Little Bill

Ardacia

Quick question: For chatting and planning, would you guys prefer a Skype group or a chatzy?

Ardacia

Ser Bagface & Sophitia Flitton

"They're not going to follow a man in a sack." Sophitia softly spoke. She and her brother sat in Cavernhall's gardens, surrounded by flowering bushes and trees. Sophitia had always preferred the gardens to the rest of their ancestral seat, and it wasn't hard to see why. Cavernhall was a dank, dark fortress embedded deep into the earth. Dead roots dangled from its ceilings, and cold winds slowly rolled through dark, empty halls like ghosts in the night. Unlike the gardens, it was not a place for the sun. Shrubs, trees, flowers and grasses all bloomed and grew around them, and in place of their castle's low, windy hum, the only sounds to be heard were the lilting songs of birds.

"I could be wearing my mother's flowering gown. They'll follow a knight." Bagface said, pausing before looking up from the ground. Sophitia's voice was soft and songlike, even as she spoke to her brother in conversation, but Bagface's was a hoarse, Edontian growl. His voice scraped the walls of his throat, and even through the thick cotton of his bag, it was unmistakably gravelly. He sat on a dark stump opposite his sister, who sat on a stone bench. She wore a light blue dress bordered at the hem with black threading, whereas her brother opted for a shimmering, dark blue velveteen tunic, grey trousers, and black boots. His faithful walking stick stood between his legs, leaning against the stump and loosely into Bagface's four-fingered left hand.

"A faceless knight?" Sophitia asked with a weak tilt of her head, trying to speak as gently as possible about the sensitive subject. She had been known Bagface while he was still Culven, and had sat diligently by his bedside across a divider while he healed, singing and playing her harp to ease him to sleep. He forbade her from ever seeing him during this time, before he had his infamous bags, though she did not hold this against him. She began to recall the tall, stone-faced northern mage that assisted in Culven's healing. He had a wild black beard and striking blue eyes, and he would have to bend slightly to go through Cavernhall's short, cavelike halls. He was a mage of healing who served as something of a field medic in some grisly northern rebellion and his name was either Corin or Corbin, though his name was an unimportant detail in Sophitia's memory of the man. What she remembered most, more than his height, more than his beard, was the scream he let out seeing her brother's face. Her sweet brother, who would joust with pig farmers and noblemen alike, who would braid her bracelets of grass as a boy, and who now sent tall, northern mages cowering in disgust.

"A faceless knight, aye." Bagface said with a nod. "I don't have to be pretty to lead men through the Island of Dread. A piece of that smoldering rock should sell for, what? A hundred leagues of land? Two hundred?" He grasped his walking stick and lifted himself up with a grunt, surveying the garden with his one remaining eye. "Knights love gold and they love glory, and the chance to bring back a priceless holy relic will have them forming a neat little line to kiss me on the arse if it means I'll have them on my boat." Bagface chuckled to himself, and even his sheepish sister smiled.

"Two hundred leagues of land? You really are an Edontian. You've already arranged for the boat, I take it?" Sophitia stood up as well, and the two began to walk through one of the garden paths.

"Aye. The Vivian's Mercy, captain calls it. Some pathy sailor living in Rhaetia."

"Have you sent out the letters as well?"

"Just a few days past, one to every major house asking if they've a knight or noble to spare for the holy cause." Bagface snickered again, ducking slightly over a branch.

"You don't think you'll see any exiles or lepers on the way?"

Bagface ducked under another branch, using his walking stick to momentarily guide a separate low-hanging branch away from him. "Perhaps. I might be a cripple, but I think I have a chance against an unarmed, unfed, salty old man. I've heard that those gibbering forest people use boats made from trees to get to the island and hunt them for meat, you know."

Sophitia gave him a disgusted-looking smile and snort of a laugh inherited from her father, covering her face with her palm. "Don't say such things, brother."

"Who knows? Maybe I'll bring a Hiawacan bushman home too. We could use more gardeners."

Ser Byren Hockor

"Wossit like in the black bog?" Russal asked from his horse. He had been Ser Byren's squire for all of two weeks, and already, Byren's patience was growing thin. Russal was a skinny young boy with a thick, round-sounding drawl and sandy blonde hair from Aaldorenfeald, whom he had been trusted with. His horse was a fat, brown speckled mare with a mottled grey and black mane, whereas Ser Byren's was a tall black stallion with thick, unwashed fur clumping around each of its hooves. Its mane spilled over its eyes, which fortunately kept the thick line of yellowing discharge around them hidden, and it was known to occasionally buck and bite -- For what it was worth, the two may as well have been riding through the forest on asses.

"Rather wet." Ser Hockor grumbled. He was a man of four and fourty, and had long-since lost the youthful energy and patience befitting a knight tasked with raising a squire. His candidacy was unknown even to him until a month prior, when he had received a letter from his uncle, the aging Lord Ferris Hockor, that a recent trade pact between Hockor and Ecefrod would be solidified with one of Lord Ecefrod's youngest sons squiring for him.

"Is it true what they say about the water, what with it burning your hand an' all?" Randall asked, tilting his head slightly. His blonde hair drooped to the side as he did, which the boy paid no mind too. He was ten and five, and had a face filled with freckles and a head filled with, mostly, air. He had a weak chin and a baby-faced softness to his features, which somehow angered Byren further, as if he was given the most greenhorned punchable squire as some test of his bloody character. Ser Hockor wasn't known for being handsome, certainly. He had oily black hair that hung down from his head like snakes, and a hairline that had since receded to the top of his head, usually hidden by a cap or strap of cloth. The left side of his face drooped limply ever since he had suffered a fit in his early twenties, causing him to slur his words and lessen his depth perception slightly. He was pockmarked in the face, and muscular and stocky in frame, with a patchy beard that clung to his face like black dirt.

"Some parts, aye."

"Which parts?"

Ser Byren exhaled, pausing for a moment to look out at his surroundings. They were near Edontas' northern edge, with their journey's scenery mostly limited for the past few hours to pine forests and rocks. Sure enough, pine trees were all that Byren could see down the path, which curved up and down further ahead.

"The parts you don't go in."

Summary

Bagface has sent out letters looking for interested parties to join him on a quest to the Island of Bread, where he plans to retrieve and divide the fallen shard of Elonar as a holy relic. Ser Hockor is on the road to Kedoren with his newly-appointed squire, Russal Ecefrod.

B!tchfest: a healthy release for our non-roleplay annoyances.

<Snipped quote by DeadBeatWalking>

I've always been slow about these pop culture stuff, but say wot nao?

@Pair of Hearts

Marvel writer Brian Michael Bendis talks the creation of Riri Williams, who will take over for Tony Stark

B!tchfest: a healthy release for our non-roleplay annoyances.

Y'know what really grinds my gears? This new trend of absolute diversity in comics. Inclusive casts of heroes are important because they show kids of all creeds and colors that they can be heroes and they allow readers of different backgrounds to identify with characters, I get that, but I think people are starting to go overboard in their idea of what kids want out of comics and have started making comics as politically correct as possible to cash in on 2010's hyperliberalism trend.

Don't get me wrong here, I'm not some banjo-plucker who doesn't want minorities in comics or something. I didn't give a shit when they killed off straight, white spiderman to bring in bisexual, biracial spiderman, and I didn't give a shit when a woman was worthy of Mjolnir. I especially didn't give a shit when the Falcon took over for Steve Rogers. I didn't care about any of this because all in all, they were still believable changes and believable characters.

But at a certain point, some of the new heroes just seem like they're created to hit as many PC bullet points as possible. The new Iron Man is a teenage black girl who's story is that she grew up in the hood dealing with Generic Poverty Violence™, who turns out to actually be a genius who invents a new iron man suit while in college. Porcelain was released last year, and though I read like thirty articles saying how cool it was that there's a ~*~GENDERFLUID~*~ hero, all of them seemed to just gawk at this new character's gender while ignoring literally every other facet of the character.

Isn't that missing the point? To have heroes with differing ethnicities, orientations, and genders where their differences are overshadowed by their fucking superpowers?

•HAGAKURE•

Hisao made his way out of the cell, triumphant as could be. He had no weapon stowed away in the closet as he lacked any weapon to be confiscated, though he did momentarily stop by the closet for his gourd. Thankfully, the guards had assumed it was water, and hadn't touched it. Hisao crouched down and undid the cork with a hefty hand, raising it momentarily to the white-haired gaijin as he stood up.

"A thousand blessings, truly." With his spare hand he gave the girl a queer, foreign-looking salute, flicking his thumb towards her from his forehead.

As Ryotaro attacked the guards feet away, and Ibiki frantically looked through the closet for his swords, Hisao seemed to have a moment of uninterrupted clarity. He hoisted the heavy gourd's bottom onto his right hand while holding the neck with his left hand, sloshing the contents into his mouth as if he had been stranded at sea all his life. Without making separate gulps, Hisao poured the gourd's contents down his throat for about five seconds, before leaning far back to drink the last few drops of sake. He stayed in this position, bent backwards almost ninety-degrees, letting his hands drift backwards towards the floor. He felt a fire ignite deep within his belly, extending out through his hands and face, loosening each of his muscles almost completely. Quickly, he stood back up like a rake being stepped on, as if remembering where he was.

With Ryotaro having taken care of the guards, Hisao bounded towards the exit, leaping over the two incapacitated guardsmen on the ground and barreling towards freedom like an arrow shot from a bow. He leapt up at the doorframe, grabbing it with both hands and swinging up and out of the door, building momentum even further, before realizing the jailhouse door opened directly towards a wall. With an audible smack, Hisao hit the wall and fell straight onto the ground, grabbing his now bleeding nose in pain.

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Shit!"

"Quiet down!" A voice called out. Hisao looked up, still holding his nose, expecting to see the scornful face of backup guards. Instead, he found that the village of Endoyuki's jailhouse actually had two entrances. Hisao stood in an alley, hidden by the shadows, a small shrub in between the jailhouse and another building, and the pitch-black darkness of night. It seemed that the jailhouse was near the marketplace, judging by the smell of roasting meat, though that only helped make him hungrier than it did help him remember his way.

"Ibiki-san!" Hisao hissed, trying to stay quiet, "Did you find your swords? I just got my nose broken out here! Come on!"

Ocean Horizon: The Shardseeker Chronicles

"This has been an unexpected development."

"That doesn't mean this isn't your fault!"

"This is not my fault."

Poole and his inebriated friend had been fighting other pirates for years, and at this point, they could talk while they did. They stood on the bridge surrounded by a loose, shifting circle of pirates of Vivian's Mercy, fighting whichever would rush forward at the moment. Fortunately for Ocean Horizon, the invading crew was larger due to its loosening standards for acceptance with the loss of Green Goran, though unfortunately for Poole, that meant that there were more crewmembers of the Mercy that had not known him, first-hand, as a man who could not be killed.

A short, pockmarked pirate with curly red hair lurched forward from the circle of cutthroats surrounding the two, and unsheathed his weapon; a shimmering steel rapier. He wore a blue shirt and grey pants, banded together with a wide black belt, with Vivian's Mercy's mark across the center of his belt -- The red silhouette of a woman holding two swords. In an instant, the redhaired young man sprung forward at Fletcher with his right arm outstretched, intending to run him through at that very spot. The captain side-stepped and spun down the outside of the man's arm in a flash of movement and was behind the fencer, back to back, in what seemed like the blink of an eye. Still turning, Fletcher's spin brought the Fujin's sheathe directly to the side of the man's head, sending him flying back into the crowd of pirates.

"Is too your fault!"

"This is not my fault."

Another pirate tore through the crowd of more cautious invaders encircling the two, though this one rushed towards Poole. Unlike Fletcher, Poole lacked martial training. Unlike Fletcher, Poole also used a gun. As quickly as the man leapt at Poole, Poole drew his rifle up and shot at the man from the hip. True to his mark, the shard instantaneously exited the back of the man's torso, and he crumpled forward towards Poole.

"Perhaps we should discuss this after the battle has commenced."

Ocean Horizon: The Shardseeker Chronicles

>all these sheets and only one poole relationship

Ardacia

I wonder if it is still possible to apply... I saw that Island there and fell in love with it. And while I know claims are to be made after applying, I just wonder if it is still alright to apply. >.<

@Darked13

Sorry, I forgot to update the title and tag, we're closed to new applicants. My bad.
There's that, and the island is full of exiles and lepers, you wouldn't want it.

Ardacia

@The Nexerus @Mchaggis @Terminal @Vor @RisenDead

The Flitton family is done (albeit rushed and half-assed), and the IC is up, though it'll be updated today with Bagface stuff. Anyway, finish up your sheets and start posting!

Men vs. Women Race to 1000

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