough to listen to the rumormongers, he heard on his own about the Prince and the Tower. Suspicious as ever, he's set out to see what exactly is going on. He might very well try to stop these overly ambitious wizards for the good of the world just as he stopped the Institute, but then again, the years have made him apathetic. Immortality might appeal to him now that he's in old age.
Personality: On the surface he is negative beyond belief, a physical and mental drain to anybody within earshot. You could say that his temperament is sarcastic, cynical, mistrusting, spiteful, bitter...the list goes on. Fortunately for the rest of you, he is usually happy to keep mostly to himself and not be the one to engage in any interaction.
Perhaps someone patient and amiable enough (They'd also have to strike him as being a decent person and not a dimwit, of course) could break through his shell and bring out the warm and vibrancy that he once had, but good luck with that.
Magic School and Skill: Alteration. He has never bothered to learn more than most basic parts of any other schools, and much of the little tidbits that he did learn about those he dismissed as rubbish, impractical, convoluted, or otherwise worthless. That, or he got drunk and forgot about them. In any case, Alteration is about all that he works with, but fortunately he's perhaps the most powerful Alterist in history. Primus himself would have been impressed (or perhaps even surpassed) by Crompter's talent in that one field.
Back when dinosaurs ruled the Earth, I got started with writing online on the Spore forums. Man, those were the days. We're talking like [s]12 years ago[/s] 2010-ish!
I've been here on and off for almost as long, and have GM'd a bunch of different things to varying success.
[center]Word of my splendor:[/center]
[hider=My messenger's letter][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/019b0090-4706-75b9-bfe5-fd4ef6737466.webp[/img][/hider]
[hider=My fellow monarch's response][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/019b0090-a418-774f-a117-1ae23ac670fd.webp[/img][/hider]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Back when dinosaurs ruled the Earth, I got started with writing online on the Spore forums. Man, those were the days. We're talking like <span class="bb-s">12 years ago</span> 2010-ish!<br><br>I've been here on and off for almost as long, and have GM'd a bunch of different things to varying success.<br><br><div class="bb-center">Word of my splendor:</div><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="My messenger's letter">My messenger's letter [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><img src="https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/019b0090-4706-75b9-bfe5-fd4ef6737466.webp" /></div></div><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="My fellow monarch's response">My fellow monarch's response [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><img src="https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/019b0090-a418-774f-a117-1ae23ac670fd.webp" /></div></div></div>
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Lord Zee
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BingTheWing
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