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Wizard's Tower (a magic medieval-fantasy RP)

@Hael

No. He's just an assistant.

Wizard's Tower (a magic medieval-fantasy RP)

Rowan Blackhoof

Name: Rowan Blackhoof
Aliases: "Row" "Horn head" "Flea bag"
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Race: Satyr

How did you find out about the tower?: A wizard brought him there. He's been hanging around ever since.

Personality: Playful, irresponsible, and a bit aggravating. Rowan means well, but he's often underfoot more than he is a help. He tends to be overly curious and nosy, enjoys inviting friends over, and plays music all times of the night. He's also a bit hard headed; having been transformed into a chair once and still not changing his ways.

Rowan enjoys harassing the female patrons of the tower, though he does so with completely harmless intent. He seems to enjoy attention from just about anyone, but he has a whole bag of tricks just to get the ladies to talk to him.

Although, this is a far cry from what satyrs are typically known for. Most people know them as the nasty creatures that play tricks on travelers and kidnap women from villages for sport. Although it's a fairly small group of the species that does these things, it gives the rest of them a bad name.

Magic School and Skill: Rowan doesn't really own any traditional magic. Although his common skills include pan pipe playing, gardening, and beast keeping.

Appearance:
Rowan is a full blooded satyr. His human half has olive skin and curly, reddish brown hair. He has a bit more hair than your typical man, his arms sporting shaggy, almost furlike growth near his elbows. His form is muscular, particularly his arms.
He was cursed with a boyish face, which he hides under a trimmed beard and mustache. His goofy, floppy goat ears don't help. He's rather small, standing at 5'6". The horns on his head curl backwards and are very strong.

His goat half is that of a tahr, with long, brown fur and larger hooves. He's very nimble on his feet, faster than a human, and able to climb and balance uncannily well. As for clothing, Rowan often goes without. With his bottom half so heavily furred, he doesn't really have anything to hide. If he's attending a more proper occasion, he has a couple tunics to pick from in various colors.

History

Rowan was born and raised in a clan like most normal satyrs. They dwelled in a forest near a human town, with whom they tentatively shared land with. When Rowan was a kid, he liked to go spy on the human, his curiosity too much for his own good. His clan didn't like this behavior, but although they told him to stop, he kept on.

Eventually, in his teenage years, Rowan crossed the line and went into the human village to seek a job there. He wanted to learn how to blacksmith, and make the wonderfully shiny things that the humans could make. Although it was a strange desire, the local blacksmith found the young satyr to be a charming little creature, and allowed him to be an apprentice.

Rowan's clan did not take to this idea kindly. They saw this a servitude towards the humans that so often persecuted them. Rowan spent a whole week in the human village before returning to the forest to tell his clan of his adventures. But instead of returning to a welcome party, he was attacked.

Rowan was forced to flee his home, injured by his own family for what he'd done. The satyr managed to escape him before he fell onto a dirt road, too hurt to continue on. It was there that he was found by an elderly human wizard. The man helped Rowan into his carriage and offered to nurse him back to health, in return for his servitude. Rowan was wary of serving a human, the thing that got him into trouble in the first place, but seeing as he had no better option, he agreed.

The wizard was kind to Rowan. Being elderly as he was, he often had Rowan run errands for him, pick up ingredients and help move heavy items. It wasn't a bad job. Rowan was eventually brought to the tower with his wizard master, who died there only a year later. Rowan was allowed to stay, if only out of pity, and is now technically owned by his first master's son, who now stays at the tower as well.

Dehumanized

Name: Dog
Age: Early twenties
Gender: Male

Nomadic or sedentary: Nomadic

Weapons: A couple knives, made from bone and crudely constructed metal.

Skills: Dog is resourceful is nothing else. Tough, durable, maybe not the smartest, but clever in his own way. He can effectively communicate with his canine companions. With humans, however? Not so much.

Any unusual traits? Does it show physically?: He has developed an appetite for raw meat, which no longer seems to have any ill effect on him. His teeth are a bit too sharp, and his fingernails are hard and pointed, almost like claws.

Appearance: Scruffy, dirty, and wild eyed. Dog is a sight for sore eyes. If one saw him, hobbling alone on all fours, covered in mud and finger paint, they probably wouldn't peg him for a human right away. His hair is long, brown, and matted. Eyes are brown and wild. One can't really tell what color his skin is under his dirt, but he is a caucasian man.

Brief Personality: Not quite all there, Dog is practically feral. He's long forgotten human social cues and adopted those of his canine family. He can 'speak' with them rather fluently, and holds a position of a dominant leader in their ranks. That said, he likes the idea of being in control. But really, the only reason he's so keen on leadership is so that his canine companions don't realize that they could easily tear him apart if they really tried.

Alone or with someone?: Alone, as far as human company goes. With his canines.

Background: Dog was raised by human parents, who, after thing began to look nasty in the world, went into an underground shelter to live. His father would go out and hunt for food. His mother gardened. They lived independently of government and laws. However, once the fallout began, it didn't take long for people to beging looting.

Sooner or later, the bunker was found. Dog's parents fought to keep it safe, but ultimately lost. Dog, only a young child at the time, managed to wobble off with the family pet: a shaggy mutt. Instinctively, the dog found a pack to live with. It consisted of other pets that had wandered off, wolves, and a few hybrids that looked like they could have escaped a zoo. It was a very interesting new family.

Eventually, Dog's dog died, but he remained in the pack that he had been introduced to. He didn't remember much about human language at this point, although he knew basic bits and pieces. He didn't even remember his own name, hence why he renamed himself for what he figured he was, a dog.

Dog has since been roaming the forests and ruined cities with his companions, whom there are about 10 of. He's since claimed the rank of leader, being sure to let the other canine know that he shouldn't be trifled with. In reality, if the dogs really wanted to, they could easily kill him. But they all seem pretty fond of him.

X-Men Roleplay | High-Casual

I may be interested.

The Bawdy Dog

eh, what can ya do

The Bawdy Dog

Luca smiled at the greeting from the man across the table from him. The man's discomfort and hardened gaze towards the feline didn't go unnoticed. Luca set the cat down on the floor and shooed it away. The cat gave another, uninterested meow as it slunk off. Luca looked back up at the man and nodded to him. He then turned to the woman who asked what business he had there.

"Opportunity, frau," He said, his accent not too thick to understand, but still very much there. "It's places like these that the Lord is needed most."

Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, the air in the tavern grew tense. Luca turned around to watch the fight between. Magic sparked, knives where thrown, a gun went off. Things were getting rough, and the priest, probably looking as though he had some sort of death wish, stood to put himself in the middle of it.

Luca went to the man who had been injured by the knife. "You're arm, are you okay, herr?" Luca barely managed to ask over all of the commotion. His jaw set. The priest stood and marched over to the man who had thrown the knife. "Stop this!" He said, his voice suddenly gaining volume. "Can't you see you are hurting innocent people? What are you doing?!"

@karamonnom@NorthernGR@Strafe

The Bawdy Dog

The wind blew through the streets, a coldness settling in the town as night fell. The black robes of a small man blew behind him as he quietly walked down the old stone road. He wasn't terribly bothered by the cold, but he didn't dilly dally. His feet took him towards the tavern, which was much warmer than his own home. The young priest didn't get out much, to be honest, but when he did, this was one of his most favorite places to come. His clergy didn't understand why he would spend time in such a...rough place, but he didn't need to explain himself. After all, did Christ not make company of thieves and crooks? They were the ones who needed him most.

His tattered, black shoes barely made a sound as he stepped into the doorway. Luca shut the door behind him, blocking out the cold and wind. The man looked around the tavern, seeing if any familiar faces were present. There were a few; some were regulars, others were new in town. The priest tried to take one step forward, but halfway tripped over a furry lump that had planted itself on his foot.

Luca looked down to meet the large, golden eyes of a grey cat. It mreowed up at him expectantly. This was what he got for feeding them so often. The man chuckled softly as he bent down to pet the cat, then lifted it off his feet so that he could walk. Luca went over to a long, wooden table by the hearth where it was warm, and sat himself down amongst the crowd there.

"Good even, gentlemen. And ladies," He nodded to them, his voice soft but not timid.

@Agentfallensoul@karamonnom@Strafe@Keplo

The Bawdy Dog

hai

The Bawdy Dog

NAME: Luca Petulengro

RELATIONSHIP WITH: Fate. He is constantly trying to sit her down for a 'Come to Jesus' meeting. He does this with most other people as well, but few are patient enough to listen.

NEED: His life goal is to fill seats in his church on Sunday. He's not a terribly complicated man.

OBJECT: A ratty old book. A church.

DETAILS: Luca is a soft spoken German man. Although very young for a priest, being in his late twenties, Luca owns and preaches at a small Catholic church down the way from the bar. He lives there full time, along with anyone else who happens to wander in. He can't, on his good conscience, turn someone away.

As a priest, Luca has taken a vow of celibacy. He promised to never get none ever.

Before coming to the church, Luca lived a hard life. He's not ashamed of it, nor is he secretive of it. In fact, the good priest has few secrets at all. Save for maybe one...

Just your average tavern thread (where the tavern's burning and being besieged by zombies)

Cautiously interested.