Fen fidgeted as he sat on the gurney across from Sasha. The guy was sleeping pretty soundly, snoring quietly. His feet hung off the end of the bed and his arm clutched the pillow under his head tightly. Fen wondered where the man could have come from. What was it like there? Why had someone tried so hard to kill him?
Fen perked up suddenly when Tobias bustled in. He checked the Russian's stats, then left without sharing much information. Fen supposed that was a good sign; the doctor wouldn't leave a patient that he thought was unstable, right? He went back to playing with a string in his hands.
After a few more minutes, the large man began to stir. Fen looked up once more, watching him intently as he groaned and and shifted on the bed. The man opened his eyes and looked right at Fen, but he didn't say anything comprehensible. He muttered a few slurred words. Fen remembered the IVs attached to his arm. The guy was probably pretty out of it. It was a bit disappointing; Fen really wanted to talk to him when the man was in a right state of mind.
He looked towards the door just as Ravenia come in. Fen smiled and gave her a wave.
"I think he's, uh, awake now. Maybe."
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Anyone else think the GM jumped ship?
I'm still here.
Waiting.
Waiting.
I figure I might as well throw my hat in. I've had this character idea for a little while; see what you think.
Name: Rhone Valint
Race: Human - Sudalian
Race Description:
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Weapons: Maybe a pointy stick that he picks up? His master doesn't exactly trust him with weapons.
Skills/Abilities: Rhone has been a slave most of his life. His skills consist of the things he was taught and made to do, such as labor, farming, raising animals, and building. He was a field worker. Rhone picked fruit; birthed, raised, and fed livestock; built sheds and shelters around the plantation; and occasionally worked on things inside the house.
Appearance: Rhone is 5'8" with light brown skin, brown eyes, and black, curly hair. Most often than not, his hair is covered by his head wrap. It's usually messy and unkempt under there. On his chest, Rhone bares the crest of his master: A dragon holding a shield. Once sold, the brand would be marked over and he would receive a new one.
Rhone is a muscular man, having worked most of his life. His feet are dirty and rough from lacking shoes for many years, and his skin sports scars from occasional beatings.
Clothing/Armor: Rhone's list of personal belongings is depressingly short. All that's his are the clothes that he wears, which isn't much to begin with. With what is essentially a modest loin clothe wrapped around his waist, and a head wrap to keep sweat from dripping in his eyes, Rhone wears very little. He doesn't own any shoes, gloves, shirts, pants, anything. All that's his is what was allowed to him.
Backstory:
Rhone was born in Sudal during a time of prosperity. As a child, he never truly appreciated it. When he was 9, the war began and his people slowly lost everything they had. His family was torn apart, his father killed in battle, his mother taken away, and he snatched up by slave traders. A child wasn't a very valuable slave, but he was old enough to do basic work. Rhone traded hands several times before finally ending up on the plantation, around the age of 20.
He worked the fields day in and day out, but his master wasn't as bad as some. Rhone would get the occasional whack with a stick if he did something wrong, but it was nothing like taking a whip onto bare flesh as he had done in the past. He slowly grew used to his live there, but never enjoyed it. It wasn't until he met the master's daughter than he became more interested in the farm.
She was a beautiful young woman, but far out of his league. When he finally got up the nerve to speak to her, she quickly reported it to her father. Rhone was beaten and quickly sold for his bold misconduct. Currently, Rhone finds himself in the slave market at Estermere. He holds little trust for 'pale skinned' people, such as his former masters.
Name: Rhone Valint
Race: Human - Sudalian
Race Description:
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Weapons: Maybe a pointy stick that he picks up? His master doesn't exactly trust him with weapons.
Skills/Abilities: Rhone has been a slave most of his life. His skills consist of the things he was taught and made to do, such as labor, farming, raising animals, and building. He was a field worker. Rhone picked fruit; birthed, raised, and fed livestock; built sheds and shelters around the plantation; and occasionally worked on things inside the house.
Appearance: Rhone is 5'8" with light brown skin, brown eyes, and black, curly hair. Most often than not, his hair is covered by his head wrap. It's usually messy and unkempt under there. On his chest, Rhone bares the crest of his master: A dragon holding a shield. Once sold, the brand would be marked over and he would receive a new one.
Rhone is a muscular man, having worked most of his life. His feet are dirty and rough from lacking shoes for many years, and his skin sports scars from occasional beatings.
Clothing/Armor: Rhone's list of personal belongings is depressingly short. All that's his are the clothes that he wears, which isn't much to begin with. With what is essentially a modest loin clothe wrapped around his waist, and a head wrap to keep sweat from dripping in his eyes, Rhone wears very little. He doesn't own any shoes, gloves, shirts, pants, anything. All that's his is what was allowed to him.
Backstory:
Rhone was born in Sudal during a time of prosperity. As a child, he never truly appreciated it. When he was 9, the war began and his people slowly lost everything they had. His family was torn apart, his father killed in battle, his mother taken away, and he snatched up by slave traders. A child wasn't a very valuable slave, but he was old enough to do basic work. Rhone traded hands several times before finally ending up on the plantation, around the age of 20.
He worked the fields day in and day out, but his master wasn't as bad as some. Rhone would get the occasional whack with a stick if he did something wrong, but it was nothing like taking a whip onto bare flesh as he had done in the past. He slowly grew used to his live there, but never enjoyed it. It wasn't until he met the master's daughter than he became more interested in the farm.
She was a beautiful young woman, but far out of his league. When he finally got up the nerve to speak to her, she quickly reported it to her father. Rhone was beaten and quickly sold for his bold misconduct. Currently, Rhone finds himself in the slave market at Estermere. He holds little trust for 'pale skinned' people, such as his former masters.
Classic symptoms of a dying RP:
The posts gradually become slower.
The OOC starts to die
There's that one guy that everyone is waiting on to post for the rest of eternity.
Merman hasn't been on in three days. I say we write around him until he comes back, but we shouldn't let the RP die because he went AWOL.
The posts gradually become slower.
The OOC starts to die
There's that one guy that everyone is waiting on to post for the rest of eternity.
Merman hasn't been on in three days. I say we write around him until he comes back, but we shouldn't let the RP die because he went AWOL.
Kaylan, I pmed you.
So I now have visual aid for Omar
Who is in the medical center, not Isam
And is in his 30's, not really a boy. I'm just saying =P
Look at that sweet, innocent smile
this man could do no wrong
Who is in the medical center, not Isam
And is in his 30's, not really a boy. I'm just saying =P
Look at that sweet, innocent smile
this man could do no wrong
I...actually don't know.
I assume not because he was just filling out paperwork
and he's drugged all to hell, so it's not like he's going to be any danger any time soon
I assume not because he was just filling out paperwork
and he's drugged all to hell, so it's not like he's going to be any danger any time soon
Fun fact: Did you know that Afghanistan is the world's largest grower of both opium and cannabis?
PS: I assumed Tobias knows how to make medicines. Correct me if I'm wrong.
PS: I assumed Tobias knows how to make medicines. Correct me if I'm wrong.
"<What are you doing here?>"
Isam had been asleep for a couple hours by the time Omar found him. He was still sprawled out on the couch, his face buried in a cushion. He turned to look up at his friend, blinking a couple times.
"<Sleeping.>"
Omar smiled and gave a half laugh. He and Isam had been through a lot together, and he considered Isam to be his best friend. He honestly didn't mind the man coming in to sleep on his couch. He'd gotten used to Isam and his strange quirks over the years.
"<I'm sure you have a bed at home to sleep in,>" He said offhandedly as he passed into the kitchen. Omar had a basket in his hand, which he set on the kitchen table. He plopped down in one of the old, wooden chair and began to hum as he picked around in his basket, removing a large, green pod from it. Omar made a few cuts along the plant pod, causing white cream to ooze out.
Isam looked up from the couch to watch, mildly curious.
"<You harvested your poppies?>" He asked, watching as Omar let the white sap leak into a bowl.
"<One of the nurses came over to tell me that they were running low on pain killers. Something must have happened; a lot of people were hurt.>"
Omar was a simple man. He farmed and he grew his plants. He lived peacefully inside his little community, hardly speaking any English, but always willing to help those who came to him. He had a good heart. But, as far as Isam understood, he hadn't always been that way. Where Omar came from, greed was a requirement for life. He had stepped on plenty of toes to get where he was.
"<There was an attack. A man was brought in from the desert, and something he said has led the others to believe that the undead coming here was no accident. You may want to ration those drugs; we may need more soon.>"
The drug business in Afghanistan had been one of the few that continued to thrive. In a country like theirs, life didn't stop because of the world ended. Hell, in a country like theirs, a bomb being dropped here and there was common place. The world ended and hardly anyone noticed. Life went on. The ancient nation hadn't survived so long just to die along with the rest of the world.
Omar had grown up on a farm, his father having been very involved with the drug cartels around the area. Marijuana and opium grew in fields like corn, and people would do just about anything to get their hands on it. Omar learned how to grow, harvest, smuggle, and sell his plants. When he father died, he inherited the business. He became powerful, dangerous even. It was hard for Isam to imagine his sweet and patient friend ever having been a villain.
Omar had heard about the ship leaving for the promise land, and he had the money to buy his way onto it. Once hardship came, Omar's true colors began to show again. He wasn't a bad man. Once he was removed from the drug business, he began to see what it had done to him. He held on to the seeds of his plants over the years, and when he got to the promise lands, he planted them with his only intentions being to make good use of his skills. Medicine was hard to come across, so making it was sometimes the best option.
Isam began to nod off again by the time Omar had a full bowl of poppy sap. Omar poured his collecting into a bottle and capped it. He got up and dumped the empty pods in the trash before heading out the door. He paused to make sure the gate to his 'special' gardens were shut and locked before walking down the street towards the medical center. Omar loved people, but he didn't trust them very much. His poppies and marijuana plants were kept under secret lock and key, the ensure that other residents didn't misuse them. Omar was in the business to make medicine, not to supply people with recreational drugs.
Omar reached the medical center just as the doctor, he didn't know the man's name, and their leader, who was called the Mother from what he understood, arrived. A couple nurses rushed around, getting things set up to treat the injured. Omar reached out to grab the sleeve of one of them just as she hurried by, and handed her the bottle of sap.
"Medicine," He said, his accent very thick. Most people who worked at the center knew him, and knew that he supplied them with their painkillers. They also knew that he didn't speak much English, and to keep their conversations short and simple.
The nurse nodded. "Thank you," She said, taking the bottle to Tobias. He would know what to do with it. Omar hung back as the nurses got another bed ready, curiosity getting the best of him. He may not have understood a word any of them said, but he still cared about them. If the Mother was hurt, they were all in trouble.
(Just to make it clear the little < and > symbols mean they are not speaking English)
Isam had been asleep for a couple hours by the time Omar found him. He was still sprawled out on the couch, his face buried in a cushion. He turned to look up at his friend, blinking a couple times.
"<Sleeping.>"
Omar smiled and gave a half laugh. He and Isam had been through a lot together, and he considered Isam to be his best friend. He honestly didn't mind the man coming in to sleep on his couch. He'd gotten used to Isam and his strange quirks over the years.
"<I'm sure you have a bed at home to sleep in,>" He said offhandedly as he passed into the kitchen. Omar had a basket in his hand, which he set on the kitchen table. He plopped down in one of the old, wooden chair and began to hum as he picked around in his basket, removing a large, green pod from it. Omar made a few cuts along the plant pod, causing white cream to ooze out.
Isam looked up from the couch to watch, mildly curious.
"<You harvested your poppies?>" He asked, watching as Omar let the white sap leak into a bowl.
"<One of the nurses came over to tell me that they were running low on pain killers. Something must have happened; a lot of people were hurt.>"
Omar was a simple man. He farmed and he grew his plants. He lived peacefully inside his little community, hardly speaking any English, but always willing to help those who came to him. He had a good heart. But, as far as Isam understood, he hadn't always been that way. Where Omar came from, greed was a requirement for life. He had stepped on plenty of toes to get where he was.
"<There was an attack. A man was brought in from the desert, and something he said has led the others to believe that the undead coming here was no accident. You may want to ration those drugs; we may need more soon.>"
The drug business in Afghanistan had been one of the few that continued to thrive. In a country like theirs, life didn't stop because of the world ended. Hell, in a country like theirs, a bomb being dropped here and there was common place. The world ended and hardly anyone noticed. Life went on. The ancient nation hadn't survived so long just to die along with the rest of the world.
Omar had grown up on a farm, his father having been very involved with the drug cartels around the area. Marijuana and opium grew in fields like corn, and people would do just about anything to get their hands on it. Omar learned how to grow, harvest, smuggle, and sell his plants. When he father died, he inherited the business. He became powerful, dangerous even. It was hard for Isam to imagine his sweet and patient friend ever having been a villain.
Omar had heard about the ship leaving for the promise land, and he had the money to buy his way onto it. Once hardship came, Omar's true colors began to show again. He wasn't a bad man. Once he was removed from the drug business, he began to see what it had done to him. He held on to the seeds of his plants over the years, and when he got to the promise lands, he planted them with his only intentions being to make good use of his skills. Medicine was hard to come across, so making it was sometimes the best option.
Isam began to nod off again by the time Omar had a full bowl of poppy sap. Omar poured his collecting into a bottle and capped it. He got up and dumped the empty pods in the trash before heading out the door. He paused to make sure the gate to his 'special' gardens were shut and locked before walking down the street towards the medical center. Omar loved people, but he didn't trust them very much. His poppies and marijuana plants were kept under secret lock and key, the ensure that other residents didn't misuse them. Omar was in the business to make medicine, not to supply people with recreational drugs.
Omar reached the medical center just as the doctor, he didn't know the man's name, and their leader, who was called the Mother from what he understood, arrived. A couple nurses rushed around, getting things set up to treat the injured. Omar reached out to grab the sleeve of one of them just as she hurried by, and handed her the bottle of sap.
"Medicine," He said, his accent very thick. Most people who worked at the center knew him, and knew that he supplied them with their painkillers. They also knew that he didn't speak much English, and to keep their conversations short and simple.
The nurse nodded. "Thank you," She said, taking the bottle to Tobias. He would know what to do with it. Omar hung back as the nurses got another bed ready, curiosity getting the best of him. He may not have understood a word any of them said, but he still cared about them. If the Mother was hurt, they were all in trouble.
(Just to make it clear the little < and > symbols mean they are not speaking English)
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