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Greetings friends, partners, enemies, acquaintances, and strangers. I am Kassarock, or just Kass if you prefer, welcome to my profile. Anyway, I am a 20 something male roleplayer from the UK and a long time user of the site, although I have come and gone a fair bit over my time here. I used to be more active on the old site, and I still am relatively active in the off topic sections today, as well as in the guild's discord. So you might see me around.

I generally consider myself to be an advanced writer, I pretty much always write multiple paragraphs, and will drop walls of text if the mood takes me. My grammar is okay, but not formally perfect, so I do not expect that from my partners either. I normally like quite dark and dramatic themes in terms of content in my roleplays, regardless of genre. Unless I have got an interest check up, or have messaged you, I am not usually looking for new partners to write with.

I think that covers just about everything. Message me if you want to know more.
Original Join Date: 07/04/2009

Advanced, Casual, 1x1, Nation, Tabletop

Historical, Fantasy, Sci-fi, Romance, Drama

Writer, Archaeologist, Cymro


Current Roleplays

SANDSTRIDERS: A Lost Land | ACTIVE | CASUAL | Arabian style fantasy adventure.

The Arrangement | HIATUS | 1x1 | Low fantasy romance about an arranged marriage to secure peace between two warring Kingdoms.

Other Things

Current Avatar & Signature | Abbadon | Kill Six Billion Demons

Check out my Character Archive for other/old character sheets.

Most Recent Posts

Aye, sorry for disappearing there for a while.

Was dealing with some s t u f f.

Normal-ish service now resumed, will get working on a reply.
Kill the Gods and topple their thrones?


Hashinau-I, Mistress of Blades, accepts your challenge.
So it seems the RP has unfortunately stagnated. I think unless there is overwhelming desire to not within the week, I'll shut it down. If that happens, thanks to everyone who gave posts! They were all wonderful.

A damn shame, but not entirely unexpected. Good RPing with you again as always Poo!

H A R W A A H M E S T E P | Q A D I R

It seemed that Harwa had misjudged the mood of this particular watering hole, and badly at that. As the cries of the patrons bought a pair of guards in through the beaded curtains he groaned inwardly and slumped his shoulders. His luck was proving to be exceptionally poor this day, first the attack on the street, now this. Or perhaps it had nothing to with luck at all, perhaps the Arhanphast was testing him once more.

But exactly was being tested, his forgiveness or his righteousness?

Harwa had felt like this since he had arrived in Qadir a few weeks ago. The compulsion that had brought him back after so many years was not clear. He knew that he wanted to help these people, all of them, from those that suffered beneath the lash of the Maathro's whip, to the hand that held it, all the way up to the false God-King himself. But he did not know how. He did not know if was even right, or if was just another selfish desire - that forgiveness was absolute, that everything could be atoned.

Maybe this was not a test, maybe it was his punishment instead.

"Sirs, please, sirs. I am an old man, a veteran of Tawr. These are but my only possessions and a walking stick. You... you would not part an old man from his crutch?"

He allowed himself to collapse to the floor at their feet. Weak and trembling. If this was to be his punishment then he would gladly accept it... but he could do little good behind the bars of the Imit's prison, so he would not throw away his freedom lightly. He hoped the All Father would forgive his lie. Besides, it was only half of a lie. His axe had been a crutch for him for many years, and sometimes he was forced to rely on it still.

The two guards tutted above him, a mixture of disgust and pity behind their hardened eyes. Oh and fear too. The strong always feared weakness in places where weakness was punished, because they knew deep down it was something that could happen to them. They barked commands for him to make himself scarce, and reinforced their point with a few well placed kicks and the butts of their spears.

Harwa make the appropriate noises of suffering, but inside he was calm, serene. He prayed that these men would be forgiven too.

When it was over he crawled out of the taverna, dripping blood across the tiled floor, and out of the beaded curtains. He would find somewhere to rest up for now. It was not the first beating that he had received here, and it almost certainly would not be the last. Such was the life of the one of the Tariqa Al-Shahadh, beggars in service to teachings of Sharaq.

Guard rolls a 12. Deception check passed!

Axe? What axe?
@Shu I have opted to go for deceiving the guards, assuming that contested skill checks operate the same way that combat rolls do (i.e. 2d8 + relevant skill + relevant attribute) then in this case I rolled an 18.

EDIT: Rerolled under new skill check rules, rolled a 17.
I think the above posts adequately address the issue of GMs/other players having to take control of absent player's characters in order to keep the plot going. It's relatively common in long running RPs, is something I have experienced myself from both sides, and I haven't really ever seen it be abused by those stepping in to fill the absent player's shoes.

But there's another facet to this that I think we should all bear in mind when it comes to posting OCs on the internet, which is: None of this Copyrighted, people can and will take your ideas and do with them what they may, don't get upset about it. In that sense, yes, your original characters are up for grabs.

Most often no one is taking 'your' ideas specifically, they're just aiming for similar vibes or have similar influences etc. But it will happen occasionally in ways which are little bit too specific to be coincidences. Case and point, a player I was in an RP with posting a character in another RP that had the same class, appearance and name as my character in the RP I was playing with them. Bit weird, but whatever, we all take inspiration (see: borrow; steal) from various sources, and we're all putting this out there for anyone to read.

Anyway, that's relatively rare in my experience, just though it deserved a mention.
Aaaaaand... Posted!

H A R W A A H M E S T E P | Q A D I R

The sun beat down hard on the dry hills where the Twaran hinterlands met the sands of the Manudhe Desert. The air was thick and still, without a breeze to stir the fronds of the dusty palms. It was the kind of heat that sent man and beast a like in search of shade. But in a town such as Qadir, shade was a sought after commodity, especially for those who could ill afford it.

This close to the Manudhe it was known that on days such as these, that to spend to long exposed to the Lhat of the Sarin, was to invite death upon one's head. The only people who would willingly sit out beneath the open sky for any extended period of time in such conditions were those who had no other choice, or one who's sense and reason had deserted them.

Harwa Ahmestep wondered which one he was.

The old man sat cross legged, his white haired head and thick armoured body covered with a thin dun coloured sand cloak in a vain attempt to block out the noon inferno. His axe lay beside him, its blade wrapped in bandages to make it appear little more than a bundle atop a stick. Obscured so, there was little to differentiate him from the other beggars and street dwellers of Qadir. Save for the fact he was broader than any beggar had a right to be.

He was perched upon his open bed roll, placed along the edge of one of the thoroughfare's that led through the city up to the Imit's palace. His wooden begging bowl was placed in front him, for that was the prime purpose of choosing such a god forsaken spot such as this.

Of course there were other places that were populated and well trafficked enough to warrant pan handling that were also in possession of shade. But those were either kept clear by the guards, or currently occupied by other beggars. Harwa knew he could send either of those running if he revealed his blade and made a few choice cuts, but he had no heart for it. The guards were only doing as they were ordered, and the beggars were just as deserving of the merciful blessing of the shade as he was... Perhaps more so.

And so Harwa sat beneath the sun, half hidden under his cloak, bowl outstretched the other unfortunates that braved the noon-day sun.

"Alms for the poor? Take pity upon a old sinner." He croaked out in a low and husky voice to the shadows that passed over him, their very indifferent presence providing a moment of respite from the relentless heat. A few coins had rattled in his bowl over the last few hours, but none for a while, and so he had hoped for another copper when two of these shadows paused above him.

"Hedes, friends! Spare a coin for a lowly beggar?"

A swift and sharp kick to his lowered head was the only response.

Harwa bent himself lower and tasted a mouthful of dust, mixed with the faint copper tang of his own blood, his ringing head pressed to the dirt. A spurt of rage, hotter than the sun above, seared his insides. For a moment he thought of how easy it would be for him to unwrap his axe and paint the street red with the blood of these two bastard fools. It was what he would have done once if provoked so, the inclinations of a man better left buried in the past.

He breathed deeply, and suppressed the urge.

"Clear the street, by order of the Imit. Find some other corner to stink up, old man." Barked one of the pair of guards who had just kicked him in the face.

"But of course, of course, fine sirs. Sahnat a wenbet besu!"

All the while he prayed for them, that the Arhanphast would forgive them for the damages they unknowingly did to their everlasting soul.

When they had gone he looked up and gathered his now scattered belongings, including the coins that they had spilled from his little bowl. It wasn't as much as he had hoped for, but it was enough for something to eat from a market stall... and maybe a swift drink. In fact, Harwa thought that the drink might serve him better than the food at this point.

There was a taverna near by that was friendly enough to his kind. He took a quick swing from his waterskin and began to head in its direction.


The shaded interior of the taverna was mercifully cool compared to the world outside. It's arched doors were covered with beaded curtains through which the sun's baleful rays furtively tried to creep they way inside. Harwa did not do likewise, he strode in, bold as brass, his voice booming as he called out to the bar keeper.

"Hedes, my good friend! Do you perchance have a free drink for one of your best customers?"

It was not a practically busy bar, but there were some other patrons. Some merchants and market traders, a family with young children, and a hulking Ayiralite of stone and earth who appeared to be playing with a child, with broken glass of all things. Strange.

"Harwa, you are neither one of my best customers, nor my friend. Unless you have coin, Pah hret!" Came the answer from the other side of the serving hatch. Harwa reacted with mock surprise and feigned outrage.

"You wouldn't deprive a feeble old man of his last few coins simply because he needed to quench an unbearable thirst?"

Perhaps there was someone here who would buy a drink for him?
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