Lugubrious

Fire Emblem: Ashes of Sacrifice [Fall of the Empire]

Doing fine. I haven't had the material to make a worthwhile post with, but I'm still here. Keeping on keeping on. I'm happy to hear you guys are okay. Times are crazy.

The North Road

Taker of Long Shots

NAME: Morton Bowman

GENDER: Male

AGE: 39

APPEARANCE: Standing at six feet even, Mort is sturdily built, broad-shouldered and strong of arm. Though bald-headed, he sports a black goatee and a remarkable criss-cross scar across his face, but his eyes are commonly hidden beneath darkened spectacles. He wears a number of layers of clothes, including a black collared shirt, a blue guardsman's coat, and a green overcoat. Black greaves, gauntlets, and pants complete the ensemble.

BACKGROUND: To Mort, his early life feels like a dream. He can scarcely remember the specifics, only shapes, colors, and feelings. He recalls long days of green grass and trees, blue skies, and the weight of his weary head when the horizon turned orange and the clouds pink. Never did he know stillness, instead a constant stream of motion, but he knew safety in the shadow of his father. It had been a big shadow, its shade loving, but growing smaller over time. After days or even weeks of moving, he and his father would return, for at the end of the day, no matter where they wandered, they had a home. They were days of activity in peace, and Mort supposed it was during those years that he got acquainted with the feeling of a bow in his hand. But like all dreams, that time came to an end.

Bandits attacked the city. They pillaged it and set it to flame, killing those who didn't fall in line. When they were gone, the people began to rebuild. The duchess of the region, whose manor lay inside the city, promised that it would never happen again and consolidated her control. She enacted strict restrictions and increased security, conscripting capable citizens to become part of the militia. Mort was among there number, and a a soldier of the militia honed his skills with the bow dramatically. He specialized as a sniper, striking from afar with a longbow, and he took pride in using his skills to keep the city safe. But the militia didn't just secure the city from outside threats. Mort began to grow disenchanted with the militia as time and time again it received orders to use force against the city's own citizens, and those of the region. All the while, the duchess grew richer and more powerful, her critics and political enemies alike going silent. People fought and starved in the streets. Things were bad, and they could not continue.

It didn't take long for Mort to question the duchess' authority. He began to snoop around, trying to find evidence of corruption, but he was caught in the act and arrested for insubordination. When brought before the Duke he was given the chance to recant, but instead Mort attempted to fight his way free. Instead he was defeated by his militia comrades, men and women he'd known for years, and the duchess herself carved an X into his face before ordering his execution. On the way to the prison, however, Mort's father ambushed his captors and slew them. Together they hatched a plan, and on the day of Mort's execution, his father marched to the gallows in his stead. When the Duchess appeared to announce his sentence, Mort planted an arrow in her eye from a roof across the plaza. Father and son planned to escape together in the ensuing chaos, but the daring rescue went awry and his father was wounded. Faced with the prospect of dying alongside his father, Mort fled at his bidding, and ran far, far away.

Going by 'Bowman', he took work as a mercenary in a far-away land. He employed his skills for money to survive, eventually winding up as one member of an escort for a merchant caravan headed toward Fero Province. After spending a few days there the caravan prepared to return, and as usual Mort followed a ways behind it. It was on that return trip that Mort witnessed the Beast. Through his binoculars he caught incomplete glimpses of the thing as it tore the caravan to pieces. He knew that he should try to fight it, but instead he chose to save his own skin and flee back toward Fero. He warned the people of the horrific Beast, but unable to describe it in more detail, he couldn't stop others from going out and never coming back. Since then, Bowman became a common face in the province, a reliable hunter when not addled by drink. Ten years he regretted his second act of cowardice, awash in loathing and guilt, always wishing that he could settle the score with the Beast that came to symbolize his own failure but never daring to. When at long last the crown could stand isolation no more, Mort volunteered to join the expedition. This time, he thought, he did not value his life so much that he would turn away. This time, Mort promised, he would take the long shot. He would accomplish the mission, or die trying.

MOTIVATION: To kill the Beast and escape the anathema that is the province's isolation, or die trying.

GEAR: Blackeye Longbow, binoculars, hunting knife, bedroll, meal haversack (mess kit and ration storage)

The North Road

Here you are. I hope Bowman does not disappoint.

Taker of Long Shots

NAME: Morton Bowman

GENDER: Male

AGE: 39

APPEARANCE: Standing at six feet even, Mort is sturdily built, broad-shouldered and strong of arm. Though bald-headed, he sports a black goatee and a remarkable criss-cross scar across his face, but his eyes are commonly hidden beneath darkened spectacles. He wears a number of layers of clothes, including a black collared shirt, a blue guardsman's coat, and a green overcoat. Black greaves, gauntlets, and pants complete the ensemble.

BACKGROUND: To Mort, his early life feels like a dream. He can scarcely remember the specifics, only shapes, colors, and feelings. He recalls long days of green grass and trees, blue skies, and the weight of his weary head when the horizon turned orange and the clouds pink. Never did he know stillness, instead a constant stream of motion, but he knew safety in the shadow of his father. It had been a big shadow, its shade loving, but growing smaller over time. After days or even weeks of moving, he and his father would return, for at the end of the day, no matter where they wandered, they had a home. They were days of activity in peace, and Mort supposed it was during those years that he got acquainted with the feeling of a bow in his hand. But like all dreams, that time came to an end.

Bandits attacked the city. They pillaged it and set it to flame, killing those who didn't fall in line. When they were gone, the people began to rebuild. The duchess of the region, whose manor lay inside the city, promised that it would never happen again and consolidated her control. She enacted strict restrictions and increased security, conscripting capable citizens to become part of the militia. Mort was among there number, and a a soldier of the militia honed his skills with the bow dramatically. He specialized as a sniper, striking from afar with a longbow, and he took pride in using his skills to keep the city safe. But the militia didn't just secure the city from outside threats. Mort began to grow disenchanted with the militia as time and time again it received orders to use force against the city's own citizens, and those of the region. All the while, the duchess grew richer and more powerful, her critics and political enemies alike going silent. People fought and starved in the streets. Things were bad, and they could not continue.

It didn't take long for Mort to question the duchess' authority. He began to snoop around, trying to find evidence of corruption, but he was caught in the act and arrested for insubordination. When brought before the Duke he was given the chance to recant, but instead Mort attempted to fight his way free. Instead he was defeated by his militia comrades, men and women he'd known for years, and the duchess herself carved an X into his face before ordering his execution. On the way to the prison, however, Mort's father ambushed his captors and slew them. Together they hatched a plan, and on the day of Mort's execution, his father marched to the gallows in his stead. When the Duchess appeared to announce his sentence, Mort planted an arrow in her eye from a roof across the plaza. Father and son planned to escape together in the ensuing chaos, but the daring rescue went awry and his father was wounded. Faced with the prospect of dying alongside his father, Mort fled at his bidding, and ran far, far away.

Going by 'Bowman', he took work as a mercenary in a far-away land. He employed his skills for money to survive, eventually winding up as one member of an escort for a merchant caravan headed toward Fero Province. After spending a few days there the caravan prepared to return, and as usual Mort followed a ways behind it. It was on that return trip that Mort witnessed the Beast. Through his binoculars he caught incomplete glimpses of the thing as it tore the caravan to pieces. He knew that he should try to fight it, but instead he chose to save his own skin and flee back toward Fero. He warned the people of the horrific Beast, but unable to describe it in more detail, he couldn't stop others from going out and never coming back. Since then, Bowman became a common face in the province, a reliable hunter when not addled by drink. Ten years he regretted his second act of cowardice, awash in loathing and guilt, always wishing that he could settle the score with the Beast that came to symbolize his own failure but never daring to. When at long last the crown could stand isolation no more, Mort volunteered to join the expedition. This time, he thought, he did not value his life so much that he would turn away. This time, Mort promised, he would take the long shot. He would accomplish the mission, or die trying.

MOTIVATION: To kill the Beast, or die trying.

GEAR: Blackeye Longbow, binoculars, lantern, bedroll, meal haversack (mess kit and ration storage)

Epithet Erased: Use Your Words

And just like that, our first epithet battle is upon us. How will our heroes tackle this tricky situation?

Epithet Erased: Use Your Words

The arrival of Lou's group earned him a collective weary glance from the cluster of adults on the beach. While strangers themselves, they'd already come by a sense of unity through their conversation and plans to both get help and find the missing. This new, even stranger stranger, however, demanded their allegiance and compliance, just when Noelle and Heath stood poised to begin their search, too. Noelle glanced at her husband, trying to gauge his thoughts. Just like her it appeared that he didn't want anything standing in the way of recovering their children.

Harry, meanwhile, weighed his options. “Well...what he says makes sense. He seems like a...well...”

“Asshole,” offered Rosco helpfully and without hesitation.

“Um, sort of,” Harry conceded. “But we should stick together until we figure this out. Whoever caused this could still be around, and we don't know what they want. The more good guys together, the better, right? It doesn't really matter who's 'in charge.' And if the bad guy's with us, he can't do anything without getting caught. Like in the Thing.”

A skewed glance went his way from Noelle, who didn't know what the shopkeeper meant, but Heath got the reference. “I understand, but if we give this guy authority, he could start pulling whatever he feels like. Just look at him, for Pete's sake. He practically stepped out of Goodfellas.”

Noelle finally got the picture, but that didn't mean she liked it. “Enough movies!” she admonished. “What are we going to do?”

A nod from Rosco at the group of teens directed his cluster's attention. “Guys? While we're deliberatin', the kids are actin'.”

Everyone who followed his gaze found that to be just the case. Lou got a good look at most of the teens rebelling against him, turning away to talk among themselves in direct repudiation to his proclaimed authority. He watched them with a stony scowl, but didn't do anything until their own self-made leader, conversely the smallest of their number, came forward. While looking down at her Lou wondered why she'd be the one stepping up to speak for them, but after a moment he got an idea. Something about her, for a brief moment, exuded the sort of selfsure confidence that wafted off the rich and comfortable, a golden bid for the ironclad aura that surrounded the powerful. Their gazes clashed, and for that second Lou wondered if she might be someone important, someone worth dealing with.

But she shattered that possibility in an instant.

It took only a handful of words to wipe away the illusion of earned assurance and replace it with the baseless cockiness of youth. Even one of her own friends, the boy with gray hair, looked baffled by her display. Lou chuffed, dryly amused. “Huh. Seems t'me like you schlubs need a lesson in respect. Maybe ya don't get it. This is a crisis, you see? We all gotta come together, under a strong leader. And a good leader don't take chances.” He gave a dangerous smile, the grin of a fat cat seeing an impudent mouse coming its way. “Lucky fer me, yer cooperation ain't optional. There ain't nobody what can brush me off.” Lou took a step forward, rolling up his sleeves. “You hearin' me, ya chumps? When I'm talkin' to youse...LOOK AT ME!”

All at once his bling began to glow. It glittered a brilliant gold, shining with the luster of the sun. Even Lou himself seemed to shine, and the background behind him to darken, as if he were beneath a spotlight. His luster inexorably drew the eyes of all those before him, seizing them magnetically and fixating them upon him. Nobody could look away. The golden glow burned into the gathered eyes, causing a searing pain, like looking right at magnesium fireworks. At the center of it all smirked Lou, his arms crossed, radiating the power of his epithet.

The adults understood it as an attack immediately, particularly Rosco. As soon as she realized that she couldn't close her eyes Noelle understood just how brutal the move was. If she and the others didn't get relief soon, they could go blind. With that in mind, and her adrenaline-fueled state egging her on, she prepared to charged forward. The moment she launched, though, she realized that the closer she got, the worse the pain became. “Agh!” she cried, tears pouring from her eyes, before Rosco got in front of her a moment later.

Grimacing, he growled, “I can take the lead since I've got shades. Once we got close enough, I'll drop so you can use me as a springboard.”

Noelle nodded, still streaming despite the relief provided by Rosco's shade. “Then I'll knock him down!” But that was only part of the problem. “The kids,” she said, moving forward behind Rosco a step at a time. “They're way closer! They're on their own until we get close enough!”

The clock was ticking. Until backup arrived, Jude, Aurora, Jessica, Haywood, and Penny were on their own against the baleful luster of Lou's epithet.

The North Road

I've got a solid concept in mind for a character, but the sheet's not ready yet. Coming up tomorrow!

Interest Check - The North Road (adventure, fantasy, spooky)

It's a simple but effective idea that I definitely wouldn't mind playing along with. I'd be interested to see what else you have in mind for worldbuilding, both Fero and beyond since some outsiders probably got trapped here before the beast problem. Since fledgling RPs need hooks to catch people's attention and it's effective to steer player progress with a character of your own, I'd definitely recommend using your own NPC alongside the rest of the hunting squad. Were you thinking of starting with a gathering for the crown's announcement, setting out, or already on the road?

And welcome to the guild, by the way!

Overlord: Momento Mori

Dang, I forgot to have Graft suggest that he could make Chuunitrixx a new arm. Oh well, I'll save it for next time.

World of Light

<Snipped quote by Lugubrious>

I dunno. I've been concidering swapping Frisk out for Sora as one of the Kindred Spirits, so I might go for one of the two.

Or I can go ambitious and play as Bendy, idfk.

@Majoras End

Well, I'm happy you're wanting to continue. Once you decide what you'd like to do, let me know and we can work it out.

World of Light

Yo, sorry for the delay. I'd blame it on my inability to focus on one thing at a time, but to be honest, for some reason I got detached to playing as Joker. Dunno why or how, but I thought I should say something before I seemed to ghost you guys. :/

@Majoras End

That stinks. Does that mean that you'd rather pick and play a different character, or you want to quit?