SilverPaw

The Quilted Flag - Act I

@Admythaus I most likely meant to use another word, though that one happens to work as well, somehow (I'll probably still replace it later, hah). Yeah, the Occ is going along well. Just one thing: the cm to inches conversion (or vice-versa) for the Occ isn't correct, so I'll just be going by the (very helpful!) picture and height-chart of the races you've posted below for reference.

The Quilted Flag - Act I

Well, I'm just putting the Mormagi here. I'm hoping I might be able to finish the Occ during the weekend (I didn't do much with her today) - I think I actually prefer her, though it's taking me longer to finalize. Oh, also, I wasn't sure if the Long "Life" skill can be leveled up or not, so it doesn't have a 1 next to it atm. (I replaced the tables because I personally don't like them as much as a nice, clear bullet-point list :p)

Yorsiccos

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Yorsiccos

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_{"I don't care if it's shiny, or even useful. If it's interesting, I want it."}


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^{XP • 0,000 Gold • 0}

Race / Species Mormagi	Sex ♂

Appearance He's 5'11 tall, though hunching makes him seem a bit less than that. He's extremely thin, and kind of gangly. Most glaringly, his flesh is discouloured, his appearance that of a rotting decaying corpse. His legs and the left side of his torso still have signs of being burned in the past. His skin has a dry feel to it; any puss that may be leaking occasionally is simply due to unhealed wounds. He has no hair, his teeth are yellowed (some are missing), his nails have signs of being bitten often, his cuticles are likely permanently damaged. His hands have plenty of small scars and nicks. His whole body is littered with puncture marks - signs that he's doing his best to keep his body from literally falling apart, but it's a constant struggle.

Age 117	Voice Like ancient parchment: soft spoken, raspy, dry, and scratchy as if with disuse.

Trade Collector	Skills Long "Life" | Craftsmanship 1 | ---

Quirks Talking to himself and non-sentient beings. Biting his nails, picking at his cuticles. Suturing his own wounds whenever limb-loss or major skin-loss seems likely to occur, taking the stitches out whenever he manages to heal naturally.

Interests Treasure. Junk. Items. Possessions. Finding things. Collecting things. Crafting things. Dismantling things. Finding out how things work. Inconveniencing day-dwellers without them realizing who the culprit is.

Disgusts Daylight. Daydwellers. The full moon. Getting lost. Crowds. Loud noises. Disruptions. Intruders that try to appropriate his territory, even if they only do so for a night.

History Born as a Stodman more than a century ago in Gillsommr, the now Mormagi had been but a young boy at the time, an orphan who earned his bread and butter as a servant for families both able and willing to afford to pay to a no-name urchin. In a bid for higher rewards in exchange for higher risks, the boy had joined several army expeditions as a teen - despite his lack of combat skills, there were groups willing to pay him to do a range of jobs (menial or even slightly risky, such as scouting), whether because the militia and the mercenaries were too preoccupied with the actual fighting or simply unwilling to perform the tasks they'd hired him to do. They boy had learned to clean well, cook decently, do minor repairs, scout for enemies, look after the horses, sharpen the weapons and polish the armour. But mainly, he had learned how to look after himself and how to avoid being taken advantage of. There wasn't anyone he trusted besides himself (and sometimes not even that - he knew he could get himself in trouble due to his sticky fingers), and he had no particular goals beyond survival. He would admit that he was a coward back then. And despite his caution, he was struck by a stray arrow, left to die in a ditch. His death was slow and painful, but if he'd had time for thought beyond the endless pain and horror, he most likely wouldn't find any regrets. No, there were none, because he'd lived the only way he knew how to. Though he'd died barely after reaching his majority, he'd be content with what he'd had if he'd known what the alternative was. The alternative, as it turned out, was undeath. He'd been thrown into a mass grave, been struck there by the Skalgwordh virus, and returned to...a form of life, if it could be called that. There had been pain, then insensate blackness, then the stench of death, the sight of corpses in various stages of decay, all crowding an enormous hole and afire. When the boy awoke, he felt strangely stiff, but not dead. No, death hadn't claimed him, though it was certainly close to doing so. The blaze was devouring the corpses. It had almost devoured him as well. As it was, the boy had awoken just in time to feel the fire beginning to wrap around and cling to him. He made a desperate, frenzied escape. The boy crawled out of the grave, and was met with the solitude of night. There were no others travelling at night time. He ventured onward unperturbed, stumbling and falling over several times, but he always picked himself up, scrapes ignored. He had managed to put out the fire and survive again. Now, he was heading somewhere. It turned the somewhere was a deep-reaching maze of a cave system. He entered the caverns, weaving his way from passage to passage, tunnel to tunnel, venturing deeper and deeper, drawn into the abyss. Despite the complete darkness, he managed to navigate well. Hours and hours later, he came upon a beautiful cave lake. He collapsed by it, his body rattling oddly, and drank from its depths. Once he had his fill of the water, he glanced at the lake, and he saw his own reflection. He was enraptured. No, he was horrified. Dazed. Stunned. Disbelieving. Wondering. Accepting. The initial self-disgust he'd felt had been muted, as if his humanity had been snuffed out alongside his change of appearance. Was it because his brain had begun to rot? Was there something intrinsically different about him now? He didn't know. He didn't wonder long. Whatever he was now, he would do the one thing he clearly remembered desiring to do - survive. He wandered his cave system, getting lost for the following few decades, but patient enough to explore the existing pathways, and digging some new ones of his own. He made his home within the caverns, and was eventually so familiar with them he was able to get in and out of them easily. And although he'd developed the patience of a mountain, he was getting bored. For the first time ever, he wanted more than the barest survival. He wanted to enjoy life, even if the joy he felt was a dull mockery in comparison to what daydwellers experienced. And so, he begun collecting things. He wandered outside during the night, never too far. He collected all kinds of strange little things. Things left, forgotten, or abandoned by Stodmen. On rare occasions, things 'stolen' from a Stodman junkyard. A memorable time or two the Mormagi even managed to nick a little something from the rare Stodman who wandered into his cave to explore or rest. He became the Collector. He remembered some Stodmen knowledge, and named himself anew. He made goals: items he wanted to find, items he wanted to dismantle, and most importantly, items he wanted to repair or items he wanted to create.

Traits

• Intellect: Stubborn. Character is closed to most new ideas and changes.
• Openness: Realistic. Character enjoys how things are, but can appreciate some forms of art and new concepts.
• Motivation: Reliable. Character is motivated and active, capable of self-control.
• Temper: Meek. Character is passive and mildly empathetic, lacking consideration, trust, and tending to lie, be passive aggressive, or play devil's advocate.
• Emotional Stability: Easy-going. Character has expectations regarding others and has good emotional control as long as those expectations are met.

Clothes & Equipement

• Black hood.
• Old black woolen cloak.
• A faded gray long-sleeved shirt.
• A worn brown leather vest.
• Bandages on his hands and forearms.
• Dark gray cloth trousers, with multi-colored patches covering up holes.
• A belt made up of multiple ropes braided and tied together.
• Bandages on his calves and feet.
• Faded and worn brown leather boots.
• A leather cord necklace that he keeps his needles tied to.

Inventory

• A (scavenged, old, but sturdy) metal flask containing carefully collected oil.
• Lots and lots of catgut thread.
• Five needles of different sizes (slightly rusty, but still sharp).
• Several cleaning rags (fashioned from old clothing).
• A steel knife with a leather-wrapped wooden handle.
• A hatchet.
• A large (often patched) cloth sack for carrying stuff around in.
• Rope (usually used to wrap around and carry his sack).
• Broken pieces of an abandoned gittern (only its nuts, though rusty, seem like they might be reused).

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The Quilted Flag - Act I

@Admythaus Whew, thanks for clarifying. I might have panicked if I'd noticed on my own, heh. Actually, I was finished with my Mormagi yesterday evening, I just need to prettify the CS and check it over in case edits are needed. I'd also still like to attempt to make a CS for an Occ, though for her, I still need to think up of a history.

The Quilted Flag - Act I

@The Bork Lazer So, I finally took the time to read the history of your character (excellent work, btw), and the line "venture out into the seas to new promised lands" to me equals pirate Raskaal XD. As impressive as the Kriegers are, I'm just really fond of the idea of a group of these beings operating a ship and wreaking havoc! I bet there are some like that out there somewhere, hah.

The Quilted Flag - Act I

On the subject of species potentially starting out as people - I'm assuming both mormagi and sympi do? (I've been meaning to create an occ, but I've suddenly got an idea for a mormagi, though I'm not yet quite sure which I'll end up committing to).

I, the Demon King, Will Summon My Own Damned Heroes!

Asteria

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Asteria inspected the plants. The ones with a scent similar to the Healing herbs were also confirmed to either have nature mana or felt soothing in a way. A hairy blue-gray flower with dense bunches of petals seemed the closest to the herbs she was used to, yet it was a tad unpleasant and apparently incomplete. A grass with red and green pellets was very neutral – perhaps the clusters it grew were edible? The blue-yellow blossoms growing from woody stalks had a green sticky substance leaking out of them occasionally, most of the stuff smelling unpleasant like soured milk, but a rare few had a pleasant mint scent, similar to the Healing herbs – however, this plant also had incomplete mana, so it either wouldn’t heal as well, or would even cause harm. The stems with pinecone-esque protrusions surrounded by bell-shaped purple petals had a burning mana instead of a natural one, and though it felt prickly, it was soothing and incomplete as well. The thorny weed Ed, Mother rat, and she had been avoiding had a hint of potentially harmful mana as well, but they weren’t much of a danger.

So, out of five of the plain’s plants, three had obvious mana and the same three were incomplete. The question was, if she combined the three of them together, would she create a healing mixture as good as the Healing herb? She didn’t know, but she wanted to try. Gathering all the five plants by wrapping her tail around the bunch. Should I take more than one of each? As she considered this, she was distracted by Mother Rat’s squeaks. She glanced up, noticing Ed had killed the ant, as she’d had full confidence he would. Mother rat was drawing her attention to the tunnel the ant had come from. The jumping and squeaking meant, based on Asteria’s best guess, that there was danger still. Of course, ants aren’t solitary. There must be a whole colony where that one came from, and we couldn’t handle more… Realizing that, Asteria was once again driven to move. “Ed, let’s take the ant corpse and move on, shall we? I believe there may more on the way.” Tail wrapped around the plants, she moved to the tunnel only to quickly (and a bit shoddily in her hurry) dig some earth into it. Glancing towards Mother rat, she said “Let’s go,” and moved away, giving both Ed and Mother Rat enough time to move along with her as she headed further south, the direction they’d been pursuing so far.

Action summary

Inspects plants visually, making notes on which the ones with mana and healing/soothing qualities are (btw, I went back for their description, so hopefully, they're all correct).
Thinks she should combine the plants.
Notices MR's commotion. Realizes more ants are probably coming.
Takes all 5 plants with her by wrapping her tail around them carefully.
Suggests to Ed they move on and take their loot with them.
Swiftly digs some earth into the tunnel to make it hopefully make it a bit harder for the ants.
Begins leading the departure from the ant-tunnel site, still heading south-wards.

The Quilted Flag - Act I

What are the average lifespans of the different races? And the age they're considered an adult?

Is there a timeline for the wars? I know it's peaceful times atm, but how recent is the latest war (and is it in living memory)?

The Quilted Flag - Act I

I was just wondering how the RP itself will be with the action restrictions (not a system I'm familiar with, I admit), because I think it might lead to really short posts long term (like, a paragraph at max?). Not necessarily a bad thing, just maybe not as immersive? But on the other hand it would depend on the player and how descriptive they'd be with their actions, I guess. I don't really mind a limit on the skills that much (on a somewhat unrelated note, I have thought that you'll probably need more traits for personality - the temper part especially).

Oh, and: is this slice of life? Sandbox? Or do you have something planned that may drive characters of different species (that don't much like each other, in most cases) from the different continents to get together for a common plot?

The Quilted Flag - Act I

I've noticed you haven't specified the average height of Occ, though based on the fact they can get intimidation, I'm assuming it's something similar to the Org. And Gegherun have no specific racial skills available to them ? (Well, if I were to make one of those poor bastards, I'd probably have them possess shape-shifting as an initial skill). I do have a proper question regarding Mirabilia and Atermagia: can any of the tier 1 skills for them be taken without first taking the universal skill of magic (e.g. taking bloodhound without also having atermagia from the universal skill list). If yes, what is the point/purpose of having the general skill in the first place? (Esp. What would having Mirabilia or Atermagia do without also having one of their specific tier 1 skills?). I think that's it for now while I try and see if I can decide on a character I might want to make (there are a lot of options and plenty of freedom for the history, but also some restrictions I'm honestly a bit wary of, so I'll see how it goes).

Olympus Academy // A School for Demigods and Demigoddesses

_{Location: Lakeside party
Interactions: Marcella @Write
Mentions: Rhea @Write,
Dallas @Plank Sinatra,
Kelsey @NeoAC,
Ariana @Dirty Pretty Lies,
Jonas @HereComestheSnow,
Vivian @Altered Tundra,
Dustyn @MissCapnCrunch,
Phil @spooner}

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Ian zeroed in on Marcy and co. the minute the red truck’s door was opened and the group that was a staple of his sister’s presence spilled out and commenced their usual rowdy shenanigans. Some American branded sorry-excuse-for-a-beer piss-drink was getting passed around, not that he would touch the swill, then a girl he thought might be a new transfer offered her share of weed, the sickly-sweet smell a dead giveaway for what the fags actually were even as far away as he was. The arrival of the daughter of Poseidon meant that his worry for any Naiads potentially being disrupted was for naught; Rhea could handle anything water-related tonight. Mini-cerberus had apparently been designated to her as part of the guard-duty, and the adorable ball of fluff was getting his deserved dose of physical attention.

Once again staring at observing Marcy, Ian stood up, though remained at the lake for just a bit, waiting for the crowd to get engaged in the party well enough that he could easily slip in to snag Marcy’s attention for a little while, or alternatively, to unobtrusively approach and then hover at her side to soak in the presence of someone familiar, and better yet, familial amongst all the strangers and brief acquaintances surrounding him. He was admittedly somewhat…unsettled at so many living people being around – they made for quite the contrast to the rot of the dead and the dying of the forest, the scent of decomposition especially potent in a natural location such as this, and yet one much more pleasant if compared to the apathetic decay of large cityscapes where the filthy exhaust fumes of traffic mingled with the literal millions of psychedelic vibrant little human souls in all imaginable states of life and death.

The Mystic Forest was practically desolate by comparison, truly. A fringe party like this is nothing to the thrum of L.A. With that bit of self-encouragement, Ian ventured forth (well, cautiously drifted, at the very least), approaching Marcy, who was now the only one in a dress – a decision he thought odd but chalked it up to her personal taste and left it at that – sitting next to Dallas and Kelsey, connected to both in some sort of a group hug. The trio were watching the Daughter of Aphrodite and the Son of Ares engaging in what he was fairly certain was one of those flirting games, though he couldn’t judge if whether Jonas or Ariana was the one winning, or if either of them would get to a point that could be termed a ‘win’ at all. Nearby, Vivian and Dustyn sort out the tumble he’d seen them getting tangled in even from the lake-side, a Demeter-lad healing them – a thoughtful, common-sense action Ian very much approved of.

He caught the tail end of the conversation which tipped him off to the fact his sister had voluntarily involved herself in a bet involving piercings and possibly beer pong with Kelsey. He stifled the sigh of mild exasperation and questioning doubt from passing his lips with practiced ease, simply choosing to stand a respectful distance from everyone while still being close enough to converse with his sister. “Hello, Marcy,” he interjected quietly. Hopefully no one else would pay him undue (read: any) attention, as though he was now practically in the middle of the popular crowd, he’d prefer to keep his relative anonymity.