Lord ZeeLove those games.
Ah. Was wondering if you drew inspiration from it, or if anyone else was drawn here because of that series.
Kalmar
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Ah. Was wondering if you drew inspiration from it, or if anyone else was drawn here because of that series.
Would love to join this. I'll try to get a bio up at some point.
On a side note, has anyone here played a game called Sabres of Infinity?
On a side note, has anyone here played a game called Sabres of Infinity?
Hey, sorry I haven't done any posting. I've just been really busy this past month. I haven't forgotten this RP, though.
I'm not familiar with piratepad.
The Blacks do indeed have some business with Dalton Greyjoy, upcoming, think you'll be available for a collab at some point?
Yeah sure.
I guess you could say that the Ironborn...
Slides on shades
...will soon get Kraken.
Slides on shades
...will soon get Kraken.
Dalton Greyjoy
"My Lord. A message from the blacks."
Those were the words that greeted Dalton when he returned to his family's ancestral seat of Pyke - a once mighty castle that had eroded into a collection of towers connected by rope bridges. They had a tendency to sway violently in storms or strong winds, and it was not unheard of for a thrall or warrior to slip or be blown to their doom. Back from another dull day of inspecting ships and overseeing the training of warriors, he had initially worn a bored expression on his face... but news from the east peaked his interest.
Dalton snatched the message from Doric's hands, and immediately begun reading.
Then, he threw back his head and laughed.
"My lord?" Doric ventured nervously, as the nearby guards inclined their heads in confusion or interest.
"It is as I said!" Dalton exclaimed when his laughter died down, a smile on his face.
"There's another message, my lord. From the greens." Dalton wasted no time in snatching that one and reading it as well. His smile did not fade, but he looked from letter to letter, an eyebrow raised.
Finally, Dalton spoke. "Prepare a meeting. You, the Drowned Man, my brother, and my best captains."
...
A little less than an hour later, they were assembled. Seated at a table in Dalton's own quarters. Edron, Doric, Veron Greyjoy, three captains, and Dalton himself at the head. Veron seemed out of place - no doubt the youngest of them all at fourteen, and clearly lacking his elder brother's confidence and experience despite their similarities in appearance.
Dalton had just finished reading through the letters - skipping through the needlessly long titles, of course - and grinning haughtily throughout. Finally, he finished, and after a few moments of silence - when it became evident he was waiting for someone to speak - Maester Doric spoke up.
"Who do you intend to declare for, my lord?"
"A mainlander brat, or a mainlander whore. I don't see the difference." One of the captains - a bulky man named Korrin - muttered.
"I'll take the brat over the whore. I won't send my men out to fight and die for some woman who never even lifted a sword." The second captain - a tall and lanky man named Ragmer - added his voice to the argument.
"Aye. And this Aegon was chosen to be leader - doesn't sound too different from the Kingsmoots of old." Lenning, the final captain, spoke up.
"If it was anything like a Kingsmoot of old, we would have had a say in it." Ragmer shot back.
"You think I care which kinfucking Targaryen has the rightful claim to a metal chair?" Dalton spoke up, his loud and authoritive tone causing men who had lived over a decade longer than him to freeze up.
"But my lord. You had everyone building..." Doric began.
"By the Drowned God, you think I would sit this out!?" Dalton demanded, tone filled with exasperation. Doric said nothing.
"Then why not join the Greens?" asked Ragmer. "The whore hasn't offered you anything. She'll forget about you the moment the war ends and you stop being useful. The brat offers us a target whose pockets are no doubt lined with gold."
"Aegon also offers you the position of Master of Ships." Doric offered. "With a posting on the Small Council, you can enjoy a great deal of influence, and as Master of Ships..."
"...I can build, organize, and command Aegon's fleets for him?" Dalton questioned. "Does he also want me to fetch his meals and wipe his ass? What kind of King can't manage his own fleet? But no, I should be honored, I suppose. Grateful that a heathen Ironborn savage like myself was even noticed, yet alone considered for the position." Now his voice was dripping with sarcasm, but then it turned serious once again. "I already have the best fleet. Why would I help make some other twat's fleet even stronger? Why would I leave my homeland to go kiss the boots of some foreign King in a foreign city and give my brother Veron here the chance to usurp my own seat in a heartbeat?" He clasped Veron's shoulder in a friendly manner to show that he meant nothing by it. Then with a roll of his eyes he turned back to Doric. "Do you even remember what it means to be Ironborn?"
Doric declined to mention the fact that he had returned to the Iron Islands as a maester years ago, before Dalton had even gone on his first reaving. He hadn't fought, but he was not unfamiliar with the culture... he just couldn't help but look down on it, and Dalton sensed it. Instead, Doric took the verbal abuse in silence, having long since grown used to it.
Then Dalton turned to Ragmer. "And Aegon would have us sail to the other side of the continent, to fight some sea snake fellow. For land that we can't hold and gold that will run out."
"But the Queen hasn't offered us anything." Ragmer countered.
"The Queen sent us the same note she sent everyone else, when she was in grief and had less time to prepare than Aegon. She'll notice our neutrality, and she will need us on her side... if only to rest assured that we won't fuck her in the ass when she least expects it. I'm sure we'll get an actual offer, soon." Dalton argued. "And if we don't hear back? We take Aegon's offer, sail around the world, raid her villages, sink her fleet, and any who ally with her. If we capture her, maybe I can even take her as a salt wife for a few days before delivering her to the King?" He suggested with a smile. "Besides, the longer we wait, the further the lords send their armies inland - which means we'll have an easier time raiding the coasts."
That seemed to placate Ragmer, and anyone else who might have had concerns in their own. In truth, there weren't many - none of them had any love for the Targaryens.
Dalton then went on to address the room as a whole. "I don't just want to fill our pockets. I want something that will last. I want to pay the Iron Price. I want to return us to the Old Way. I want to make the Ironborn feared again. What is dead may never die."
"What is dead may never die!" The room echoed.
"My Lord. A message from the blacks."
Those were the words that greeted Dalton when he returned to his family's ancestral seat of Pyke - a once mighty castle that had eroded into a collection of towers connected by rope bridges. They had a tendency to sway violently in storms or strong winds, and it was not unheard of for a thrall or warrior to slip or be blown to their doom. Back from another dull day of inspecting ships and overseeing the training of warriors, he had initially worn a bored expression on his face... but news from the east peaked his interest.
Dalton snatched the message from Doric's hands, and immediately begun reading.
Then, he threw back his head and laughed.
"My lord?" Doric ventured nervously, as the nearby guards inclined their heads in confusion or interest.
"It is as I said!" Dalton exclaimed when his laughter died down, a smile on his face.
"There's another message, my lord. From the greens." Dalton wasted no time in snatching that one and reading it as well. His smile did not fade, but he looked from letter to letter, an eyebrow raised.
Finally, Dalton spoke. "Prepare a meeting. You, the Drowned Man, my brother, and my best captains."
...
A little less than an hour later, they were assembled. Seated at a table in Dalton's own quarters. Edron, Doric, Veron Greyjoy, three captains, and Dalton himself at the head. Veron seemed out of place - no doubt the youngest of them all at fourteen, and clearly lacking his elder brother's confidence and experience despite their similarities in appearance.
Dalton had just finished reading through the letters - skipping through the needlessly long titles, of course - and grinning haughtily throughout. Finally, he finished, and after a few moments of silence - when it became evident he was waiting for someone to speak - Maester Doric spoke up.
"Who do you intend to declare for, my lord?"
"A mainlander brat, or a mainlander whore. I don't see the difference." One of the captains - a bulky man named Korrin - muttered.
"I'll take the brat over the whore. I won't send my men out to fight and die for some woman who never even lifted a sword." The second captain - a tall and lanky man named Ragmer - added his voice to the argument.
"Aye. And this Aegon was chosen to be leader - doesn't sound too different from the Kingsmoots of old." Lenning, the final captain, spoke up.
"If it was anything like a Kingsmoot of old, we would have had a say in it." Ragmer shot back.
"You think I care which kinfucking Targaryen has the rightful claim to a metal chair?" Dalton spoke up, his loud and authoritive tone causing men who had lived over a decade longer than him to freeze up.
"But my lord. You had everyone building..." Doric began.
"By the Drowned God, you think I would sit this out!?" Dalton demanded, tone filled with exasperation. Doric said nothing.
"Then why not join the Greens?" asked Ragmer. "The whore hasn't offered you anything. She'll forget about you the moment the war ends and you stop being useful. The brat offers us a target whose pockets are no doubt lined with gold."
"Aegon also offers you the position of Master of Ships." Doric offered. "With a posting on the Small Council, you can enjoy a great deal of influence, and as Master of Ships..."
"...I can build, organize, and command Aegon's fleets for him?" Dalton questioned. "Does he also want me to fetch his meals and wipe his ass? What kind of King can't manage his own fleet? But no, I should be honored, I suppose. Grateful that a heathen Ironborn savage like myself was even noticed, yet alone considered for the position." Now his voice was dripping with sarcasm, but then it turned serious once again. "I already have the best fleet. Why would I help make some other twat's fleet even stronger? Why would I leave my homeland to go kiss the boots of some foreign King in a foreign city and give my brother Veron here the chance to usurp my own seat in a heartbeat?" He clasped Veron's shoulder in a friendly manner to show that he meant nothing by it. Then with a roll of his eyes he turned back to Doric. "Do you even remember what it means to be Ironborn?"
Doric declined to mention the fact that he had returned to the Iron Islands as a maester years ago, before Dalton had even gone on his first reaving. He hadn't fought, but he was not unfamiliar with the culture... he just couldn't help but look down on it, and Dalton sensed it. Instead, Doric took the verbal abuse in silence, having long since grown used to it.
Then Dalton turned to Ragmer. "And Aegon would have us sail to the other side of the continent, to fight some sea snake fellow. For land that we can't hold and gold that will run out."
"But the Queen hasn't offered us anything." Ragmer countered.
"The Queen sent us the same note she sent everyone else, when she was in grief and had less time to prepare than Aegon. She'll notice our neutrality, and she will need us on her side... if only to rest assured that we won't fuck her in the ass when she least expects it. I'm sure we'll get an actual offer, soon." Dalton argued. "And if we don't hear back? We take Aegon's offer, sail around the world, raid her villages, sink her fleet, and any who ally with her. If we capture her, maybe I can even take her as a salt wife for a few days before delivering her to the King?" He suggested with a smile. "Besides, the longer we wait, the further the lords send their armies inland - which means we'll have an easier time raiding the coasts."
That seemed to placate Ragmer, and anyone else who might have had concerns in their own. In truth, there weren't many - none of them had any love for the Targaryens.
Dalton then went on to address the room as a whole. "I don't just want to fill our pockets. I want something that will last. I want to pay the Iron Price. I want to return us to the Old Way. I want to make the Ironborn feared again. What is dead may never die."
"What is dead may never die!" The room echoed.
I could have said something about this earlier and given you a chance to add a personality before this moment but I feel strongly about providing complete character sheets and I have my doubts about a roleplayer who does not (yet) understand that.
And I personally feel strongly about not putting all my cards on the table and revealing everything there is to know about my character before the story even begins. If you picked up a book, and the author immediately tells you what kind of character each person is, how trustworthy they are, their ultimate goal... where's the fun in that? Where's the mystery? If I say he likes to backstab people, or has a strong sense of honor/selflessness... there won't be any surprise if he betrays the group or gives his life to save one of them. His personality is also going to be in back of the other players' minds when they have their characters' deal with him, and whether they are aware of it or not could affect their characters' behavior towards him... hence why I tend to avoid reading other people's personalities when I go through their sheets, in order to make my characters' interactions feel as genuine as possible.
Why do you need to know how the group members are going to mesh with each other? Isn't the entire premise supposed to be that a group of unaffiliated adventurers came together for an adventure? They don't know each other, and it's more fun to see their relationships develop as the story progresses, rather than be able to predict them before the characters are even introduced. Whether they all turn out to hate or befriend each other, it's a surprise. Now, if you're specifically looking for characters who will all get along, or all become bitter rivals, then that's something you should have said at the beginning. If you're simply looking for a diverse past, then enough information has already been shared through my character's appearance, backstory, and abilities, to make him significantly unique from everyone else.
And haven't you ever heard of the phrase "Show, don't tell"?
Honestly, in the personality section I straight-up told you I intended to reveal his personality over the roleplay, and it wasn't my preference to reveal it all in the character sheet. If it really was a dealbreaker, you could have told me that and I would have added it in. Instead you led me to believe I had a chance, and I hung around here checking out other characters and talking to people, and then you just rejected me. My refusal to initially fill out the personality section says nothing about what I'm like in a roleplay. You yourself said the character and bio were good except for that one section, which I would have filled out had you simply asked.
As for me not putting 'Marne' into my bio... I actually did read your rules when the thread first came out. Then I had to walk away from my computer to do other things, and by the time I got back it had slipped my mind. Maybe it's because I'm used to roleplaying in a small tight-knit community where everyone is familiar with each other so we have no need for rule-trapping like that, but it's been years since I actually came across one of those so I wasn't on lookout for it. But yeah, I did mess up there.
Anyways, this isn't meant to come across as a rant - just an explanation of why I did what I did, a defense of my roleplaying habits, and some counter-criticism.
Robert Baratheon, probably while rocket boosting across the Ruby Ford after Rhaegar Targaryen.
Gods he was strong.
@Hekazu Who needs a bow/arrow when you got a big, fucking sword? :D
"Meryn Trant had armor. And a big fucking sword."
-Sandor Clegane.
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