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4 mos ago
Current "No one man should have all that power."
1 like
4 mos ago
⭐️-_-πŸ’§
6 mos ago
"Well as far as brains go, I've got the lion's share. But when it comes to brute strength, I'm afraid I'm at the shallow end of the gene pool." - Who?
2 likes
8 mos ago
the absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence
4 likes
8 mos ago
I make like $7.50 an hour, and the mortgage on my house is like $12,000. So I did the math, and that means I have to work like, 82 hours a day.
6 likes

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Most Recent Posts

So.... how bout that college
The tingle of magic in use swept over Darian in waves, with the sharp report of heavy discharge rattling his brain into his skull and battering his body. Oaths hot on his lips, the wraith, wrought in wool of dull and plain colors: browns, grays and blacks sawed back on his reins in time to avoid getting wretched into pieces by one of the explosions. Instead it slashed into the dark soil of the Wildlands, kicking up a gout of dirt and uprooted grass mere hand spans from where his horse jerked to a stop in a spray of sod fragments.

As the dirt and dust washed over him, he twisted in the saddle to stare back along the path they had come, his face tight with fatigue under his steel helm, as his company raced forward like Drakes after prey. Yet the man’s eyes burned with intent purpose, firebrands in the midst of the sun-darkened and weathered features.

With a grace that seemed as instinctual as it was smooth and economical, Darian pulled a soliferrum from his saddle. As if by silent command the assassin's charcoal steed spurned into action, burning the last of it's energy reserves to reach top speed. It's muscles rippled from under it's freshly groomed pelt and his powerful legs with every domineering stride.

Into the fray Darian returned, bent low on his horse's back in order to avoid drag and increase speed; a lesson of old now practically applied. Beneath his calf he could feel his steeds rib cage now heaving in silent protest as he maneuvered to and fro in order better throw off the aim of the magicians. Explosion after explosion deafened and nearly blinded the man, but keen eyes still caught the shifting shapes of his compatriots, two of which who succeeded in boarding the vessels.

They lacked numbers and firepower, turning what was supposed to be an easy settlement of coin into a deadly gambit, but who was Darian to ignore the chance at adding a few heads to his kill count. Ripping his boots out of there stirrups and quickly shifting his weight upwards to leap and squat on his saddle, Darian prepared a maneuver similar to which Covell preformed only moments ago.

Reins in one hand and soliferrum in the other, he stared down his target, a rather youthful look magician fumbling for ammunition in his pouch, while his allies seemed rather distracted by the highwayman at there backs. Darian hefted his soliferrum and took aim and whipped the reins to force his steed forward quicker. With one last cough the steed road harder, closing the gap between him and the cart.

The magician only had time to catch the glint of silver before a soliferrum entered his chest and drove him into his mate, knocking them off balance and causing them to sprawl. Darian was close behind, leaping off his stead who quickly collapsed in agony, and landing heavy in cart. Without a moment to spare, he recovered and darted for the third magicians jaw. Jarred by the sudden sequence of events, he was unable to avoid Darian's quick hand and was slammed into crate.

For a split second,Darian leaned in, his steel helm only inches from the man's face. Into his eyes the magician glanced, struggling to escape Darian's iron grip, but it was like nothing was their to behold. An endless depth of ink, sorrow, and pain. He could barely see whites of his eyes nor the vessels that flowed through them. They were depths of hell holding a thousand souls yet there were none to be seen.

The man ceased to struggle for a moment, then died as Darian shoved a dagger into his gullet and up into his brain. He let the body fall then reached for his blade, squaring up to the last, struggling magician.
Okay, now that all the cast has put up their characters, let’s get this discussion started. My proposition is simple. I’m all for OOC discussion in the thread and such, but would guys like a discord server in addition to this? I don’t know how people feel about discord, but it’s a good way to get messages across fast as you can respond instantly and all. I also know some of the concerns are that discord servers take away from OOC activity so I don’t know what the best course of action is.

Besides that, there’s a few IC related things I need to go over. So the IC will start pretty soon (still debating exactly when) and I’m aiming to keep this at a steady pace. As the rules say, a post a week should be good and if you everyone happens to post before that, I’ll gladly come and move things along. The narrative will generally be split amongst two paths: Operations and Off-time.

Operations will see the group handling a contract wherein there will be an investigation phase, planning phase, and execution phase. I won’t actually label them as such in the IC in the aim to keep everything organic, but you’ll be able to tell in the general flow of the plot. Off-time will allow characters to engage in their own player-directed activities either with other players or on their own and it encourages character development to a significant degree. As I said before, there will be an overarching plot to this whole thing, but I’m hoping to allow the plot to develop organically by dynamically reacting to the choices you guys make.

This is a character-driven affair and I really want the characters driving plot direction if we’re not following a key plot point. Of course it’s easy to say all this, but you’ll understand better in practice.

For now, what say you all about a discord server?

@Rockette@Heat@Narcotic Dollie@LokiLeo789@Nox Grimoire


As long as we are active in the IC we don’t really need OCC over the benefits of a disord. Especially with only 6 of us.
Darian Grimmig

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Personalia

Information collected by the civilian questioning

""


| οΌ’ο½‰ο½’ο½”ο½ˆο½Žο½ο½ο½…: |
Darian Grimmig


| οΌ³ο½…ο½˜: |
Male


| 1ge: |
Twenty-Eight


| A p p e a r a n c e : |
Being a man of 6 feet and 4 inches can put many men off guard, and having an agile muscular build would only lend to the daunting visage. Instead, a metal helm possessing a seemingly scowling expression replaces what should be a human face. His monstrous body is wrapped in soft, earthy toned skin, like brown autumn leaves during fall. Coincidentally, there is further similarity between Darian and leaves present within the linear patterns in his skin and the veins in a leaf, each line a scar from past endeavors. Often, stray, rampaging lochs of brown hair which fall just passed his shoulder blades will seek to interrupt the world seen through Dairan's deep brown eyes, which discern that he has seen much more than his youthful features (hidden behind cold steel) let on. This fact is reassured after hearing his voice that is filled with the certainty of knowingness from experiences passed.

Light armor is worn in combination with Dairan's clothing. At default, this consists of: a steal helm, steel arm braces, hardened leather shoulder guards, leather tunic, and steel leg guards. This combination has been configured so as to not hamper his mobility and agility, while still managing to protect vital points on the body.

As for his clothing, since the original donning, it has never changed in design. Dairan's clothing isn't a mesh of garments for casual or formal wear, its a uniform, hence the consistently in colors and articles. Like all uniforms, Dairan's is tailor-made to represent his occupation, which in this case isn't being a mercenary or assassin. As the harbinger of vengeance, he has become an emissary of his father's will. Since he was to be but a pawn, his uniform was made to resemble just that.


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Psychology & History

From detailed eye-witness reports and visitations

β€œ.”


| P e r s o n a l h i s t o r y: |
The life of Darian Grimmig, son of Tiberius Grimmig, is a dismal story of tragic loss, cursed magic, and deep-seated revenge. A cautionary tale, telling how ill-gotten power can bring about misfortune. And like all great tragedies, the story begins innocently enough, with a little bit of hope and a dream...

Magic was to be the Grimmig's wings of ascension, the one thing that could return them to grace. You see, being blessed with magic -- and no matter what you've heard or seen, magic is a blessing -- meant a comfortable life behind the secure walls of The Disk. Otherwise known as the City: the seemingly impenetrable paradise of merchants and nobles. Many had seen the outside of its walls from its high hills, but only few had seen the other side of them. Believe it or not, the Grimmig's were once among those select few. It was a plush life, one that was violently ripped away because of Tiberius Grimmig and the bridges he burned in his ambitious climb to the top. There were accusations made, a trial juried, and when the dust settled, the Grimmig's were exiled and forced to leave the place they once called home. But Tiberius wouldn't leave it at that. He would take back everything he lost and more; he would extract revenge against those who wronged him. And the first step in his plan for retribution, was to obtain magic. It was common for practitioners of magic (few as they may be) to find work within the Guilds of the City. With that in mind, Tiberius knew his children would be the key to everything, and so he would prepare them to be his harbingers. Yet, after raising seven kids, not one of them could handle the gift of magic... or so he thought.

Years had gone by and Tiberius's desire for vengeance still burned with the intensity of the sun. Progress had been slowed to a snail's pace, however. Fortunately, Tiberius didn't spend the last decade or so idly sitting on his hands. Whether it was directly made aware to him or discerned through subterfuge, his time in the guard had made him privy to certain knowledge. Ironically, of all the secrets he learned the one most prosperous was the one he learned after his exile. The path to discovery began with another discovery, which was that his enemies wanted him dead; apparently being forced to leave his home wasn't enough. It was during a near fatal pursuit that Tiberius happened to stumble upon a cave in which he waited out his assailants. Lady Luck smiled on him that day, and in more ways than one; the first was the disappearance of his hunters and the second, would go unnoticed. While he thought nothing of it then, the cave he was hiding in was marked with a unique glyph. Years later, he saw this same glyph reappear in multiple tomes on magic and in the hushed whispers of cultist magicians. At that point Tiberius began combining mythos with fact. The symbol he saw denoted significance or importance to a dead cult, he reached the conclusion that the cave may have been one of the rumored cursed grounds 'reaped by the unmaker'. With that thought in mind, Tiberius began trying to find that cave again. Eventually his searching lead back to that cavern and to an underground temple with a large statue erected in its center. A simple message was inscribed across its walls: "Only thee chosen shall drink from the blessed well. Thy soul shall thence be awakened and the world's energy be at thoust beck and call." The mere existence of such a place was enough to convince Tiberius of its truth and rid him of any doubts. What would happen to those not worthy, or even the the first laws of magic never crossed his mind.

Not more than a week later, the Grimmig family arrived at the temple in their full entirety: 3 girls, 4 boys, their mother, and of course their father. The family knew what they were there for and was eager to receive the gift of all powerful magic. It had been decided or more accurately, they were told that only children could drink from the well and once they had, great magic would be awakened from its slumber within their souls. Yet Tiberius ignored this warning and drunk from the well, along with his wife. One-by-one the children approached the well and drunk goblets full of the mystical elixir. After that was done, they only needed to wait... for what though, they didn't know. It wasn't until the eldest, whom was the first to drink, collapsed to ground only to be followed by the others. A panicked inspection revealed they weren't breathing, their heart had ceased its beating, and their bodies were cold as ice. The wails of the dead children's mother filled the air while her husband was paralyzed with regret and dismay. But the sound of desperate gasping tore both of the grief-stricken parents away from somberness and towards hope. Darian, their middle child, had apparently survived, in a moment of fear the boy hand refused to drink. Nearly decapitating him as they did so, they hugged what was now their only son. Something was amiss however, turning the bittersweet moment sour. Pulling back revealed a crimson darkness spreading across their body, blood leaked from their mouths and eyes. Darian nor did his parents know what was happening, what was apparent was that it didn't affect him. So he sat and held his parents hands as he watched them die as the elixir destroyed their bodies and express their dying wishes.

Hours passed and still Darian sat, tears ducts dry from constant crying. He thought, hoped, someone would wake up, or maybe, just maybe, his parents might still be alive somehow. But neither of those things happened. Eventually, he decided he would go get help, despite knowing there was nothing anyone could do. Looking back, Darian isn't sure how long he wandered or even how he survived. Hours, days, searching for just one person, ignoring his aching body, hungry stomach, and dry mouth... Eventually, he did find what he was looking for, but fainted before he could speak a word. When Darian awoke for the second time, he was among strange faces, but faces he would come to see as his new family in the next two years. Darian had been discovered by a traveling caravan deep in the Wildlands that decided to take pity on the boy and make him one of them. Nevertheless, the nightmare that was reality, was just beginning. He knew it was magic that had taken everything from him. Now loneliness, became concept he would have to familiarize himself with, along with this new existence of his.

During Darian's stay with the caravan, he learned many things. The most important of which, was that he wasn't alone. Amongst the travelers, were two individuals who would become his only friends. An adolescent by the name of Darius was one these individual. Who after discovering he shared a similar past with Darian, befriended him and became a pseudo-brother. Stratmere was the other person, he was the caravan master and a traveling scholar. Together, the two ensured the caravan was Darian's home and a safe haven. While the others knew nothing of Darian's origins, Stratmere and Darius knew everything and still agreed to help him. That kindness kept humanity alive inside of Xever, which deterred him from a much darker path.

Years passed, Darian learned many things like: combat training and horsemanship from Darius, which improved upon everything he had learned from his father. Stratmere also helped, assisting Darian with his studies as that was his field of expertise; Darian always preferred books to blades. But, Darian had learned all he could and over time came to realize the one thing he needed to do. It was time he stopped living off those around him and pursue his own goals. He decided to leave and once he had, Darius had decided to do so as well.

Darian and Darius became mercenaries of the land, working for various armies and doing what conscripted soldiers wouldn't or couldn't do. They were battle-brothers, and soon the duo formed a band of mercenaries as more men devoted their life to their leadership. Their life was one of adventure and peril, but rarely did they want or need for anything. Darian was never sure if it was the life Darius wanted, but he himself had bigger plans. He made sure Darius was privy to them; he would never risk his battle-brothers life without him knowing why.

Magic was responsible for the life Darian had and the person he had become. More so, it was the reason he no longer had a family, and for that someone would have to pay. Why give forgiveness and seek love when it was so much easier to hate and get revenge? Darian would see to the destruction of The Disk, the death of all magicians, and the end of magic. It was an ambitious goal and he didn’t know how he would do it, but he would see it achieved or die trying. He had all the tools he needed: hate, vengefulness, grief, bitterness, and regret; his cause would not be deferred. Some might say his parents were to blame, though he couldn't fault them for wanting a better life for the family they created. Darian held the Disk, magic, and even the gods(s) if they existed responsible for every life taken by his hands or otherwise by the taint of magic. For years Darian bided his time, killing magicians time and time again, waiting for the perfect time to expand his operation. And with the advent of the disappearing veil and an invite into the Black Lily, timing couldn't be better...


| P e r s o n a l i t y r e p o r t s : |
Secretive and Reserved, everything you expect from a loner. Socially, Darian is closed off; he hasn't opened up to anyone since he was a child. Even to comrades, he is a stranger shrouded in mystery. He speaks only in brief, cryptic messages and is evasive of any prying questions. He generally displays the comportment expected of a teenager: arrogant, defensive, and critical of anything he is discordant with. Nevertheless, penetrate his gruff exterior and you will find him affable. Yet, you would never think this was the same man planning the mass murder of an entire race and country.

Darian is surprisingly apathetic and placid. His life is a never-ending cycle of war and death that has deadened him. Arousing emotion is difficult, and getting him to laugh or smile is nigh impossible, but both can be done given the right environment. Darian seemingly wanders the world in a listless depression, but this is not so. However, his pessimistic and cynical outlook on life does little to sway other's perception of him. Darian has found it’s easier not to care. Even if he wanted to, he isn't sure he could get past Pratus' corrupt ways. Magic has clouded the judgment of it's users, their selfishness has all but guaranteed a dark and foreboding future, which has finally been made reality and may very well mean the end of the human world.

Ironically, Darian is no saint or upstanding citizen. At best, his integrity can be described as: slipshod, manipulative, and deceitful. He has been shown to give his reliability to only one person, though the Black Lily may receive similar treatment.

Darian isn't easily distracted from a task. Focused and controlled; he would never allow his impulses and desire for revenge to cloud his judgment. Albeit he is bold and intrepid, which is often construed as reckless behavior, every action taken is deliberate and calculated. Once Darian sets his sights on something, he is steadfast on getting it. He is adaptable; able to think on his feet and make the tough decisions when required. But, he’s also stubborn and will not be shaken from a path once descended. It’s this ego-driven attitude that makes him intractable. He uses a strategic method of thinking which eliminates any falsities and uncertainty, thus any conclusion derived has to be correct.

Overall, Darian is a distant person that prefers to walk alone, for he believes that you are the only one to be completely trusted. He has a sharp tongue, is sarcastic to the core, and appears often arrogant in his behavior. There is no doubt that he is very self-confident and strongly believes in what he is doing, though he is mostly driven by revenge. This is partially the reason for his cold attitude that doesn’t allow anyone too close. However, if one might take the time to get to know him and prove that they are worth his time, he will reveal himself as an intelligent person with a silver-tongue. He may also show that he can be a very loyal, protective companion, though only few will ever be able to gain his friendship like that. In the end, Darian is nothing but a bitter person.


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Combat Reports

From detailed reports and completed files



| M a g i c u s e r : |
No


| W e a p o n s : |
In Darian's own opinion, he considers himself to be more of an intellectual adversary. But since he can't kill his enemies with knowledge alone, a tool or weapon is also needed. This is why Darian put effort into acquiring proficiency with weapons as well as his hands. His preference and mastery is with anything that can be thrown. He has developed precision aim and enough strength to hurl the projectile a decent distance. As an assassin, Darian has ensure the death of his enemies. In the event he cannot do so directly, he laces the blades of his weapons with a deadly venom that can cause death in minutes.

His primary weapon is a custom Soliferrum designed for close combat, but still can be thrown up to a range of 30 meters. For that reason, he sometimes carries multiples. But out of all the duplicates there is one with a unique shape and blade, of which never leaves his side and so he affectionately calls her Mercy.

Darian secondary weapon, is a butterfly sword that is often dual wielded along with Mercy.

As a support weapon only, Darian will carry Throwing Knives. If nothing at all, Darian will ensure he has a few these stashed away on his body. Their ability to be concealed make them ideal for assassination attempts or simple self-defense. Normally he will carry several knives hidden on his waist and/or a few throwing stars in a slot under his gauntlet.


@Aleranicus


@Aleranicus

Can on person master or become adept more than one Shaping?
<Snipped quote by LokiLeo789>

It was ten years ago, and it was a battle between the Lich King's army and the defenders of the city.


Ahh thank you.
@Aleranicus

I've hit the Auditon section of my CS and I'm a little confused. The Siege, when was this? Was this the fight between the Rose and the last Lich King a decade ago? Or is this another event?
This sound interesting, I'll join.
What is going on with Ametris anyways, I've kinda been out of the loop.


Ummm, the north has seceded from the rest of the union and has consolidated into one nation called Ur. Ur declared war on the rest of Amestris and is currently fragmented in this regard. Every man for themselves.
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