@Lauder I had a feeling, lol. Feel free to shoot me a message if you need any help. That applies to everyone :)
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DarthHimbo
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@Lauder Ahhh! This is exciting! Can't wait to see what kind of character you come up with!
@Eneui I don't want to spoil anything, but believe me regardless of your choice in race you'll have a chance to play with being a "monster". As for magic it basically works on a scale. It is rare that people don't have any magic within them at all (though it exists), but one's propensity towards it varies greatly on a sort of spectrum. Average people cannot tap into the magic they might possess, only those with a higher-than-average affinity towards the arcane really can ever pursue it. However, this explains why any person could be used, in say, a dark ritual.
Minerva, a Goddess of the human pantheon, is the Patron God of most holds in Vicelles -she is the Goddess of Arcane Wisdom. However, there is a deep fear and resentment of magic in Vicelles. It is seen as a tool to expel various horrors in the fogs, but those same horrors often wield that magic or were created by it. Minerva is seen as a protector. To summarize, magic is complicated for Vicellens, and attitudes can vary from family to family.
As for racial tension, there was a "world war" of sorts in the last era (The War of Splitting Branches). Basically it was: Dwarves & humans vs. Brith (cat people), Orcs, and Elves (the high-elves specifically). So there is lasting tension there. Some fantastically racist people think that Elves cursed the land before being defeated.
Minerva, a Goddess of the human pantheon, is the Patron God of most holds in Vicelles -she is the Goddess of Arcane Wisdom. However, there is a deep fear and resentment of magic in Vicelles. It is seen as a tool to expel various horrors in the fogs, but those same horrors often wield that magic or were created by it. Minerva is seen as a protector. To summarize, magic is complicated for Vicellens, and attitudes can vary from family to family.
As for racial tension, there was a "world war" of sorts in the last era (The War of Splitting Branches). Basically it was: Dwarves & humans vs. Brith (cat people), Orcs, and Elves (the high-elves specifically). So there is lasting tension there. Some fantastically racist people think that Elves cursed the land before being defeated.
@Eneui Hey there! Glad to hear you're interested. I don't want the CS to be an intimidating bar of entry for folks, so I'm sorry about that! I just know that some people like mapping out that for their character. I'm totally okay with people making up a more simplistic CS. If I have any questions regarding your character I'll ask in a DM :). As for reading all of the lore, I actually don't recommend it. I find it to be a more fulfilling experience to know only what your character would know. So when someone makes a character I'll chat with them about some of the things their character would know (based on race, where they grew up, etc.). I just linked my lore for those interested or for those trying to get some inspiration for the character they may want to make.
@Oxenfree Awesome, let me know if you have any questions. If there's enough interest I can get things set up.
𝕬 𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕱𝖔𝖌
This day is your last day. Be you a vagrant or a whore; a prince or a general. May the former self be cleansed in mage-fire. May trembling hands be severed. May throats moaning trepidation be drowned. May feet eager to leave this holy ground feel searing coals with each step beyond these walls. Let your fears die, and all that you once were pass on with it. You are called to a greater purpose. You are a blade in the fog finding liberation in oppressive mists. You are a conduit for the dead; a brazier for the living.
Yours is the darkest of burdens to bear, but you are the wardens of tainted blood. You are the breaker of beasts.
Extend your hand, and may our Goddess Minerva, by her infinite power, accept your oath by blood.
Yours is the darkest of burdens to bear, but you are the wardens of tainted blood. You are the breaker of beasts.
Extend your hand, and may our Goddess Minerva, by her infinite power, accept your oath by blood.
Synopsis
This RP will be a much more focused RP, but will pull from the mythos of "A Tale of Owls and Wolves". An RP-building adventure I've worked on for a while. The RP will focus on the gothic-inspired Vicelles. For info about the lore as a whole, feel free to visit here.
You and a small group of players would create characters who would serve as a "freshman class" of initiates into the Order of Vigilance. The Order of Vigilance is an organization, created over two eras ago, to protect the country of Vicelles from the terrors of the fogs that blanket most of the country's forests. Within the forests (and sometimes outside of them) lurk all manner of terrors. The Hallow Men, Arisen, Lycans, Harpies, The Crows of North March, and many other fantastic horrors. Your characters will begin to understand the full truth of the blood oath, and what that means for them. One can expect narrative and politics to play an fairly important role in the story, and can expect your characters to make decisions as a group that may have worldly implications.
Your character can come to join the group in most any manner you'd like. Ranging from being commuted here for a criminal sentence, being a rogue mage (a witch), family tradition, etc. I'll throw a CS down at the end of this post so you can get a sense of what a character might look like for you! Feel free to let me know if you have any questions! I hope to see some interest in this. I've gone back and forth with creating the RP as I've had some personal things that pulled me away from the site for a while, but I'm eager to return to RPing and storytelling! Thanks for reading!
*Feel free to take design liberties with the CS Sheet. I've found this sheet to be a useful skeleton, but as long as you include the information most relevant to your character in a concise and readable way it's fine.*
Three Days Later
“Dude, you can’t just go AWOL like that! Scoob and I were fucking worried.” The all familiar sound of Kate on another war path was nearly enough to keep Preston embedded in ice for the rest of his life. A worried tone rung out from the phone’s speaker as it rested on the rim of the bathroom sink.
“I’m sorry Kate, things...just got busy.” Preston studied his face in the mirror. His digits traced features that didn’t belong to him. His normal, hazel eyes, were now a bright blue. Wisps of thinning black hair replaced the normal brown locks. His skin was pale, and the scars that marked his new skin were alien. He felt a heaviness to him. It wasn’t a remarkable difference; the real Timothy Ross was fairly lanky, but much taller than Preston. Preston’s knees shook and ached with an encumbered weariness.
“Preston...are you in some sort of trouble,” Kate asked from within her box.
“Nothing crazy,” bullshit.
“Things are finally calming down for me,” more bullshit. “It’s...it’s been great.” Yet another lie escaped his lips. “But hey, I gotta head out Kate. You and Scoob keep cool, I'll see you guys on Friday.”
“Pres…” Kate gave a weak reply in compliance. The ‘call-ended’ tone was quick and sharp against the walls of Preston’s bathroom.
Flipping through his phone Preston perused the calendar app. Damn, three whole days? Three entire days to turn into a fucking pedophile. Giving himself another look in the mirror he couldn’t help but bare a foreign grimace. As the stranger’s face looked back at him he let out a sigh, but even the sounds of another’s breath betrayed him.
Scrolling, now, through the pictures in his phone there was one that caught his eye. He, Scoob, and Kate cuddled up together on Kate’s old beat-up couch with ice cream and popcorn. He remembered that night pretty well. Neither of his friends had seen Dead Poets Society. A travesty to be sure. Preston ordered a movie night to rectify the issue, but they ended up getting high and passing out halfway through.
With the press of a button the image was gone. Preston tucked the phone into the back pocket of his jeans. On the legs of Timothy Ross they were tighter than normal, and rested right before his ankles.
Looking at the new face one last time Preston steeled himself with a hesitant resolve.
“Carpe diem. Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary.”
In he walked as the multi-colored lights of Esperanza’s skyline painted the night sky with their vibrancy. His pale and sickly skin was illuminated by the orange tint of street lights as he made his way into the apartment complex nestled away in the back streets of Concepcion. He’d taken to covering his thinning hair with a strategically placed hoodie.
Bright blue eyes studied the street. He surveyed the area with a tempered caution he’d grown accustomed to by now. Making his way inside the complex his eyes quickly shot down towards a pair of dirty old boots. He hated making eye contact, and he could feel the stare of the desk attendant bearing down on him. For some reason she wouldn’t avert her gaze. This made him all the more impatient as he shuffled forward passed the front desk and into the stairwell. The elevator was always broken.
He let out a small cough before forcing shaky knees up three flights of stairs. His lanky frame inched its way towards the door to the hallway. Not much longer now.
Apartment 37. Finally. Opening the door, Ross heard the swelling of music. His eyes quickly darted throughout the small apartment. From the entryway just beyond a small wall he could make out only his living room.
“Who the fuck’s in my house,” Ross cautioned as a hand inched back towards the front door knob.
Ross felt a presence come from around the wall, and tried desperately to make a move towards the door. He felt the weight of the intruder bare down on him before feeling the push of cold metal against his temple. He tried his best to struggle, but the person felt stronger than he did. A hand reached towards Ross’ mouth before he could muster a noise.
In that moment Ross felt the grip of the intruder slip slightly. He managed to push the man back before making his way out of the apartment door.
--
“Fuck,” was all Preston could mutter to himself. He hesitated. He couldn’t even pull the trigger on someone like Ross.
He felt a swelling of emotions well up in the chest. Pushing past his anxiety he forced himself onto two feet. He scrambled quickly out of the door, and after Ross.
The fleeing Ross barreled down towards the hallway screaming out for help as he did so. He’d have stayed in the hall if not for the sight of a man who looked to be his twin running towards him at a speed he wasn’t sure he could match.
Ross pushed open the door, and tried to rush down the stairs. In his clumsiness he felt the full weight of his body tumble down a flight of stairs as his slender body crashed into plaster. He groaned in pain as he tried to recover.
Unfortunately for Ross his assailant was right behind him, a gun with a silencer pointed straight at his face.
“W-wait…” the man pleaded. “I been doin’ real good. I haven’t fucked up once since I got out.” Ross’ voice cracked with anxious foreboding as he studied the sight before him. Realizing that this man was a spitting image of himself made him put up his hands in defeat.
“W-who the fuck are you,” he demanded. His normally pale face was a devilish red now. His eyes were sunken and filled with steaming tears. Spit bridged his upper and lower lips as his body shook with intensity.
“Your past is catching up with you Timmy,” was Preston’s answer. He eyed the man. It was as if he’d been looking in a mirror all over again. Shaking the thought his grip on the pistol tightened.
“The cops are on their fucking way!” Timothy’s body huddled up closer to the wall behind him. He leaned back as a small bit of blood dripped from his hooked nose.
“Bullshit,” Preston paused for a moment as he looked over the man in front of him. “These people don’t give a fuck about you, dude. They heard you screaming. What’s another dead pedo to them?”
“Fuck.” Ross let out a small whimper. He couldn’t stop crying as the imposing barrel of the gun met his gaze. “I-I did my fuckin’ time. This ain’t right.”
“I don’t think you get to make the call on what’s fucking right,” Preston snapped back. In some ways he was talking passed the man in front of him.
“But you do? That’s bullshit,” Ross’ haggard breaths forced him to turn his head in an exasperated cough. “I know what the fuck you are. One of those fucking mutants.”
“You don’t know shit.” Preston shoved the gun closer to Ross’ forehead.
“I know the system. They love the freaks. Next to us they look pretty and neat and good. It’s when you expose them for the frauds and the freaks that they are that they want ya dead. That’s when they put you down. ” Ross studied the man in front of him. He spoke with a greater intensity than he had before- perhaps in some last ditch effort to draw attention. Maybe instead it was with conviction.
“Put you down? You’ve probably been milked the system since you got out. Who’s hiring a twice-convicted pedo? Give me a break, man.” Preston’s grip didn’t loosen on the handle of the firearm. Even still, his hand shook with an uncertainty.
“And look where the hell I am right now.” Ross pushed himself forward even closer to the barrel of the gun to make his point. “Nah, you and I… we ain’t too different. Whoever the fuck you really are. Your mother was probably some coked up whore who got radiation tests for a quick fix.” Ross snorted with a callousness as if pleased by his little assessment. “Now you’re wearing my face. Pointing a fuckin’ gun at my head. Pretty ironic.”
Before Ross could say anymore the subtle whip of a bullet leaving the chamber echoed in the hallway. The silencer captured most of the sound and gas the pistol would normally make. Blood splattered on the walls of the stairwell.
“No, it isn’t,” was all Preston could utter before he felt the weight of his deeds bear down on him. Staring down at the dead body was enough to bring back memories of the fire. He could feel the stress pulling and contorting his features back into their natural form. He needed to get the fuck out of dodge, but the room was spinning. The sight of the body, and knowing that the bullet hole and the blood were of his doing was enough to nearly make him vomit.
The sounds of police sirens ringing in the distance were just enough to carry Preston forward, and out a back exit down the stairwell. Someone finally gave enough of a damn to call them.
Making his way down an alleyway and away from the sounds of sirens Preston took a sigh of relief.
"Shit."
Preston felt the cold slither of day-old lo mein noodles as they slid down his throat. Despite his chewing the only audible noise from his apartment was a surround sound display.
“The 1970s, a decade of war and disco. On tonight’s episode of ‘Behind the Music’ we’re exploring the career of artist and local producer, Tom Marin. From concert tours, to the battlefield, and back to the recording booth; Tom Marin was a man of electrifying fortitude. His famed hit ‘Lightning’ used distortion and feedback in ways artists have struggled to reproduce. Between his dedication to the music industry, and his likeness serving as ammunition for firebrands and political revolutionaries throughout the United States you won’t want to miss this ‘Behind the Music’. I’m Kasey Chang, and we’ll be right back.”
The intro was followed by a series of old photos of what must’ve been a younger Tom Marin. Preston recognized the song from one of his favorite 80s action films, Road to Glory. It was one of those ‘so-bad-it’s-good’ kinda films, and there was no way in hell it held up to the tests of time. Nonetheless, it was a good romp.
Tom Marin himself sounded familiar. Preston found himself shamefully googling the artist. Marin seemed to have paved the way for a ton of local artists in the indie scene so Preston was sure he’d seen the name before. Kate would definitely know about this dude. He found himself ready to text her, but hesitated. He let the phone slip from his hands back onto the couch before picking his lo mein back up into his hands.
Not two seconds later did Preston hear the buzzing of his phone alarm. He frantically picked up the device before looking down at the reminder.
Rolling his eyes and letting out some sort of strange combination between a sigh and a fuck Preston forced himself from the couch before lazily tossing the carton of lo-mein onto the table. Some of the noodles inched their way towards the edges as he did so.
Making his way through a small doorway he found his eyes tracing the walls of his room. Pictures, website pages, forum posts, social media accounts. Instead of pictures of friends and some dope-ass tapestry- this was the kind of shit that decorated Preston’s bedroom. He dreaded the thought of someone else seeing all of this. Jesus Christ...that’d be a rough one to explain.
Sighing to himself he made his way over to the desk in his room; its glass surface was tucked away beneath mounds of papers, and a worn red marker. Much like said marker, Preston’s bedroom had a distinctive red color scheme to it. Like most of the house it was a mess with little regard for the items scattered about the floor, and beneath his queen-sized mattress.
He peeled open the lid of his laptop. The light of its monitor revealed worn eyes, and discontent on Preston’s part. Then there was the name plastered on the screen.
Timothy Ross
The url haunted Preston. Megan’s Law. Shit. What exactly was he getting himself into?
“Finding you should be easy enough,” Preston muttered to himself. Running the name through the state database came up with a few matches. “Which district was it again.” Preston found himself looking down on his lap, brows furrowed, as he tried to recall information he’d already uncovered. “Right, Concepcion.” After a few clicks at the keyboard the results screen narrowed further.
“Six-one,” said Preston to the sound of more clicking. Fewer results, now.
“Twice convicted.” Finally, there was just one name beneath the search bar. It taking that many modifiers was particularly harrowing for Preston.
Preston soon found himself exploring a few more tabs. Scrolling through social media, and dating apps was usually the best method of understanding someone’s day-to-day routine. Immersed in the screen before him Preston finally jolted back into reality. He pulled himself away from the monitor before making his way over to the myriad of pictures that dotted the brick and drywall.
Fuck, skin-surfing this dude was a enough to send shivers down Preston’s spine. Would people recognize him? Then again, that’s kind of the point.
Preston flipped through his sketchbook. Its pages were littered with Preston’s drawings of this… Timothy Ross guy. No angle was left unexplored. Preston closed his eyes and sighed before crashing down onto his bed. Velveteen and cotton sheets were his reprieve from this whole mess, but only for a moment.
"Fuckkkkkk, this is so fucked dude.” Preston wanted to scream at this situation, but this gig promised to pay big. Big jobs meant a gateway to even bigger ones. Preston was in this, now.
He could picture Kate and Scoob, now. No pussying out. “No pussying out,” Preston muttered to himself.
As he made his way out into the kitchen he walked past an all-too familiar black cylinder shaped device. A pair of underwear hung from its rim. “Google, play Boy Harsher.”
A synthetically feminine voice was his answer. “Playing, Boy Harsher.”
Preston made his way to the icebox in his kitchen before aggressively pulling it open. It was time to get to work. The only items lying within the icy tomb were a number of large bags of ice, and one half-empty carton of cookie-dough ice cream. Pushing aside the ice cream the young man pulled out the legion of ice bags.
The next small while consisted of Preston transitioning back and forth between his kitchen and his bathroom until pounds of ice filled his tub. The IV drip hooked up next to the tub rather clumsily had been provided by his mysterious benefactor. Too bad it didn’t come with a nurse or at least an instruction manual. He’d seen his mom do it a few times, but that was only enough to give him an idea of what to do. Luckily Reddit saved the day.
The portable air conditioner was much easier to manage.
Naked now, aside from the ace-bandages wrapped around his body for protection, Preston’s body collided with the freezing ice. Fuck. That was cold. With IV drip attached Preston rested his head on the rim of the tub. The cold euphoria of skin-surfing was enough to tense every muscle in his body before releasing them all at once. Over and over again. His hand gripped the edge of tub. This was going to be trip.
Meanwhile, the bustling of tourists and locals permeating the streets of Oceano Beach clashed with the deafening sounds of contemporary Top 40s hits that blared from the windows of the cars clogging the congested streets. Fuck tourists and fuck the beach too. Luckily for Preston Arroyo neither the sounds of bicycle clicks or annoying chatter from Arlight locals shopping around the pier could be heard over the swelling of something much better than any Top 40 record.
Before Preston could lose himself further in the ambiance of the sheer unadulterated awesomeness that was My Lady in Reverse he heard an all too familiar alert from his phone. Sighing to himself as he heard the music dulling in the background, he reached into the pocket of his jean jacket before retrieving his phone. The sleek build of the device felt weightless in the pocket of his jacket which was nice considering only a tank top hid underneath. A hint of reminiscence crept onto his face, but it was quickly met with contentious thoughts of embarrassment. He really needed to get around to changing Kate's contact name.
Kate's message was a reprieve from the lingering feelings of awkwardness. Letting out a smile Preston pushed passed the few people gathered outside his apartment complex.
Terrace View Gardens was a nice little set-up. Certainly better than what he'd grown accustomed too living on his own. For Preston, Oceano was a new start. The motions he made towards the complex elevator had already become regular, and Preston was in his apartment as quickly as he'd let his mind wonder. Unloading a hodgepodge of headphone wires, books, and bracelets the young man sauntered lazily towards his kitchen, but not before haphazardly throwing his backpack into the small corner he'd taken to relegating it to.
Preston came up empty in the vain attempt to raid his fridge. He instead decided to settle on the leftover Chinese takeout that festered at the dining table. Deeming it warm enough he made his way to his living room. This was an admittedly easy task considering he lived in a studio apartment. The bright white walls of the apartment we hardly hung with any meaningful decorations. Instead, a messy collection of clothing, food, devices, and games dotted the floor. Never before had a room been so empty yet so incredibly filled.
Sighing to himself he found himself quickly reaching for the remote that laid face down on the couch. Just another lonely night in Oceano, it seemed.
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