Polybius

Unquiet

WORK IN PROGRESS

NAME: Genevieve Vivian Diaval

NICKNAME/ALIAS: Jeanie, Henrietta Orson, Eve Duvall

ABSTRACT: a phrase that describes your character

AGE: She was thirteen when she was put into the stone. But now she is physically around nineteen.

GENDER: Female

SNARE ABILITY: No sense of time inside the dream world. During her time in stasis she has been alive within the people of the coffins dreams and nightmares.

HISOTRY:
Genevieve was born to Leda Orson, and Henry Diaval. Her mother was a performer for a traveling theater troupe called Raven's Rave Theater. Her father also worked for them as a stage hand, and playwright. The troupe was in truth a guise for a Snare and Magic rights extremist organization, that both her parents were devoted to even before Genevieve was born. Jeanie as she would affectionately be nicknamed, was born a whole month early, and was a beautiful wee little thing. Unfortunately she was born a Snare, so the midwife left in repulsion, and ran to report the birth of a Snare to the officials. Henry quickly wrapped little Genevieve up in a blanket, handed Leda their newborn, and went after the midwife to stop her from reporting. Thing quickly got out of hand, and Henry accidentally murdered the old hag when trying to keep her quite. He went to jail after turning himself two weeks later, because he knew that he and his family would always have to be on the run since the bounty for him was posted. So with a heartbreaking goodbye Henry left Leda and Jeanie under the care of the troupe, and was sentenced to 15 years in prison.

Genevieve's tiny horns started growing in when she was six months old. Her yellow eyes glowed in the dark like a cats, and as her teeth grew in she started sporting a pair of sharp canines. Her mother wanted her to have a happy normal life, but she knew all to well about the persecution, and unjust laws that came with being a Snare. She didn't want to lose her only daughter to the stone when she turned 10, all because she was born different. After much deliberation among Leda and the troupe, they decided that the best why for Genevieve to lead a normal life in this unfair world, was to make her appear fully human. Irene one of the founding members of the troupe, was a witch, and was able to create a potion that changed someones eye color to brown. Uprooting a Snare's horns was an illegal surgery, but after three years of searching Leda finally found a willing doctor to do it for a fee, he even shaved down Jeanie's canines.

As long as the light didn't catch Genevieve's eyes in such as way to make them shine, she looked as normal as any other child walking down the street. The scars from where her horns once where healed nicely, and hid perfectly under her hair. By the time Jeanie was six, she and her mother had left the troupe for a safer life in the country. As living life on the road was no place for a little girl. They lived just outside a town called Mapleton, where the rented a small cottage. Jeanie went to school, spent her days playing with the other children, and helping her mother at the flower shop she worked at. It was peaceful and no one suspected anything. She was seven when her power began to manifest.

WORK IN PROGRESS

@Emma

Does she know of Romulus Wisher? He was a famous actor for a time. Maybe he knew Leda and Orson, once long ago? Is she thrown in The Stone simply for being a Snare? Interested to see your finished app!

DPRPGC #7: Hail the Glorious Leader

I've submitted a short story. Should I post it here as well? I would actually like some comments/suggestions on the story.

Unquiet

NAME: Romulus "Salacious" Wisher

ABSTRACT: Mad Actor Tainted by Evil

DETAIL: Romulus was raised in a well adjusted middle class family. His father worked hard, his mother and siblings all loved one another and everything was generally GOOD. Romulus had a mind for the fantastic from an early age, and especially loved the stories told in local taverns. Whenever the troubador or traveling actors troupe would stop by his home village he was front and center, eyes affixed to the stage. And so he decided to abandon a life of toil in agricultural work and fled for the nearby city of Rock Bridge when he was 12 years old.

In Rock Bridge, Romulus quickly fell in with an acting company doing small jobs around the theatre for free. He learned what he could and over the years ingratiated himself enough with the company to actually get some stage time. He made a little money, bought a few books, borrowed some manuscripts and plays, and taught himself the trade. He flourished under the guidance of various actors; Romulus soon began to realize his silver tongue could win over not just audiences, but individuals, and that gave him power to manipulate and control. Romulus flourished first in Rock Bridge, and then the larger cities in the kingdom.

Taking the stage name Wisher, Romulus gained notoriety performing one-man versions of popular plays of the time, some scandulous, some political satire that landed him in hot water for a time. He wrote a few plays himself but nothing ever caught on. He peaked and began to fade as new acts made the rounds and his name was slowly forgotten...At age 28 Romulus had hit rock bottom. He decided to travel.

He traveled for many years, to distant lands and places. He drank, he fought and loved. He killed once, but in self-defense. He disappeared. He returned once to Rock Bridge but all of his old friends were dead or in prison and the old theatre had long ago burned to the ground. He searched for his home village, but could not remember what it was called. He traveled for many more years.

At the edge of a forest, near a mountain peaked with grey snow, Romulus fell into a pit one night. Fumbling around in the darkness, clothing in tatters, grey beard and withered soul, Romulus found a door. It was very old, covered in runes around the molding. The old oak beams had long ago been smashed in, and this revealed a tunnel. Romulus entered the darkness.

He awoke later, near a town he remembered passing a few days prior, his clothes were still ragged, his beard and hair thin and matted. But his soul...felt...young again. He found in his possession a small black book containing a play he had never heard of before called The **** and ***** of *****. It was a very thin book, of common print paper. No author listed, no publisher. The first page simply began: ACT I, Scene I.

The play so enthralled Romulus he read it cover to cover wandering around the small town. Every line a masterpiece. Every scene perfection. Each character seemed to speak to him personally, pulling some misunderstood fragment of his own strange life to the foreground, revealing for him the truths those pieces truly held. He became enamored of the piece and could not wait to reveal the genius hereto within contained to a new audience.

He found himself at the local tavern and suggested to the barkeep he give a read of a masterful new play he had written for a drink or two (...I was an actor once you know...long ago..). The bar keep agreed and the townsfolk gathered around the fire and this strange old man who wanted to entertain them for the evening.

And so Romulus began. He poured his heart into that play. Each line, each refrain. Romulus had read it only once, could feel the heart of the story in his tongue, his bony fingers. His soul laid bare for those strangers for an hour, maybe six. He began to wheeze and cough. His mouth was dry. His throat burning with the fire of the sun; And then he was finished, panting, laying prone on the floor. Coughs shook his body. And there was.....silence. The townsfolk began to murmur. "Get on with it you crazy bastard..."

Months went by. Each time Romulus attempted to perform the strange play it was as if the audience heard not a word. Furthermore, he discovered the time it took (about 2 1/2 hours) to recite the damn thing seemed to not exist. At least not for the audience. Whenever Romulus attempted to talk to someone about the play, even mention the title they seemed to not understand, or act as if he had not been talking. It was as if Romulus was the only person in the world who knew of it's existence, or ever would.

And it destroyed him. It was not long before drink and anger, sadness and disparity began to tear the mans psyche to pieces. His infatuation for the play only deepened, only widened the gulf between reality and himself. He got violent. Really violent. He was caught during the third one. Imprisoned. Sentenced. Sent to the Stone.

But he managed to hold onto the book...

Space Isn't An Ocean

On the note of the Chat Room to be used for organization:

Skype would be good, as it includes chat history which is available to all chat group members. If there are any other chat clients that you suggest that include easily accessible chat history, then please suggest them - Skype is not perfect, after all.

@Azereiah

I don't have time for a chat thingy. Can I still apply?

Unquiet

@Mokley For your approval sir.

Romulus

NAME: Romulus "Salacious" Wisher

ABSTRACT: Mad Actor Tainted by Evil

DETAIL: Romulus was raised in a well adjusted middle class family. His father worked hard, his mother and siblings all loved one another and everything was generally GOOD. Romulus had a mind for the fantastic from an early age, and especially loved the stories told in local taverns. Whenever the troubador or traveling actors troupe would stop by his home village he was front and center, eyes affixed to the stage. And so he decided to abandon a life of toil in agricultural work and fled for the nearby city of Rock Bridge when he was 12 years old.

In Rock Bridge, Romulus quickly fell in with an acting company doing small jobs around the theatre for free. He learned what he could and over the years ingratiated himself enough with the company to actually get some stage time. He made a little money, bought a few books, borrowed some manuscripts and plays, and taught himself the trade. He flourished under the guidance of various actors; Romulus soon began to realize his silver tongue could win over not just audiences, but individuals, and that gave him power to manipulate and control. Romulus flourished first in Rock Bridge, and then the larger cities in the kingdom.

Taking the stage name Wisher, Romulus gained notoriety performing one-man versions of popular plays of the time, some scandulous, some political satire that landed him in hot water for a time. He wrote a few plays himself but nothing ever caught on. He peaked and began to fade as new acts made the rounds and his name was slowly forgotten...At age 28 Romulus had hit rock bottom. He decided to travel.

He traveled for many years, to distant lands and places. He drank, he fought and loved. He killed once, but in self-defense. He disappeared. He returned once to Rock Bridge but all of his old friends were dead or in prison and the old theatre had long ago burned to the ground. He searched for his home village, but could not remember what it was called. He traveled for many more years.

At the edge of a forest, near a mountain peaked with grey snow, Romulus fell into a pit one night. Fumbling around in the darkness, clothing in tatters, grey beard and withered soul, Romulus found a door. It was very old, covered in runes around the molding. The old oak beams had long ago been smashed in, and this revealed a tunnel. Romulus entered the darkness.

He awoke later, near a town he remembered passing a few days prior, his clothes were still ragged, his beard and hair thin and matted. But his soul...felt...young again. He found in his possession a small black book containing a play he had never heard of before called The **** and ***** of *****. It was a very thin book, of common print paper. No author listed, no publisher. The first page simply began: ACT I, Scene I.

The play so enthralled Romulus he read it cover to cover wandering around the small town. Every line a masterpiece. Every scene perfection. Each character seemed to speak to him personally, pulling some misunderstood fragment of his own strange life to the foreground, revealing for him the truths those pieces truly held. He became enamored of the piece and could not wait to reveal the genius hereto within contained to a new audience.

He found himself at the local tavern and suggested to the barkeep he give a read of a masterful new play he had written for a drink or two (...I was an actor once you know...long ago..). The bar keep agreed and the townsfolk gathered around the fire and this strange old man who wanted to entertain them for the evening.

And so Romulus began. He poured his heart into that play. Each line, each refrain. Romulus had read it only once, could feel the heart of the story in his tongue, his bony fingers. His soul laid bare for those strangers for an hour, maybe six. He began to wheeze and cough. His mouth was dry. His throat burning with the fire of the sun; And then he was finished, panting, laying prone on the floor. Coughs shook his body. And there was.....silence. The townsfolk began to murmur. "Get on with it you crazy bastard..."

Months went by. Each time Romulus attempted to perform the strange play it was as if the audience heard not a word. Furthermore, he discovered the time it took (about 2 1/2 hours) to recite the damn thing seemed to not exist. At least not for the audience. Whenever Romulus attempted to talk to someone about the play, even mention the title they seemed to not understand, or act as if he had not been talking. It was as if Romulus was the only person in the world who knew of it's existence, or ever would.

And it destroyed him. It was not long before drink and anger, sadness and disparity began to tear the mans psyche to pieces. His infatuation for the play only deepened, only widened the gulf between reality and himself. He got violent. Really violent. He was caught during the third one. Imprisoned. Sentenced. Sent to the Stone.

But he managed to hold onto the book...

History Generator [Open 'till the end of time]

<Snipped quote by Polybius>

So basically stuff like prophecies and miracle-like stuff that happen once in a blue moon?

@ClocktowerEchos

No I mean think meta for a minute about it. For example in medieval Europe all of these bad-ass Roman things kept popping up. Weapons, books, bath-houses. The people in Britain had no clue that an ancient Empire once colonized their Isles, no idea the level of sophistication and invention. The Britons literally thought giants had created all of that stuff, that magic was the source. Or in Conan the barbarian stories, magic is seen as something mysterious, Conan has no idea how it works-actually fears it most of the time, but you know the limits of the magic in the stories. H.P. Lovecraft does the same thing. I'm afraid I've gone off course trying to explain this...Am I making any sense?

History Generator [Open 'till the end of time]

<Snipped quote by Vordak>
There's also a bit of ignorance on my part as I've never read Tolkien so I wouldn't know about LOTR magics that people are suggesting. Basically I don't really know what people mean by Tolkien-style magic which is hidden but people know about it or something like that.

@ClocktowerEchos

Sorry Clock I simply meant that the way we refer to, inference and use magic might best be left vague like Tolkiens work, not literally like THIS IS HOW MAGIC WORKS AND NOTHING ELSE approach.

<Snipped quote by Vordak>

Knowing me, its most likely a combination of both, probably stemming from the fact this hasn't gone exactly the way I thought it would

@ClocktowerEchos

I don't know what to tell you except let's all work together. No singular vision will prevail.

History Generator [Open 'till the end of time]

I prefer to keep the actual, literal way things work more vague ala Tolkien at first. I'm not saying that specific brand of celtic/nordic folk magic with elves and rings and orcs and inexplicably peaceful hobbit-towns and shit but the idea that the nature of magic is mysterious, perhaps unknowable? At least at first, if say later someone wants to flesh things out-I think if we just namedrop a lot in early posts, and let other players take off with ideas then it will all come together. This works democratically too-the less popular ideas will be less fleshed out, the more popular ones will be re-visited again and again.

Space Isn't An Ocean - Privateers Interest Check.

Interested.

History Generator [Open 'till the end of time]

Hi. Just popping in to say my two cents.

The participants are given utmost freedom in their creativity, as long as it comes with respect for their fellow writers: use whatever formats you want, whether it be diaries, encyclopedic texts, biographies or legends; create whatever content you think will deepen or further the plot.

@Vordak

This is the sentence that got me interested and should be followed. I suggest a NARRATIVE format post and a Encyclopedia type post. You could post a short story involving different elements of the setting or an encyclopedia type entry describing a single thing in the setting. Hooks for future stories and objects/people/places/etc. could be left for other players to pick up. Don't forget that histories are often contradictory and multiplicitous.

As i said in the above post, we need some momentum going, so deciding the geographical specifics can be left for later

@vordak

Makes sense.

I'm hesitant about magic, it could easily fuck things up real easily not to mention all the other stuff that could entail.

I think we should just go normal route

@clocktowerechos

I disagree. I think magic is a great tool to make the world interesting, more vibrant and readible. The 'cool' factor if you will. Writing a world that is just renamed real-world pseudo-cultures doesn't exactly appeal to me (or anyone else reading it for that matter) what we need are hooks and plotlines just like any good novel. Instead I think we should all agree on a set rule of law for magic.

I also think we should wait on using a map until more of the setting is understood/written. Thoughts?