Status

Recent Statuses

2 days ago
Current To keep your players posting, you need an extrinsic motivator. That means a compelling plot or other NPCs designed to keep 'em active. It's why sandbox RPs tend to die, while plotted RPs flourish.
5 likes
6 days ago
I love to GM. Reading player theories, developing worlds, making NPCs... it's all so fun and INCREDIBLY rewarding!
7 likes
10 days ago
By restricting what your players can do with a hard magic system, you force them to be more creative about their characters and how they use their powers. Stricter rules begets diversity.
6 likes
12 days ago
Just researched and took notes on sugar refining processes and candy-making throughout history. RP is a better motivator than school ever was.
6 likes
18 days ago
Hard magic systems are just so much better for RPs than soft magic. The internal consistency helps with posting rates and actually allows for greater creativity. Soft magic is just too... soft for RP.
2 likes

Bio

I love magic. Magic magic magic. Designing magic, writing magic, tying that magic into character personalities, into themes, into plot, into story. Why is magic so cool?

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CHECK OUT CARDINAL RIFT! It's a fantasy/scifi blend with an intricate plot, two VERY active GMs, and extremely detailed world. We're always recruiting!

Most Recent Posts

Applying again with Cam. Can't say for sure if @Aviaire wants to be Kath again.
looks cool! I really like the tarot classifications.

Can I get an idea of what the plot's going to be like? Will it be an overarching series or a collection of smaller stories?
C
@Fabricant451KOWASHITAI IN FEH BABY
<Snipped quote by BrokenPromise>
Ah, but there's a difference, I think, between writing a novel or script, and roleplaying a character. And I honestly don't know many authors who I'd say portray the opposite sex in a perfectly believable way. But when you're reading a book, you *know* you're reading a book by so-and-so, so the expectation to be fully convinced isn't quite the same. Does that make any sense? Most books aren't going to delve so deeply and intimately into the psyche, thoughts, sensations, impressions, urges, desires, etc...of every single character in the story. That's usually saved for the protagonist. Whereas when someone is roleplaying a character, they're tasked with literally *becoming* that character, not just relaying "Bob sat down and picked up a beer and said "Evening, everyone." Sure, some people roleplay on that level and never bother going any deeper, but that's not what I'm talking about here. (Sorry, Bob, not trying to throw you under the bus, bro.)


I disagree on this point, or at least, I think I can offer a counterexample. Some people write their characters to be contributions to the narrative. I know not everyone is like this, but sometimes you have characters that are, you know, less complicated.
LET'S FUCKING GO BYLETH FOR SMASH BABYYYYYYYYYYY
@RabidporcupineIt's no problem! Take your time. We want this RP to be the best it can be, after all.

In terms of mapmaking, have you thought of Inkarnate or Azgaar's Fantasy Map Generator? I've found that both tend to be slightly easier to work with than GIMP.
ℝesults


  • North Keep
    • Drakus’s rallied guards have succeeded in rounding up survivors. They now return to the mini hospital. Many of the survivors are in shock.
    • They’ve found 1 more doctor, as well as 4 people with some sort of medical training.
    • They mention a rampaging avian beastman who's destroying property and being generally disagreeable.
  • East Keep
    • Aelious has successfully rallied most of the survivors into keeping themselves alive by using as much magic as possible.
    • A small crowd of about 25 approaches the setup in South Keep. 1 has medical training. Many are in shock.
    • Rendyl lands near the crowd, spooking them a bit.
    • A few unreasonable people get mad at her for no reason.
  • West Keep
    • Victor is lying down and being sick.
    • A scuffle breaks out as people fight over food.
  • South Keep
    • Drakus sets up a mini hospital- gets most of the people to get there.
    • Abigail’s clearing has helped many less-injured sit together and attempt to recuperate from the blast. Most of her soldiers are deviating to Drakus’s group.
    • The mini hospital is starting to run out of water.
  • All the wells in the Keep are completely dry.
  • The grey is starting to shift in faster patterns outside of the bubble. Some people near the edges are starting to claw unsuccessfully at the barrier.


𝔸rthur 𝕂othlin


It was going so well- they had passed almost every policy. The beastman thing had hardly even mattered- it was a simple request by the investors back at home, not even a personal vote. He’d said what he needed to say. Reina and Melodia had done amazingly, even if there were a few choice words they’d had to say about him.

The policies were sent off. He’d gone back to his room to confer with Elias and Hania. They’d been thrilled to hear the results- Elias, champion of beastman rights, Hania, with her fiery pushes for education reform.

And yet, even after losing the day’s battle, the South had found a way to strike back at him. They hadn’t even had time to celebrate.

The three of them were inside his room, having been discussing their next plan of action when the bomb went off. It had felt like seconds later when they woke up, the room upside down, furniture and luggage everywhere. “Lord Kothlin…” Hania said, her speech slurred. She was kneeling next to him, shaking him insistently. Her face had been shredded by vase shards during the blast. Both of her eyelids drooped, and she bled from several lacerations along her cheeks. He could see some muscles through the blood.

“Where’s Elias?” Kothlin stood up. He’d taken off his powersuit for the talks. He looked around. Angeline was safe, thankfully. It’d take more than a 4 meter fall to damage her.

“I’m not sure, my lord,” Hania said, teeth grinding together in an effort to bear through the pain. “I can barely see, what with my… skin in the way.”

Elias was not as fortunate as Hania. Kothlin spotted two legs jutting out from underneath the overturned bed.

“Oh, lord.” He jumped up and stepped into Angeline. His vision swam. His stomach gurgled, and he felt some acid rising. He pushed it down. It wasn’t the time to be weak.

Angeline’s lights flickered on. The display flashed a quick diagnostics test. Good. No damages.

Kothlin stepped forward, servos balancing his steps. It felt good to be in a suit again. He reached underneath the bed and heaved it up. The bed’s weight was no match for the powerful limbs of his suit. He pushed it aside, crushing an antique painting, and inspected Elias.

It wasn’t good. Blood seeped out from under his robes, painting the carpet a dark, grisly red. His torso was caved in- the bed had crushed his ribs. CPR would be impossible.

It wouldn’t be necessary. Upon closer inspection, he was breathing in sharp, ragged gasps, though they were steadily becoming more and more irregular. Kothlin knelt down.

“Elias…”

“My lord, you survived?”
Elias choked up a small amount of blood. “Good, good.”

Hania rushed over. “Don’t die, oh please, Eli, don’t die, we need you. Lord Kothlin needs you.” Her words came out slurred, lip movement hindered by her injuries.

“Hah, don’t know if I’m much…” Elias stumbled over his words. “My lord, the explosion, that was magic. Strong magic. I could feel it. It was powerful, so powerful.”

“Magic, you say?” Kothlin stood.

“Yes.” Elias leaned back. “Ah…”

Kothlin looked down at Elias. He was dead. His eyes stared up at the ceiling, glassy, unfocused.

“Thank you, Elias. You’ve made things clear to me. A good man till the end.” He flicked a few switches in his gauntlet. Angeline’s helmet snapped over his head. The visor flicked down, flashed red, then became clear once more.

Combat mode engaged.

“Hania. Bandage your face, then take cover.” He engaged his legs, walked to the door, and opened it. The hallway plunged down in front of him- a long, long drop to the bottom. He could see several pieces of rooms jutting into the shaft, chaotic, disjointed corners blocking his view of the bottom. Across the hall, the sideways doorplate read Jevin Pachel.

“My lord?”

“Get to the grand hall. Gather up any allies you can find. I’ll meet with you later.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m ending this farce. The South has overstepped their bounds for the last time.”


The powerful motors in his greaves and boots engaged, and he leaped across the hallway and crashed through the door. Debris rained down the hallway, the stone and wood shattering under the reinforced plates of the powerarmor.

Behind the door was Jevin Pachel. He wasn’t dressed in his full plate, the shining armor he wore at ceremonies, but he was wearing some light mail and greaves. Good. Arthur hated striking down unarmored opponents. They crumpled too easily under the powersuit’s grip.

Pachel saw him and stood straight. “Kothlin, what is the meaning of this?”

There was a red-haired woman in House Pachel’s uniform cowering behind an overturned cabinet. She was completely unharmed. Incredible. Pachel’s room was nearly untouched from the blast.

“You know what this is, Pachel. I’m going to end you here and now. You southerners have been looking down on us for far too long. I’m going to show you what the North can really do.” He took a step forward. Pachel didn’t shirk away.

“Did you do this?” the tall warlord said. Even in his powersuit, Kothlin barely stood even in height.

“Don’t play innocent. Look around you, Pachel. That’s all that I need to know your stonging skin is behind this garbage,” Kothlin spat. “Prepare yourself.”

He stepped closer and raised a fist.

“So be it.” Pachel threw out a hand. His eyes flashed.

Incredible pressure. Kothlin’s arm dropped, pushed down by an unseen force. His boots sank into the floor, cracking the stone beneath the carpet. It felt as if gravity had just doubled.

No, not an unseen force. He looked up. Above him, covering the entirety of the room’s ceiling, was a spinning purple circle. Pachel’s gate. No matter. Angeline would take it easily. He pushed forward.

Pachel closed his hand into a fist. The pressure increased. It felt as if every single part of Kothlin’s body was being weighed down with heavy chains, pulling him down, down, down.

“Urgh.. You’ve never done this much before… not even in mock battles…” Kothlin said. Angeline’s sensors... The accelerometer was going insane.

“The mana here lets me truly show my might.” Pachel lowered his hand. He didn’t appear to be angry, just disappointed. And yet, in his eyes, there was a sort of fierce fire, the kind that burned in the heart of a warrior.

The force increased again. Kothlin sank to his knees. Any more and Angeline would start to crumple. Even with the powersuit’s assistance, he could barely lift his arms. He inched forward in a crawl, and ended near Pachel’s boots. The floor cracked, then gave.

Now!

In a last burst of power, Kothlin reached out and seized Pachel by the ankle, right as the floor collapsed. Stone and carpet and wood exploded into shrapnel, sending debris everywhere with a loud crashing noise. The red-haired woman screamed, and grabbed onto an outcropping, only barely catching herself.

The two men crashed into a lower room- another suite. Something crunched under Kothlin’s gauntlet, and Pachel grunted hard. Blood seeped out between his fingers. He tightened his grip. Another crunch as bones gave way underneath Angeline’s vice grip.

More force. The floor gave way again. Angeline’s display flickered, then gave out. Kothlin’s muscles screamed, but the powersuit held. He hit the next floor only moments after dropping. Luckily, the force of the impact was dulled by the padding in his suit. A few bruised ribs, maybe.

More crashing. More falling. The two tore through the floors of the tower, passing survivors and corpses alike on the way down. Angeline took blow after blow from stone, wood, and metal. Kothlin focused all his energy into maintaining his grip on Pachel’s bloodied, broken foot. More impacts. More force. His vision was starting to go. His blood flow began to slow.

Hold… on… longer… Kothlin thought sluggishly. Each individual word came slowly, like his mind was running through molasses.

Pachel stood above him, regal even amongst the whirling chaos of rubble and detritus flying about. Every time a small piece of shrapnel flew close, a tiny gate would open and repel it away. He looked down at Kothlin as a man to an insect. The only difference was, however, the insect had a very, very large set of mandibles. Kothlin maintained his iron grip on Pachel’s foot.

The two crashed through the final floors. They flew, suspended in the air for only the briefest of moments. Kothlin could barely make out the rafters of the Grand Hall flying past as he dipped in and out of unconsciousness.

They hit the floor of the grand hall, cratering the floor and sending lightning bolt-like cracks arcing out through the stone. A shower of wood, stone, glass, and metal followed- the result of their descent to ground level.

A very loud rumbling sounds from within Harrow’s Tower. Most people in the Keep can hear it. People nearby can see it shaking. Dust erupts from it at certain intervals, almost like something is breaking things on the way down.

Anyone in the Grand Hall is now experiencing 3Gs of force pushing down on them. Anyone not wearing a powersuit or equiped with special reinforcements is forced onto the floor in a kneeling or crouching position.

4. Isabelle (e is important)
5. E

#ffb6c1 Which looks like this!
@AmmokkxWhoa! Thanks for the detailed response! I'm going to have fun reading those!
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