Fetzen

The Five Senses - Second Arc (Accepting New Players!)

Týfurkh Gandjar

Týfurkh Gandjar

Name: Týfurkh Gandjar
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Asexual
Age: 27
Home Nation: Hearing
Appearance:

Týfurkh certainly has not the most bulging of muscles, but what he has, including his bones, is very dense, sturdy and strong. He's clearly V-shaped and at no less than seven feet five inches a very imposing presence. This has been caused by the medical condition of giantism.

Bio:
Týfurkh was born in the village of Mavaughal, a small settlement at the western shore of Lake Echo, north-east of Symphare. Aside from the fact that it quickly became obvious that his body grew much larger than usual his early youth can be considered quite uneventful. He has his younger brother, Madawc, had to do the field work their aging parents could only do to a lesser and lesser degree. They were far away from any real trouble: No unexpected plagues, no invasion, only the occasional brawl in the local tavern which Týfurkh excelled at again and again.

It was at the age of 16 when he broke one of his thighs in an accident. Somewhat immobilized and left in insecurity if he'd ever make a complete recovery, he had to spent his time in the village with Madawc caring for him. During this time, Týfurkh met a rather mysterious man that called himself Haljot. He claimed to be some kind of medic and magician without going into details. He looked at the rugged mess that had once been Týfurkh's leg, but he didn't offer any bandages, salves or herbs that at least could relieve him of the pain, but a small crystal attached to a thick leather strap. He told him to tie it carefully around his leg, let it do its work and be patient. Týfurkh did as requested, hoping for some miracle to take place. The thing started to vibrate gently, no, it purred just like a cat. He didn't notice it at first, but the constant exposure to this kind of movement indeed massively boosted the healing process.

Haljot never came back to retrieve the crystal after it had done its work, but he had told Týfurkh to come to the town of Symphare if he'd 'be interested'. Inspite of not knowing what all of this was about he was, so soon he stood at what turn out to be the small entrance to the Order of Canor. At first it appeared to be a very peace-loving society of what one could call monks, but Týfurkh was told that his stature would make him very well suited for a warrior. The order proved to know how to do marketing so to speak. They gave him several demonstrations of what could be achieved after years of training and openly asked if he'd be willing to join. They'd be in need of people like him and that the encounter with Haljot in the local tavern had not been entirely random after all.

Týfurkh agreed. He first had to deal with all of the familiy business though. Luckily for him his brother Madawc was a lot more attached to his native soil than he was. Maybe both of them, along with the Order who apparently was to eager to make him one of its members, also could already sense the growing anxiety of war in Saencila and how the political system was destabilizing. Maybe Mavaughal would stop to be a peaceful, unharmed and innocent village one day, and in case of that a warrior could be of help.

Training proved to be hard and quite frustrating at first, but the constant telling that this was nothing out of the ordinary kept Týfurkh at bay. He has been a member of the order for eight years by now and with experience and some rank came freedom. He has been tasked to be an agent, someone who heads out, gathers information about the state of the different parts of the world and reports back to those listening posts who are still active despite all the turmoil. He can go whereever he wants as long as he sticks to a few rules of how to behave, doesn't tell everybody about the order and keeps them roughly informed about his status.

Personality: He's a calm dude, at least in most situations. To make him truly angry could be considered a considerable achievement, to make him lose his head in the metaphorical sense due to external stress as well. He can accept the opinions of others if he's convinced of their superiority, however he's also rather direct and outspoken when it comes to criticism. He won't hold back with his own thoughts almost no matter what. Týfurkh is not used to large numbers of people, instead he prefers to stay with few or on his own if there's the possibility. If he feels overwhelmed, he prefers taking a more shy stance than usual.
Quirks:
Skills/Magic:

The Art of Canor

A Heading based magic system
Unregulared
Requires Da'quar crystals dissolved in alcohol as a consumable fuel source.

The art of Canor is the art of generating and utilizing sound directly as an offensive or defensive means in combat. Other applications exist as well, but they are rare and rarely used for the lack of opportunity. They, so far, are more theoretical than practical.

Many spells of Canor exist, but the typical follower of this art does only know a relatively small fraction of them. For Týfurkh, the following applies:

Resonance chamber
This spell is extremely dependend on the environmental circumstances. Open spaces are the worst, close quarters with rigid walls like hallways the most advantageous. The concept is to build up and concentrate the energy of sound at a specific point that is not one's own, but the one where the enemy is or will be without knowing. The user of this spell starts shouting, singing or whatever kind of noise he deems suitable. Frequency and direction matters in dependence of the situation -- the experienced user knows what to do when and where the waves will build up in constructive interference. One doesn't truly hear this small spot in the middle of the room coming, in fact other spots nearby will remain completely silent. A direct collision can result in a broad variety of injuries ranging from temporarily impaired hearing up to a broken skull and ruptured veins. It depends on the time of buildup that has been available.

Oscillator
Sound can not only travel by air, it can also travel inside solid bodies of any kind. One can temporarily 'imbue' a solid item with this hidden kinetic energy that doesn't result in obvious movement, causing it to vibrate violently. Upon contact with other bodies the item will immediately start transferring this energy to a more or less large degree. The vibrations start to diminish due to dampening effects rapidly after the charge has been set, so quick usage is required in order to be efficient. Therefore Týfurkh uses this to make the bolts of his crossbow more effective and not truly to lay down traps.

Directional wave
Every thought that you'd hear voices noone else can hear ? This nightmare can become true if you have an artist of Canor made your enemy. They can point a stream of soundwaves at an arbitrary point in their direct sight, though the effectiveness will naturally decrease with distance. The wave is sufficiently focused not to be heard by anyone else except if that one crosses the direct line of sight. One can transmit messages to allies, but also distract enemies and maybe even lure there to a more advantageous spot -- for oneself, of course. On short distances one can also shout so loudly that it will cause injury, but not the same degree as the resonance chamber.

Weaknesses: At his size he's not exactly dextrous, not even very fast despite his immensively long legs. His weight more often than not also is the root cause for issues of various kinds, some hilarious, others very serious.

Equipment/Items:

• Massive crossbow and a quiver of bolts of very high quality. However it is not enchanted.
• Full-body armor made out primarily of leather but with some large metal parts included as well.
• Food and water for one or two days without resupply.

O R I F L A M M E

Otios'yyia'thala

_{Location: Town of Belfleur
Interaction(s): Yasoi battalions @Tackytaff, Eskandr army and Belfleur defenders @Force and Fury}

---

Otios did not know when his butt had hurt this much the last time, but he also didn't want to know how much his horse's back must have hurt at this point. The ride had been harsh to say the least and many, if not most of the combatants he and Talit had brought with them probably felt the same issues of tiredness and discomfort. Encountering another Eskandr battallion roaming the Parrench countryside had been way down on the list of things he had liked to encounter at this point, but things were as they were and they would all have to deal with them.

The problem was that, even if one was't the most advanced general or even just connaisseur of body language, their own little army seemed to lack an amount of momentum that went beyond the simple explanation of a forced march. As for the why, the past few days and how the whole thing had come to be made it rather easy to determined. For the lack of a hill, Otios stood up in the saddle and put his feet on top of it, maintaining a delicate balance. It really wasn't difficult to see the extremely tall man now as he inhaled air to start his speech.

"Yasoi!" he shouted.

"Can you smell the embers ? Can you hear the faint cries of women, children and husbands once you listen calmly ? Can you imagine what kind of carnage these walls are hiding from your view ? Imagine Loriindton, just with more spilled guts, blood and tears. Is this how any nation with the honest desire to finally settle some sort of conflict and gain long-lasting peace, whatever it might be, would do ? Is this even anything a nation on a pure, methodic path of annihilation would do ?"

"No, it is not! What we have witnessed in Loriindton and what we are witnessing here and now is maybe the worst of all: unsustainable explotation. If you keep cutting more trees than the forest can grow, then what will you have to do in the end ? Right! You have to find a new forest! Today this forest is called The Parrench, and the Eskandr have already burned, killed and extracted an insurmountable lot of it. Tomorrow, the forest will be us. They have proven their lack of hesitance to make that happen beyond any reasonable doubt."

"I know there are those of you who say 'Why should we help the Parrench if they have never helped, but only attacked us in the past ?' I have been asking that myself, too, and the first answer I came up with was that the Parrench maybe never were so cruel to us as the Eskandr are to them and will be to us, so we should pick the lesser evil. Yet then I realized that this answer becomes irrelevant once you ask another question: Does not helping them actually improve the potential outcome for us ? Think about it: If we do nothing, one of the two Huusoi nations will come out of this war or maybe even both, and it or they will be in a ruinous state while our nation will still be very much intact. Now when has Huusoi greed, envy or sheer desparation ever failed to drive them into yet another conflict at the earliest possible moment they saw fit ? We would be the last tree standing, surrounded by lumberjacks who have nowhere else to go anymore!"

"Yet if we help the Parrench and kick the Eskandr out of this whole affair swiftly, we would still be dealing with the more familiar of two enemies in the worst, and with a friend who will remember our deeds for at least a few decades to come in the best case. Also: Right now the Eskandr here don't expect us and we might even have numerical superiority. If we bypass this place and march onto Chamonix without further ado, the Eskandr will first profit from their surprise and numerical superiority against the Parrench here and then potentially fall in our backs once we're there. Which way will cause the greater loss of life for us ? I've been a petty thief for some major part of my life..."

Okay, maybe that was a lot of an understatement, if not even an outright lie, but as long as it'd work...

"I know what it means to have limited resources, and I know that, at the bottom line, very much in life is just about that: resources. I think so about wars, too. We can't manage to decapite the enemy's administration, but we can deprive him of resources while conserving ours here. Also I just think that Ivar The Dead is a nice alias whereas I can't think of anything similar for baron Can't-Spell-His-Name."

"So, do you follow me ?"

Otios didn't wait for a reply. He jumped off his horse and started running towards Belfleur, only turning his head and looking back whether anyone would follow once he had merged into the shadows.

O R I F L A M M E

Otios'yyia'thala & Talit'yrash'osmax

_{Location: On the march from Loriindton to the town of Belfleur
A collaboration between @Tackytaff and @Fetzen}

---

Their departure was hurried. Talit had hoped for time alone, a short reprieve to level herself - come to terms with the events of the past few days. But of course she couldn’t leave everyone behind. Otios and Jaxan left the city with her the same day as the funeral. Adric and Esmiin both stayed behind to help organize the battalions and give directions when they followed. Their presence was replaced by a dervish named Tantor, a thickly muscled man who barely reached six feet in height. None made complaint of the hard and fast pace Talit set. They rose early, ate rations on horseback, and barely had the energy to set up camp before sleeping at night. On the third day, however, her horse lost a shoe. The animal needed binding from Talit while another remade a new shoe. It was in this one quiet moment of respite that Otios approached her. She’d known she couldn’t hold out on explaining forever, but her mouth still went dry and muscles tense with nerves.

“I suppose you have questions.” She turned to face him before he had the chance to speak, her eyes scanned the others in their small party. “The others can finish with this, follow me,” She added, moving with as much speed as possible around where they’d latched the horses and upwards of a nearby stream where the running water would help cover their hushed tones.

“What do you want to know?” Her crutches receded into the wood of the tree she leaned against, arms folded as she finally looked Otios in the eye.

Otios had been rather silent for the first days of their journey, but at least the most erratic parts of his newfound electromagnetism had found their way back under his control again. He no longer delivered serious electric shocks to anyone and anything conductive he came in touch with including himself, but any compass needle laying around in his vicinity would still go haywire in the entangled mess of fields invisibly surrounding him.

"How about everything for a start ?" Otios snapped back. He still felt the surge of adrenaline and aggression inside him, originating from a source he himself completely failed to identify. He didn't want to come across this rude, but frankly had not so much control over his own mood at this point.

"Okay, first things first. Do you happen to know what happened to Lyen ? I have very much ruled out the possibility of her still being alive in the prison for then some sort of trial would have continued, and I also don't think she'd ever decide to stroll around in the wilderness lonely when we are actually the only one's believing in her innocence. So I've spent the last few days blaming myself for her death in Eskandr hands, imagining that she was taken completely by surprise in her cell and never had a chance to decide whether she wanted to engage or make a run for it."

Otios folded his arms in front of his chest and his tone became a tad darker.

"The more I am able to think clearly again however, the more I realize that a prison is just as good at keeping unwanted guests out as it is good at keeping desired guests in and that by far not all of Loriindton was even affected by the attack. So somebody must have liberated her and she died outside, right ? I did have a very good spot to observe things on a high tree though and neither me nor those around me up there did see her fighting. So I'm finding myself pretty dumbfounded and wondering…"

Talit listened worlessly, watching closely as her companion's frustrations surfaced, barely contained. To be directed where? Had it not been his hand that picked and placed the poison that started it all? One more lie, she conceded to herself. A final retelling, and then she could forget. Her hand trailed down to the folded seam at the end of her stump.

"I killed her." She said simply, honestly, but her shoulders remained rigid and chest tight. "I had hoped she would use the distraction to escape - to flee Loriindton. But," Her head shook, and for a brief moment, she drops her gaze from Otios; entranced by a loosened stitch between her fingers before looking up again.

"She was angry, vengeful even, or maybe just paranoid." Talit shrugged. "My stories about the time walker... Unsettled her. And when she found Dyric-" That part did catch in her throat. Stupid, thoughtless Dyric. Dead and nourishing the trees of their home. "She killed him. Then the timewalker." She splayed her hands to Otios. "I didn't want to, but she was worsening her case. Perrence's case. And my brother..." The tears that pricked her eyes were real, and she let them stay. If he was going to interrogate her, she would make it as difficult as possible. “I had no choice.”

Otios felt the ground beneath his feet disappearing and plunging into a free fall. Had Lady Talit lost her mind right now as she told him all that, or had she lost her mind the moment she had actually witnessed and done all that she was telling him about ? He had not really known Lyen very well, just from the joint fight against the Eskand around Relouse and then from their subsequent journey, but extrapolating from that, the maledict having gone on a killing spree was uncomfortably far off the way.

A bit too uncomfortably. The Yasoi’s eyes narrowed into slits as he took considerable moments to think about his next words: "How does one just kill a time walker ? She was able to foresee what I was about to do with the Eskand army minutes before I actually did it. So how did Lyen kill her ?" Not that time walking would have been required to get sort of an advance warning if Lyen had indeed killed another person just moments before, but Otios didn’t mention that.

"How should I know?" Talit said back, her voice betraying her weariness. "Why would she let a monster take my leg? Even timewalkers have to die eventually..." She trailed off, looking upward at the foliage. They were nearly out of the forest now, the sky was visible through the canopies.

"There were signs," She finally said, if he wouldn't let this go she'd at least give him someone else to focus suspicions on. "Or maybe I saw glimpses of her- Rae, a greyborn I knew from Loriindton. She was in the timewalker's home too. I know it. Maybe she helped."

Otios looked up into the skies as well, initially suspecting that there was indeed something important to see. He couldn’t find anything though, so his eyes were back on Talit again. ”How should you know ? I was under the firm impression that your eyesight is still perfectly intact, so… Did Lyen stab her ? Did she poison her ? Did she shoot her with some projectile, magically or not ? Or no, I already know the answer: The timewalker fell off her balcony or out the window somehow.”

Otios felt suspicion inside him reaching new levels. That had been a very simple question, yet Talit had made a verbal detour out of it without actually providing a real answer. Should he pin her on that right away ? The Yasoi opted against it, even though his mimic clearly told a story about how nonsensical, yet intriguing he deemed her answer to be.

”Well, the timewalker’s been an ignoramus, I agree. She could have done so many things differently using her knowledge, but she did just watch. You very much distrusted her from the very beginning, otherwise you wouldn’t have tried to send me to uncover whatever dirt I can find around her. You sold me that whole thing as if it was about trying to prove Lyen’s innocence and liberate her, but… Was that really just about that ? The mentioning of your leg very much sounded as if you’d hold a very personal grudge, too.”

It made no sense – or rather it did only make sense in a way Otios really didn’t like…

“What answers are you looking for Otios?” Talit looked down to meet his gaze again. “I went to the time walker's home only to find her and my brother’s bodies laying outside it. My friend still standing high in the tree home looking down. There was nothing else to be done.”

”Answers to questions I’m asking myself since I know about Lyen’s death and have seen a few other things. Answers I hoped would ultimately confirm or falsify that I alone am guilty of it.” The rogue made a brief pause and his eyes turned down towards the grass around their feet. ”It seems I have found them.” he added, deliberately leaving behind the vagueness in his words. The answers, they had both improved and worsened his situation. Lady Talit ? His mind silently assigned her a new status – that of a volatile variable he should not turn his back towards all too frequently.

“So glad I could sate your curiosity.” Talit replied with venom. She began drawing crutches again, the others were sure to be finishing up at least, and she hardly trusted them to come looking for her; more likely they were taking her absence as time to rest.

“It was an ugly thing, what happened. But it’s done now.” She managed to keep pace with the taller, two-legged man with surprising ease. “All that left to focus on Eskandr and the war.” She nodded along with herself, not even looking up at her companion anymore. “We have a Yasoi army with us now. Have to prove their faith in us isn’t misplaced.”

The Black Delta

Lachlan

Lachlan

Caelic | 27 | Male

Appearance

Lachlan's more than shoulder-long mane with its brilliant red color and his pointed goatee would probably distract onlookers from almost any kind of physique, but apart from his 6'4 maybe his one is not particular enough to actually need that. He is not perfectly lean, but has some muscle to compensate. Apart from some minor freckles and a mild scar running across his cheek (that looks more like an accident than the result of a weapon), his pale skin does not exhibit much in terms of irregularities as is appropriate for his young age. His facial expression is said to look a little annoyed by default, but that's just the natural arrangement as long as he doesn't actively control anything.

Anyone daring to take a closer look however would notice a few more subtle things: His ears, usually hidden beneath his hair, are just more pointed than would be normal for a human, and his eyes look a little weird even apart from their green color.

Personality

Lachlan's approach to strangers bears semblance to that of a snail with regard to a plant: Move forwards slowly, retract one's antennae quickly until the worst of insecurity is over and then either crawl around or turn into sort of a predator and exploiter. Somewhere between these two is the very real possibility of becoming friends though, but so far in his life not many have hit that keyhole yet.

Lachlan prefers spontaneity over long planning ahead -- plans are boring and just tend to fall apart way too quickly. Normally it is rather difficult to invoke his rage, but that very much excludes Norgardians as he hates those by heart and for obvious reasons if one considers his past and origin. People of Andred fare a bit better though, depending on their background.

Background

• Profession: Adventurer
• Class: Rogue
• Heritage: Lowborn

History
Lachlan is the bastard child of Eilidh, a female native to the Caelic Isles working for a not so reknown but still noble Andredian family whose country estate clings to the northern coastline of the Caelic Isles. His genesis was not a voluntary one as it happened during a Norgardian raid onto said coastline and Lachlan's father was one of the raiders. A stout and no less proud warrior of the North who believed that he could take more than just material riches. His body was left behind on the beaches as his party retreated, tribute to Andred guards who had finally shown up to protect the estate and less so the rest.

Eilidh did not dare to send the new life growing inside her to its premature death, but she was not exactly happy with it either. Only working as a servant for a noble and not being such herself, she was not bound by any of their standards about 'proper' childs and 'improper' childs, but Lachlan still had the enemy's blood rushing inside his veins speaking against him. It made sure that there were great worries about Eilidh's reputation from the very beginning and the solution was just not to tell anybody about the truth, including Lachlan. One can't tell even accidentally what one doesn't know after all.

The sudden and unplanned nature of Lachlan's creation, along with the fact that working under Andredian rule is not a very profitable job to begin with, caused him to begin his journey under a rather subpar living standard compared to much of his environment. Other than that though, Lachlan could grow up in peace and harmony as long as the net of lies spun around him held together. That only started to change as he became older and certain signs started to show. His appearance deviated from that of the region's typical inhabitant and his remaining family enough to make him somewhat suspicious of himself. The Norgardian heritage had messed with him, exposing things that would otherwise have remained buried deep inside. Also another raid occurred which allowed him to see and hear first-hand what those people were truly capable of, presenting him with some possibilities about his own origin he had not yet considered. Were all those stories about his own father still true ? Had the man really just gone missing right after his birth ?

That raid turned out to only be the prelude to a whole offensive which cost many Caelic' lives and made the survivors more attentive and a lot more aggressive towards anything that even remotely looked like it might have something to do with Norgardian culture. It was at this point that the system of lies Lachlan had been contained in started to buckle under both his and outside pressure. He did not know the truth still and only had comparatively remote hints at it, but his mother knew that it would be better to drop the veil. She knew the current political climate would have meant certain death for her half-son should somebody, anybody who might have witnessed something of Lachlan's real past or also just have a decent enough suspicion, release any rumor. Eidith gave him the advice to leave the isles for his own sake and he did so, but not without taking a lot of hatred about certain things with him. It only grew larger once he got to see how differently things can be run in other parts of the world.

One of the major stops showing this was Andred itself, which was pretty much on the route once having left the Isles, but which Lachlan had chosen to go to at some point out of sheer curiosity anyhow because he wanted to see for himself how people lived there. It was shocking in both the positive and the negative sense. Positive because there he could also see that many are not nobles, but normal, hard working people just like many of his own origin. Negative because, really... That militarism, along with the overall concept of 'few people in a fancy castle ruling over many outside of it' probably are the main reasons why Andred seems so adept at ruling over others.

Instead of daring to enter Norgardian territory as the sworn enemy he effectively was, Lachlan originally wanted to visit the Dwemorlocks. That changed however once he learned about how special they were in some ways. Overall, the descriptions given to him felt just a bit too unwelcoming and sinister, so he refrained from pulling through with that plan. Not that he wouldn't be able to understand them if the stories about their distant past are true. So instead, Lachlan ended up in Dre Costa where he joined a small band of men claiming themselves to be 'freelancing mercenaries', but honestly it felt more like the regular protective arm of a quite official group of explorers whose seemingly neverending task was to find new places to go. There is a difference between 'colonization' and 'conquest' and had the Dre Costa not stuck to it, Lachlan would have bailed out again for sure. The way things were however this probably was the best time outside of the Caelic Isles so far, and with dramatically increased mobility effectively given for free along with the regular payment in his job, it was only due to the latter that he was actually able to pick up about the myth of the dagger and its presumed location.

That was when he decided to abandon Dre Costa again, at least for the time being. The Caelic people are either raided by Norgardians or ruled and exploited by Andred nobility, in cases like his own even both coming together. The idea of all the clans finally collaborating to give those two Northern players a bloody request to piss off and not come back has never left him since, but Lachlan lives in the realization that the Caelic Isles are too much of an unsafe place for him right now. The waves might calm down enough for a safe return in the future, but even then it would be more of a dream than any real scenario. Or would it ?


Reason for Travel
Taking the Skirmisher is a case of killing two birds with one stone for him. He needs to get South in order to start his search and just in case all of what he's heard should turn out as utter nonsense -- which might very well be the case --, at least the ship's course is correct for a trip back to the Caelic Isles should he dare. The land route would have been an alternative, but he has deemed it to be the inferior one for being slower and more dangerous. He only has to stay on board the ship, not actually sail it after all...


Motivation/Goal
There are many rumors and legends among legendary artifacts, lost graves and events of the distant path among the Caelic clans. Lachlan has picked up on one of the more credible ones, an enchanted dagger that is said to only reveal its true power to those of the right blood. It's just a fragile hunch of course, but from what he has learned the thing, should it exist, has not worked for any of its previous owners so far and has last been seen somewhere in the South. He knows his blood is rare and no less strange, so maybe it would work for him ? If so, and even if the actual powers are far below what's commonly believed, it could still serve as a token of faith to rally the clans.

Capabilities

Andred rule has failed to stop him from learning at least some of his people's methods and the Norgardians have made sure that he had some opportunity to hone these skills for real. He might fail in an open, expected fight against a well armed and armored adversary, but improvisation, a keen eye for the element of surprise and the death of a thousand needles can remedy that. The wilderness probably is the most favorable area for maintaining stealth, but the occasional theft and intrusion in an urban environment is also something he's not unfamiliar with.

Equipment

None at this point.

Money

0

Languages

Caelic

---

Kings and Killers: A Classical Fantasy Adventure (Chapter 1)

Mushrooms... Why did those people seem to go after them so eagerly ? They didn't taste good, they didn't seem to have that much of a nutritional value, they didn't even glow brightly enough to be suited as a lamp unless one piled up a quantity of them! Fyr damned himself for having been so foolish to believe those stories of open cities, fresh water in the desert and hospitality, but feeling like not even doing anything actually productive was just the small, but painful pinnacle on top of everything.

But what did he know ? Maybe there were even more things around him he just failed to understand or even notice in the first place. Given the steady deterioration of himself he had not failed to notice, Fyr could only look out onto ultimately wasting away inside here. It didn't seem like their 'employers' would be in any serious lack of a cheap replacement for him, given how many 'co-workers' were around here together with him.

Yet, as Fyr's hands separated one shroom from its rocky soil after the other, he could suddenly hear something. A mere whisper only and distorted by ambient noises, but his ears clearly picked up the word 'intruders' and that it was Merrick's voice. That was invigorating news, because nobody would use the term 'intruder' for somebody who had friendly intentions, and hostile intentions towards the guards effectively were friendly intentions towards himself! So Cicero and the others were on their way here ?

Unfortunately, Fyr could not even dare to briefly stop his work and turn his head in order to facilitate his happy eavesdropping further. That likely would just have earned him some sort of punishment.

Also, giving a second thought to it, there was one thing that nagged at the benigity of what he had just witnessed: Why would Merrick openly tell the guards about intruders ? That didn't really fit into Fyr's mind, unless he also added in some sinister thoughts about no longer being able to trust all of the individuals he was together in this pit with. The fact that that quick trip to the latrine obviously was not so much a matter of poop after all got certainly stuck in his memory.

Kings and Killers: A Classical Fantasy Adventure (Chapter 1)

Fyr Harnann

Fyr Harnann

Name: Fyr Harnann
Age: 30
Height: 6'5"
Weight: 285 lbs
Race: Human

Weapons & Equipment:

• A rather large, one-handed axe that is a family heirloom. It has been forged with woodwork in mind and has several runes etched into it.
• Round shield made out of solid Frostwood itself and reinforced with some metal linings at vital points such as the center or the rim.
• Traveling clothes: They are meant to suit several climate zones by means of taking on and off different pieces. TTere are his cloth pants with fur padded inside and a shirt of the same making for standard conditions. In the cold, he can make his shoulders look twice as broad as they already are just by wrapping himself in another, much thicker layer of fur that probably has been a large bear once. And the searing heat of the desert ? Well, he still has his bare skin...
• Large waterskin
• Various small pouches filled with some medicinal herbs and cloth to treat wounds, dried meat and a few silver coins.

Skills:
Wild beasts, timber and rocks do not carry swords, so Fyr has never learned to use weapons himself in a manner specialized against other people. As primitive and worthy of improvement as his 'style' might appear however, years of harsh environmental circumstances, labor and natural inclination from birth have forged him into an intimidating individual who can put a lot of sheer strength and momentum behind whatever move he wants to make -- even if it's not a particularly fast one.

Fyr has been used to live in close contact with the wild nature around him since he's been a young boy. If he can treat wounds of animals, he can also try and treat people's wounds. These Southerners might not have the many mysterious caverns or Frostwoods, but trying to tame or just take over a horse or camel, or maybe to make that venomous scorpion not sting you, or discerning edible plants from the lethal ones, can be just as useful. Reading tracks might give a hint about where to go or not to go as well.


Magic:
The runes on his axe are not just decoration, but are actually a piece of dwarven craftmanship that can act as a catalyst for the wielder to more effectively tap into his or her own body's reserves: Strike harder, run faster, feel less pain and be as relentless to yourself as you are to your environment -- just in case you find yourself lost in a snowstorm, surprised by a wild beast whose cavern you deemed to be a safe shelter for the night or are just confronted with too high a workload. Fyr has not yet mastered the art to the fullest extent however.


Personality:
In spite of his quite intimidating appearance, Fyr can very much be around other people without escalating things into a brawl. He is not fond of killing or even just hurting people, that's not the way he has grown up and was socialized. Comradeship has been an important element of his survival so far, but his very recent experiences with people who, in reality, were slavers who set him up, might have made him a lot more careful for the moment when it comes to gathering new friends. That also points to a more general issue: He is unfamiliar with the environment he currently lives in as gaining knowledge about that has been the whole point of his journey in the first place.

Behind all that brawn there is also brain, but his mind is a not so experienced one. Even though he certainly has the necesssary intelligence, becoming a scientist or even just a moderately good chess player would still be a steep learning curve.

When Fyr's not busy working out in order to keep in shape or doing other things, he can endulge himself in food and drink very much. It will spell disaster on his or his sponsor's coin purse though.


Biography:
Fyr was born in Arnsk, a relatively small settlement in the Ispar mountains that, even by the nation's standards, is in a rather isolated position in terms of geography. Advanced cities where all beings live together in comfort ? Not there. It is bitterly cold for most of the year, no less snowy and the main source of income are the large Frostwood trees and local silver deposits unterground.

These two are professions that, given the circumstances, neither men nor dwarves would be capable of pursuing and living off for long were it not for the sturdy beasts of the region to assist them. Fyr was a caretaker, one of the villagers responsible to tame, train, feed and inspect the more or less large animals that serve as Arnsk's food and additional workforce. The first lession ? Trying not to be eaten. By far not all of them are harmless mammals, some are even used in the town's guard once sufficiently pacified.

Fyr started picking up experience in that matter early on and found his work highly preferable to monotonously hacking away at timber or going underground with those grumpy dwarves -- not that he hadn't to do a lot of that from time to time as well. What he didn't learn there though was which end of the sword was the one to go in his hand and which one to go into his opponent's guts. Arnsk was just remote enough of a location not to have that many opponents in the first place, at least not of the visible kind. His father, one of the foremen in the silver mine, died of a mysterious desease that had been plaguing many of those down there ever since. Fyr was 28 at this point.

Stuck in subsequent melancholy, he thought that now would be a point in time better suited than any else to fulfill the needs of a long-standing tradition in the Harnann family: At least once in a life, every family member should go on some sort of journey that would take him or her far outside the limited bounds of Arnsk, preferably even across Ispar's borders themselves. The idea behind that tradition was founded in the rather open society of the province: see other landscapes, other people, other cultures and push the horizon of your own mind beyond the limits imposed by the snowy mountains and deep forests at home. For Fyr, it seemed to be the perfect attempt to overcome his grief.

What he actually found further South was something very different though. He doesn't like the heat, but even more he dislikes the fact that his naivity and unfamiliarity have made him such an easy prey for slavers to catch. He doesn't even really know where he is right now, but he certainly wants to leave even if that would require a lot of assistance.

Darkwater: The Black Opal City

Do I really want not not not to play the potentially not nonexistant Skayleigh ?

Kings and Killers: A Classical Fantasy Adventure (Chapter 1)

I just noticed that I haven't answered one of the other questions aside from the character sheet yet -- apologies.

I remembered that I've had an eye on this RP as it started four years ago, but back in the day I was even more busy than I am now and could not dare to pick up another RP in the advanced section. This has changed, at least a little, and recently I saw this back up on the top of page one and felt very intrigued -- not many RPs make it past year one, let alone year four. I also saw that @Timemaster joined a while ago and I have played with him together some time ago as well, so I thought it really couldn't hurt to ask :)

And of course I'm just an addict.

Anyway, here's the application sheet. It is, maybe, still a tiny bit WIP, but hope it's good enough for a first evaluation still:

Fyr Harnann

Fyr Harnann

Name: Fyr Harnann
Age: 30
Height: 6'5"
Weight: 285 lbs
Race: Human

Weapons & Equipment:

• A rather large, one-handed axe that is a family heirloom. It has been forged with woodwork in mind and has several runes etched into it.
• Round shield made out of solid Frostwood itself and reinforced with some metal linings at vital points such as the center or the rim.
• Traveling clothes: They are meant to suit several climate zones by means of taking on and off different pieces. TTere are his cloth pants with fur padded inside and a shirt of the same making for standard conditions. In the cold, he can make his shoulders look twice as broad as they already are just by wrapping himself in another, much thicker layer of fur that probably has been a large bear once. And the searing heat of the desert ? Well, he still has his bare skin...
• Large waterskin
• Various small pouches filled with some medicinal herbs and cloth to treat wounds, dried meat and a few silver coins.

Skills:
Wild beasts, timber and rocks do not carry swords, so Fyr has never learned to use weapons himself in a manner specialized against other people. As primitive and worthy of improvement as his 'style' might appear however, years of harsh environmental circumstances, labor and natural inclination from birth have forged him into an intimidating individual who can put a lot of sheer strength and momentum behind whatever move he wants to make -- even if it's not a particularly fast one.

Fyr has been used to live in close contact with the wild nature around him since he's been a young boy. If he can treat wounds of animals, he can also try and treat people's wounds. These Southerners might not have the many mysterious caverns or Frostwoods, but trying to tame or just take over a horse or camel, or maybe to make that venomous scorpion not sting you, or discerning edible plants from the lethal ones, can be just as useful. Reading tracks might give a hint about where to go or not to go as well.


Magic:
The runes on his axe are not just decoration, but are actually a piece of dwarven craftmanship that can act as a catalyst for the wielder to more effectively tap into his or her own body's reserves: Strike harder, run faster, feel less pain and be as relentless to yourself as you are to your environment -- just in case you find yourself lost in a snowstorm, surprised by a wild beast whose cavern you deemed to be a safe shelter for the night or are just confronted with too high a workload. Fyr has not yet mastered the art to the fullest extent however.


Personality:
In spite of his quite intimidating appearance, Fyr can very much be around other people without escalating things into a brawl. He is not fond of killing or even just hurting people, that's not the way he has grown up and was socialized. Comradeship has been an important element of his survival so far, but his very recent experiences with people who, in reality, were slavers who set him up, might have made him a lot more careful for the moment when it comes to gathering new friends. That also points to a more general issue: He is unfamiliar with the environment he currently lives in as gaining knowledge about that has been the whole point of his journey in the first place.

Behind all that brawn there is also brain, but his mind is a not so experienced one. Even though he certainly has the necesssary intelligence, becoming a scientist or even just a moderately good chess player would still be a steep learning curve.

When Fyr's not busy working out in order to keep in shape or doing other things, he can endulge himself in food and drink very much. It will spell disaster on his or his sponsor's coin purse though.


Biography:
Fyr was born in Arnsk, a relatively small settlement in the Ispar mountains that, even by the nation's standards, is in a rather isolated position in terms of geography. Advanced cities where all beings live together in comfort ? Not there. It is bitterly cold for most of the year, no less snowy and the main source of income are the large Frostwood trees and local silver deposits unterground.

These two are professions that, given the circumstances, neither men nor dwarves would be capable of pursuing and living off for long were it not for the sturdy beasts of the region to assist them. Fyr was a caretaker, one of the villagers responsible to tame, train, feed and inspect the more or less large animals that serve as Arnsk's food and additional workforce. The first lession ? Trying not to be eaten. By far not all of them are harmless mammals, some are even used in the town's guard once sufficiently pacified.

Fyr started picking up experience in that matter early on and found his work highly preferable to monotonously hacking away at timber or going underground with those grumpy dwarves -- not that he hadn't to do a lot of that from time to time as well. What he didn't learn there though was which end of the sword was the one to go in his hand and which one to go into his opponent's guts. Arnsk was just remote enough of a location not to have that many opponents in the first place, at least not of the visible kind. His father, one of the foremen in the silver mine, died of a mysterious desease that had been plaguing many of those down there ever since. Fyr was 28 at this point.

Stuck in subsequent melancholy, he thought that now would be a point in time better suited than any else to fulfill the needs of a long-standing tradition in the Harnann family: At least once in a life, every family member should go on some sort of journey that would take him or her far outside the limited bounds of Arnsk, preferably even across Ispar's borders themselves. The idea behind that tradition was founded in the rather open society of the province: see other landscapes, other people, other cultures and push the horizon of your own mind beyond the limits imposed by the snowy mountains and deep forests at home. For Fyr, it seemed to be the perfect attempt to overcome his grief.

What he actually found further South was something very different though. He doesn't like the heat, but even more he dislikes the fact that his naivity and unfamiliarity have made him such an easy prey for slavers to catch. He doesn't even really know where he is right now, but he certainly wants to leave even if that would require a lot of assistance.

Remark: Added missing parts with last edit.

Kings and Killers: A Classical Fantasy Adventure (Chapter 1)

Hello!

I know this might be a bit of a long shot since the RP has started such a long time ago, but I'd like to ask whether it would still be possible for me to prepare an application ?

A Thousand Legends ~ Sundered Veil

"Thank you." The woman in her noble dress appeared shocked, but not extremely frightened. Her house was burning, but a building was replaceable -- especially if one had a lot of coin at one's disposal. What would not be easily replaceable was the emperor or her own family, but the former was too far away and too high up even for her to be more than a rather abstract concern at this point. The latter was an issue though...

"Akira." she said, offering the towering Mokeu her hand. "Whom am I to thank for my rescue ?" Her voice was friendly, but by no means soft and rather determined. Bó suspected her to be indeed of noble origin, even though 'nobility' was something his own background had not exactly told him much about.

"The-one-who's-been-buried-under-burning-rubble if we don't get away from here!" Bó replied, only offering her his true name after having declined shaking hands without a word and giving her a gentle, but no less determined push down the narrow street. Both craned their heads on the lookout for any archers looming above them, but as long as they'd stick to the narrowest of passages they felt comparatively safe from those still.

"Bó... so simple!" Akira sighed. "Finding my father won't be however. He lives in a different quarter." She turned, looking up to Bó in a sincere, but still somewhat charming manner. "Can you help me ?"

Bó weighed his options, but only briefly. He needed to get out of his hellhole anyway, right ? So... And if she was noble, than maybe there'd be even more of a favor to be returned than he already expected! Soon later, they were indeed on their way towards Akira's father's last known location. They only did so on a very complicated, overly long route that nobody with any degree of sanity left would have considered under normal circumstances. Avoid the plaza, at all costs!

Bó even considered using the next access point they could find to descend into the sewer system below where hopefully no attackers would be, but only for a not so long moment. After some serious exchange of views with one another, Akira convinced him that the risk of an arrow to the knee was still preferable to wading through everybody's poo. At least he could argue very much to his own defense that, if one's own society was not advanced enough to have sewers in the first place, any of its members could also hardly know just how much of a mess those really were.