pugbutter

Blades of Iron Roses: A fantasy Knight RP

1-What is the overall perception of gender equality in this setting? Cause I am seeing inconsistent sources and interpretations.

@AtomicNut

Every deity is female, every clergyman is female, every prophet-child born when the stars align over the altar of Baphomet every 100 years with the blood-sacrifice of a virgin goat is female. I figured the agenda here was obvious.

Doesn't stop sexist characters from existing, though.

E:\cyberpunk\the_deadliest_question.exe

"I was hoping to go scuba diving," Jules said, "but the lifeguards said the tides brought in too much pollution that week. Just my luck, right? I, uhh, I managed to get a few hikes and historical monuments in. And of course I slept in nice and late!" He saved that bit for last, knowing that of all the dirty, solitary activities he enjoyed, laziness was the most appalling, and would offend her high-and-tight sensibilities the most. She knew well enough that he didn't very much enjoy bars, or social drinking in general, but surely he did something to explore the cities' limelight; grabbing a bite to eat downtown, seeing some mock-vaudeville shows, attending a comedy club, something which wasn't just a man and his thoughts, and dirt in the treads of his sturdy walking shoes.

As Ona opened the door for him, he nodded his thanks, and dragged his suitcase out of the cold. He almost deigned to mention how delicious all the food was, but since it was so meaty, so rich in starches and fats, he realized he would only be taunting her in doing so. She walked along a razorblade; whether she starved herself for her beauty, or indulged herself and hated herself afterward, either way, thoughts of food and eating only harmed his friend. If only those engineers who had perfect a plump, juicy, sweet lemon could also perfect an imitation-meat which would satisfy both the carnivore among them and the dieter.

Blades of Iron Roses: A fantasy Knight RP

"Gütta. And I'm sorry to lie to you, Rorskoth. Specially since you're so damn big!" The mercenary flashed a mischievous smile as he looked up at the hulking figure. His normal demeanor, a mild and watery smugness, slid back into view. "If it's anything to you, I just wanted out of that room. Most of these people bug the shit out of me."

Nevertheless he continued walking, following the Nord as far as he went. He needed to keep the gift safe, even if his back muscles were intact.

[+]

@Fyre Unholy

𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝕊𝔸𝔾𝔸 𝕆𝔽 𝕍𝕀ℕ𝔻𝔼ℝ𝕍𝔸𝕃𝕃

@Fyre Unholy and I ain't at Stockton, so we can take our time a little.

ᚠᚨᚱᛋᛁᚷᛚᛁᛝᛋᚨᚷᚨ

"One of what?" As Hrífa the bench's qualities on his rump, he swung his gaze over his shoulder, watching the girl. But she was blathering again, and again drooling over the prettiest hunk of meat on the longship, he realized; not educated or even particularly intelligent, that witch, but neither was he blind! So not expecting an answer, he went back to his business. He realized he hadn't bothered yet to scrounge for proper armor, or for a shield to hang from the gunwale. Shields were cheap, he knew, so he reckoned he ought to at least find a shield a man could spare, if not a proper helmet or seax. As he stood again, wondering who his rowing-mate on that particular bench would be (on this ship there were two men to an oar), Hrífa poised feline-like to leap the gap between the wale and the dock, and as he landed, swung his arms back a little to hoist himself forward the last few inches. He had nearly fallen in, not that the occasional ice-bath ever hurt anyone. Besides, sometimes the nornir destined a man to fall into the water!

"You, sir!" Hrífa called to the first man he saw who carried a shield, and who was not standing near any adolescents ready to take it from his hands. "How much copper would you want to sell that oak-board for?"

Hralding meanwhile stood as gatekeeper to the gangplank, as if he was a net, siphoning the crew from the civilians, or amongst the would-be crewmen, the strong from the weak.

Blades of Iron Roses: A fantasy Knight RP

IC whisper heard only by Rhydsar

"See what I mean?" Gütta mumbled. "Enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts, lad."

He tucked the bottle of sour ale into the cut-out pages of the book, which he grabbed, and closed tight, and pressed to his waist as he stood.

Sorry? She had some nerve, he thought, bringing his free hand up to his scalp, scratching the new layer of dust from his wisps of blond hair. If she had the balls to do that to people then she ought to have had the balls to own up to it, to accept the consequences, without pretending it was an accident. At least then her honesty could be respected. Sorry! It was an accident like being born on a full moon with a bleeding gape between the legs was a reliable basis for a system of government. Still, Gütta was glad in one regard: one of the pranksters had outed herself. He had gained a clearer picture of who not to trust around here. He'd need a new hiding place, of course, but there were plenty of those, with enough ingenuity. If necessary, if the Order's territory proved too perilous to any good, precious thing he wanted to keep on a nightstand, he could always go find an alley to bury the book in.

Gütta kept a cool face anyway. "Say, Doc," he said, massaging a callused hand into his trapezius, "I think I sprained something out in the courtyard. You got some kind of ointment I can take a look at?"

E:\cyberpunk\the_deadliest_question.exe

Jules laughed. It was a weak exhale which staggered through his nostrils, accompanied with a smile so dry and thin like a cheap cigar. Both were phony; after all, it was never funny to him how seriously and sincerely she enslaved herself to her labors. But he had to make light of it, trusting that neither of them was in the mood for a lecture.

"Hey, let's take it easy," he beamed. "Kick your shoes off, have a Bloody Mary. We can worry about tomorrow's interviews tomorrow." A vodka beverage with antioxidants and a sharp fruit flavor; perfect for the weight-watcher, Jules knew. He'd go for two fingers of something brown, which she would insist had more calories in it. Vodka and gin were for clean people, and indeed, those who wanted to hide their harsher flavors behind more pleasant ones. Jules had a knack for liking to punish himself, so he'd acquired the tastes.

He stepped out of the vehicle and, closing the door, fished worriedly through his pockets. "Uh oh—oh. Oh, thank Christ." For a brief moment he had lost his keycard in the many nooks and crannies of his clothing, which was too bright and breezy for the damp air biting at their bones, with a sharpness like that of the chrome and glass of the skyscrapers this wind whistled between. He reached for his suitcase, and when she came round to his side of the vehicle, he gave her the door key.

Blades of Iron Roses: A fantasy Knight RP

Edit: apparently if you wait long enough you can't take a Thank away. So I gave you another Thank and then took that one away instead. Ha ha ha ha

Blades of Iron Roses: A fantasy Knight RP

To be fair, Viking-sempai and his mighty beefy arms are much more interesting that some washed up crone.

Gutta wants to hog all that manmeat for himself, the greedy dog.

@AtomicNut

I mean, you're trying to be sarcastic, but...yeah. Having a character with overt emotional shortcomings—in this case, a shyness unbecoming of the not-Nordics living north of Thaln—intrigues me a lot more than trying to blackmail me OOC into conceding your character is a world-renowned badass. Show don't tell applies here as much as in any other medium of fiction.

(Plus Fyre and I have been RPing together for three years so)

Blades of Iron Roses: A fantasy Knight RP

• Gutta is not from Thaln, as established in the pedantry a few pages back with not-German and not-French nomenclature.
• He's not illiterate, but reading clearly isn't one of his hobbies; as established in my bio.
• The event he's supposed to know all the faces from (not to mention that one of them is undead and still walking around, because that's a thing to reasonably expect in everyday life) happened over two hundred years ago.
  • No, not her name; her face. She hasn't told him his name. She's just stepped up to him to interrupt his conversation with her sick Dr. Manhattan impression.
• According to Merilia's app she went "exploring" after the knights' foundation.
• According to my app and character posts, my character has not been in the knights for 200 years; closer to a few months short of one.

So going back to the Declaration of Independence example, you're not really asking an American who John Hancock was. You're asking a German peasant who doesn't read who Thomas Heyward, Jr. was.

I remind you that Hancock, Franklin, Adams, and Jefferson, the most famous of the Declaration signers, went on to do other immediate things in the public eye: presidency, invention, humorist writing and publishing, and so on. People all across the country are much less likely to remember a judge; or in this case, an "explorer."

It sounds to me like she's been resting on her laurels for 200 years and expects everyone to still fawn at her feet for the one significant thing she did over two centuries ago, but what do I know? She has a portrait downstairs, a novelty literally anyone with enough money can commission from an artist!

Right, so it's pretty reasonable IMO not to know that she exists. She's the Heyward to Elionne Carthet's Hancock, you could say.

Though if she has written a kickass memoir about her "exploration," let me know. That'd be a real game-changer.