Lucius Cypher said
If there is room for another character, I'd like to reserve a space.
Of course, the RP is open. Always.
SyrianHamster Member
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- SyrianHamster 12 yrs ago
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11 yrs ago
The fishes aint biting like they used to.
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In
Fallen Realms: The Ruins of Ironshore (An exploration and dungeon crawling based RP)
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Of course, the RP is open. Always.
In
Fallen Realms: The Ruins of Ironshore (An exploration and dungeon crawling based RP)
→
12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Forsythe said
Gonna start it in the 'lobby' :P Looking for group! xD
*Searching for players in your region*
*Searching further afield*
*Searching for any players*
*Russians found*
*Game starting*
Is usually how that stuff works out for me IRL :D
...
AHEM, just to reaffirm what I said, it's okay to be busy; there is no pressure on any of you to get a post up. Take yo sweet time.
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Fallen Realms: The Ruins of Ironshore (An exploration and dungeon crawling based RP)
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
I thought you were all really organised trolls for a moment.
"Hey, look at this idiot, let's encourage him to spend loads of time writing this crap up and then run, hahahahhahah"
But nah seriously, take as long as you want in getting anything up. I'm not going anywhere.
"Hey, look at this idiot, let's encourage him to spend loads of time writing this crap up and then run, hahahahhahah"
But nah seriously, take as long as you want in getting anything up. I'm not going anywhere.
The Fated Fallen said
SyrianHamster your profile picture is a god
Thankyou!
Most people don't actually realise what it is until they take a closer look.
As for the whole power level conundrum, these things normally sort themselves out, so I'm staying put; no need to worry about me running off.
My two cents: Your character's strength should at least be equalled by weakness for a well rounded character.
If you'll have me:
Name: Gukb (Pronounced as ‘Gub’) Stonebasher
Race: Goblin
Race Description: Can elaborate, if anyone is unsure exactly of what a Goblin is.
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Appearance: Gukb stands at a grand 3’6 feet, and like many of his kinsmen, carries a spindly physique. His skin is the colour of dulled emerald, and it is webbed with black veins. His eyes are yellow, and the black pupils appear as vertical slits. His blueish lips contain a wide selection of small but sharp fangs, and should he ever entertain the notion of revealing it, then his reddish tongue will appear forked.
Clothing/Armor: Gukb wears a very light suit of chainmail over his torso, but his thin arms are bare to allow for flexibility. Underneath this meagre yet vital protection, he wears a vest of boiled leather to give his exposed armpits a second layer of skin, as well as reinforcing the mail’s defensive properties. Unlike most of his less civilised kin, he wears trousers – usually a dark brown, and made from simple woollen cloth. On his feet he wears a pair of well-worn black leather boot, originally made to fit a human child.
Weapons:
Gukb uses only two weapons, and is adept in their use.
Usually found to be slung over his shoulder, is ‘Widowmaker’, his trusty hunting crossbow. The weapon itself is large, designed for adult human usage, and so reloading it in a crisis causes more than just a few problems for him. A small quiver of quarrels are strapped to the crossbow’s underside.
Secured to his waist by a simple cloth sash is ‘Red Rust’, his beloved short sword. The weapon itself is unremarkable, and dulled with age, but nevertheless Gukb’s small stature and the Red Rust’s paltry appearance should not fool an adversary into confidence.
Skills/Abilities: Gukb is a Goblin, albeit a civilised one raised by human adoptive parents – if those are the right words for them. This being said, he is used to a life of racial prejudice, where more often than not, he is set upon by a mob for simply walking through a village’s thoroughfare.
With this in mind, he relies on his ability to sneak quietly in order to obtain most of his food and supplies; it is not uncommon to find Gukb stalking store fronts after dark, as he gauges the routine of the town watch. Some days later, a window will be broken or a door picked, and goods will be missing.
Magic: Gukb has little love for reading, and even less love for studying. Therefore, he is not much interested in mastering the arcane arts, and has little knowledge of them.
However, he fears those who do.
Inventory:
Backstory:
Gukb started his life as any other goblin; pulled screeching from the murky womb of his retching mother. Things rapidly changed from that moment onwards.
A band of human adventurers, fulfilling a quest concerning the disappearance of a local village’s oxen, stole into the encampment housing Gukb’s clan. Though there were dozens of goblins, all intent on driving off the invaders for better or for worse, they were not enough to overcome the skill and destructive power that the humans wrought upon them.
Killed to the last, the Grimgob Clan was all but committed to the sparse tomes of goblin heritage; their slayers dutifully looted whatever items they could from the encampment that carried a price, and moved on as quickly as they had come.
All but Gukb.
A farmer’s daughter, young and innocent as she was, happened upon the goblin child as she and her father scoured the ruins for anything of value. Not seeing any harm in the poor, screaming creature, she presented it to her father, but he was less forgiving. As he prepared to skewer Gukb with his pitchfork, the young girl picked the helpless baby up and ran.
Things get a little hazy after that, as the priests of Helm who took Gukb into their protection were reluctant to reveal the girl’s fate, or the lengths she went to, to get him to safety.
Taught to speak the common tongue, simple mathematics, pleasantries and histories, young Gukb grew up to be like no other of his kin. Civilised, though he seemed, as he grew to adolescence he became unruly; his instincts taking over him as childhood drifted away, and adulthood approached. Mischief became his way, and though he carried not much malice, he was involved in several damaging affairs that embarrassed his priest benefactors.
Already under pressure from their order for taking a goblin into their mercy, in the first place, the priests of Helm ejected Gukb from their monastery; confused, and met with only smiles of pity of his former ‘fathers’, he was thrown into a world he had been denied the right to prepare for.
Fair game for every living being bigger than he, Gukb learned to avoid populated areas, and bustling forests full of fauna. He roamed the land, going from one village to the next; killing a cow here, stealing a bag of corn there, murdering his would-be killers elsewhere.
He became embittered, cold, as his life progressed. Another soul, lost to oblivion.
Estermere is just another town, like any other, full of opportunities. With nothing but a stale loaf of bread to his name, Gukb is in need of food, and happening upon the settlement has offered him an apt appetiser.
Name: Gukb (Pronounced as ‘Gub’) Stonebasher
Race: Goblin
Race Description: Can elaborate, if anyone is unsure exactly of what a Goblin is.
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Appearance: Gukb stands at a grand 3’6 feet, and like many of his kinsmen, carries a spindly physique. His skin is the colour of dulled emerald, and it is webbed with black veins. His eyes are yellow, and the black pupils appear as vertical slits. His blueish lips contain a wide selection of small but sharp fangs, and should he ever entertain the notion of revealing it, then his reddish tongue will appear forked.
Clothing/Armor: Gukb wears a very light suit of chainmail over his torso, but his thin arms are bare to allow for flexibility. Underneath this meagre yet vital protection, he wears a vest of boiled leather to give his exposed armpits a second layer of skin, as well as reinforcing the mail’s defensive properties. Unlike most of his less civilised kin, he wears trousers – usually a dark brown, and made from simple woollen cloth. On his feet he wears a pair of well-worn black leather boot, originally made to fit a human child.
Weapons:
Gukb uses only two weapons, and is adept in their use.
Usually found to be slung over his shoulder, is ‘Widowmaker’, his trusty hunting crossbow. The weapon itself is large, designed for adult human usage, and so reloading it in a crisis causes more than just a few problems for him. A small quiver of quarrels are strapped to the crossbow’s underside.
Secured to his waist by a simple cloth sash is ‘Red Rust’, his beloved short sword. The weapon itself is unremarkable, and dulled with age, but nevertheless Gukb’s small stature and the Red Rust’s paltry appearance should not fool an adversary into confidence.
Skills/Abilities: Gukb is a Goblin, albeit a civilised one raised by human adoptive parents – if those are the right words for them. This being said, he is used to a life of racial prejudice, where more often than not, he is set upon by a mob for simply walking through a village’s thoroughfare.
With this in mind, he relies on his ability to sneak quietly in order to obtain most of his food and supplies; it is not uncommon to find Gukb stalking store fronts after dark, as he gauges the routine of the town watch. Some days later, a window will be broken or a door picked, and goods will be missing.
Magic: Gukb has little love for reading, and even less love for studying. Therefore, he is not much interested in mastering the arcane arts, and has little knowledge of them.
However, he fears those who do.
Inventory:
- - Simple pick locks (For easy, to medium every-day locks)
- Loaf of stale bread.
- 10 copper coins.
- Sewing kit.
Backstory:
Gukb started his life as any other goblin; pulled screeching from the murky womb of his retching mother. Things rapidly changed from that moment onwards.
A band of human adventurers, fulfilling a quest concerning the disappearance of a local village’s oxen, stole into the encampment housing Gukb’s clan. Though there were dozens of goblins, all intent on driving off the invaders for better or for worse, they were not enough to overcome the skill and destructive power that the humans wrought upon them.
Killed to the last, the Grimgob Clan was all but committed to the sparse tomes of goblin heritage; their slayers dutifully looted whatever items they could from the encampment that carried a price, and moved on as quickly as they had come.
All but Gukb.
A farmer’s daughter, young and innocent as she was, happened upon the goblin child as she and her father scoured the ruins for anything of value. Not seeing any harm in the poor, screaming creature, she presented it to her father, but he was less forgiving. As he prepared to skewer Gukb with his pitchfork, the young girl picked the helpless baby up and ran.
Things get a little hazy after that, as the priests of Helm who took Gukb into their protection were reluctant to reveal the girl’s fate, or the lengths she went to, to get him to safety.
Taught to speak the common tongue, simple mathematics, pleasantries and histories, young Gukb grew up to be like no other of his kin. Civilised, though he seemed, as he grew to adolescence he became unruly; his instincts taking over him as childhood drifted away, and adulthood approached. Mischief became his way, and though he carried not much malice, he was involved in several damaging affairs that embarrassed his priest benefactors.
Already under pressure from their order for taking a goblin into their mercy, in the first place, the priests of Helm ejected Gukb from their monastery; confused, and met with only smiles of pity of his former ‘fathers’, he was thrown into a world he had been denied the right to prepare for.
Fair game for every living being bigger than he, Gukb learned to avoid populated areas, and bustling forests full of fauna. He roamed the land, going from one village to the next; killing a cow here, stealing a bag of corn there, murdering his would-be killers elsewhere.
He became embittered, cold, as his life progressed. Another soul, lost to oblivion.
Estermere is just another town, like any other, full of opportunities. With nothing but a stale loaf of bread to his name, Gukb is in need of food, and happening upon the settlement has offered him an apt appetiser.
In
Fallen Realms: The Ruins of Ironshore (An exploration and dungeon crawling based RP)
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Tatsua Aiisen said
I call it Over-saturation, 'cause that's what it is!To clarify on posting formats, we should be including our Scenario in the corner of our posts? Any other formalities we require?
That's the one!
Nope, just the number, so that people can easily tell where your character is.
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Fallen Realms: The Ruins of Ironshore (An exploration and dungeon crawling based RP)
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ink Blood said
I would like to reserve a spot on the second scenario.
Added.
FYI to everyone else, you do not need to reserve a spot before posting. So long as there is a space, go for it. If by some random chance two players go for it at the same time, and post at the same time, then they'll both be allowed in. I can't see having 1 extra character in the scenario breaking anything.
The limits are there to prevent over um... what's the word when you got loads of people stuffed into one small room? That.
TheEvanCat said
If we wait even more, the interest will collapse completely.It has happened before. It will happen again.
Yup.
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Fallen Realms: The Ruins of Ironshore (An exploration and dungeon crawling based RP)
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
And we're off. Stren will be your initial "guide", to help things take shape, but feel free to charge ahead.
In
Fallen Realms: The Ruins of Ironshore (An exploration and dungeon crawling based RP)
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Scenario #1 Planting the Flag
Stren’s feet planted themselves into the sandy bog before the rowboat had even run itself aground.
He was an experienced sailor, and he knew that the last person off the boat in hostile conditions, was often the first to die; hidden snipers were an extreme possibility, given the ruins’ hilltop position and the advantages it conveyed over the cove.
“Ca’mon, ya sea whores,” he called back to the rest of the group; his voice was one better suited to a gravel roadway than a man’s vocal cords. “Tha’ cancil ain’t payin’ us by tha’ hour, eh?”
His pistol was up and ready; he’d taken great care to keep it dry as he and the group had made their way ashore. The ocean was calm, for now, but one would be surprised by how wet they could get by pulling an oar.
Looking up at the ruins, his eyes struggled to make out the vague silhouettes of low walls and battlements through the thick white of the fog. It was an oppressing sight, one that filled him with a slight inkling of dread; this was not a new feeling to him.
“Bloomin’ fog,” he cursed under his breath. “If it ain’t rain, it’s fog, ‘n’ if it ain’t fog, it’s a high tide, ‘n’ if it ain’t a high tide, it’s angry locals.”
As if he had tempted Dreisdia herself, the invisible clouds above gave way to a light rain. He quickly stuffed his pistol back into his trench coat, careful to disarm the weapon as he did so. He’d known many a man to shoot themselves in such a way.
“Let’s get this over with, eh?” he yelled, swishing through the salty sea water and shielding his eyes from the rain with a damp forearm. “Sooner we get to tha’ castle, sooner we can get dry, eh?”
Stren’s feet planted themselves into the sandy bog before the rowboat had even run itself aground.
He was an experienced sailor, and he knew that the last person off the boat in hostile conditions, was often the first to die; hidden snipers were an extreme possibility, given the ruins’ hilltop position and the advantages it conveyed over the cove.
“Ca’mon, ya sea whores,” he called back to the rest of the group; his voice was one better suited to a gravel roadway than a man’s vocal cords. “Tha’ cancil ain’t payin’ us by tha’ hour, eh?”
His pistol was up and ready; he’d taken great care to keep it dry as he and the group had made their way ashore. The ocean was calm, for now, but one would be surprised by how wet they could get by pulling an oar.
Looking up at the ruins, his eyes struggled to make out the vague silhouettes of low walls and battlements through the thick white of the fog. It was an oppressing sight, one that filled him with a slight inkling of dread; this was not a new feeling to him.
“Bloomin’ fog,” he cursed under his breath. “If it ain’t rain, it’s fog, ‘n’ if it ain’t fog, it’s a high tide, ‘n’ if it ain’t a high tide, it’s angry locals.”
As if he had tempted Dreisdia herself, the invisible clouds above gave way to a light rain. He quickly stuffed his pistol back into his trench coat, careful to disarm the weapon as he did so. He’d known many a man to shoot themselves in such a way.
“Let’s get this over with, eh?” he yelled, swishing through the salty sea water and shielding his eyes from the rain with a damp forearm. “Sooner we get to tha’ castle, sooner we can get dry, eh?”
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