POOHEAD189

How do you feel about the level of character diversity you’ve experienced?

@Penny I'd argue Emmaline's nationality/ethnicity definitely kickstarted dogs 2, with her being a captive for being a northerner.

How do you feel about the level of character diversity you’ve experienced?

I deliberately play characters of a variety of races/ethnicity but frankly most of my stories are about shooting things in space so it is rarely a big driver of plot.

@Penny

I disagree. Your characters drive a lot of plots in my experience ;)

On topic, I usually like playing the odd one out, though not in a game breaking sort of way. Unless of course I just feel like being something tropey, like a Prince.

But I agree with @GeekFactor that you don't need to have diverse characters to have fun. A lot of roleplaying isn't about you being someone you're not, but experiencing things you usually do not. If you feel like being something you're familiar with, more power to you. It depends on the players/user, honestly.

What are you reading?

Just received Frederick the Great's Memoirs of War in the mail. I love it already

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

@Kassarock DM me who/what you wish to bring and I will consider it.

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

@Hank@Lemons@Fetzen@Stormflyx@Kassarock@NecroKnight

First IC post is up my friends

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

"You would do well not to disappoint me, boy." Foltest said.

The King stood within his own personal library, though in truth he mostly used it to store old ledger and gifted books and things of that nature. The day was hot, but a cool breeze kept the worst of it at bay, and Balidvar had the distinct impression it was a trick by Triss to temper the King's mood. The sorceress stood at the ready a few paces behind Foltest, eyes as sharp as a sword and hair as red as blood. She could speak up when she wished to, but she had seen Foltest and his bastard fight enough to know when to let them talk.

"And we are to meet them at the fort itself? Why is that again?" The bastard asked, callused hands turning the pages of the book he was skimming. He had the look of a hardened sailor and a swordsman you didn't want to meet on the streets at night, with an oft-broken nose and hard eyes. And yet he was considered comely all the same to more than a few women. Those that enjoyed fine cheekbones and a lean fighters physique.

Foltest let out a grave sigh, looking away from the product of his seed as he gazed about the room, no doubt wondering why he had not yet burn this place down yet. "Because a large force entering Nilfgaard will draw attention. Attention you don't want. All of them have been handpicked by me and examined by Vernon. A traitor couldn't slip past both of us. You'll be in good hands. The question remains on if you're up to the task of managing them."

Balidvar had curbed his worst impulses this day, keeping his tongue behind his teeth for the most part. He had thought to read a few of Heinsht Vorkenragh's books on siege preparations and logicists when his father had come in to discuss that very subject. The King continued. "How do you expect to learn anything from these books, hmm?" He grabbed the open book from the desk, closing it and holding it aloft. "Haven't I told you that experience is the best teacher?"

"Well since I have no experience, I thought I might learn beforehand until I was interrupted." Balidvar replied coldly.

"No experience, yes." Foltest replied snidely. It was one of the great mysteries of the cosmos, why the King treated his soldiers like his family and his family like soldiers. Then again that would imply he thought of Balidvar as his kin in the first place. The bastard pushed his chair back and stood up as the King asked. "Remind me again why I chose you to lead?" Face to face they looked quite different, except for the royal nose and their relative build.

"Because I am expendable." Bal replied, and walked passed his father. The King laughed at the answer. He remembered a time when he once craved that laugh. Now it was simply a nuisance.

"With an attitude like that, you just may well survive."

As Balidvar entered the circular stairwell, his shirtsleeve was gripped by a slender hand. His toned body halted midstride, and he turned to look back at Triss, her beautiful face a mask of concern and sympathy. He relaxed and straightened himself, and she leaned in to speak to him. "You know your father is right." She said, eyes boring into his. She didn't need enchantments to gain men's attention, but Balidvar wasn't in the mood.

"And you know that's the wrong thing to say to me right now." He said, turning to leave once more.

"Bal..." Triss said.

"Don't call me that." He said, though his tone wasn't harsh. He was taken by surprise when she placed a brooch in his hands, and to his surprise it was the coat of arms worn by crown princes. He looked at her in abject shock, but she merely placed a finger to her lips, and said. "I'll see you once the snows thaw." The Witch smiled, and turned back around and walked back into the library, speaking to the King the next moment to keep his temper down.

He left her and his father there at the top floor, travel worn boots thudding on the carved stone as he descended. The Temerian Coat of Arms hanging upon tapestries overhead, the blue and gold echoed on the Blue Stripe he saw at the bottom step, just heading up past him. Vernon Roche looked up, and gave a grim nod. "Fair travels boy. Set things up right, and we'll be on schedule this spring. Fail, and if the Nilfgaardians don't execute you, I might need to. Nothing personal."

2 Weeks later...

The smell of crisp smoke permeated in the air, stretching the allure of the freshly cooked sausage to the surrounding woods. A few scores of miles past the rift at Sodden, the forest was thick about them with little visibility. It seemed the directions had been impeccable though. Balidvar counted four masons, twelve laborers, a Tanner, and two cooks as of yet. Thanks the Gods the cooks had gotten here relatively earlier.

The meeting place had been set up by the stone that looked like an upside down boot the size of a man. Walking anywhere 50 yards west off the main road would be able to spot it. The bastard had been waiting for near 36 hours now, with his 10 men he brought having gathered much of the supplies they would need for the first week, along with two mules. The sun's rays peeked even through the brush, and Balidvar enjoyed the sun's warmth as he finished the sausage and took his leave from the fire, going to wait by the small path for any newcomers.

With any luck, the ones his father had summoned would arrive shortly...

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

@Lemons Oops, yes! Sorry, you may go and put him in the character tab.

Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

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Warhammer Fantasy: From Small Beginnings...

The situation had gone from interesting to unfortunate for the journeyman's tastes.

It seemed the consensus was the lad was going to recover and waken, and he trusted these manlings to know more about their own anatomy than he. He was relieved of that, but with all of his livelihood on his back he was a bit more concerned with himself at the moment. This was growing a bit too involved in the local politics. He was here to make a living, not a legend. Bringing back gold for his clan was the utmost importance.

He turned to the disfigured manling that spoke to him as if he knew him, ignoring the others that spoke up about joining on this woodland trek. "I'm a tanner, not a-" He started, then realized he was about to say 'soldier.' A man of the Empire likely couldn't appreciate it, but that was close to blasphemy. Every Dwarf in a hold was expected to gather arms in time of war. The Dwarf stalked past him toward the bar, where his drink was readied. "I'm here to make saddles and jerkins."

The Dwarf reached up and took the pint off the counter, taking a long whiff of what he knew to be Kislevite Vodka. It wasn't Dwarf make, but it would certainly do. The Dwarf sat down in thought at the table. He took a robust sip, froth sticking to the fringe of his mustache and upper beard as he considered. Despite his words, the prospect stuck to him with the simple logic that if this town were to be sacked, he'd have no place to set up shop. How could he claim to wish to be apart of the trade if he wasn't willing to fight for it?

Burundi knew his father would offhandedly claim he died for some human affair if he perished on this journey. But then he thought of young Johann. No, the other one. The roads were dangerous enough for a lad like that. If there was Grobi or Chaos-filth infesting the woods, he might meet his end out there, working just as Burundi was. Slowly, he knew he had to go with these Brettonian bastards. He could use a few good battles on his belt to honor his family, he had to admit.

The Dwarf had been sitting and thinking for what seemed like an eternity, and once he broke out of his thoughts he felt as if eyes were on him, and with a very brutish grumble, he opened his throat and downed the last half of the pint. The cup clapped onto the table, and Burundi took up his poleaxe and hopped off his seat. The chair was relieved to be rid of the Dwarfish weight, creaking and standing up a bit taller.

He approached the new Johan, his face grim and set for purpose. "Find a place to stash my belongings while I'm gone, and you have my service. That and the coin. I don't need the reputation, but I need the gold. Understand?" He asked, and once he was satisfied, leaving his workman pack with him, he strode over to Brandt, Roderick, and Jehan armed with his melee weapon and crossbow, and a small knapsack of rations and ale.

Luckily, the three that had volunteered look like they knew how to handle themselves. He hoped the two Brettonians were capable of fighting off horseback. He'd seen how effective Sigmarite Warrior Priests were when they're fervor was at its height. Much like Slayers in a backwards sort of way. He supposed there was worse company he could have been in. He could be going in with militiamen like Feitz.

"I hope we're to fight Orcs." He said to the two as he approached, stopping in between them and turning to address the room. "Grimnir knows we could do with a few less of them in the world."

Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

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