Avatar of Fetzen

Status

Recent Statuses

12 days ago
Current I don't know where to even start when it comes to just how ruined my weekend has just become.
1 like
15 days ago
Having jaw ache due to a lymphatic node swelling ain't fun.
2 likes
16 days ago
How you can help me today ? Quite simple: I need permit to enter A39. You should have been notified about it just recently.
19 days ago
I go to bed in search of sleep, but my cat is always quicker to find it there. Correlation or causality ?
21 days ago
I can confirm the ads issue. I suddenly got them in my own status, in the PMs list, in the status bar... Normally I keep adblock off in support of RPG, but this is unbearable at the moment.
4 likes

Bio


Welcome to my profile page!


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

  • I'm a 34 year old guy.
  • ... who's working as a software developer
  • ... and enjoys roleplaying as a casual hobby to distract himself from ongoing stress


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.
  • English is not my native language, but so far I've not encountered anyone who had had trouble with me over that :)


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



Thanks for visiting!

Most Recent Posts

I'll try to get a post up for Maël tomorrow!
Skarsat

Market District


The concept of 'fate' was an interesting thing to have around. It was like a bright star in the limitless darkness that laid beyond what a human's mind could understand,. It gave guidance to the intrinsic desire to find a reason for everything and to deny the possibility that anything could exist without causality. Even the greatest misery felt better if one could somehow believe in it being part of a greater plan and not just an act of sheer randomness. And yet there was another way to look onto fate: It was both a quite handy scapegoat one could blame for anything one didn't want to see in the scope of one's own responsibility and it was something one could put pretty much any kind of hope in.

So far the decision not to return to Marth might look like a bad one, but fate would decide what would come next!
There would have been plenty of other, less crowded settlements with less salt water around, but outer circumstances had kept nudging him into the direction of Guillan! Maybe he was just destined to go at sea ?
All the dirt, filth, crime and other hardships one had to endure in this place on a daily basis would not make him suffer, they would only make him harder!

Agreed, Skarsat's views on things were not quite as extreme as this, but he too would feel glad if somebody just came and told him that it wasn't all the result of his own decision and that things would indeed improve. Today though would certainly not be the day. The man who had taken Skarsat under his wing gave the impression of having a better and warmer heart than most people around here, but just like with most people around here his primary interest still was the state of his coin purse. And the spectators around him ? Their giveaways went straight into the pockets of said man's collectors and not Skarsat's own.

Money! One of the things that so far had failed to conquer the tribes of Marth. Sometimes it felt more like an infection that could make people rot while being alive than a useful and harmless invention. He too had started using it, but simply because the methods of trading he was used to didn't work here. One was nothing if one had no coin. One could and would die if one had no coin, so he had to make some, too.

And so Skarsat was standing at one end the Market District's main plaza, near a place that called itself 'The Faded Lantern', and focused in on the target that had been put up near the plaza's other end. Between it and him was a narrow-cordoned off corridor besieged by spectators. They wanted to see the next shot or they wanted to be given an explanation of how it worked and maybe have a try at hitting the bull's-eye themselves -- for a small price, of course. It was tedious work, but orders were orders. The more entertained his spectators felt there longer they'd stay and the more willing they'd be to make his employer's balance sheet look good.

The intensifying rain had actually given people another thing to look at as Skarsat had decided that a drenched shirt was even worse than no shirt at all. Now they had two things to marvel at: The precision of his arrows and the obscene amount of muscles on his body.

Unexpected commition started to set in though as the king's soldiers started to pull off a show on their own. He could see the collector's grimace as it was clear that this would only help to disperse the crowd. Even if the soldiers would disappear soon it would take much longer for people to come back, and given the worsening wheather they'd probably not at all. So... that would be it for the day ? The Tork man put down his bow on a nearby table and looked around, trying to find the person he was looking for. Yet his employer, a rich man who called himself not just 'Ivor', but 'Lord Ivor', now had his hands full shutting down his other small businesses around the place first.

While Skarsat waited, he dressed himself back up. His clothes were clinging to him like an ugly second layer of skin, but hopefully a stay inside would make them dry quickly. His sharp eyes darted towards a big tavern sign slightly wobbling in the wind.



Sheriff Gerranti had barely finished getting away with yet another example of successful bribery when Skarsat ducked slightly in order to get through the door. What hit him first was not air, but something that would have deserved to be burnt and buried forever had it not been gaseous. Wasn't it that alcohol, if concentrated highly enough, could burn ? If so: At which point could the stench of cheap beverages actually pose a fire hazard ? Maybe the people in here had to keep drinking in order to distract them from the fact that all the drinking had made the immediate environment next to unbearable ? A vicious circle, albeit probably a very lucrative one.

Skarsat decided not to join it, not this day. There was an interesting-looking poster on the wall and he stopped in front of it. Deciphering it would be a good exercise as the weird symbols and shit used by those Easteners still posed a vertiable barrier for him. After an amount of time that would have sufficed for others to read the whole thing several times he could make out a name: Neh’miah He’ron. Or was that strange thing even a name and not just an artifact produced by his own lack of skill at reading this ? Further down on the parchment the talk was about some kind of betrayal it seemed.

Skarsat smirked... This would have been a good job for him if it hadn't been for that damn festival. Everything had to be 'official' for these three days, then the more hidden massacre started afterwards when so many rich people suddenly noticed just how much they didn't like some other rich people or the guests who had not understood how to behave at their party. By that time the king's guards would already have found that guy, wouldn't they ?

The Tork sat down near the fireplace, trying to pick up some warmth in order to get himself dry again.


Skarsat Ma'dawc


Level: 1
Class: Mercenary/Thug (novice)
Currency: 99G, 39 bits
Ammunition: 44 arrows
Armor: +1, heavy leather

Vitality: 9/10
Status: normal



Dice campaign: roleplayerguild.com/campaigns/807
As much as I outright hate putting another character of mine into mothballs, I can completely understand your decision @POOHEAD189. If things don't go well they don't go well and if there's not enough creativity then there's no fuel for a roleplay. I am looking forward to what you'll come up next, my friend!


Skarsat Ma'dawc


Level: 1
Class: Mercenary/Thug (novice)
Currency: 2G, 9 bits
Ammunition: 4 arrows
Armor: +3, heavy leather

Vitality: 10
Status: bored



Dice campaign: roleplayerguild.com/campaigns/807
Vaught
Early spring of 315 P.F.


The Motis affair had gone surprisingly well overall. He did not know whether the hunters would be scared for their lives and make a run for it or if they had just received a big boost to their determination. What he could assume with utmost certainty however was that their goals had changed: No more going after a big humanoid being, but after some unidentified monster instead! This meant that he might have regained some of his freedom outside of The Greatwood which had been one of his goals for the attack in the first place. He could turn back to human, jump onto some stolen horse and get away from this utterly boring landscape of nothingness!

And yet, just as his recent actions had solved one problem, they had given birth to another. Walking around on two legs, wielding some big primitive axe and trying to arrange oneself with the inhabitants of this region just didn't seem as fun and worthwhile anymore if one knew that the much more monstrous experiment had started to work out... In a growing region of his mind and heart he didn't want to take the tedious route back to his other shape. He always could when there was the opportunity, but right now he simply didn't feel the desire anymore. And the monster he was right now had not even learned how to fly yet! Speaking of which... couldn't that finally be fixed ? Vaught had hatched the plan of doing a little cut-and-watch procedure to himself and maybe he should just proceed with that plan while motivation was so high!

Running on all four legs, his claws dug deep enough into the ground to leave a trail of destruction behind in the grass. It was easy to notice that this would make any pursuers' job dangerously easy, so at some point Vaught started to run in circles for a while. Once a big enough mess of seemlingy erratic loops and hard to understand twists had been created, he continued on a straight line towards his hideout in The Greatwood's hills again. There was a small creek nearby in whose riverbed he marched on for a while just to create an outright gap in his tracks as well. He also tried not to crush too many bushes on his way back, even if that meant slowing down a lot in order for a lot of tedious maneuvering.

Up on the hill, Vaught reached for the big axe of his alter ego: It slipped right through his fingers. Or were these even fingers ? He tried again to no avail, then altered his approach for a third and fourth attempt only to come out with the same ridiculing result. So this didn't work... but he needed the blade on that thing! While still not having an alternate plan, Vaught lowered his mouth and carefully bit into the weapon's shaft to move it along with himself that way. This monster of his choice clearly had not developed with much craftsmanship in mind, had it ? But... but maybe he could arrange for some contraption!

Looking around, Vaught discovered what had once been one large stone, but which had degraded into a pile of smaller pieces over aeons of freezing cold and sweltering heat. Each of them still would have been far too heavy for a simple man to lift, but that was good! Trying not to damage his teeth in the process, Vaught dropped the axe's shaft into one of the large gaps where the aggregation of minerals had broken apart and let the blade point upwards. He slammed his torso against one of the rocks sideways and pushed it against its counterpart, thereby wedging the weapon's shaft in the closing gap. Friction would do the rest.

Now the ugly part! This was a good idea to cut open one's own joint gently just to see why it didn't work properly, right ? Vaught maneuvered the malfunctioning part of his body over the axe's blade as carefully as possible, then lowered it and started to induce a forth and back motion. The pain! The pain was so awful! Blood started dripping at an increasing speed, but as Vaught's confidence in his own idea vanished his skin gave way just enough to see what was beneath it. Maybe he could adapt now...
Would y’all like me to go ahead and post with Lalei again?


I've been waiting for such a post, but if you'd like me to I could certainly try to get another post out before Lalei :)
Manald


So that was it...

The troll ? Burning to his well-deserved death!
The goblins ? On the run, leaving behind countless instances of dead comrades!
Himself ? Tired and plagued with the uneasy knowledge of this fight having had its close calls. This could have ended in other ways, too.

The lycanthrope, now lacking prey and the need to fight, felt the animalistic aspect draining and fading away. He did not even try to hide somewhere before shifting back, but just delayed the action long enough to be certain that none of the enemies would turn around and backstab him while the process took place. Many soldiers, albeit having fought for the whole time, still had the necessary energy to watch with great interest as bones turned and twisted, flesh shrunk and skin adjusted to wrap tightly around a much smaller body. It probably had been a good decision to shift back while still on the ground in front of the wall for the ropes that had been lowered from it looked like they were designed for humans, not for Manald.

Halfway naked, the man retreated into the guard's tower just like he had done when shifting into his wolf form. He had stored his clothes there and had not the slightest interest in losing them to the logistics of the city guard. Manald decided to put the insignia of the royal guard on open display this time. Some of the soldiers had laughed at him just before the battle had begun. Would they be laughing, still ?

He decided against finding out today and opted for getting some rest and nourishment instead. His stomach reported some goblin meat that must have found its way past his throat during the battle, but neither was goblin meat of particularly good quality nor was it enough in this instance. During the fight, Manald's priority had been to just bite his enemies to death. Anything more than that had been a mere accident! The lycanthrope trodded past the riflement and onto the steps leading down the wall and into the city. He did so more dragging his feet than lifting them properly, seemingly being either very tired or just not feeling the need to pay attention to things like this. The truth was he was both.

In the barracks, Manald dropped into his bunk right away.
Calit


So this was the party, right ? Yes, right. Each and everyone of them matched their respective visual appearance in the strange dream, so this could simply not be a mere coincidence. What the vision had not told Calit though was anything about those strangers' personalities. Unfortunately what they had revealed so far was anything but encouraging when it came to the task of slaying a dragon which had a very long-lasting and nasty sounding prophecy behind it...

There was a male with hair brighter and whiter than that of most elderly and a scar that looked even more nasty than his own. As if this hadn't been unusual enough, the man's body appeared smaller than everybody else's, but taller than that of the dwarf nearby. The latter found Calit's silent approval when openly calling out scar-man's pomposity, but the accent and overall way of talking was bound to give a headache! Still... Odran, as he called himself, gave the first impression of being a friendly lad. It could never hurt to have someone around who was well versed with what little technology the world could muster. And he seemed strong!

The same, albeit to a lesser degree of course, seemed to hold true for the female elf. To Calit, Rosarine appeared more curvy than the typical representative of her race, but in the sense of having more muscle and not fat. The assassin glanced at her hands, noting that they looked different than the rest of her skin while she did not seem to have a problem with that at all. At least there were no bandages or other measures that could be expected when dealing with a severe burn wound, so: Was she a fire mage ? Calit couldn't tell for sure, but it was a suspicion he put great confidence in.

The next in the bunch appeared to be the least capable of all of them. Her body, quite obviously, was coated with a significant amount of fat which told a potential story about a lack of fitness. However, in a world filled with shifters and magic, this could very well just be a very first and evenly wrong impression. If the prophecy was right she just had to have some potential, too, and he merely lacked the means to discover them right away. And the last one ? Exotic to say the least with silver hair and eyes. She could not be 'just' an elf, but there had to be more. A shifter ? Calit could only wonder how she'd look like in any different form.

"So I am Calit, a former member of the royal special forces and working on my own since then. In case anyone of you happens to break a bone instead of anything else I might be the one to ask for fixing it, but otherwise I'm more on the opposite side of healing." He said this with an almost monotonous tone, not putting any emphasis on any of his words and with his facial expression not changing over the course of the two sentences.

And then Lalei appeared. If any further proof of this dream not being just a dream had been necessary, this was it. One did not see a spirit every day, let alone a spirit who could present so many scenes of... Wait! Polis ? Calit just stared at what had felt like one giant, comforting home to him for many years. All gone ? The thought about his parents crossed the assassin's mind, or at least about his mother for his father had found a natural death some years ago already. She did not live in Polis itself, but in a village nearby. If that was gone, too... or no. It probably was gone even more likely than Polis itself because it didn't have a fancy king to deliver the words of surrender!

Anybody looking very closely could see Calit clenching his teeth behind closed lips and his face being in turmoil as many opposing muscles built up tension simultaneously. When the spirit reached him and asked for any further questions, Calit only had one: "Are we allowed to choke him using his own guts ?" This time the assassin's voice wasn't neutral, but dripping with sarcasm. If they would succeed, he'd certainly do it!
I will get my post out tomorrow. The work-week has killed me, that's all ;)
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet