Academic who somehow got conned into working for the Government. Been role-playing both on forums and TTRPGs for close to twenty years at this point. I'm like 99% retired from active RPing on the Guild, but I still like to poke my head onto here once in a while to make sure that I didn't leave the lights on.
@Hexaflagon: Looks good, accepted! Your Hunter's Aspect and Title is "Specter" which grants you the ability to conceal your presence; you do not actually become invisible but humans and even monsters will not notice you until you strike first. You have perfect vision in the darkness and your attacks seem to be able to ignore the hide and armor of lone opponents. You are also able to communicate with the spirits of the recently deceased, though take caution because the spirits often have other things on their mind.
So she is now officially Bruce Willis in a M. Night Shyamalan? Nice. Anyway made the final adjustments and posted her sheet to the Character tab. This macabre world is getting more and more interesting as we all add our own little stories to it.
Delicate, fragile, ethereal, all words that have been used to describe the girl. A wispy and pneumatic state as if a strong gust of wind could easily scatter her into a million indistinct particles. A figure that does not draw eyes to it out of pity, fear or arousal. A ghostly visage that can melt into a crowd with ease. Men do not lust and womenfolk do not envy, a shadow lost in a world of shadows. What caused this can only be guessed upon was it geneticists, illness at birth, a lack of eating, a lack of caring? One can not be sure for certain.
A small and rounded face created out of pale skin akin to a doll. Wispy lips shaped like the petal of a rose are usually placed in a natural blank state; frowns, smiles and smirks do only rarely grace the face as if not to risk ruining a perfect balance that had taken place. Arched eyebrows hang above face giving her an expression of perpetual surprise and wonderment. A nose not much distinguishing in its features, not too big and not too small. In all it a face that is easily forgotten by those that witness it only as a passing fragment.
Large round eyes dominate the face, an appearance that only adds to the innocence, idealistic appearance that she always so easily portrays. The eyes themselves are portrayed as a pale blue like that of the sky on a clear day. They seem to almost radiate a certain understanding, looking into them you see the only sane person in a world slowly losing its mind. Warmth, comfort, understanding, and yet empty as the void, filled with a wrenching nostalgia of something long past. They are a canvas, anything anyone could want could be portrayed upon it.
Her hair is long and thin, tiny rivers of gold that shine in the moon's gentle gaze, causing it to float about her head like a halo. No matter how it is ruffled, brushed, attacked, it always ends up in the same neutral state falling gently below her shoulders.
To encapsulate this wispy ideal is a small and unassuming voice, a voice easily lost in the low roar of a crowd.
To be a frail thing made up of a single sliver of dark is to be born of fear. In a unforgiving city where nobody not parents, friends, strangers, or anyone cares about a small mote of dark. Where most social interactions were with people that hated her -like her parents- or people that wanted her stuff - every other person she met- there was no reason to really trust anybody. But fear is an old thing. Fear has been around since the first man looked up at the dark, but fear is what makes us strong. For there was only dark so we created the first flame.
To those that would want to take advantage of her unassuming figure would face this primal side. An innate and naturally strong survival instinct prevails in the end. To live as long as she did on the streets of Penumbra was no small feat. You learned to be observant and quick on your feet or you died. You knew the basics of reading a face and your questions were always tactful and placed with great care. To say the right words to the wrong people was a quick way to your death.
This observant nature comes off as odd at times. From her syntax to her implicit placement of emphases her sentences always have the air of a question. This confuses some who wonder if she is unsure of them or unsure of herself; her phrasing reminiscent of a thinly veiled interrogation with a confused interrogator. But the small presence of her own voice makes it an easily forgettable tangent of the self that only the keenly tuned would hear.
A general lack of desire to be the center of attention or to vocally lead a conversation leads her to be very much in a submissive standpoint. She will take most threats, insults and other comments thrown at her without barking back. In times of discussion and argument she can easily be silenced with the rising of a voice or a stern gaze as a frequently kicked dog knows when it is time to back off. Push the dog too far and it will bite back though and little creatures sometimes have dangerous bites.
Though some observe claim to see a different Caite. The first man afraid of the dark and striking away at anything that came close. A monster, something that could kill as easily as an ordinary man breaths. To talk of Caite about this is to receive a mumble about something or another that is easily swallowed up before you can make heads or tails of it.
Backstory: Those born of under the Sigil of the Hunter are destined to repeat the cycle of their predecessors. While minor details change in one way or another they all fall to the dark somehow. Caite was no different than any that came before her. It was upon a dreadfully hot day where the air could be sheared with a knife that the girl was born in the Port District of Penumbra. Like many that were born there her parents were immigrants coming to the city to seek their fortune only to be caste aside finding work where they could as longshoremen. The youngest of five children in a family that was struggling to put food upon the table as it was their so called "cursed" child was a burden they just couldn't handle. So at four years old during a trip to the market her parents left her at a toy makers stall to never come back. Caite while understanding the cause of these actions still to this day can not forgive her parents for not even saying goodbye.
The first few years were some of the easier ones on the streets. The bigger more experienced kids always look for younger kids to tag along with them because they made good distractions. So for a while things were easy in retrospect, there were kids that wanted her to be part of their groups and many hands made quick work. She could at least expect a meal or two a day stolen from the market stalls and maybe something extra if one of the bigger kids managed to swipe something. Together they slept in small hovels by the docks and other hole in the wall type places that only the big groups of kids could defend from others and henceforth use. That and having friendly faces to talk to and have a sense of normalcy was something that most took for granted.
But as she aged things started to go downhill. She lost her standing among the bigger groups of orphans as it was found the she wasn't that best at the whole idea of being a petty thief/ child vagabond. While not terrible she just did not have any particularly shining achievements or skills and in survival you did not look for mediocrity. So she was left at the bottom of the food chain so to speak. She was forced to fight over the scraps left over by the other bigger scavengers usually among the rats, where she once lived in warm, rot filled communes with other children she was know fighting against others left behind like herself for dark alleyways that got little foot traffic so the monsters of the night did not take advantage of her. Many sleepless nights resulted as Caite was forced to look into the surrounding dark and ponder what was watching her, waiting for her to slip up.
It was around this time that the voices started. At first they were quiet like faint whispers upon the wind, whispering of secrets beyond the veil of human knowledge. But as she aged they grew in magnitude as her mind expanded. They spoke of dark and depraved things of mankind's greatest hopes and worst fears, they spoke of self-doubt telling her that world only wanted her dead. In a way the fear that she was born with had taken its own form as a monster. Their intensity grew when she was threatened or put into a dangerous situation speaking of violence, madness and blood-lust unlocking hidden facets kept in check by mental depreciation. She became a avatar of death, a bringer of slaughter, a monster of her own variety. One minute a man would be threatening her with a knife and she would wake up from a lucid twilight with the same knife clutched in her hands and driven through the man's neck. Such acts appeased the voices and they grew proud of her and the warmth they brought also brought peace. It was in falling to these primal instincts in how she survived from the ages of ten to fifteen.
Sometime in her fifteenth year was when she met Socks. Socks was an old man who the urchin children of the port district almost as if he was some kind of patron saint. He worked out of an old doctor's office that had been longed since abandoned, here he provided beds and aide to any and all children that came to him. All the kids knew to come to him at least once a day for their guaranteed free meal. Caite met Socks in person after she was caught stealing a loaf of bread from a market stall after having not eaten for more than a week. As punishment for thievery she was expected to receive the customary twenty lashes.
Twenty lashes later and she was left beaten, starving and bleeding on a cold cobblestone street. Socks' had happened to see the public punishment take place and after the crowd left quickly went and retrieved the girl. For the first time in years she awoke cradled in a warm blanket and with a pillow beneath her head. Socks' had taken her in and applied ointment to her wounds saving her life from what could've been a deadly infection if left open. Indebted to the old man she started to help him gathering things he could no longer in his aged state herbs, cloth, etc.
It was during this time that Socks learned of Caite's birthmark and the mysterious voices that plagued her. Socks was an interesting man, very well read, understanding, fond of quoting literature, and he had understanding in arts and things that most humans knew nothing of. He was a enigma that Caite would often ponder about in the future. But none the less he helped the girl come to terms with her own demons to a degree. Through mental understanding she was able to drone out their words when she did not want to hear them, and to attune to them when they did. This understanding of her own soul providing her with a balance that her life for a long time had lacked. No longer was she a beast running on primal urges but a human once more. She no longer had the urge to kill or to harm others, she found empathy once more in small tiny fragments. Though in flight or fight responses her own mental fortitude weakens as the monster is let loose once more.
At the age of nineteen after spending some years under the tutelage of Socks' when she returned back from her normal supply run Socks' was no where to be seen. In fact the entire office had been emptied as if nobody had ever lived their for all those years. Dust and old books scattered the floors and things looked as abandoned as always. The only remnant of the man was a simple note written in clean handwriting. It explained that Caite had learned all that Socks could of taught her, that he would always be proud of her, and then it listed an address and a name somewhere in Penumbra. It all ended on the note that it was now time for her to choose her own fate.
Finding the address it turned out to be one of the many dwellings of the Hunters. Knocking upon the door a man in his forties with aging grey hair answered the door. Caite explained her situation and showed her birthmark to the man. She had finally found her most recent and permanent home. Though the man did find her story strange if mostly because of Socks' himself. There had once been a man among them that the hunters jokingly referred to as Socks but he had died protecting several street urchins from a beast. Whoever or whatever Socks was he had done something important he had instilled hope inside Caite and it was that hope that allowed her to prosper on through the dark.
Aspect of the Hunter: Specter - Caite's aspect gives her the ability to "vanish from sight" while this is not your normal invisibility -she does not actually vanish- but humans and monsters will not notice her until she attacks. This aspect naturally suited to sulking and sneaking also gives Caite the ability to have what some would describe as perfect nigh vision and natural affinity towards the tearing apart of singular opponents. Though some would say the oddest skill she had been bestowed was the ability to communicate with the recently deceased spirit. While these shades are sometimes helpful it is a skill that is used with much caution as for every good person there are hundreds of corrupted spirits that want nothing more than to be alive again.
Strength – B
Vitality – D
Skill – C
Knowledge – A
Bloodlust – C
Darkness – A
Skills: - The surprising ability to go from an unassuming girl to a deadly death machine when threaten. - While very good at the thinking four steps ahead of her opponent if that opponent happens to catch up she runs into roadblocks very quickly. - Due to her prior tutelage she has a very strong grasp of her own mind and the minds of others, almost like she can hear the darkness ticking inside of people but this attunement also makes her highly open to the effects of such things.
Inventory: Faux: What simply looks like a very big sword is in fact a pretty complicated big sword. When used as a two handed weapon the large metal sheath of said weapon allows it to be used as an over sized sharpened bludgeoning instrument. If you pulled the weapon from its sheath you get a more precise sword with the sheath now being able to be used as a shield of sort in the off hand.
Split Blade: This backup weapon is used primarily against faster opponents. A simple short blade at first glance, activating the trigger mechanism splits it into a simple dagger and single shot pistol combo.
So this idea intrigued me greatly, so I figured I had to give a CS a shot.
"As flame rises, so does it fade.."
Name: Caite Dunwich
Title: Concentrate and ask again later.
Age: 26 Sex: Female
Delicate, fragile, ethereal, all words that have been used to describe the girl. A wispy and pneumatic state as if a strong gust of wind could easily scatter her into a million indistinct particles. A figure that does not draw eyes to it out of pity, fear or arousal. A ghostly visage that can melt into a crowd with ease. Men do not lust and womenfolk do not envy, a shadow lost in a world of shadows. What caused this can only be guessed upon was it geneticists, illness at birth, a lack of eating, a lack of caring? One can not be sure for certain.
A small and rounded face created out of pale skin akin to a doll. Wispy lips shaped like the petal of a rose are usually placed in a natural blank state; frowns, smiles and smirks do only rarely grace the face as if not to risk ruining a perfect balance that had taken place. Arched eyebrows hang above face giving her an expression of perpetual surprise and wonderment. A nose not much distinguishing in its features, not too big and not too small. In all it a face that is easily forgotten by those that witness it only as a passing fragment.
Large round eyes dominate the face, an appearance that only adds to the innocence, idealistic appearance that she always so easily portrays. The eyes themselves are portrayed as a pale blue like that of the sky on a clear day. They seem to almost radiate a certain understanding, looking into them you see the only sane person in a world slowly losing its mind. Warmth, comfort, understanding, and yet empty as the void, filled with a wrenching nostalgia of something long past. They are a canvas, anything anyone could want could be portrayed upon it.
Her hair is long and thin, tiny rivers of gold that shine in the moon's gentle gaze, causing it to float about her head like a halo. No matter how it is ruffled, brushed, attacked, it always ends up in the same neutral state falling gently below her shoulders.
To encapsulate this wispy ideal is a small and unassuming voice, a voice easily lost in the low roar of a crowd.
To be a frail thing made up of a single sliver of dark is to be born of fear. In a unforgiving city where nobody not parents, friends, strangers, or anyone cares about a small mote of dark. Where most social interactions were with people that hated her -like her parents- or people that wanted her stuff - every other person she met- there was no reason to really trust anybody. But fear is an old thing. Fear has been around since the first man looked up at the dark, but fear is what makes us strong. For there was only dark so we created the first flame.
To those that would want to take advantage of her unassuming figure would face this primal side. An innate and naturally strong survival instinct prevails in the end. To live as long as she did on the streets of Penumbra was no small feat. You learned to be observant and quick on your feet or you died. You knew the basics of reading a face and your questions were always tactful and placed with great care. To say the right words to the wrong people was a quick way to your death.
This observant nature comes off as odd at times. From her syntax to her implicit placement of emphases her sentences always have the air of a question. This confuses some who wonder if she is unsure of them or unsure of herself; her phrasing reminiscent of a thinly veiled interrogation with a confused interrogator. But the small presence of her own voice makes it an easily forgettable tangent of the self that only the keenly tuned would hear.
A general lack of desire to be the center of attention or to vocally lead a conversation leads her to be very much in a submissive standpoint. She will take most threats, insults and other comments thrown at her without barking back. In times of discussion and argument she can easily be silenced with the rising of a voice or a stern gaze as a frequently kicked dog knows when it is time to back off. Push the dog too far and it will bite back though and little creatures sometimes have dangerous bites.
Though some observe claim to see a different Caite. The first man afraid of the dark and striking away at anything that came close. A monster, something that could kill as easily as an ordinary man breaths. To talk of Caite about this is to receive a mumble about something or another that is easily swallowed up before you can make heads or tails of it.
Backstory: Those born of under the Sigil of the Hunter are destined to repeat the cycle of their predecessors. While minor details change in one way or another they all fall to the dark somehow. Caite was no different than any that came before her. It was upon a dreadfully hot day where the air could be sheared with a knife that the girl was born in the Port District of Penumbra. Like many that were born there her parents were immigrants coming to the city to seek their fortune only to be caste aside finding work where they could as longshoremen. The youngest of five children in a family that was struggling to put food upon the table as it was their so called "cursed" child was a burden they just couldn't handle. So at four years old during a trip to the market her parents left her at a toy makers stall to never come back. Caite while understanding the cause of these actions still to this day can not forgive her parents for not even saying goodbye.
The first few years were some of the easier ones on the streets. The bigger more experienced kids always look for younger kids to tag along with them because they made good distractions. So for a while things were easy in retrospect, there were kids that wanted her to be part of their groups and many hands made quick work. She could at least expect a meal or two a day stolen from the market stalls and maybe something extra if one of the bigger kids managed to swipe something. Together they slept in small hovels by the docks and other hole in the wall type places that only the big groups of kids could defend from others and henceforth use. That and having friendly faces to talk to and have a sense of normalcy was something that most took for granted.
But as she aged things started to go downhill. She lost her standing among the bigger groups of orphans as it was found the she wasn't that best at the whole idea of being a petty thief/ child vagabond. While not terrible she just did not have any particularly shining achievements or skills and in survival you did not look for mediocrity. So she was left at the bottom of the food chain so to speak. She was forced to fight over the scraps left over by the other bigger scavengers usually among the rats, where she once lived in warm, rot filled communes with other children she was know fighting against others left behind like herself for dark alleyways that got little foot traffic so the monsters of the night did not take advantage of her. Many sleepless nights resulted as Caite was forced to look into the surrounding dark and ponder what was watching her, waiting for her to slip up.
It was around this time that the voices started. At first they were quiet like faint whispers upon the wind, whispering of secretes beyond the veil of human knowledge. But as she aged they grew in magnitude as her mind expanded. They spoke of dark and depraved things of mankind's greatest hopes and worst fears, they spoke of self-doubt telling her that world only wanted her dead. In a way the fear that she was born with had taken its own form as a monster. Their intensity grew when she was threatened or put into a dangerous situation speaking of violence, madness and blood-lust unlocking hidden facets kept in check by mental depreciation. She became a avatar of death, a bringer of slaughter, a monster of her own variety. One minute a man would be threatening her with a knife and she would wake up from a lucid twilight with the same knife clutched in her hands and driven through the man's neck. Such acts appeased the voices and they grew proud of her and the warmth they brought also brought peace. It was in falling to these primal instincts in how she survived from the ages of ten to fifteen.
Sometime in her fifteenth year was when she met Socks. Socks was an old man who the urchin children of the port district almost as if he was some kind of patron saint. He worked out of an old doctor's office that had been longed since abandoned, here he provided beds and aide to any and all children that came to him. All the kids knew to come to him at least once a day for their guaranteed free meal. Caite met Socks in person after she was caught stealing a loaf of bread from a market stall after having not eaten for more than a week. As punishment for thievery she was expected to receive the customary twenty lashes.
Twenty lashes later and she was left beaten, starving and bleeding on a cold cobblestone street. Socks' had happened to see the public punishment take place and after the crowd left quickly went and retrieved the girl. For the first time in years she awoke cradled in a warm blanket and with a pillow beneath her head. Socks' had taken her in and applied ointment to her wounds saving her life from what could've been a deadly infection if left open. Indebted to the old man she started to help him gathering things he could no longer in his aged state herbs, cloth, etc.
It was during this time that Socks learned of Caite's birthmark and the mysterious voices that plagued her. Socks was an interesting man, very well read, understanding, fond of quoting literature, and he had understanding in arts and things that most humans knew nothing of. He was a enigma that Caite would often ponder about in the future. But none the less he helped the girl come to terms with her own demons to a degree. Through mental understanding she was able to drone out their words when she did not want to hear them, and to attune to them when they did. This understanding of her own soul providing her with a balance that her life for a long time had lacked. No longer was she a beast running on primal urges but a human once more. She no longer had the urge to kill or to harm others, she found empathy once more in small tiny fragments. Though in flight or fight responses her own mental fortitude weakens as the monster is let loose once more.
At the age of nineteen after spending some years under the tutelage of Socks' when she returned back from her normal supply run Socks' was no where to be seen. In fact the entire office had been emptied as if nobody had ever lived their for all those years. Dust and old books scattered the floors and things looked as abandoned as always. The only remnant of the man was a simple note written in clean handwriting. It explained that Caite had learned all that Socks could of taught her, that he would always be proud of he, and then it listed an address and a name somewhere in Penumbra. It all ended on the note that it was now time for her to choose her own fate.
Finding the address it turned out to be one of the many dwellings of the Hunters. Knocking upon the door a man in his forties with aging grey hair answered the door. Caite explained her situation and showed her birthmark to the man. She had finally found her most recent and permanent home. Though the man did find her story strange if mostly because of Socks' himself. There had once been a man among them that the hunters jokingly referred to as Socks but he had died protecting several street urchins from a beast. Whoever or whatever Socks was he had done something important he had instilled hope inside Caite and it was that hope that allowed her to prosper on through the dark.
Aspect of the Hunter: To be determined.
Strength – B
Vitality – D
Skill – C
Knowledge – A
Bloodlust – C
Darkness – A
Skills: - The surprising ability to go from an unassuming girl to a deadly death machine when threaten. - While very good at the thinking four steps ahead of her opponent if that opponent happens to catch up she runs into roadblocks very quickly. - Due to her prior tutelage she has a very strong grasp of her own mind and the minds of others, almost like she can hear the darkness ticking inside of people but this attunement also makes her highly open to the effects of such things.
Inventory: Faux: What simply looks like a very big sword is in fact a pretty complicated big sword. When used as a two handed weapon the large metal sheath of said weapon allows it to be used as an over sized sharpened bludgeoning instrument. If you pulled the weapon from its sheath you get a more precise sword with the sheath now being able to be used as a shield of sort in the off hand.
Split Blade: This backup weapon is used primarily against faster opponents. A simple short blade at first glance, activating the trigger mechanism splits it into a simple dagger and single shot pistol combo.
Yeah, I don't know why I came here tonight I got the feeling that something ain't right I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair, And I'm wondering how I'll get down those stairs
Clowns to left of me, jokers to the right, Here I am, stuck in the middle with you Yes, I'm stuck in the middle with you Stuck in the middle with you Here I am, stuck in the middle with you
Well, terrible things seem to be afoot. Things can only get better right? No? They are only going to get worse? Oh, guess this is gonna suck for everybody then. lol But yay nice intro!
[center][img]https://media3.giphy.com/media/v1.Y2lkPTc5MGI3NjExamE0ZDl0dTlzcm9peXR2OTN0ZjE4cmdoZGc0NjAyd3pjbzZqZmt1eiZlcD12MV9pbnRlcm5hbF9naWZfYnlfaWQmY3Q9Zw/PlEqIvCQj2TLy/giphy.gif[/img][/center]
[u][i][b]Hexaflexagon (Concept)[/b][/i][/u]
[quote][sub][url=https://maa.org/sites/default/files/pdf/pubs/focus/Gardner_Hexaflexagons12_1956.pdf]In geometry, flexagons are flat models, usually constructed by folding strips of paper, that can be flexed or folded in certain ways to reveal faces besides the two that were originally on the back and front.[/url][/sub][/quote]
[u][i][b]Hexaflexagon (Person?)[/b][/i][/u]
[quote][sub]Academic who somehow got conned into working for the Government. Been role-playing both on forums and TTRPGs for close to twenty years at this point. I'm like 99% retired from active RPing on the Guild, but I still like to poke my head onto here once in a while to make sure that I didn't leave the lights on.[/sub][/quote]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media3.giphy.com/media/v1.Y2lkPTc5MGI3NjExamE0ZDl0dTlzcm9peXR2OTN0ZjE4cmdoZGc0NjAyd3pjbzZqZmt1eiZlcD12MV9pbnRlcm5hbF9naWZfYnlfaWQmY3Q9Zw/PlEqIvCQj2TLy/giphy.gif" /></div><br><br><span class="bb-u"><span class="bb-i"><span class="bb-b">Hexaflexagon (Concept)</span></span></span><br><blockquote class="bb-quote"><sub><a target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener" href="https://maa.org/sites/default/files/pdf/pubs/focus/Gardner_Hexaflexagons12_1956.pdf">In geometry, flexagons are flat models, usually constructed by folding strips of paper, that can be flexed or folded in certain ways to reveal faces besides the two that were originally on the back and front.</a></sub></blockquote><br><br><span class="bb-u"><span class="bb-i"><span class="bb-b">Hexaflexagon (Person?)</span></span></span><br><blockquote class="bb-quote"><sub>Academic who somehow got conned into working for the Government. Been role-playing both on forums and TTRPGs for close to twenty years at this point. I'm like 99% retired from active RPing on the Guild, but I still like to poke my head onto here once in a while to make sure that I didn't leave the lights on.</sub></blockquote></div>
mickilennial,
Alisdragon911,
Rockette,
Lemons,
DocTachyon,
Captain Uni,
vietmyke
