Recent Statuses

7 days ago
Current Not really knowing what to do with the last evening of vacation before work starts the next morning again and also having a misaligned day-night-rhythm at the same time sucks.
13 days ago
Don't forget that Blizzard hasn't been a truly independent company since roughly the mid 90s. Keyword: Vivendi Games. They forced this fusion. And now Activion Blizzard buys King Digital Entertainment
1 like
14 days ago
By shooting I would fight you, even though for a mere fraction of a second. So your proposal not truly is one of choice.
18 days ago
Fireworks originally was intended to drive away evil spirits. Given that I was born a mere 59 hours after new year it appears that this idea didn't work out all too well.
19 days ago
First 24 hours of the new year: Left hallux nearly broken and a special snowflake of my family pushed me over the edge and into a fit of rage I can't remember when, if, was the last time.


Welcome to my profile page!

Who the hell is this person behind those many miles of fiber optics and copper cable ?

  • I'm a 30 year old guy.
  • ... who's working as an embedded system's engineer.

And into which hell will I descend with you participating in one of my roleplays?

  • I'm a fantasy addict: medieval high and low!
  • I'd consider myself to be a low casual roleplayer, 3 paragraphs per post on average.
  • My schedule varies. It might happen that I won't be able to post at all for a week, but then again it might happen that I'll reach a sweet spot inside which I can go on a posting rampage. I'd say one can expect 1-2 posts a week from me, depending on the lengths involved.
  • Beware! I love 'strange' characters!
  • English is not my native language, but so far I've not encountered anyone who had had trouble with me over that :)
  • Both Skype and Discord are not unknown variables to me.

Want to RP with me ? Shoot me a PM, but don't shoot me!

Thanks for visiting!

Most Recent Posts


"Stay where you are, please." was Týfurkh's fastest reaction to Karina's questioning. The long haired man moved towards another place a little further away, then turned around to look at the woman as directly as one could possibly do. His lips started to move and she would immediately start to hear something: "Can you hear me ? Please nod, don't talk. And watch the others while I continue speaking."

Now Týfurkh's voice became considerably louder: "Chres ? If you hear me than raise your hand, please!" However he had arranged for Chres not to be in the path of the directed waves emanating from his throat, causing the man to find himself unable to notice this request unless he'd use some kind of magic himself. Only Karina could listen to him right now as he patiently waited for Chres' reaction.

"As you can see nothing has happened, but you can still hear me. Unfortunately so could everyone standing in the line defined by you and me. That's why I need to get high up in order to be sure the cult won't be able to pick up the message as well. And any obstacles in the way would force me to shout even louder than I'll already have to in order to reach somebody across the city walls. I'll likely be very tired after our little endeavour, so please take care of me."

Týfurkh stopped his magic and continued to talk normally so everybody could listen again: "I've studied the Art Of Canor, a special kind of magic commonly found in the Nation Of Hearing. There are many different aspects to it and I can't command all of them, not even in the slightest. I do have a few tricks of my own though. Do you understand now ?" The giant man put up a slight, somewhat shy smile.
Same goes for me.

Location(s): Argyle street, Rókur's apartment. Departing towards downtown at the end.
Interaction(s) with: None

And we now have live footage from our BREAKING NEWS chopper. As you can see there is still a massive column of black smoke obstrucing the aerial view onto the downtown of Santa Celia, fed by large builings ablaze beneath it. It is raining, but the water from above -- if you would like to call the strangely violet substance such -- does not seem to impress it at all at this point. It might come in as a shock for many of our viewers, but it is very likely that our city has been struck by a double catastrophe: Firefighters and emergency services have just started to scour through the carnage, but we are receiving reports that a large tanker truck has been found either to have crashed into or to have at least exploded in front of the Chateau Rouge, a high-prized restaurant in the area. The precise nature of its cargo has not yet been identified, but according to witness accounts it is safe to assume that it is chemical and likely responsible for the strange rain phenomenon the city is currently faced with. What's even more important at this point though is that the mayor, Samson Murray, is said to have been present at the Chateau Rouge this night. It is currently unclear if he has left the building in time and how many another people survived the blast. We will keep you up to date all through the night, the regular program has been canceled.

Old Milton's didn't provide the luxury of a flat-screen TV for every of its inhabitants already included in the rental, but it did offer a public lounge where people could play at the football table, billiards or just stare at a large screen embedded in the wall and protected by a thick glass pane mounted in front of it. Rókur was standing at the rear end of the room and silently participated in the general tumult that had befallen the city. A general advisory not to expose oneself or any pets to the current rain had been called out, but it wouldn't have needed that to wipe everyone off the streets. It seemed as if pretty much everyone was watching in horror what was going on a few miles away in downtown.

Well... not everyone. From Rókur's private perspective he had seen far worse losses of life until barely a year ago -- and those 'media' of today even appeared to spare their customers the majority of the bloody, gory details. Overall it was safe to say that he felt emotionally quite detached, even to the point where someone started to look at him in astonishment with his oversized, goliath-like physique not being the reason for it. He should probably leave and re-evaluate the situation from his own chambers...

With Jasper having been gone for at least a few hours there was no indication that anything strange ever had happened in said rooms, at least for the average observer. Any more experienced detective however wouldn't have taken long to find out intriguing details casting severe doubts onto this initial conclusion: The fridge, while present, had apparently not been in use in a long time. Neither had been the shower or the toilet. The bed and couch on the other hand had become saggy like hell and the heating was on to a very mild degree. Someone apparently lived here, but he or she didn't seem to be interested in many things of daily life and even including some of the most essential ones.

Rókur pushed up the sliding window and stuck his head out, looking down at the streets below. He could see the circular waves spreading on the thin layer of water before one of the droplets hit the back of his head. By stretching out his hand the viking obtained a sample, rubbing it between his thumb and index finger before approaching it with his nose. The ultimate test was to put the liquid into his mouth -- regret following in an instant. That stuff tasted bad! If something had been in his stomach it probably would have protested violently, but this way it was a mere, but no less substantial cramp. At least for him. There simply wasn't anything left in his body to mutate for a chemical substance, be it reddish and tasting like foul shit or not. So even if the vast majority of Santa Celia had not been sharing its utter unawareness of the rain's special properties with him, the incredibly old and yet still young Rókur would not have had much of a reason to hold back. Accidental death was a tragedy, yes. Unsatisfied curiosity however was a thing, too.

Rókur slammed the window shut, turned around and started to collect what he'd need for a little... excursion. Yet as he was about to pick up his mobile phone again he noticed the two photographs right next to it. Yeah.. there was another thing he'd have to deal with. But wouldn't those Fosters be interested in the events currently going on as well, given that they tried to keep up order in the city ?

The tiny phone twisted helplessly in his pale, colossal hand. It didn't have a front camera, so all that Rókur could do was to make a helplessly misaligned selfie while not being able to watch the screen. Half of the picture put the shabby ceiling onto display while the other half -- luckily -- actually showed the major portion of his face and how his hairs were already scratching along the upper limit of his room. That had to suffice. Rókur turned the phone around again, typed in some text and sent it along with the image:

Kyle ? Kayla ? Rokur here... I'm in contact with Jasper and he requested me to stay in touch with you since he'll be busy for a while. Does this and me telling you that he's a friend of Crane's qualify me enough for you not to shoot me down right away ? I'm going to Downtown. Want to take a look at things out of curiosity. If you're there as well maybe we could meet up ? Otherwise some other day... Don't worry!

Having spent an awful amount of time on typing for the sake of correctness, Rókur felt the need to hurry up. He had already lost one shirt in the monorail, so hopefully people wouldn't mind too much if he'd go in what he was currently wearing...
pewhad failing to post before the deadline he set?!

What is this TrEaChErY?!

Nah, but in all seriousness, I'd rather wait for a quality post then wait for one that's pumped out on the day of promise. I'll gladly wait this time too because I'm having a good time.

I concur :)
Please forgive me everyone, but...

L A Z A R U S & Jasper

A collab between @SepticGentleman and @Fetzen

Location(s): Rókur's apartment in Argyle boulevard.
Interactions with: Jasper from The Tourists

Minutes after Rókur had hastily made his return home, a familiar scene took place at his front door. A bright light shined underneath it for a brief moment, before dimming down just as fast. The door opened, and rather than the usual apartment hallway, the other side was now a bizarre place filled to the brim with just-as-bizarre supernatural beings - and no shortage of humans among them.

Out through the door stepped a very, very short imp of a man. Pale grey skin, bald head, very angular facial features with a long nose and pointed ears. Rectangular glasses rested before his pitch black eyes. He was dressed in a small leather coat, usual formal wear underneath. A pair of small, seemingly non-functional wings adorned his back, as well as a pointed tail, all sticking out through expertly made holes in his clothes.

“I know you thought you’d never hear this…” The little imp said as he shut the door behind him, “But I apologize for my tardiness, Rókur.”

Rókur had been busy reading the Santa Celia herald, a ‘newspaper’ if one wanted to put it that way. More educated and experienced people however had another word for it: Yellow press. Anyway - it was something to go on and to maybe even learn from. And it was cheap and available even for free sometimes.

When the bright light suddenly appeared beneath the door he knew that today’s archery training had to be canceled. With a slight groan he heaved himself out of a lounge that had already been kinda clapped-out when he had rented the room, but now after one year of regular use by him was next to collapsing completely.

Someone had told him that staring down at people was unfriendly, and experience told him that one should not mess around with any member of the tourists, no matter how… ridiculously small from one’s own perspective. So Rókur crouched, offering Jasper his hand for a greeting and trying to put up a gentle smile. His nose still looked as bad as it had right after the crash, but he didn’t care.

"Well… I’d say apology accepted. Never thought I’d get the opportunity to say this…"

“Things are crazy at the Center today.” Jasper replied, only very briefly accepting Rókur’s offer of a handshake before stepping further into the apartment. “People running around, slamming into each other. Thought I was going to be trampled several times.” He didn’t sound very amused at all about the events.

“Doesn’t matter. Here now. Go ahead and tell me what-” As Jasper turned his head to give Rókur a proper look, he finally noticed the giant man’s damaged nose.

“Good Lord, what happened to you?” Jasper asked.

"Erm… car accident." Rókur replied without truly thinking about his words. The door had been given a slight punch and thus closed by itself behind his back. "Big car. Don’t know why people buy those. It hurts quite a bit but I think it is under control. Definitely way better than being trampled upon I’d say."

“Get down here.” Jasper said sternly, pointing at the floor while maintaining eye contact.

For a brief moment Rókur considered his options, then apparently decided that it would be best to just follow suit. He sighed, then put his hands onto the floor and approached Jasper halfway crawling. "Is this low enough ?"

“Yes.” Jasper responded, as he proceeded to grab Rókur’s nose and quickly snap it back into proper formation.

A burst of pain surged through Rókur’s undead body, causing the man to emit a short, but nevertheless quite loud outcry. At least this kind of treatment had come as a surprise.

“Walk it off.” Jasper said with zero inhibition. “You’ve suffered plenty worse.”

"I’ve also been used to cry out way louder than that. How do you think did we try to keep thousands of warriors under control on the battlefield ?" Rókur answered in protest.

“Much more barbarically, I’m sure.” Jasper replied as Rókur raised himself off the floor. “Now, I’m afraid I don’t have time for the usual game of twenty questions. I’m taking it from the looks of things, you haven’t done anything to warrant unwanted attention, so I’m marking you down as satisfactory in that regard. Now, listen up…”

Jasper took a straight-up stand before Rókur, looking up at the man towering over him.

“I’m going to be busy for a while with some… meetings, between the Tourists and other parties. I won’t bother you with the fine details. But for that duration, I won’t be around to make the usual visit. Fortunately, there’s a couple people around who can.”

Jasper opened up one of his coat pockets and pulled out two slips of paper - photographs. One was of a finely dressed, bespectacled man with an unreasonable amount of hair. The other was a woman with much more kempt features.

“Kyle and Kayla Foster. They got here yesterday, charged with keeping an eye on the city, cleaning up trouble areas when they can. For the time being, I want you to get into contact with them and just let them know how things are going - you don’t have to be their friend or anything, unless that’s what you want, but it’s not my call. Just meet up with them or make the occasional phone call. That sound doable?”

Rókur arranged the two photographs between his thumb and the side of his index finger like a very humble set of cards, then looked at the two people to be seen on them. "I don’t have to be their friends?" was his first reaction, accompanied by a very questioning and worried stare at Jasper. "That doesn’t sound very… inviting? Well, doesn’t seem like I’d have much of a choice does it?"

“They’re field agents!” Jasper responded, “They get into messes, they shoot their guns and, fling their spells around- look, I don’t want you getting caught up in anything crazy, alright? Beyond that, It doesn’t matter how you associate with the two, just so long as you maintain weekly updates on… things. Alright?”

One really couldn’t say that Rókur’s facial expression was anywhere close to complete satisfaction, but he seemed to ease up a little. "So I’ll try not to push my luck and meet up with them while they happen to be in the field, but when things are more relaxed. One question though… How do they recognize me ? I mean… anyone could call them if he or she has the numbers and I could as well fit their definition of hostile to be eliminated or ?"

“Tell them Jasper sent you, and that I’m a friend of Crane’s.” Jasper replied, “That’ll be enough for them, trust me.”

Rókur let go of another sigh, then replied "Okay. I got it. Let’s just hope they don’t blow my head off, alright ?"

“If I know these two well enough by their files, they have their heads screwed on right enough to not just attack every supernatural thing in sight.” Jasper said, as he walked by Rókur and towards the door, removing another something from his coat pocket as he went. “I have to get going. I trust you’ll be fine from here on out?”

"I’m trying to -- and frankly speaking I’d say I haven’t been that bad at it for the last year. Just my opinion. Otherwise I guess it depends on your bureaucracy being right." Rókur stated with reference to said files. "You know I am probably one of the most primitive men in this city, but at least I can claim to have enjoyed a world without some of those modern… inventions!"

“You don’t have to enjoy the modern world Rókur, you just have to live in it.” Jasper said as he held up a large rubber stamp and pressed it against the door, emblazoning it with a mystic rune of some sort. The rune glowed, and once again a bright light shined beneath the doorframe.

Rókur watched closely as Jasper apparently was preparing for his departure. Some part of him truly wished he could pull off that kind of stuff, another part however was quite happy about how things were. Both sides of the coin probably had their advantages or at least so he hoped. A squeak could be heard from behind the couch -- apparently the few rats he had captured this morning were getting nervous about all the light. Not for long though… soon they’d be consumed.

“Do take care of yourself.” Jasper said, halfway sincerely, as he opened the door back to the crazy place from whence he came, “Let the Fosters know to contact the Center if you need anything.” And with that, he passed through the door, shutting it behind him. The rune quickly vanished as the bright light returned and then diminished once again.

Rókur kept looking at the door as it returned to its normal state as if nothing had ever happened. After a few seconds the rats squeaked again, pulling him out of his state of wondering and astonishment. Time to eat, or at least to perform his definition of it. His colossal arm reached behind the couch and grabbed the improvised cage, putting it on the floor in front if him. From then on Rókur just kept staring, watching as the humble creatures started to panic for an unexplainable reason. Others would have cried out and called the exterminator. For him this was a small feast.

Location(s): several
Interacting with: None

"SCWD! Freeze, sucker! Latches in the air and lid open, your junk's under arrest!"

Jacob truly didn't get tired of that joke, and probably nobody in the whole business of Santa Celia Waste Disposal held hopes for the few years left until the man's retirement to change anything about that. Sitting behind the front loader truck's wheel, the elderly husband seemed both very happy about and quite capable of ranting at some of the uglier dumpsters along the route. In Friendship Heights pretty much every dumpster that is. SCWD knew why not to deploy their most modern equipment on routes like this, thereby allowing Jacob to make the hydraulic pump work faster by giving the rev counter in front of him a well trained kick in its ass.

In the meantime, Rókur was busy shoving the large metal container into position. He had been given this part of the job practically on sight, his boss saying something about 'I'm sure you just need to gently lean against these things in order to push them around. This should be very easy for you!'. What Rókur had not been told beforehand was how many times a day he'd have to stoop and pick up trash bags that kept falling off from overfilled dumpsters on shitty routes like this. How many of those actually contained body parts or at least used syringes underneath the used diapers ? The viking of old times didn't really care about for his own sake, nor did most of his colleagues. Sometimes a garbage truck's crew felt like a strange companionship of people that were happy if somebody's gut feelings had turned out groundless at the end of the shift. It wouldn't have been the first time for some wannabe thugs to mess around with the city's services. 'Just sneeze into their face and they'd be blown into the next apartment block!', Rókur's boss had said.

A plume of dust gave the inhabitants of Friendship Heights delight as the dumpster's contents were swallowed by the truck, the compactor struggling to make room for more. The way Jacob banged the container around on the forks to get everything out was audibly in violation of SCWD's recommendations for neighbourhood-friendly, quiet handling -- but like said, these were just recommendations. A complaint about any leftovers on the other hand was a real issue, so was taking longer for the route than allocated or even being paid for. Then the truck pulled away, shift nearing its end.

"Hey Rockie! Why don't you come over here and make contact with water like everyone else does ? Afraid of being seen naked ?"

"It's Rókur, damnit!" How many times had he already gone through all of this ? There were like half a dozen co-workers along with him in the locker room right now, more could be heard utilizing the company's free offering to get rid of the city's filth in the adjacent showers. They all perfectly knew his name, but from early on his nickname had been 'Rockie'.

"You know I can't pronounce your weird russian shit!"

He had arranged with that since, after all, they were a friendly bunch. Right now he could see them looking at him, waiting for his decision about the showers. A flight of raveners looking forward to their prey exposing itself, wanting to see if it was equally or even more impressive without any clothes protecting it.

"And no, thanks. I'm in a hurry."

A petty excuse, but this wasn't the first time for him to use it. If he turned away his attention decisively now they probably wouldn't keep asking, so Rókur hurried to stuff the high visibility vest into the locker. A few minutes later he was out and waiting for the monorail car, his skin perfectly clean and without having encountered any water so far.

'Smooth sailing' wasn't exactly what this weird means of transport was delivering, at least from his point of view. If any dragon boat would have rattled, squealed and clanked that much on sea he'd have demanded for it to be discarded. And even in the worst or times they had never been this crowded! And it wasn't as if the air was always particularly good up here either. Sure it was better than on the traffic-jammed streets below, but sometimes winds could blow the exhaust from a factory stack right into the vehicle's path. Right now however something vibrated in his left pocket...

Incorrect code. 2 attempts left.

Rókur grimaced briefly, then let his enormous finger swipe along the touch screen a second time in order to draw the rune that he had chosen as the unlocking pattern.

Incorrect code. 1 attempt left.

Why can't those fucking retards build phones that any ordinary person can actually handle ? 'Cheap' should not be equivalent to 'unuseable'! Rókur angrily stared at his phone, a simple model in complete lack of any luxury. It hadn't been his first choice, but bigger would also have cost more. This country's rotten to the core! People even praise a phone company that has promoted a halfway eaten fruit to be its holy grail! Third try...

Regular appointment with tourist guy in 15 minutes. BE DEAD ON TIME!

Oh shit... He didn't even need to look out and down to the ground to see that the monorail ride and his subsequent walk from Argyle station to his actual appartment would take significantly longer than this. Given how punctual this particular guy tended to be one of those two had to go -- and fast!

Rókur pushed a few other people aside as he more or less gently forced his way to the window. He glanced downwards onto the roofs below, trying to identify where he currently was. His eyes could see the characteristic reddish hue of his place coming up next, a six-story building with brick walls that had once been a low-end hotel, but that had been converted into a large apartment block at some point. The monorail however would now make a turn to the right in order to evade some taller structures along the way, then come back sharp left later and reach the station near the other end of the street.

With the experience and precision of someone not doing this for the first time, Rókur opted to straighten things out. He made his way to the very rear of the vehicle where nobody would focus on him, then waited for it to both slow down and begin the turn. A few adjacent people almost stumbled backwards as there suddenly was noone left behind them in order to counteract the pressure of the crowd in front of them. Some looked at each other cluelessly, convincing themselves that what seemingly had just happened behind their backs was merely due to them not paying attention or their memory being wrong. Now he was out of that metal cage, allowing gravity to bring him up to his preferred speed before disappearing again in a short, brief trail of unexplainable mist.

A couple of seconds later Rókur came out like a spaceship emerging from hyperspace, the pickup truck's car alarm immediately starting to cry out for help as said spaceship crashed into the roof of the cabin. The windshield and side windows turned into popcorn and his nose smashed halfway into the rim of the selfmade impact crater. The landing procedure on this unexpected, non-solid ground had gone quite wrong.. He truly had not aimed for this, but probably some unfortunate gust of wind had induced a sideways drift in the wrong moment. There were plenty of free spaces in this backyard parking lot!

With gravity pulling a trickle of blood out of his severely bruised nose, Rókur hurried to get away from the scene. Luckily the apartment block now was a mere couple of yards away, but the clock was still ticking and he wasn't looking forward to any kind of encounter with the police. It would be difficult to explain...

'Low-end' indeed was the appropriate term to describe the place where he was living. Without sunlight it was almost impossible to see the big neon letters reading 'Milton' which had merely been turned off, but never removed from the wall above the main entry. A revolving door led into what had once been the reception hall, but had been stripped of all furniture and outfitted with a wall of post boxes for everyone. There was also a row of large and reinforced metal boxes which inhabitants could rent for storing stuff like bicycles in.

Rókur's dwelling place was located on the fourth floor, at the end of a very long corridor as they were characteristic for the hotel business. The carpets were gone and only worn-out linoleum was left, but the owner of this place still had at least some interest in not letting it fall apart completely. Of course Rókur's shirt still was traveling with the monorail, but he knew why to only use those as a thin, uppermost layer for stopping people from staring at him. It really wasn't a significant loss as he still wore the garments most familiar to him: Dark red cloth decorated with runes and with some chainmail underneath. Now those runes essentially said that he should not come back from his grave and haunt his family, but no ordinary passer-by could read this anyway. People in general had been quite afraid of their deceased turning against them for some unfinished business.

Walking along the endless row of anonymous doors to his left and right, Rókur encountered one of his neighbours: "Jesus! What kind of unholy mass have you been pulling off in that costume ? Are you a priest of some kind ?"

"Nope. LARP! And now please make room for me or I might indeed discover the unholy part of myself." Rókur's voice was quite thunderous to begin with, but that decisive tone right now had been added on purpose.

"Just kiddin'! Calm down, okay ?"

Rókur was quick to insert the key and to slam the door shut firmly behind him. A few calm minutes later his phone vibrated again, notifying him that the time had come. But as it would turn out noone actually came. If nothing would happen for the next half an hour or so he'd probably go and shoot some arrows as a means of relaxation. There was no lack of vacant buildings and abandoned factory halls in Santa Celia.

Rókur Gjanarsson
10.03.909 | 30(1) | Caucasian
Unmarried || Straight
Largely uneducated | Sanitation worker
Physical Profile

Miscellaneous Items
Appearance Details
Rókur's skin is unusually pale, often leading to people referring to him as a vampire either jokingly or seriously. While it appears perfectly young and smooth there are a few fine scars on both his face and other parts of his body. He prefers keeping his hair long, maybe even as long as it can get, and in a rather chaotic state. The latter can't be said about his beard which is accurately braided and cut in defined lines along his chin. The general outline of his frame is impressive: Scratching at no less than seven feet in height he is capable of sticking out of the crowd. He's not perfectly lean as a fully trained athlete would be, but obviously a large lot muscularity has taken precedence over a small, though not invisible amount of belly fat.

When he's not in his civilian work dress he prefers clothing as simple as possible: A woolen or synthetic sweater is as fine as work pants are. However he usually wears another set of clothing underneath the upper layer that can't really be seen until he deploys his Path In The Void ability.

The outside observer could easily discount Rókur as a brute. Indeed, on first approach, he is very prone to appear as a not so nice person, but those not fended off by this demeanor are more likely than not to break through the hard outer shell and discover the large amount of insecurity inside of it: Rókur's issue are not bad manners that would be intrinsic to his person, but the fact that so far he lacks experience to do much better by today's standards. Of course he could explain himself in detail, but towards the vast majority of people that's not a real option. So he has to come up with cover stories, more often than not spontaneously which can make a bad situation even worse. He is prone to leave people behind with more questions than they had before.

Rókur is a tenacious individual, meaning that a number of odds needs to be stacked against him in order to make him abandon a plan that has already been put into the execution phase. However this doesn't mean that he'd be particularly stubborn: While in the creative phase of decision making he is quite open-minded towards the different alternatives and happily participates in discussions.

Brutal violence has been a very successful approach for a major part of his existence so far, but he has been given sufficient knowledge to see that times have changed and other approaches are preferable more often than not. It still is sometimes difficult though: Taunted or insulted properly or in a desperate situation he might fall back into very old habits and virtually go berserk. It would not be the first time for him make a local pub need an entirely new set of furniture...

Rókur's intelligent and capable of grappling with rather steep learning curves, but suffering from the lack of a teacher.

Character Synopsis
A long time ago in a land far, far away...

Things didn't go well for neither the scots nor the norsemen in 10th century England. Æthelstan, king of the anglo-saxons, had driven the latter out of York in 927. A mere decade lader his armed forces did the same in what would later become known as the Battle of Brunanburh, a massive onslaught whose outcome effectively put an end to the first attempt of vikings to colonize Great Britain. Most of them were slain, but a small number survived and made a hurried escape further northwards. Along those was a man called Rókur, an impressive warrior that had suffered a major blow, but could still run. He never reached Norway though, but died from gangrene even before leaving English soil. To his honor the effort was made to bury him on site. Since then Rókur was supposed to rest in his hastily constructed burial mound, but noone could see and check if things were going alright below the earth...

A year prior from now

Vladimir Kondratyuk was – and still is – someone who can deem himself very much upper class in Santa Celia. Situated close to the upper end of wealth and power he can afford a lifestyle that suits his need for extravagance and luxury. He's a lover of art and antique, but pratically noone has a true idea about how far his network of smugglers, thieves and other criminals actually stretches out in order to keep his residence as exquisite as it reasonably can be. Or probably also more unreasonably... The man had already an aegyptian mummy on display in his home, along with pretty much all of the objects found along with it. By the time he had set his mind for 'expansion' towards other regions, cultures and historic times of the world.

He had organized for a special delivery to be retrieved, wrapped up and put into a maritime container to be delivered to the US. The ship's destination was the Pacific Port of Santa Celia which not only helps in keeping the metropolis supplied, but also larger parts of California around it. The operation went perfectly smooth until the vessel approached the east coast. Only two dozen miles away from the city a distress call was received, yet by the time coast guard and other local authorities arrived at the scene there was radio silence. With the ship still moving it couldn't be boarded in time, causing it to crash into one of the docks with engines still running at cruise speed.

Officially the carnage of steel and concrete at the size of many million bucks was sold as a 'series of technical malfunctions, leading to loss of control' to the general public, but behind the scenes the follow-up investigation found proof that this was not what had happened. Modern freighters are giant monsters with a comparably ridiculous small number of civilians on board, assembled from different nations depending on who's the cheapest bidder. The majority of these men were found hiding themselves somewhere deep in the bovels of the ship, but a few others were found dead with no visible injuries. Instead they all seemed to have found a natural death, but according to the records none of the crew was particularly old or had known, severe illnesses.

Of course, utilizing his widespread connections, Vladimir kept track of the event since his special delivery was still on board that ship. He naturally was quite worried about its integrity, so he bribed, threatened and cheated his way back into the equation as soon as possible and went on a search of his own. He found the container in question completely intact and still sealed standing on deck, but as it was unloaded and opened in his backyard it turned out that the most important part, somehow, had gone missing. It appeared to him that Santa Celia, already known for unique abilities to occur in people, had triggered and woken up something extremely rare that had already been lingering for over a millennia. Almost needless to add that this was very much to his concern: Losing a very pricey asset that apparently had turned ghost and could now do nothing but spend its time in Santa Celia, probably completely overwhelmed by the situation while very well knowing the concept of being harmful. His shady business had picked up its own dynamics that could both reveal it and come back to haunt him.

In the meantime, Rókur did not know anything of this. He was facing different issues, the primary one being that over thousand years had passed since he had been able to see, hear, smell and posess any kind of consciousness for the last time. Whatever kind of world that was around him -- it didn't seem to be Valhalla. To his luck though the streets in this more industrial part of the city were rather populated by trucks than densily crowded by passenger cars or pedestrians. Ignoring traffic lights and plenty of other rules of the modern world he spent days roaming around cluelessly, just barely hovering below the threshold at which people would start to call in the cops. His strong magical presence invoked others though...

The tourists picked him up, or rather they arrested him in a sudden assault. The decision had been made to get him off the street before anyone else with more malicious intentions could do it. After all, disposing of him in a lethal manner still was an option if he would not cooperate in any way. On the other hand a massive mutual exchange of information about the past and the present would give their 'client' a real chance. Faced with means of containment Rókur could not escape from he was forced to listen and to try to understand what these people had to say.


To say that trying to get Rókur up to speed was a laborous and more often than not rather difficult undertaking would be an understatement, but within roughly a year at least the basics of surviving in the US could be achieved: Speaking modern English (though with a severe and strange accent), essential societal rules, papers that would identify him as a legal immigrant to the US. Even a job, even though it's a more lousy one. He doesn't need much money to live. The lesson that there were alternatives to attacking people -- for the sake of his own long-term survival -- was probably the most important thing though. Alternatives nobody would care or even mourn for.

At this point the next logical step was to 'release' him onto the streets, letting him walk on his own again. That doesn't mean that he doesn't have to do anything with The Tourists anymore though. There's still a more or less loose bond between him and them, with the latter rather taking a bit of a supervising role.

Abilities & Skills

▼ Path In The Void
Old sagas tell of revenants being able to leave their burial mounds by means of 'swimming' through stone. In Rókur's case this has come true, though not exactly this way. Instead he can suddenly disappear into a thin cloud of dark mist, completely disconnecting himself from the world as we know it. In this state he does not interact with matter or energy, denying him the ability to use any of his senses in order to notice what his going on in the ordinary world or to grab, move or attack anything. He can't use The Ravages Of Time or any magical items either. On the other hand this is a mutual effect: He can't be detected, moved or attacked from this plane of existence or blocked by obstacles. Any stay in the void is merely limited by his need to 'eat' which cannot be satisfied there.

► Limitation(s)
Entering this special state is not the issue, nor is it staying in there. The problematic step is returning to the ordinary world since, ironically, it involves a lot more very mortal physics than he can easily compensate for.

The first issue is that, at re-entry, his body has to displace whatever matter is occupying the spot where it happens in a very, very short amount of time. The outcome of this struggle naturally depends on the sturdiness and density of the object in question. In the case of a solid wall there will be a very violent explosion along with Rókur's immediate death. A solid body of liquid is more survivable, but will result in severe damage to flesh and bones alike. Smaller objects like chairs or otherwise not too massive pieces of furniture will cause injury, but are survivable. Gas like air on the other hand is very light, can dissolve in water and be vented slowly afterwards. However this process consumes time. For this reason a burst of maybe half a dozen events within a short period of time is okay, but anything more will have increasingly unpleasant side effects. Also he should know the layout of any building he moves around in prior to doing so.

The second problem is that he cannot accelerate, decelerate or change direction of movement while being in the void, simply for the lack of anything to push against. Thus any momentum required to actually move has to be gained prior to entering the void and (if necessary) be gotten rid off after exiting it. For example, in order to travel upwards, he has to jump and then enter the void while still being on the ascending part of the jump.

The third limitation is that he naturally can't hold on to any object, be it worn on his body or held in his hands. While this can be very benign in the case of burning gasoline on his skin or handcuffs around his wrists it is much less so if he wants to take any piece of equipment with him. There are two exceptions to this rule though: His bow and his garments, essentially the items that have been put into his grave, had over a thousand years to become infused with his magic.

► Weakness(es)
Disabling his legs and arms will render him unable to pick up momentum before entering the void, thus forcing him either to reappear at the same place he disappeared at. Also, even if mobile, he can't escape from prisons too convoluted with obstacles for him to re-enter anywhere safely. Aside from this it is possible to figure out that he always goes in a straight line, allowing to move oneself while he can't see anything so it is less dangerous when he reappears.

▼ The Ravages Of Time
Time is the worst enemy of almost everything, but it passes by at a rate of merely one second per second. While technically not messing around with that, Rókur can still amplify the ubiquitous forces of decay and add quite a touch of his own to them. The precise effects depend on both the object in question and the circumstances, but a rough classification can be provided.

People and animals will at first experience non-physical effects: A cold sensation encroaching upon them, the feeling that one's throat is cording up. None of this is really happening, but it increasingly feels as if. These psychological influences will disappear immediately if the exposure to Rókur's influence is stopped. If not the second stage will set in and induce a state of increased physical exhaustion, leading to a gradually increasing reduction in the affected individual's strength, speed, stamina and reflexes. This is fully reversible in a more or less short amount of time, depending on the individual's state of training. Continued exposure after this stage however will allow for real damage to occur. Bones will become brittle and break much more easily, tendons might snap and any wounds sustained by other means will likely be more severe than they would have been otherwise while those already existing are prone to be torn open even wider. This stage can also be fully recovered from, but it takes time comparable to healing out 'conventional' wounds. If exposure should still persist after this stage has been passed the victim's doom is pretty much imminent: While being unpredictable for Rókur, he can count on some kind of organic malfunction or infection to ultimately kill the target.

Using his magic in this manner also serves as food for him: He virtually drains life itself. This doesn't have any boosting effects, but satiates his hunger and is a requirement for his regeneration process. However it allows him to notice if he actually hits a living object or not. For example he can probe an adjacent room for the presence of individuals without having to visually inspect it. Walls do not stop this kind of magic.

Material and technology on the other hand does not have any feelings, but nonetheless can fall victim to him. One can literally see rust growing on previously blank steel or fatigue cracks growing in solid concrete until they have lost the entirity of their mechanical strength. The latter is not important to electronics, but these are dependent on components working properly and not drifting away too far from their original specifications. What kind of malfunction will appear at the end of the process again is unpredictable, but the system will ultimately be out of service and in need of reconstruction. The strength of the material or complexity of the system to be affected has no influence on the required duration.

► Limitation(s)
The spell works in a limited volume of space, usually just about large enough to encompass the entirity of a human, that is projected to a specific location. The range of this projection is several yards at best. Also, since the methods employed against them are so different, Rókur can't act against living and inanimated objects at the same time.

While consuming far less time than they originally would, the ravages of time still take a while. It is magic uncapable of delivering a 'quick fix' to any kind of hostile or otherwise dangerous situation. As a rule of thumb one can say that going through all four stages requires roughly 15 minutes, either in one go or as a series of shorter exposures, provided that there's no significant opportunity for the target to regenerate in between. The magic has to be cast actively, consuming the majority of Rókur's attention while in use.

The third limitation is that, at least as far as material is concerned, there is a 'bottom end' at which further decay and decomposition is not possible. A barricade made out of small pieces of rubble or an earth wall for example cannot be affected. One can't burn ash any further or grind what's already dust to even smaller pieces.

► Weakness(es)
If one pays close attention to one's feelings one can detect being exposed to his magic at an early stage and try to get some distance between oneself and him. If this is not possible immediately one can at least do it while still being in the more easily reversible phase of his attack. Giving oneself a bit of time will then effectively reset the clock, allowing to jump back unharmed into action subsequently. As far as technology is concerned the best way to avoid his success is to have a good security network with systems that allows for fast response times before critical parts have been weakened critically. After all one could blow up structures using explosives or other tools of demolition as well if there's enough time as well.

▼ Nonexistant metabolism
Some major functions and metabolic pathways in his body are no longer relevant for his survival. The most important ones are burning calories with oxygen and the circulatory system. This has several beneficial effects for him:
  • While he can still breathe in order to make people happy and prevent them from calling the emergency services it is a purely optional activity, allowing him to stay under water much longer and in greater depth than usual or to survive in a vacuum.
  • Non-magical poisons, infections or drugs do not have an effect.
  • He can survive wounds others wouldn't such as injury to his heart or piercing of his lungs. The method required to definitely kill him is decapitation, either by indeed cutting cleanly through his neck or by utilizing the means of the modern world than can blow up a skull in its entirity, such as very large caliber guns.
  • He can regenerate from any non-lethal injury such as regrowing limbs, but this happens at a non-extraordinary rate. Lack of 'food' (his definition thereof) will prevent this process from functioning properly just as it would with an ordinary human body.

► Limitation(s)
The most important thing to know is that Rókur, by no means, is resistant to pain. A pierced lung or heart might not stop him 'mechanically', but the pain caused by such kind of injuries is bound to impair him very severely. Of course this also allows for him to be tortured.

While they are driven magically, Rókur still needs his muscles and the bones and tendons attached to them in order to move. Damage to these structures will impair his movements just like with any ordinary human. Also his senses are still coupled to their respective body parts: Burnt skin will disable the sense of touch, stabbed eyes will make him blind and without a nose or ears it will be much more difficult to collect these kinds of sensations.

His special way of existing does not come with any kind of supernatural enhancements with regard to strength, agility, reaction time or stamina. He can't run out of his non-existant breath, but physical exertion induces other kinds of strain that need time in order to be recovered from. Also, because conventional medications do not work, his regeneration can't benefit from modern medicine. If anything at all specialized magic must be applied in order to boost his regeneration process.

► Weakness(es)
Killing him is not something that can be achieved with a single blow by most standard equipment, but standard equipment is enough to work one's way towards this goal with a little outside the box thinking. By reducing his ways to escape the remainder becomes much more of an academic question. Aside from this many things like poisoning either by injection or by gas are situations that don't occur often in everyday street life, as violent as it might be. If someone really wants to pull things off that way modern technology has brought stuff that still can do the trick: Acids for example.


▼ Archery
A skill from the past where this technique still was one of the primary means of battle or acquiring food. He's not a dramatically oversized Legolas, but still very good at it.

▼ Forging
Another skill that modern machines have taken over or made obsolete for the better part of it, but nevertheless he is able to craft new arrows or repair/reforge his equipment if it should be damaged or destroyed.

▼ Profound historical knowledge
Not really a surprise, is it ? If any high school or university would be willing to hire him he could very well become prominent with regard to his knowledge about the era he comes from. First hand experience is always the best.

Supporting Cast
▼ Adam Schwarzschild
An austrian university teacher and professor with a long-running career of studying superhumans. He applied the scientific methods of his time, trying to explain what was going on with those special snowflakes instead of fearing them. One of his findings was that superhumanism does not necessarily become symptomatic at birth, but frequently only manifests itself in later stages of a person's development. His conclusion was that there is a significant fraction among the superhuman population that learns out their respective abilities as a surprise and that this might make them much more prone to psychological instability, especially in an environment that more often than not behaves hostile towards them. It wasn't though as there would have been a significant inrush or organizations wanting to hear his advice. He ultimately joined The Tourists, one of the very few that behaved in a manner compatible to his philosophy.

▼ Vladimir Kondratyuk
An industrial tycoon who also is a weirdo and a lover of art. He bribed his way into local politics and also utilizes his money to control a more or less extensive network of criminals in order to satiate his special kind of cupidity. He lives in an almost ludicrously large and expensive residence in Paradise on the Water with probably more than just one panic room.

Othen turned on his heels, his attention having been drawn by the calm voice that had addressed him from behind. By the latter he could already tell that this was no other policeman, but someone else. However the gargoyle wasn't prepared for the sight of that particular man and one could quite see it written in his face even with only a basic understanding of body language. The clothes, the cigarette, the gold around his eyes... As silently as he stood there the guy was crying out 'I'm a snob!' loudly.

Othen made a step back -- not out of respect for the probably several thousand bucks clinging to the body of this man, but for the sake of his own lungs who wouldn't be fond of inhaling any smoke. Only after a little more time of inspection the gargoyle was actually able to identify whom he was talking to with great certainty: Sadjic. It was like adding another massive layer of slime onto an already quite respectable one. He tried to find a decent answer that wouldn't make him slip on that.

"Something tells me it might very well not be you."

He spotted the even more pompous vehicle, it's driver looking as if waiting for his client to return.

"Looks like you're busy and in a little bit of a hurry, aren't you ?" Othen continued, his eyes' focus returning towards Sadjic. "It happens I am as well. Would it disturb your schedule too much if you made a slight detour and dropped me off at my place ?" Othen knew that his request was close to complete bullshit. Not even the average businessmen would offer a ride to half a stranger that spontaneously, but the way Sadjic had spoken it was pretty clear for Othen that it essentially was Sadjic requesting for him to get into this car. At least Othen hoped so... He could already sense a bad feeling rising inside him.
Here's my application. Please note that I'm not entirely happy with the faceclaim and it thus might be subject to change (if not ordered anyway), but I hope that's not the priority here.

Edit history
- Changed text color
- Changes to backstory in order to substitute The Sanctuary with The Tourists
- Some rewordings in order to clarify powers
- Removed original duration constraint from Path In The Void
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