Fun fact, I was about halfway through my post when @Flightless_Soul posted, so I decided to thicken the plot a bit.
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Saga sat on a rickety chair in the far corner of the Dock Inn, downing a cup of the darkest beer he could get his hands on. His sword was still a bit bloody from his previous job, but he reasoned that a stop at the nearest tavern would help relax his senses. It almost did. As he sipped the last bitter drops from his mug, he reminisced the events of the past day.
Many boys dream of becoming knights, to don their shiny armor and smite the savages who dared oppose their liege. The boys with rich families were the ones who actually became knights. The others, too poor to realize their dream, become mercenaries. Saga knew both lives.
As a knight, you would most likely live a life of luxury, with servants attending your every need, and women knocking at your door to gain your favor. It was a highly political life, as “fellow” knights sought to best him at every turn, whether or not he saw them as his friend or not. Above all else, they were to abide by their code of honor, a chivalric duty that all knights were held up to scrutiny.
Of course, not all knights abided by this code. Saga remembered distinctly that abstinence was a key pillar of the code, and well, any fool with half a mind knew where that led to. Really, it was just a game of who could hide their sins better than others. Saga was one of the losers, and he remembered his loss all too well. It wasn’t lust for a whore that dishonored him, it was love. But they didn’t care. He nearly tipped his mug as he remembered her head rolling from the executioner’s block, ever so slowly.
Then there was the mercenary life. It was… quite different from the pampered lifestyle of the Vangardian Knight. You go to a client that requests your services, whether it be to bolster an army or protect him on his way to the shitter. After the job is done, you get paid. Easy. The pay wasn’t a mile from the pension he received as a knight, but he didn’t have to deal with political bullshit. There was no honor or chivalry among the wicked, and everyone knew and accepted it.
He finished another mug, and found himself thirsting for yet another.
“Hey Hal! Two coin for that ale you’re so bloody proud–”
@Flightless_Soul
His words cut short as a newcomer entered the inn. And my, did she scream beauty. And danger.
Her eyes scanned the tavern, looking for someone. She had a sly eye, like a cat waiting to pounce on a fat rat. She didn’t look as if she was from the area, as she stood out like a sparkling ruby atop a pile of granite. Her eye never landed on him, probably because he was in the darkest corner of the whole inn.
He knew women like her. Back when he was a knight, at least. They could swindle a man’s sword right out of it’s sheath, of course, depending on which sword you were talking about. He knew their games, how they found their targets. It was easy enough to get rid of them, however. All you needed to do was say, “No”. But naturally, that was the most difficult part.
But this one was stranger still. She might have a way with words, but he had a sneaking suspicion that she was in fact more deadly than she seemed. For now, he would watch, and wait.
Oh, you’re catching feelings again, Saga. I can feel it, you know.
Shut up, Seele.
Many boys dream of becoming knights, to don their shiny armor and smite the savages who dared oppose their liege. The boys with rich families were the ones who actually became knights. The others, too poor to realize their dream, become mercenaries. Saga knew both lives.
As a knight, you would most likely live a life of luxury, with servants attending your every need, and women knocking at your door to gain your favor. It was a highly political life, as “fellow” knights sought to best him at every turn, whether or not he saw them as his friend or not. Above all else, they were to abide by their code of honor, a chivalric duty that all knights were held up to scrutiny.
Of course, not all knights abided by this code. Saga remembered distinctly that abstinence was a key pillar of the code, and well, any fool with half a mind knew where that led to. Really, it was just a game of who could hide their sins better than others. Saga was one of the losers, and he remembered his loss all too well. It wasn’t lust for a whore that dishonored him, it was love. But they didn’t care. He nearly tipped his mug as he remembered her head rolling from the executioner’s block, ever so slowly.
Then there was the mercenary life. It was… quite different from the pampered lifestyle of the Vangardian Knight. You go to a client that requests your services, whether it be to bolster an army or protect him on his way to the shitter. After the job is done, you get paid. Easy. The pay wasn’t a mile from the pension he received as a knight, but he didn’t have to deal with political bullshit. There was no honor or chivalry among the wicked, and everyone knew and accepted it.
He finished another mug, and found himself thirsting for yet another.
“Hey Hal! Two coin for that ale you’re so bloody proud–”
@Flightless_Soul
His words cut short as a newcomer entered the inn. And my, did she scream beauty. And danger.
Her eyes scanned the tavern, looking for someone. She had a sly eye, like a cat waiting to pounce on a fat rat. She didn’t look as if she was from the area, as she stood out like a sparkling ruby atop a pile of granite. Her eye never landed on him, probably because he was in the darkest corner of the whole inn.
He knew women like her. Back when he was a knight, at least. They could swindle a man’s sword right out of it’s sheath, of course, depending on which sword you were talking about. He knew their games, how they found their targets. It was easy enough to get rid of them, however. All you needed to do was say, “No”. But naturally, that was the most difficult part.
But this one was stranger still. She might have a way with words, but he had a sneaking suspicion that she was in fact more deadly than she seemed. For now, he would watch, and wait.
Oh, you’re catching feelings again, Saga. I can feel it, you know.
Shut up, Seele.
Gonna add a bit to my character's background in terms of how he reacts to other fantasy races.
Saga Berenike
“What use is a shield if I no longer have anything to protect? I would rather focus on killing with both hands."
Age: 23
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Appearance: Curly brown hair, hard face, distant eyes.
Personality: Disgruntled, paranoid, distant. These words, and many more similar terms describe Saga in a fairly accurate way. After deserting his former kingdom, he developed an intense distaste for people who abided by codes of honor, etiquette, and other such rules because he believes that people use these codes to mask their true feelings and manipulate others. Because of his mannerisms, or lack thereof, he usually is not looked upon favorably by the political sort due to his brashness and blunt honesty. The only companion he trusts is the one inside his head.
Backstory: Saga hails from a faraway land, in fact, so far away, that whether one goes north, south, east, or west, it makes no difference in the duration of the unhindered journey. This particular kingdom was known for its Knights; their honor, their chivalric values, and their loyal devotion to the cause. He was one of them: Diligent in his service, unyielding, and a stalwart soldier. However, Saga was betrayed by the very values he had treasured so much. He casted away his shield, no longer content with protecting himself. Instead, he now wields his sword with both hands.
He fought in many wars, beginning as a simple foot-soldier at the age of thirteen. During that time, he fought combatants of many races, and lost many friends to them; Orcs, elves, dwarves, goblins, lizard-folk, even giants, though they were few and far between. It's no mystery that war changes a man. Even if you initially bear no burden against a species it is inevitable that, after a few cuts and gashes, as well as some death, one becomes... uncomfortable when near a former enemy.
Equipment
His old plate armor, once shining with a proud gleam and polish, an armor once thought to be impenetrable by his old enemies, is now dirty, rusted, and worn with age. It holds well against most attacks, but it is still very far from what it used to be.
His sword, a sturdy blade as tall as himself, is the only piece of his equipment he still keeps in relatively good shape. Useful for beating back the opposition, it is just as you would expect from a sword, and often, the ordinary blade is all a soldier needs.
When he was a child, he was given a “mind companion”, a certain voice only he can hear. This voice has a personality of its own, and is meant to act as a “sixth sense”, telling him relative information in regards to his surroundings.
Ooh, I'm interested! Mind if I build a cs?
@Zelosse I apologize, but due to a sudden explosion of tests and essays, I cannot participate in the Rp. Good luck to you all!
@Zelosse Ok then, I'll get started on a CS.
Hey @Zelosse, just saw the interest check (So this is where you've been for these last few months, huh) and I'm pretty interested in joining, but is there any prior information I need to know before applying?
Malveil
Main Street
“Oh, you are abhorrent.”
Malveil barely flinched as the shadowy abomination was shoulder-checked by one of his pawns, and had one of its supporting limbs hacked off by another’s axe. Black ash spewed from the wound instead of blood, and almost as fast as it was hacked off, the limb instantly reformed, like the pawns were chopping through mud.
The shadow monster wrapped a limb around one of the pawns, and crushed his head, helmet and all. Another pawn hacked away its limb again, but once more it regrew like nothing Malveil had ever seen. Another one of his pawns fell as the beast stuck its arm straight through his breastplate.
There must be some way to kill these things.
As the brawl continued, Malveil tried to examine the strange specimen, to discern any weak points in its form. He had to act quick, or the other two would join in. Speaking of the other two, his Knight ran one down, keeping it distracted for the time being. His Rook opened fire on the other, and it was then Malveil noted something interesting. The bullet struck the creature dead center, where it seemed a small body hung suspended by the shadowy limbs. It bled.
So that’s where they’re weakest, yeah?
Malveil ordered his pawns to focus on attacking the soft center, and try they did. However, the thing got the better of them, tripping the three remaining soldiers and crushing them with its limbs one by one. It then tried to attack Malveil, but was stopped dead in its tracks with a mace to the face. The Bishop stood between him and the shadow monster, intent on smiting the unworthy, unclean beast.
The Knight was having the most trouble. Despite his titan of a horse, a horse was a horse. The shadow monster simply twisted its limbs into a thick mess of wire, tripping up the stallion and tossing the Knight into a heap. He got up, and had no choice but to defend himself against the monster with his spear and shield. The Rook had finished off his own opponent first, and joined the Knight in attacking the second one, providing supporting fire to distract the beast so that the Knight could go in for the kill.
But now Malveil had to focus on the fight in front of him. His Bishop did not attack; instead it kept the beast at bay, using his mace and armor to ward off any incoming strikes. It was all Malveil could order him to do, lest he be killed like the other pawns. Of course, they always came back after a fight, but that didn’t matter if Malveil were to die in said fight. The Bishop was in a rough spot, defending against a multi-limbed thing with only a mace. He was the most skilled out of the three in direct combat, but sometimes that just wasn’t enough. He was fighting a losing battle. That is, until Malveil stabbed the beast in the back, and dragged his ornate dagger through the abhorrent thing, spilling whatever guts it may have had.
His Knight and Rook had finished the other beast, and it lay on the pavement, bleeding shadow. It was over, at least for now. He still had a mission to fulfil. It would take him thirty minutes to replace his pawns with new ones. The same went with his Rook, Knight, and Bishop. They were only pieces, of course. They were to be disposed of and used to further his own goal.
But now wasn’t the time to ponder the morality of disposable soldiers. It was time to move, and move he did towards the southwest.
@Agent 47 Posted! To be honest, I feel that my character may potentially pan out to be pretty OP due to an ability that allows him to completely control a person. If you guys want me to switch to another character I'll gladly do it, I just want to make sure that everyone can enjoy the Rp with such a character in play.
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