Flagg

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Thulese, I believe is actually the proper usage.

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You're welcome! Also, your ridiculous band of brigands and their posturing queen will be crushed beneath our iron tread.

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Over-Tyrant is a fantastically silly title. I really enjoy it.

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@Flagg The Witch King is acceptable! Don't see anything that strikes me as off or that could be better. I look forward to seeing him in action.

I'll be working on my own character sometime tonight. Though as painfully aware as I am of the pitfalls surround DMPCs, he'll mostly be a walking plot coupon for other characters.

@Dead Cruiser

Great, looking forward to seeing your character and getting started!

@Kingfisher: Can our characters please fight? :)

@all: happy to work out possible history between my character and others.

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@Flagg I'll reserve formal judgement of your character until he is complete, but I will say this much: first, I would prefer art over photographs (and I'm willing to help track down a suitable picture if need be), and second be mindful of the timeline, as Thule had already collapsed by the time Othman was born. You wouldn't consider, perhaps, making him out to be the leader of some auxiliary force on Atlantis, perhaps? Just a thought.

@Dead Cruiser I got rid of the picture, no problem. I'm just gonna stick with a written description I'll add later.

As for the timeline/geography, correct me if I'm wrong, but I understood the Iron Kingdoms as not being equivalent to Thule. Like, there was Thule that broke away from Atlantis, but a bunch of other petty kingdoms up there too. Regardless, I'll change the history a bit and make him affiliated with Atlantis and also scale down his holdings a bit, cause on second look I made it seem like he has a whole kingdom when he really has a big ass castle and some farms.

UPDATE: My CS is complete and ready to be reviewed. Excuse the poor writing and general shittiness, CSes are never my strong suit. Still waiting to find out what is my strong suit, but that's a whole other thing

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The Witch King

Name: Othman Dratha, the Witch King, Lord of Iron

Age: 57

Gender: M

Appearance: A tall, thin man of pale complexion, with angular features heavily scarred. His left eye is missing, the mangled socket is usually covered with a patch and his dark hair is greying at the temples. Dratha usually wears simple steel chest plate and armor, over which he wears a black, cowled cloak.

Personality: A hard drinking man with a wry sense of humor, Dratha is a rather cool and unflappable character. He has the rare gift of a great commander: to demand fear and respect from his men, without seeming haughty, unrelatable or aloof. Years of warfare against the barbarians has deepened a native ruthless streak in him, but towards his own people he tries to be temperate and just, though a strict disciplinarian. In recent years, he has grown increasingly grim and strange, prone to trances and fits and talking to himself in alien tongues. There are whispers among the ranks that tampering with magic has made him slightly unhinged.

History

He was born to rice farmers, in what remained of the Empire of Atlantis, at the place where the desert meets the mountains. At ten he was dragooned into the legions- at this point little more than privateers serving under Atlantaen warlords. At fifteen he had made a name for himself as a warrior and a commander, even as the legion he served devolved and fractured. At twenty he was second in command of what was left of his army, a ragged band of bandits and desperadoes, with nowhere left to run, making a living by raiding barbarian and beastmen camps. It was then his destiny changed.

His company was ambushed by beastkin in a high pass among the Wolves' Teeth. The fighting was fierce, and he cut down many of the mutant hordes, but there was no hope. Slashed across the face by a poisoned blade, half blinded and dying, he abandoned his men, taking refuge in the ruins of an ancient tomb hidden among the sandstone spires of the pass. It was there he found the Book, resting in the clutches of skeletal corpse of some ancient, nameless priest.

He could not read the ancient tongue, and yet the Book spoke to him, told him secrets, gave him hope. More than mere mortals feared the beastkin and the dark gods they served, said the Book. The northmen and their gods were not the only ones who knew of the ancient Art. evil can with evil be expelled...

He emerged from the tomb, haggard and alone but filled with new life. What beastkin came forth to oppose him he slew, and slowly he gathered to himself the remnants of his lost army, and the remnants of many lost and desperate peoples, including flame-haired Hyperboreans left reeling from the Nameless Warlord's whirlwind advance out of Lemuria.

His life since has been one of near constant warfare, attempting to forge a new people and give to them the goods of a settled and secure life, the type of life he barely remembers from his youth, while fending off hordes of barbarians, beastkin and bandits. To that end, he has forged his Iron Legions from refugees of all nations, modeling his armies on those of great and ancient peoples, as the Book has taught him.

His citadel is called Sepulchrave, a fortification high in the Wolves' Teeth mountains. It is in the highlands he has set up his kingdom, such as it is: villages huddled around re-conquered, crumbling Atlantean forts and terrace-farms hidden away in inaccessible valleys.

His wars with the barbarians and mutants have been savage. Every invasion he has countered gives birth to a new enemy. And yet the Witch-King and his Iron Legions endure.

He has gained a reputation among the Northmen, steppe-hordes and his fellow warlords as a dangerous enemy, a skilled commander of a disciplined army, and wielder of ancient and ghastly magickes, hence his moniker. Of course, for the blood thirsty nordlings, he is everything they want in an enemy.

Journey: Dratha's primary goal is to survive, to weather the storm, to provide his people with something of security and peace, and to honor his venerated Atlantean ancestors, who forged the greatest society yet known to the world. It is for these goals he first used the secrets of the Book, but he has become increasingly obsessed over the years with magic and history, amassing an impressive library in his Citadel through trade and the plunder of ruins. When not on campaign he spends hours pouring over scrolls of ancients sorcerers and kings, and of course in contemplation of the Book.

Ideals: In a world of chaos and death, Dratha prizes Order, Discipline, Justice, and Piety to the Ancestors, and is trying to build a new state based on all three. He is also more and more interested mastery of the arcane, the High Art of the ancient wizards and the immortality promised by the Book.

Holdings:

The Citadel of Sepulchrave, an ancient fortress of grey stone nestled high in the Wolves' Teeth mountains, as well as several outlying forts and farming villages tucked into valleys and passes.

The Iron Legion, a mongrel force of a few thousand heavy infantry famed for their discipline and loyalty.

The Library: As the Witch King has grown increasingly interested in matters obscure and hidden, he has amassed a patchwork library in his citadel of books and scrolls of philosophy, theology, history and arcana.

The Book: an ancient tome, not particularly thick, bound in crumbling leather and written in a tongue long lost to time. The Witch King carries it with him where ever he goes, usually in a harness underneath his armor.

Dagoth: the Witch King's sword, forged by his own hands and infused with spells and secrets learned from the Book.

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

“goule”: Goules. Goul, or ghul in Arabic, signifies any terrifying object, which deprives people of the use of their senses. Hence it became the appellative of that species of monsters which was supposed to haunt forests, cemeteries, and other lonely places; and believed not only to tear in pieces the living, but to dig up and devour the dead
A New Dictionary of the English Language, 1832

The office was small, a cozy, book-lined room dimly lit and tastefully appointed. The arched windows gave a panoramic view of the Financial District, the skyscrapers blazing in the gathering dusk. Behind the grand mahogany desk hung a large renaissance piece depicting the titan Cronus devouring his son. Beneath the painting, perched comfortably in a leather arm chair and wearing a crimson smoking jacket of exquisite silk and velvet, Kurtz was reading. The book was thick, bound in crumbling letter, and the words on the cover written in a language no longer spoken.

A discrete knock on the door. Armand stepped in.

"Yes?" asked Kurtz, removing his spectacles and setting his tome down on the desk.

"A representative of Lady Maharet to see you, sir."

Kurtz raised an eyebrow and stood, removing his smoking jacket and slipping into his blazer.

"More vampires." he said with slight sigh, "Send them in, Armand."

The vampire was no Nyte King, at least. Handsome, well (if rather archaically) dressed in blacks and reds, he carried himself in the superior, louche manner that marked out all of the Lady's playthings and puppets.

"Welcome," said Kurtz, flashing his wide, white smile and gesturing for his guest to sit, "Always a pleasure to entertain associates of our friend the Lady Maharet."

"You're brave, to speak her name like an equal," said the vampire, pausing to give Kurtz an appraising gaze. "You're a curious one, aren't you? Don't smell quite human to me...I wonder what you'd taste like."

Kurtz sat behind his desk, hands steepled in front of him. His smile shrank into a smirk, but he did not reply. The room was silent for a long moment before the vampire spoke again.

"My Lady requests the pleasure of your company, she has some business to discuss."

"My colleagues in Romania are working on acquiring the Bellini portrait, which I am informed can be shipped here within the year. The price," said Kurtz, "...is still not up for negotiation."

The vampire chuckled, "No, no, this isn't about her art collection. My Lady thinks you can be useful to us in another way."

"What could be beyond her vassals and thralls?"

"She wishes to tell you in person."

"I will go see her, then." said Kurtz, "She clearly means business, to offer such a delicious retainer for the job."

The vampire look puzzled, "Retainer? She has not offered any payment yet."

Kurtz laughed, loud and disconcerting, and the vampire shrank back as he noticed Kurtz begin to change. "You clearly don't know your Master like she knows me. You're the down payment."

-

When Armand entered the office an hour later, he found his employer sitting cross-legged on the carpet, sucking the marrow from a bone and grinning. The room, like Kurtz himself, was spattered with blood, viscera, and splinters of bone. Intestines coiled over the desk and furniture like grotesque streamers, and the ragged remains of the vampire's suit lay piled in the corner, with a fanged skull sitting on top like a paper weight, picked clean of flesh.

"Armand," said Kurtz, standing. His clothing was torn and soaked in blood, his face scratched badly down the middle. Neither he nor Armand seemed to mind or even notice. "Call the Rouge, let them know I'll be over tonight to discuss details and terms. And tell them to thank Maharet for the meal."

"Of course sir."

"Then have my office cleaned up."

Star Wars: Coruscant Underworld [Always accepting!]

WIP

Name Uvirith Drakul and GX-70
Species Cyborg/Human and Assassin Droid
Gender Male and Male-Simulation
Age 50 and unknown
Occupation Bounty Hunters in the Imperial Service, secretly rebel operatives

Apparel

Drakul: dark, cowled robes overlaying customized plastoid armor.

Weapons

Drakul: DL-44 Heavy Blaster, SoroSuub ELG-3A blaster pistol (holdout weapon)

GX-70: DXR-6 disruptor rifle, Czerka Adventurer sniper rifle, arm-mounted vibro-blade.

Equipment

Drakul: Arm-mounted repulsorcam

GX-70: Fusion cutter

Skills

Drakul:

Good with a blaster

Force sensitive, which explains his lucky streak

Skilled negotiator

Skilled spy

GX-70:

Effective at close, medium and long range murder

Flaws

Drakul:

Alcoholic

Arrogant

GX-70:

Psychotic tendencies: Gex is somewhat addled by heavy modification over several decades, and can be unpredictably violent.

Arrogant

Personality

It was only midway through the daylight cycle down here but he had already made it through one bottle of fungus-wine, and GX-70 (Gex to his friends) was annoyed, or simulating annoyed, depending on the view you take of droid sentience.

“Honestly,” the robot hissed at him in that prim, Coruscant-upper-crust accent that protocol droids came pre-packaged with, “You've not even been awake three hours.”

To be clear, Gex was no protocol droid. Actually, his original make and model was not completely clear- not even to him, so extensive had been the modifications over the years. Whatever he was, he'd been designed to kill, and decades of mods had only served to make him more efficient at it. They had also given him a rather strange sense of humor- which explained the voice modulator. He had ripped from an unsuspecting protocol droid and installed in himself. He preferred the diction, he said.

The man to whom Gex was hissing just shrugged. “You'd drink too if you could. Look at this shithole.”

He gestured lazily at the scene outside the greasy window of the bar. Trash-strewn alleys, beggars, thugs and addicts, storefronts shuttered behind metal grating, everything bathed in a sickly dim yellow, the color of piss after a night of boozing.

Gex approximated a shrug, not bothering to direct its optics at the window. “I lack much in the way of aesthetic sensibility. The threat assessors and hazard-drives tend to focus one's mind on the mundane.”

“Lucky you,” said the man. He was pretty droidlike himself- left eye was a round, red bionic, and neuro-tracery weaved back into his temple. His left arm too was cybernetic, fingers clinking as he drummed them on the metal table. The fleshier bits of him were pale and gaunt and did not lack for scars. His single human eye was bright green, and glittered underneath a head of black hair turning gray.

“Our contact is late. She was to meet us-”

“Twenty four seconds ago, by your chronometer,” said the man, “Yeah, yeah. Cool your processor, she'll show.”

Goals -

Backstory - (How they ended up in 3030, etc)

[Advanced] The Fall of an Empire: Space Opera NRP

@all:

Important announcement- real life issues have just come up in a big way. I'm not sure that I will be able to devote the time and energy necessary here to be a successful GM. If anyone would like to take over this RP, please let me know, you're more than welcome to it. I'll be more than happy to help get things started with this, but I just can no longer GM properly.

My apologies to everyone involved, I had thought I would have sufficient time for this, but circumstances have changed for me (not in a bad way).

[Advanced] The Fall of an Empire: Space Opera NRP

@gorgenmast, @durandal, @FacePunch

Reviewed and accepted! Please mark your NSes accordingly.

@everyone else, I'm just working my way up from the bottom of the faction tab, I will review your factions tomorrow, but everything so far looks pretty good.