SillyGoy

Fugitive Powers

So how long does it take to walk from the Cemetery to Brooklyn?

Fugitive Powers

Damned pigeons are always so presumptuous, like they know everything about you. Hmph, they're so arrogant, they don't know they're making fools of themselves...

The Relics

@AlidaMaria

I will revise Dogfael's history so that he is one of the priests (or preacher or crier, if they have no such people) of a localized Order heresy.

Fugitive Powers

I've posted. Hopefully Timothy's provided the information Luke thirsts for.

Do know that I'm not doing this for pigeons like you, but for the greater good of the RP, and that of Christendom.

Fugitive Powers

“You need not force yourself to speak so archaically, child. You see, it becomes quite a bad habit,” Timothy, who had stood up when Miriam had, joked. “Regardless, it doesn’t seem like you have a place to stay for the night other than this miserable place. If you’d like to join me, I’m headed to Brooklyn. A friend of mine’s told me that there’s a safe place there for people like us. Quite a long way to there, but a lengthy walk is good exercise, don’t you think?” he offered with consistent gentleness.

Closing the zipper and slinging his bag over his shoulder, Timothy awaited the girl’s answer, but not before saying, “By the way, I won’t tell you my name, but you can call me whatever you like. It’s for security reasons I’m afraid. What shall I call you?”

Fugitive Powers

I'm actually going back on my word and in the middle of making a new post.

Gothic Lands - Gaia [Dark-Medieval Fantasy]

What's religion like in the South? I've been roleplaying as people of destitute backgrounds and I kind of want to feel extra powerful for this one, so I wanna see if I can't get a Prince-Bishop who commands maybe a thousand levy men and will have a say on strategic operations.

Which, of course, means that as a GM, you will have to make further accommodations for me. But if you don't want to go the extra mile and entertain my idea, I would totally go for a less powerful and less hassle of a character.

Fugitive Powers

Hopefully, Quatro'll get a post up so Miriam can have some material to work with for today; because I am quite tired to post.

My apologies.

The Relics

Name: Dogfael Ua Nèill
Age: 54
Gender: Male
Faction/Allegiance:

De jure:

- Order of Light: A new organization some suspect may have ties to the Empire of Kalesia that preaches of the godhood of the rulers of the Old Kingdom. It has only small areas of influence in northern Othea at the moment, with the local lords mostly permitting their stay because of the little boost to tax income their churches bring.

They are hoarding artifacts in the name of their Gods. In order to do this, they send small teams of priests or seminaries scavenging around ruins.

- The Kingdom of Othea.

De facto:

- Himself.

Relic Description:

Dogfael’s relic is an ancient mace beautifully decorated by arabesque patterns engraved upon its surface. Sprouting from the head are six flanges that sport differing images of mythical beasts on their sides save for one, namely: a dragon, a wyvern, a manticore, a unicorn, a centaur, a satyr, a daemon, a succubus, a harpy, a medusa, and a wendigo; opposite of the dragon’s side of its flange is instead the image of a king seated on his throne.

The relic, which Dogfael has affectionately named “Might”, lives up to its namesake as it has nullified the effects of old age once plaguing him and has in their stead returned the strength of youth to him, in addition to an extra boon of considerable strength, totalling up to physical power more fitting to a knightly champion than an old man like him. His mind has also apparently been healed, as his thoughts are far sharper and clearer than what they once were even during his youth. Then again, he was a terrible drunkard when he was young.

To his delight, his loins have also been reinvigorated.

Only having had the relic for but half a month, he is still not sure what else it does, but every morning, he wakes up with uncharacteristic energy belied by his thin, frail-looking arms and wrinkling skin. He hopes it will make him look younger as time passes by, perhaps even granting him immortality.

Appearance:


”This artifact will make me look much younger in a few years, just you wait!”

Age has truly taken a toll on Dogfael’s appearance. A balding head with wispy white locks of what used to be a respectable bush of short, brown hair sits atop a thin neck of dry, leather-like skin. Eyes possessed of what seems to be a perpetual look of mild annoyance, once bright blue, are quite less so now, and stare judgmentally at innocent passers-by, and with shameless intent at any youthful girls around if he can get away with it. The rest of his body duly expresses the effects of old age.

He wears clerical robes colored a simple brown, secured to his person with a belt of hempen rope. As a priest, a miniature cross is always on his person, and an even tinier one hangs pendant from his neck on a string.

Flaws:

Other than making him feel young again, making him substantially stronger and his mind a bit sharper, there doesn’t seem to be that much else to the artifact. Then again, two weeks is just a short time. Perhaps there are more boons in the future?

Skills:

Tongue of Silver, Word of the Gods: Dogfael’s background and education allows him to speak very convincingly and eloquently. Of course, this is a necessity if one is to preach to the masses.

Literate: Dogfael can read and write. A most essential skill.

---

Biography of the Hedonist Priest Dogfael

Dogfael was born as the younger of two brothers to the local baron’s stablemaster and his wife. Childhood was relatively normal and it consisted of lessons at the church’s school in the morning, followed by goofing off in the afternoon (after chores, of course). Something remarkable is that the baron, Lord Mandak, had allowed Dogfael and his brother to play with his children. Alas, this would not last long, for their father was promptly imprisoned for having an affair with the baroness, who had shortly claimed coercion by blackmail to save face, after which he was executed by hanging. After their mother too was imprisoned, the two confused children, with the younger being only six years old, were hastily brought under the care of their uncle, a priest, in fear of further retribution.

In the Parish of Rurikid, Dogfael lived humbly in the church and was tutored by diligent nuns who did not at all spare the branch. Even heavier chore-work burdened the tender child, and it was obvious that he was rather unhappy there instead of the castle grounds. His uncle did not have much time for him and was rather indifferent but had expressed hopes that he, too, would follow his path as a man of the cloth. With his elder brother dying of the Great Pox, contracting the disease in a local outbreak, Dogfael went through his childhood well enough, and was sent at sixteen to a prestigious university quite some distant away to continue his education, secured through his uncle’s powerful contacts.

As a youth, it was in the university that he had acquired a gluttony for drink and a passion for women. As the institution allowed more freedom than his home, he was often away from the gaze of nuns, and that allowed and his friends to go on some rather unspeakable adventures, with a particular one ending up with Dogfael waking in the local village’s stable, next to a dog that was giving birth, and another one that had him running through the streets half-naked, being chased by an irate burgher whose daughter merely looked on dreamily from the window. Indeed, he would come to think of his teenage years as some of the best in his life.

But all good things must come to an end, and so he, with the blessing of his uncle who was now bishop of Babenburger (and thus the only bishop in Othea; though this means little as the Order has only small areas of influence in the country), became a priest of Rurikid Parish at age twenty-four.

But who says priesthood can keep you away from the tavern, eh?

The unambitious Dogfael continued his hedonistic streak as he imbibed in alcohol and women. While his Order promoted moderation and restraint, the local villagers had no such qualms, and came to like him as one of their own. After all, it’s hard not to trust a man after you’ve had a couple of drinks with him and shared a good whore together. His uncle was unsure how to act: on one hand, Dogfael was being a scandalous wastrel, on the other hand, the villagers rather liked this fun priest who would even volunteer to buy the two ritual pigs every seasonal feast so they could put them in a cart and roll them into the river His method of preaching was also highly controversial, with lively jokes and stories interspersed with lulls of passionate litanies.

Almost thirty years of this has earned him oh so many good friends. With his ancient but magnanimous uncle refusing to die even at age eighty and with his gregariousness earning the religion more popularity, he has gotten away with it all. Ah, but old age has slowed him down, and he can no longer drink too much, and his little friend has gone into his eternal slumber. At fifty-three years old, he had taken time to reflect upon his life, and found it good. He was never ambitious in the first place, and not once had he thought that being a priest would have been so much fun! He doesn’t know how many of the little scampers running around the fields were his own, but he sure as hell wasn’t obligated to recognize any of them or marry their mothers!

This would change, however, with the inevitable death of his uncle a year later and the installation of a new bishop, who had immediately placed Dogfael as the leader of a relic hunting party and sent him to some dreary abandoned fortress down to the south. Dogfael could do naught but comply as he and his party went down the muddy roads, headed south.

As if going away from home this far and for this long was bad enough, the entrance to the fortress was swarmed by a particularly thick growth of wood. Branches in his face, always branches in his face, snapping the twigs off in exasperation while the seminaries waited for him up ahead.

It was in the throne room (or so he had assumed, the damage was too terrible to know for sure the purpose of the room) that he had found the mace, atop a pedestal and being gawked at with awe by his younger party members while he held his hip at having to climb so many flights of stairs. Tiredly, he had ordered them to put the damn thing in the bag, but they wouldn’t comply, so transfixed were they in the concrete symbol of the holiness of their Gods -- whom Dogfael did not believe utter squat about, of course -- and so he grabbed the shaft of the mace to do it himself.

And he blacked out.

Waking in an inn surrounded by worried seminaries but feeling extremely liberated in a physical sense, he was duly informed that he had bonded with the artifact. When asked if they were sure, the seminaries had simply pointed at his right hand for him to notice that he had been holding the mace with a vice-like grip. Brow furrowed, he examined the artifact, turning it round and, perhaps mistakenly, seeing a sort of destiny the moment he regarded the image of the seated king on one of its flanges. Never had he experience this sudden rush of warmth and sense of purpose in his life, not even when in between the legs of an eager, lonely debutante who had taken up his offer of comfort.

And on the way home, Dogfael killed the three seminaries after they had refused to run away with him and taking the artifact for themselves. Gods and Church be damned, he had power now! And he wasn’t about to hand it over to some self-righteous bishop so he could place it in a glass case and keep it away from the world; no, such things should be enjoyed, that one may live his life easier and with more pleasure. Neither Light nor Idris had it right; Dogfael had his own philosophy. A better philosophy.

With extra gold from the seminaries’ purses, he then decided to travel further south and east and into the Othean capital of Amaryth. After all, with the King’s birthday coming up, there should be many opportunities for great fun in the near future.

---

Personality:

“I know that it should be time for the choir to sing of the Seven Heavenly Virtues, but my fellows, wouldn’t a song about the virtues of wine be a more enjoyable thing? Hahahaha! I’m serious, though. Hahaha! Just kidding.”

Dogfael is a hedonist true and proud. Jovial and gluttonous (though blessed with such a metabolism that he does not gain much weight), he finds it hard not to crack a good joke at somebody else’s expense, finds it even harder to resist the temptations of the horn and the tankard, and almost impossible to endure even the passive eroticism of the female form. It should come to no surprise, then, that he spends a great deal of coin to drink and to experience the active eroticism of the female form in hypnotic motion.

Afflicted by the deadly sins of gluttony and lust, he makes no effort to become more temperate. Some say duty or family or love or -- for the more stupid of people -- dying in battle is the greatest thing on earth, but really, primal pleasure, pure and unadulterated, whether from the tankard or from the loins, is what men were born for.

His bonding of the artifact has further brought out his sociopathic side, as he killed the three seminaries with a only a little bit of regret, and that's not even because he ended their lives, but that they had refused to join him. At this point in time, he has no clear goal in mind with his restored physical power, nor does he have any idea of what to do for when the bishop discovers that he's betrayed the Order, but he will put those worries off for tomorrow. Tonight, he drinks!

Relations:

Does your character have any sort of relationship/relations with any of the others? Friendship? family? Sworn enemy? worked together? etc.

None.

Theme Song: In the Tavern, be it the King or the Pope, we all drink without a care.

The Relics

Maki Casanova said
Closest thing s priest you could have could be from the Order of idris.

Perhaps there is room for a supra-national but infantile organization that promotes the worship of the Old Kingdom who are beginning to hoard relics in response to the Order of Idris, stemming from the Empire of Kalesia? The new order could emphasize worship of the ones who ruled/lived in the Old Kingdom over the relics, holding them as gods?

They would have small areas of influence in Northern Othea, where the local lords have been swayed by their missionaries (or the promised taxes), who have since been permitted to set up little, occasional churches.