Dusty

Thy Fearful Symmetry [Lovecraftian WW2 Battle of Britain RP]

I am very intrigued. Would you accept an American character whose pretending to be Canadian in order to fight in the RAF?

Star Wars - Jedi Exile

Outside the dimmed cockpit of the Reclamation tiny chunks of ancient stone bounced off the ship’s reflector shields, drifting away on their eternal journey. Tiny low beeps from the vessel’s functions display indicated each impact. They remained random and interspersed sometimes occurring in waves and other times as singularities at great length. They created an irregular tempo with which the cockpit’s sole occupant tapped his finger along too, attempting to predict when the next bleep would occur. At this point Javi was willing to find any entertainment to distract himself from the pained thoughts that threatened to mentally cripple him. Although the Reclamation needed very little supervision while in orbit, he found solstice in doing familiar function checks and status inspections on the vessel’s integrity. After long hours running through every single examination he could think of Javi switched to cleaning his blasters until they glistened like new stars.

Sighing Javi sat back in the pilot seat staring off into nothing, his blaster lying disassembled in his lap. The Jedi onboard had said they’d felt the deaths of thousands of their brothers and sisters over the last few cycles, a horrifying truth that was later confirmed by Master Kenobi’s message. Javi could see no reason to disbelieve what was being said as much as he wished it all to be a terrible nightmare. An irrational part of him wanted to be back on Coruscant fighting with his comrades at the temple, inevitably perishing alongside the Jedi and TSF. That would make things easier than living on with the knowledge that the only home he had ever known was utterly destroyed. The more rational part of him knew it was foolish and cowardly to think that way, and he couldn’t afford to be foolish or cowardly anymore. For all he knew he was the highest ranking, or even the last remaining member of the TSF. A thought that did not bode comfort to the paralyzing fear of his daunting task. How could one simple man who couldn’t even use the force protect the last of the Jedi on his own?

Just then the lifeless voice of the resident Jedi Master Azure startled Javi from his thoughts. Sitting up the pilot gave both the scanners and systems one last check over. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary he methodically set to work reconstructing his blaster. The complete weapon felt heavy and familiar in his hand, comforting his troubled mind. Stowing it away in its holster Javi flipped the autopilot switch on the command board and stood up, stretching and yawning. He’d been sitting there for a long time and the seats were hardly the most comfortable things in the galaxy. His back and legs protested vigorously at the sudden movement. Wincing Javi waited until the slight pain subsided before opening the hatchway out of the cockpit.

It was with a heavy heart Javi set off down the well-lit passageway towards the common. He kept his head up and eyes straight ahead like the well trained professional guard he was meant to be. Whatever the future held for them good or bad he knew his duty well, even if it was easier said than done. To follow the orders of the Jedi and protect them with his life. Despite the certain hardships that would most certainly come Javi was determined to not fail in this regard even if it cost him dearly.

Javi arrived just after Kresst, and he followed the Jedi knight into the main room’s interior. It felt odd saluting a droid, even if it was just the outer shell and not truly Azure, still Javi felt a little self-conscious every time he performed the customary action. Nevertheless he raised his hand to his brow before bringing both hands down behind his back to the position of parade rest. “Greetings Master Azure, Salavr. I just came from the cockpit with nothing to report from the scanners. As far as I know we are still alone out here.” His bit said Javi stepped back and out of the way, where he would wait quietly until addressed.

Star Wars - Jedi Exile

Javi Knol

Name: Javi Knol
Species: Human
Age: 27
Role: Co-Pilot

Appearance:

Javi Knol

]

Equipment:

• Double leg holsters.
• Two DL-18 blasters
• Extra powerpacks.
• Armpit holster.
• Modified DC-17 Blaster Pistol
• Wrist Datapad/comlink

Skills: Javi Knol is a trained and experienced TSF Guard and a competent pilot. A veteran of several small scale battles he understands the realities of war all too well, and can handle himself in a life or death situation. He is also adapt at staying perfectly still and alert for extended periods of time and is trained to pick out and identify any suspicious personnel.

Abilities: Javi Knol has a very limited connection to the force, one that was too small to allow him to continue Jedi training, but enough to keep him slightly more attuned to his surrounding than the average human. It gives him a strong advantage when flying, and allows him to pick up on other's emotions, though not with the same efficiency of a Jedi.

Weaknesses: Javi suffers from shellshock and has psychopathic tendencies when aroused. He lacks self-confidence and people skills which he makes up for by being annoying or brash. He also holds all force users in very high regard and can be hasty in defending their honor as he essentially considers them to be his family. An emotional attachment that most Jedi do not return.

History:
Born in the lower levels of Coruscant Javi was left to die, abandoned at his first breath. Javi was doomed to perish in the first hours of his life when he was detected by the Jedi Order to be potentially force sensitive. Sensing the child beneath Coruscant’s upper levels a Jedi Knight Javi Knol (Javi’s namesake) was dispatched to retrieve the baby for the traditional indoctrination of force sensitive children into the Jedi. Javi elder descended quickly into Coruscant’s dangerous lower levels using the force to guide his way towards the baby, only to discover he was already taken by a gang of hungry Rodians, who were unwilling to part with their lucky find easily.

Javi elder engaged the gang in battle, finding himself hard pressed and surrounded by hostile entities deep in the heart of Coruscant. Despite the odds Javi succeeded in securing the baby and retreating to his speeder, and though gravely wounded, he managed to escape. He arrived back to the temple barely conscious, dying only a few days after, the baby he saved ultimately being named after him in remembrance. Javi Knol.

While initially the Jedi began training little Javi in the ways of the Jedi it was soon discovered he had a minute connection to the force, and as a result he failed in his initial testing at age five. Knowing Javi had no home to return to the Jedi instead placed him in training for the Temple Security Forces TSF, offering him a chance to continue his life with the Jedi. Javi excelled at his training making remarkable leaps in skill for one so young. His life was notably easy and comfortable, standing post when required and spending his free time in some of the many cantinas on Coruscant with his friends in the TSF. After several years amongst the Temple Guard he was reassigned to the more elite Scout Division where he acted as a guard for Jedi envoys. He would journey across the galaxy with different Jedi Knights, returning to Coruscant at the mission’s conclusion to brag about his exploits and adventures. All this changed however once the war kicked off.

Javi Knol suddenly found himself and his unit zooming from one planet to the next providing rudimentary security for the Jedi, escorts services, and even acting as operatives for small scale missions. Javi saw more than enough action to last him the rest of his life in the months he served in the TSF Scouts. Unlike the clones the TSF often battled sentient life rather than battle droids, which left them more mentally scarred. Javi was no exception in this regard, and he like many of his brothers in arms would wake in the middle of the rest periods sweating and terrified.

Javi would claim he wasn’t a natural fighter, but his actions on the battlefield left many of his seniors concerned. On occasion he would fly into terrible rages, cursing and screaming during battle, throwing himself into dangerous situations without a second thought. Sometimes when in close quarters Javi would continue shooting dead enemies long after they were slain, only stopping once ordered or when the body no longer resembled something that might’ve once been alive. More than one TSF officer expressed concern for Javi’s state of mind, requesting he get cycled back to the temple to stand once more as a temple guard far away from the battlefield. Something Javi regularly requested himself.

After nearly a year as a TSF Scout Javi finally managed to get reassigned as a Temple Guard once more, returning to the less vicious life of standing watch over the temple grounds. Here he stayed until age Twenty four when he finally qualified to begin pilot training. Exhilarated at the chance to fly one of the Jedi’s training cruisers Javi worked hard at his training and two years later he finally graduated and was qualified to fly the Jedi vessels on non-dangerous missions, acting as pilot and TSF guard. He was assigned to Co-pilot a Jedi exploration ship named the Reclamation, and has been there over the last year until Jedi Kenobi’s message. Javi reacted badly upon hearing it, devastated by the knowledge that the only family and home he had ever know may be gone forever.

Star Wars - Jedi Exile

Javi Knol

Name: Javi Knol
Species: Human
Age: 27
Role: Co-Pilot

Appearance:

Javi Knol

]

Equipment:

• Double leg holsters.
• Two DL-18 blasters
• Extra powerpacks.
• Armpit holster.
• Modified DC-17 Blaster Pistol
• Wrist Datapad/comlink

Skills: Javi Knol is a trained and experienced TSF Guard and a competent pilot. A veteran of several small scale battles he understands the realities of war all too well, and can handle himself in a life or death situation. He is also adapt at staying perfectly still and alert for extended periods of time and is trained to pick out and identify any suspicious personnel.

Abilities: Javi Knol has a very limited connection to the force, one that was too small to allow him to continue Jedi training, but enough to keep him slightly more attuned to his surrounding than the average human. It gives him a strong advantage when flying, and allows him to pick up on other's emotions, though not with the same efficiency of a Jedi.

Weaknesses: Javi suffers from shellshock and has psychopathic tendencies when aroused. He lacks self-confidence and people skills which he makes up for by being annoying or brash. He also holds all force users in very high regard and can be hasty in defending their honor as he essentially considers them to be his family. An emotional attachment that most Jedi do not return.

History:
Born in the lower levels of Coruscant Javi was left to die, abandoned at his first breath. Javi was doomed to perish in the first hours of his life when he was detected by the Jedi Order to be potentially force sensitive. Sensing the child beneath Coruscant’s upper levels a Jedi Knight Javi Knol (Javi’s namesake) was dispatched to retrieve the baby for the traditional indoctrination of force sensitive children into the Jedi. Javi elder descended quickly into Coruscant’s dangerous lower levels using the force to guide his way towards the baby, only to discover he was already taken by a gang of hungry Rodians, who were unwilling to part with their lucky find easily.

Javi elder engaged the gang in battle, finding himself hard pressed and surrounded by hostile entities deep in the heart of Coruscant. Despite the odds Javi succeeded in securing the baby and retreating to his speeder, and though gravely wounded, he managed to escape. He arrived back to the temple barely conscious, dying only a few days after, the baby he saved ultimately being named after him in remembrance. Javi Knol.

While initially the Jedi began training little Javi in the ways of the Jedi it was soon discovered he had a minute connection to the force, and as a result he failed in his initial testing at age five. Knowing Javi had no home to return to the Jedi instead placed him in training for the Temple Security Forces TSF, offering him a chance to continue his life with the Jedi. Javi excelled at his training making remarkable leaps in skill for one so young. His life was notably easy and comfortable, standing post when required and spending his free time in some of the many cantinas on Coruscant with his friends in the TSF. After several years amongst the Temple Guard he was reassigned to the more elite Scout Division where he acted as a guard for Jedi envoys. He would journey across the galaxy with different Jedi Knights, returning to Coruscant at the mission’s conclusion to brag about his exploits and adventures. All this changed however once the war kicked off.

Javi Knol suddenly found himself and his unit zooming from one planet to the next providing rudimentary security for the Jedi, escorts services, and even acting as operatives for small scale missions. Javi saw more than enough action to last him the rest of his life in the months he served in the TSF Scouts. Unlike the clones the TSF often battled sentient life rather than battle droids, which left them more mentally scarred. Javi was no exception in this regard, and he like many of his brothers in arms would wake in the middle of the rest periods sweating and terrified.

Javi would claim he wasn’t a natural fighter, but his actions on the battlefield left many of his seniors concerned. On occasion he would fly into terrible rages, cursing and screaming during battle, throwing himself into dangerous situations without a second thought. Sometimes when in close quarters Javi would continue shooting dead enemies long after they were slain, only stopping once ordered or when the body no longer resembled something that might’ve once been alive. More than one TSF officer expressed concern for Javi’s state of mind, requesting he get cycled back to the temple to stand once more as a temple guard far away from the battlefield. Something Javi regularly requested himself.

After nearly a year as a TSF Scout Javi finally managed to get reassigned as a Temple Guard once more, returning to the less vicious life of standing watch over the temple grounds. Here he stayed until age Twenty four when he finally qualified to begin pilot training. Exhilarated at the chance to fly one of the Jedi’s training cruisers Javi worked hard at his training and two years later he finally graduated and was qualified to fly the Jedi vessels on non-dangerous missions, acting as pilot and TSF guard. He was assigned to Co-pilot a Jedi exploration ship named the Reclamation, and has been there over the last year until Jedi Kenobi’s message. Javi reacted badly upon hearing it, devastated by the knowledge that the only family and home he had ever know may be gone forever.

Ninja War: The Fight never ends

Name: Tadao Masanori
Age: 41
Village: Kouga
Weapons: Swords depicted
Jutsu: Fire Jutsu; Tadao can accumulate his power into his fists and feet to send out concentrated blasts of orange flame. The blasts can be sent out in swift sudden bursts, or flamethrower-esque streams or plumes. He can also take control of existing fire manipulating it in accordance to his wishes.

Rebellion is Our Calling, and why we rise!(closed)

Aaron Willum Cordathion

Image

Name:
Aaron Willum Cordathion, The Scarlet

Race/Faction:
The Kingdom of Cordath

Age:
19

Description:
Prince Aaron is a young, handsome man in his late teens. He’s not particularly imposing at a moderate 5’9, but he carries himself with an air of granted authority. His hands are adorned with many jeweled rings and perched on top of his crop of black hair is a circlet of gold. He’s often dressed in gilded clothes of bright red, with a falconers brace on his left arm. Strapped around his waist is an ever present sword and dagger, both ornate and clumsy due to the absurd amount of gold and jewels bedecking them.

Class:
Prince and Heir

Motivation:
To ensure there is a kingdom to rule once his time to reign comes. As much as Aaron enjoys the leisurely palace life surrounded by riches and luxuries, he knows (when the time comes) that any threat to his rule must be dealt with by the sword. Not his of course, his is for show, no, by the blood of the Vanguard and the Bannermen whose duty is to fight at his whim.

History:
First born son of the high king and first of his name Aaron Willum Cordathion was set aside from birth to be something greater. From his first gasping breath he was treated to the comforts and responsibilities of his mighty station. Only the best tutors, instructors, and philosophers were allowed to teach him in the arts and sciences. Generals and advisors filled his head with knowledge of past battles and great conflicts of both the sword and pen, grooming Aaron to be a great prince, and a greater king.

The King had been blessed with a sharp child who swiftly learned of his power and used it abundantly. At age ten Aaron took partial control of the palace estate under the steward’s supervision, running it with surprising success at a first attempt. At twelve his father began training him in matters of state, even allowing Aaron to travel alone on an important diplomatic meeting. Impressed by his son’s competence the king began sending Aaron on far more diplomatic trips, even at his young age.

One of Aaron’s many pastimes, and easily his favorite, was hunting, falconry, and riding. He grew adept at the sports, and has amassed a collection of favorite horses and falcons, and hounds. When he wasn’t on one of his trips, or working at his studies he could almost always be found in the local woodlands, pursuing some quarry or another in the company of other young nobles and ladies and his ever present shieldman Iben.

Strengths

An accomplished falconer and rider:
Hunting and falconry is the preferred pastime for many nobles, and it is no different for Aaron. He is especially skilled at training and hunting with his falcons and horses.

A Trained Tactician:
All Princes must prepare for war, as is their purpose. Aaron was trained by the best in the ways of war and battle. While he is no military prodigy, he knows his way around the battlefield.

Diplomatically Inclined:
Bribes and politicking comes easy to Aaron. Controlling snobby nobles and obstinate officials is almost second nature, after all he can do much with the Vanguard jumping at a word and the Royal treasury backing him.

Weaknesses

The Stammer:
Laughing at a Prince, even behind his back is risky, but many a cruel heart cannot help themselves when they realize Prince Aaron has a stammer. Something he is mortally embarrassed of. Arron often forces himself to talk slowly and carefully at all times, but should he speak in rapid utterances, or be nervous his stammer can resurface.

Nearly Defenseless:
What Prince leads his army from the front, and what noble crosses steel? Certainly not Aaron. While he has been trained in the basics of combat Aaron has shown little interest and even less skill at blade work. Should he not have his trusted shieldmen with him in dire circumstances, the young prince might find himself spitted on a warrior’s blade.

Precedence:
The ideas must come from him. Aaron is determined to be relevant in all his decisions, not deciding everything off the advice of a counselor. Except he all too often takes this too far, not heeding any wisdom from anyone, determined to find victory and solve problems on his own.

Madness:
Insanity creeps at the corners of Aaron’s disturbed mind, seeking to gain dominance over the young prince. Throughout the ages the kings of old whisper in his mind, seeking control. Though he is sharp witted, and not without understanding of his family’s history of insanity he might one day sink into the sucking cesspool of madness.

What is the most important thing to know about your character?
He is the heir to the throne, a truth that shapes nearly his entire identity and self-worth. Even though he is the king’s second born, he is the eldest and only male son making him the future ruler of the kingdom.

What is your character's greatest flaw?
His unwillingness to listen to the counsel of his advisors and commanders or even his father, an attitude derived from his vanity and self-assuredness and determination to be relevant and set apart from his ancestors.

Why should your character be in a position to influence an entire country?
As the Prince and future King he is a major player in the story to come.

Oneshots

Turning in his saddle Prince Aaron switched his gaze from scanning the sky and looked down upon the two men below him. The first was his imposing shieldman Iben, the six foot tall guard who swore his life and sword to defend Aaron. The other, a peasant of little consequence-that was until he got caught poaching in the king’s forest.

“Do you know the punishment for poaching serf?” Aaron spoke in slow deliberate sentences as if each word was well thought out. “A loss of limb for every animal slain, for you are stealing from the noble hunt.” Aaron looked expectantly towards the woodsmen who caught the poacher, while Iben drew his broadsword.

“M’lord, mercy! I was tryin’ to feed me family. Surely ye could find it in ye heart to forgive a hapless sinner whose stomach got th’ better of him.” The peasant dropped to his face groveling in the grass beneath the horses’ feet, tears staining his muddy cheeks. Aaron ignored the man, instead marveling at his hunter mare’s steadiness. She was new and young, and when most horses might’ve been startled by the sudden pile of filth sobbing under hoof she remained steady and unmoved. Aaron made a mental note to gift the stable hand who trained her.

“Three dead rabbits ‘ere ye lordship.” The woodsman said doing a quick count of the poacher’s kills, his rotten teeth set into a nasty grin. “That’s two feet and a hand by my reckonin’. Hehehe.”

“Or two hands and a foot,” Iben growled pinning the peasant down with an armored boot. “At your leave majesty.”

Aaron’s attention returned to the sky where a small black dot could be seen circling above. A smile played at his lips and he waved a hand towards Iben. “Yes, yes carry out the king’s justice, just over there away from the ladies and courtiers.” The doomed man’s sobs grew louder as the woodsmen and Iben dragged him away. Aaron turned towards the disturbance, a malicious light dancing in his eyes. “And oh, it just came to me. Get him home to his family with all his severed limbs, perhaps they can eat those. They are hungry after all.” Chuckling at his own morbid joke Aaron trotted his horse away, raising an arm to greet his returning falcon, a dead rabbit clutched in her talons.

~*~

“Your feet highness, remember your footwork!”

“Stop yelling at me!” Aaron, fought back furiously against his opponent, who to the trained eye looked as if he was struggling to present a challenge without striking the wildly swinging prince. Aaron’s practice blade wove confused patterns making the air hum. His feet shuffling in short clumsy steps, sweat dripping from his nose. They’d only been sparring for a short while, and already his arms were weary.

The blademaster, Aaron’s tutor gnashed his teeth in frustration, unable to truly correct the prince’s form, afraid of offending the young ruler. Not only that, but by cruel fate the Prince was born left handed. Normally the blademaster would force his students to train right handed, at least with the sword, but the prince would have none of that. The blademaster was stuck on the sidelines both literally and figuratively unable to properly train his student.

“Keep your sword up, your opponent could take your head off…” The blademaster gave an exhausted sigh, watching as Aaron’s sword dipped lower and lower. Decapitation would more than likely be the result should Aaron ever face even a remotely competent warrior. On rare days Aaron fought like a wild thing battering down any that faced him giving the blademaster hope of progress. But the very next day he would once again be fighting as if he’d never held a sword before.

The blademaster watched on as the two battled across the castle courtyard, clashing together and apart, one testing the other struggling. Then Aaron slipped, whether it was a patch of moss, or his lumbering feet the blademaster could not say, but he ended up on one knee a surprised look on his face. The prince’s opponent halted in mid swing, showing remarkable skill and self-control. Placing his sword on his shoulder he glanced towards the blademaster for instructions. Before a word of warning could be sounded Aaron’s dull blade snaked out, striking the other man on the temple. The blademaster winced at hearing the dull thud, feeling his own skull spasm in empathy.
“Haha, fool. I am the better fencer!” Aaron sneered, kicking his downed adversary who stayed where he was, holding his ringing head, a pained moan escaping his lips all memory of his earlier misstep forgotten.

Treading over his sparring partner Aaron joined the blademaster, taking a long drought from his wineskin. “How was that then?” He asked, wiping his mouth.

“You are improving my liege.” The blademaster lied, to cowardly to say otherwise.

Rebellion is Our Calling, and why we rise!(closed)

Present, can't wait to get started.

Warrior Cats; The Valley

Oakclan
Gathering
Interacting with: Spidernose [@TheElvenqueen]

Frowning at Spidernose’s inquiries, Maplefoot flicked her tail wondering how much to reveal. The news of Willowhisker’s fate would spread no matter how tightlipped the Oakclan cats remained. Some had probably already guessed, and were waiting for her to confirm their suspicions. The she-cat rolled her shoulders back. There was no reason to be ashamed of her new position, Maplefoot took the responsibility in stride, stepping into the paw prints and legacy of a great deputy.

“Sadly, Willowhisker perished in a hunting accident joining the ranks of Starclan only two nights back. I was to reveal the news later tonight for all to hear.” The latter was a lie, but a little white lie never hurt any cat. Maplefoot had only just decided to tell anyone about Willowhisker, and only because she was directly asked.
“She was a great warrior, and a great mentor. She will be well missed in Oakclan. We’ve suffered no greater loss these moons then her passing. And at our loss and Starclan's gain.” Maplefoot dipped her head in genuine remorse, remembering her days under Willowhisker’s tutorage as an apprentice. Easy and happy times. Raising her head Maplefoot continued, pride rising in her voice. “In her place I have been named deputy of Oakclan. Oakstar saw me fit to take his place when the time comes, and as my first task I led our cats here to the gathering. I am ready, and proud to serve my clan, and honored to be chosen.” The last bit perhaps wasn’t necessary, and maybe a little boastful, but Maplefoot felt all the better for saying it.

Rebellion is our calling!!

Thought I might as well be the late early bird and post my character as well. I'm pretty much done.

Aaron Willum Cordathion

Image

Name:
Aaron Willum Cordathion, The Scarlet

Race/Faction:
The Kingdom

Age:
19

Description:
Prince Aaron is a young, handsome man in his late teens. He’s not particularly imposing at a moderate 5’9, but he carries himself with an air of granted authority. His hands are adorned with many jeweled rings and perched on top of his crop of black hair is a circlet of gold. He’s often dressed in gilded clothes of bright red, with a falconers brace on his left arm. Strapped around his waist is an ever present sword and dagger, both ornate and clumsy due to the absurd amount of gold and jewels bedecking them.

Class:
Prince and Heir

Motivation:
To ensure there is a kingdom to rule once his time to reign comes. As much as Aaron enjoys the leisurely palace life surrounded by riches and luxuries, he knows (when the time comes) that any threat to his rule must be dealt with by the sword. Not his of course, his is for show, no, by the blood of the Vanguard and the Bannermen whose duty is to fight at his whim.

History:
First born son of the high king and first of his name Aaron Willum Cordathion was set aside from birth to be something greater. From his first gasping breath he was treated to the comforts and responsibilities of his mighty station. Only the best tutors, instructors, and philosophers were allowed to teach him in the arts and sciences. Generals and advisors filled his head with knowledge of past battles and great conflicts of both the sword and pen, grooming Aaron to be a great prince, and a greater king.

The King had been blessed with a sharp child who swiftly learned of his power and used it abundantly. At age ten Aaron took partial control of the palace estate under the steward’s supervision, running it with surprising success at a first attempt. At twelve his father began training him in matters of state, even allowing Aaron to travel alone on an important diplomatic meeting. Impressed by his son’s competence the king began sending Aaron on far more diplomatic trips, even at his young age.

One of Aaron’s many pastimes, and easily his favorite, was hunting, falconry, and riding. He grew adept at the sports, and has amassed a collection of favorite horses and falcons, and hounds. When he wasn’t on one of his trips, or working at his studies he could almost always be found in the local woodlands, pursuing some quarry or another in the company of other young nobles and ladies and his ever present shieldman Iben.

Strengths

An accomplished falconer and rider:
Hunting and falconry is the preferred pastime for many nobles, and it is no different for Aaron. He is especially skilled at training and hunting with his falcons and horses.

A Trained Tactician:
All Princes must prepare for war, as is their purpose. Aaron was trained by the best in the ways of war and battle. While he is no military prodigy, he knows his way around the battlefield.

Diplomatically Inclined:
Bribes and politicking comes easy to Aaron. Controlling snobby nobles and obstinate officials is almost second nature, after all he can do much with the Vanguard jumping at a word and the Royal treasury backing him.

Weaknesses

The Stammer:
Laughing at a Prince, even behind his back is risky, but many a cruel heart cannot help themselves when they realize Prince Aaron has a stammer. Something he is mortally embarrassed of. Arron often forces himself to talk slowly and carefully at all times, but should he speak in rapid utterances, or be nervous his stammer can resurface.

Nearly Defenseless:
What Prince leads his army from the front, and what noble crosses steel? Certainly not Aaron. While he has been trained in the basics of combat Aaron has shown little interest and even less skill at blade work. Should he not have his trusted shieldmen with him in dire circumstances, the young prince might find himself spitted on a warrior’s blade.

Precedence:
The ideas must come from him. Aaron is determined to be relevant in all his decisions, not deciding everything off the advice of a counselor. Except he all too often takes this too far, not heeding any wisdom from anyone, determined to find victory and solve problems on his own.

Madness:
Insanity creeps at the corners of Aaron’s disturbed mind, seeking to gain dominance over the young prince. Throughout the ages the kings of old whisper in his mind, seeking control. Though he is sharp witted, and not without understanding of his family’s history of insanity he might one day sink into the sucking cesspool of madness.

What is the most important thing to know about your character?
He is the heir to the throne, a truth that shapes nearly his entire identity and self-worth. Even though he is the king’s second born, he is the eldest and only male son making him the future ruler of the kingdom.

What is your character's greatest flaw?
His unwillingness to listen to the counsel of his advisors and commanders or even his father, an attitude derived from his vanity and self-assuredness and determination to be relevant and set apart from his ancestors.

Why should your character be in a position to influence an entire country?
As the Prince and future King he is a major player in the story to come.

My Hider

Turning in his saddle Prince Aaron switched his gaze from scanning the sky and looked down upon the two men below him. The first was his imposing shieldman Iben, the six foot tall guard who swore his life and sword to defend Aaron. The other, a peasant of little consequence-that was until he got caught poaching in the king’s forest.

“Do you know the punishment for poaching serf?” Aaron spoke in slow deliberate sentences as if each word was well thought out. “A loss of limb for every animal slain, for you are stealing from the noble hunt.” Aaron looked expectantly towards the woodsmen who caught the poacher, while Iben drew his broadsword.

“M’lord, mercy! I was tryin’ to feed me family. Surely ye could find it in ye heart to forgive a hapless sinner whose stomach got th’ better of him.” The peasant dropped to his face groveling in the grass beneath the horses’ feet, tears staining his muddy cheeks. Aaron ignored the man, instead marveling at his hunter mare’s steadiness. She was new and young, and when most horses might’ve been startled by the sudden pile of filth sobbing under hoof she remained steady and unmoved. Aaron made a mental note to gift the stable hand who trained her.

“Three dead rabbits ‘ere ye lordship.” The woodsman said doing a quick count of the poacher’s kills, his rotten teeth set into a nasty grin. “That’s two feet and a hand by my reckonin’. Hehehe.”

“Or two hands and a foot,” Iben growled pinning the peasant down with an armored boot. “At your leave majesty.”

Aaron’s attention returned to the sky where a small black dot could be seen circling above. A smile played at his lips and he waved a hand towards Iben. “Yes, yes carry out the king’s justice, just over there away from the ladies and courtiers.” The doomed man’s sobs grew louder as the woodsmen and Iben dragged him away. Aaron turned towards the disturbance, a malicious light dancing in his eyes. “And oh, it just came to me. Get him home to his family with all his severed limbs, perhaps they can eat those. They are hungry after all.” Chuckling at his own morbid joke Aaron trotted his horse away, raising an arm to greet his returning falcon, a dead rabbit clutched in her talons.

~*~

“Your feet highness, remember your footwork!”

“Stop yelling at me!” Aaron, fought back furiously against his opponent, who to the trained eye looked as if he was struggling to present a challenge without striking the wildly swinging prince. Aaron’s practice blade wove confused patterns making the air hum. His feet shuffling in short clumsy steps, sweat dripping from his nose. They’d only been sparring for a short while, and already his arms were weary.

The blademaster, Aaron’s tutor gnashed his teeth in frustration, unable to truly correct the prince’s form, afraid of offending the young ruler. Not only that, but by cruel fate the Prince was born left handed. Normally the blademaster would force his students to train right handed, at least with the sword, but the prince would have none of that. The blademaster was stuck on the sidelines both literally and figuratively unable to properly train his student.

“Keep your sword up, your opponent could take your head off…” The blademaster gave an exhausted sigh, watching as Aaron’s sword dipped lower and lower. Decapitation would more than likely be the result should Aaron ever face even a remotely competent warrior. On rare days Aaron fought like a wild thing battering down any that faced him giving the blademaster hope of progress. But the very next day he would once again be fighting as if he’d never held a sword before.

The blademaster watched on as the two battled across the castle courtyard, clashing together and apart, one testing the other struggling. Then Aaron slipped, whether it was a patch of moss, or his lumbering feet the blademaster could not say, but he ended up on one knee a surprised look on his face. The prince’s opponent halted in mid swing, showing remarkable skill and self-control. Placing his sword on his shoulder he glanced towards the blademaster for instructions. Before a word of warning could be sounded Aaron’s dull blade snaked out, striking the other man on the temple. The blademaster winced at hearing the dull thud, feeling his own skull spasm in empathy.
“Haha, fool. I am the better fencer!” Aaron sneered, kicking his downed adversary who stayed where he was, holding his ringing head, a pained moan escaping his lips all memory of his earlier misstep forgotten.

Treading over his sparring partner Aaron joined the blademaster, taking a long drought from his wineskin. “How was that then?” He asked, wiping his mouth.

“You are improving my liege.” The blademaster lied, to cowardly to say otherwise.

Gun Fight For No Reason

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