POOHEAD189

After two months, I'm back baybee!

For some reason I am a cutoff point for a lot of members...

a new wanderer approaches… ♡

Welcome! Its lovely to meet you

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

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Kayden got out of bed bright and early, but once he got dressed and smoothed his perfect hair, he decided to go on a jaunt rather than immediately to the room they had been summoned to. He had time, and felt like a brisk walk on the grounds would clear his head for the day. He had much to think on, though thankfully Veronica was not one of those topics. She had been...relatively tame the last few times they had been within proximity to one another. Well, he pushed her out of his mind and reflected on the horse ride they had earlier. Jorah's obsession with hating him seemed to have been lightening up slightly, and though he hadn't had the chance to speak to Derec, Clarissa was a gem. He was honored to make her acquaintance. All of those present had been grand riders too. The Eagles might have less problems than the other two Houses, but they weren't as personable either except for himself. Hopefully they would be able to change that.

Kayden stopped himself, realizing he had been so lost in thought he had forgotten to wake up his team. Not that they were expecting him to, but he felt it was his responsibility. Cursing, he raced to the classroom and stepped in a minute or two shy of them starting, right when people were taking their seats and whispering to one another. He scanned the room and counted the Eagles, pleased when he realized they were all present. He made a point of searching for Rudolph, finding the diminutive student was present whilst simultaneously looking like they wanted to leap off a bridge rather than be here.

Same old, same old, then.

He made his way to the front of the classroom and found Clarissa, Albrecht, Alyeas, and Ezekial. He had not spoken much to the latter bunch, though Albrecht had been assigned to the Eagles. “Fair weather and good morning,” he said to them in greeting, not deigning to make any more conversation so as to focus on the board. The Geography professor had a detailed map of Magdred Way. The professor did not disappoint, the curves of the terrain and the foliage was well presented, letting Kayden get a good idea of the forward tactics they would use. He struck a professional poise, hand on his chin as he listened intently.

Volunteers? Was this a training exercise? Immediately he wanted to raise his hand and be thrown into danger, but once he absorbed the information, he realized it would only be a small cog in the wheel of the plan. There were people to be kept safe, and as much as he liked running in the vanguard, he knew it was good leadership and a showing of nobility to uphold lives over glory. He also knew he was trying to convince himself he was being pragmatic, when his conscience was what was truly making the decision for him. And if Kalliope and her knights weren't where the volunteers were going to be, then he would see if they might hang around the defenders before or after their advance.

Something did not sit right, however. He hoped this wasn't going to be a rehash of the last battle. Defending people's backs on a five to one ratio had not been his idea of a sound plan, but it was all he could have done at the time. At least he would have backup, now.

The Sunday Group

Suave Sorcerer

Name: Malcador 'Mal' Ravenwood

Age: 26

Appearance: Mal has been blessed with an all encompassing charm. His eyes are a deep sea blue that could drown someone that looked too deeply, his hair is thick and as black as a demon's heart. He sports a small ponytail tied up to trail down his neck, effortlessly worn. His jawline is positively distracting and his nose perfectly proportioned, only matched by his lean body of trim muscles. He tends to wear business casual, generally a vest over a white dress shirt and well tailored pants. It's only when he has to appear in public, however. He much prefers his darkly colored mystic's robes. The one quality that he could do without is a brand on his left shoulder he is careful to cover up at all times; four great black marks, like claw marks of black ink, the demon Mephistopheles cursed him with the day they met, long ago.

Concept: Suave Sorcerer

Powers/skills:

Magic: Specifically manipulation of mystic forces, the unbinding of curses, and conjuration. Most spells beyond cantrips require a conduit like a staff.

Devilishly Handsome: Malcador is easy on the eyes, and he'll use it to his advantage.

Lying: He's a swindler and a consummate liar. His voice is smooth and enticing, and that only helps his normal ease at the vice. He had to learn it growing up in and out of the streets and foster care.

History Degree: Graduated from the University of Stanford with a Bachelor's.

Staff: (See Jaelle Codona's sheet)

Things Your Character Wants to Happen (probably wont):

Parents: The rescuing of his parents souls.

Jaelle: The rescuing of Jaelle's spirit.

Things You as a Writer Wants to Happen (Maybe will):

The Book: Finding the Book of Black Malediction. Some say it could bind Mephistopheles and call upon greater demonic powers to control the diabolic.

Tomb: Finding the Tomb of Merlin. Merlin was a hero of his growing up, and he very much wishes to locate and appropriating his trappings and teachings.

Ladies: He likes 'em

Writing Sample? - Excuse me? Please. I am a professional now.

Dungeoncrawl: I Want to be a Wizard!

@Mae Going into the bronze doored tomb!

Cold Iron and Black Powder

The Chapter House was not of the same size or accommodations as the Grand Order's House in Middenheim, but it was nearly there. Reikland was a province brimming with wealth, wine, and trade, and the Emperor Karl Franz saw the wisdom in providing for the sons of Ulric with a few coffers from the Imperial Vault. The protection of the warrior god had served humanity even before Sigmar, and it did not do to piss him off. Him or his chosen warriors. Unfortunately, Torm couldn't give it too much appreciation. He was distracted by the strange looks many of his Chapter brothers had given him since the courtyard debacle.

"Well, he's got spirit, I'll give him that." Isidor remarked, his one eye fixed markedly on Brimhall, the Altdorf Chapter House commander. It was four words more than Isidor usually spoke in a given day, which had Torm worried. Wulfrim stood beside the Commander, grim face and unwavering in his ability to appear both neutral and disapproving all at once. The group, including Gundahar but absent of Arnulf and Thorsten and a few other notable members, were not there for any specific hearing on Torm's behalf, but they had invited the young wolf along to speak on him breaking ranks in front of the crowd.

"Pretty brazen," Gundahar agreed hypocritically, having broken more than a few rules because 'Ulric had taken him,' which they all knew he was too swollen on drink to think straight. Torm used a monumental amount of effort to keep his face straight after Gundahar had the gall to uttered the words. It was lucky too, because Brimhall did not take his eyes off of him. Ironically, the man looked like one of the statues of Sigmar out in the courtyard, which made him look more Ulrican than most. His beard was well trimmed and his physique heroic, despite his aging.

"Can I speak, Commander?" Torm asked, chin raised. His wintry eyes stolid.

"No need." Brimhall replied. "You did the right thing."

No one in the troupe was vying for Torm getting reprimanded, but their surprise was still quite genuine. Torm had expected to be sent on stable duty or make the what they called the 'low rounds' in the slums with more danger and little reward. Cleaning duty perhaps. Torm had experienced that enough in his formative years. Gundahar spit, too used to the road and forgetting the hardwood floors weren't a place to do that. Wulfrim and Brimhall looked at him, but he didn't notice at first. Instead he strode over and clapped Torm on the shoulder.

"Good job, lad! You always had some brass balls, I tell old Thorsten."

"He did the right thing, but he still broke ranks." Brimhall corrected, drawing Torm and Gundahar's gaze. Torm did not know if he would like where this was leading, but it promised to be interesting. If he was just going to be outright punished, they would have done it immediately and gotten it over with.

Brimhall got up, and waved for the others to follow. His look told Torm he didn't want the boy to move an inch, and Torm stood at the ready, arms down and chin high at attention. Isidor moved past without a word, followed by a grumbling Gundahar, and Angsar as well. Only Wulfrim stayed, the one knight Torm had to admit he was intimidated by him. Oh, if he faced any in battle he would feel immense trepidation, but Wulfrim had a force of personality behind his grim demeanor that showed the mark of both a great leader and a terrible man to piss off. However, Ulric sought for this day to be full of surprises. Wulfrim turned to the right, walked over to a door Torm hadn't noticed before, and opened it. Out walked a man that could only be described as sleazy, but with a cunning intellect that belied his gap-tooth smile.

"You can speak freely, pup." Wulfrim said, stepping back and watching them both. Torm nodded and turned to the newcomer.

"Who the hell are you?" He asked. Wulfrim snorted and the man let out a chuckle.

"Koneig," he said with an accent that was decidedly northern, but not middenheim or any nordlander inflection. A coin played along the back of his deft fingers, and as he stepped closer, Torm was in awe of how he hadn't smelled this man's breath even behind the door. "I'm what you might call a talent seeker, if you would. I saw you at the courtyard today. You look like a problem solver, and I've got a big problem, and a problem with a slim waist and a big mouth. I want you to solve both of 'em for me."

Torm glanced at Wulfrim, and the older wolf spoke.

"You're young, boy. You've got promise, but we need to send you somewhere after today. We can't have you looking like you were punished, but we can't give you a pat on the back either. Luckily, we have an out. Koneig here needs a wolf-"

"Sir-"

"And you're not worth as much as the older knights," Wulfrim finished. Torm swallowed a retort and nodded, having seen it coming from a mile away. He knew being the youngest meant he was expendable, but it still felt like they underestimated him. He let it slide, and instead turned to Koneig.

"What's the big problem, and who's the small problem?"

Koneig put his arm around the White Wolf, his worn guard uniform browned and strange clashing with the brilliant white of the wolf pelt and the abyssal black of his armor. "Let me tell you about the big one while we go and visit the wee one, ay?"

Dungeoncrawl: I Want to be a Wizard!

"Fuck," Mal cursed, squinting at the scrawling script to make sure he read it correctly, and cursing again when he realized he had. He sighed, feeling like it was just his luck. Contemplating for a moment, he realized he hadn't come here for small risk small reward. Even so, he looked past the tomb to the rubble, eyeing it for a moment before realizing he would likely come in this more, likely dangerous one afterwards anyway. Leveling his wand, Mal decided to open the tomb door.

He made no sound, except for any the door might give away. Hopefully the sunlight streaming in would deter any abomination that happened to be lurking within.
@Mae

The Sunday Group

To make a sexy young mage or an odious dwarf that only speaks in old futhark...

Jianghu: Age After War - A wuxia interest check

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