I had assumed that was what was meant, so I am pleased to know I understood the gist of it. I do not believe I have ever seen one before.
The Harbinger of Ferocity Member
STATUS: Masses are always breeding grounds of psychic epidemics. 6 yrs ago- Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
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Masses are always breeding grounds of psychic epidemics.
6 yrs ago
The highest, most decisive experience is to be alone with one's own self. You must be alone to find out what supports you, when you find that you can not support yourself.
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7 yrs ago
One cannot live from anything except what one is.
7 yrs ago
The slave to virtue finds the way as little as the slave to vices.
7 yrs ago
The core of an individual is the mystery of life, which dies when it is 'grasped'. That is also why symbols want to keep their secrets.
Bio
The Harbinger of Ferocity
Agent of the Wild, Aspect of the Ferine
Nature, red in tooth and claw.
"There is, indeed, no single quality of the cat that man could not emulate to his advantage."
- Carl Van Vechten
I am, at my core, a personification and manifestation of those things whose blood and hearts run red with the ferocity of the animal world. It is this which convicts and controls my works, my writing, my being; the force and guidance in which I gain wisdom from. It is what inspires me as a creator and weaver of words, the very thing I admire as an author.
My leanings, savage as they are, are of the feline sort as there exists no greater lineage of beasts whom can be drawn from. No others captivate and motivate my talent and skill as the greatest of cats do.
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I need ask the question, as I have no familiarity to a lot of these things... what is a "sectional" exactly?
I tend to avoid the rank and file height, weight and attributes are usually described as has been mentioned before. They seem out of place, with numbers being the worst of them in that unless the numbers are being explicitly read in some format - say a medical document or official format - they fail to "mesh". Vagueness sort of works better in these regards, or at least comes across as more natural; "A head taller than many a man." "Uncharacteristically muscular for a woman." "The firm sternness of an aged face pocked with a rough, short beard."
None of these examples give explicit details as to what you're reading about - leaving it mostly up to the reader's imagination - but they tend to get brought up again later on... sometimes by multiple characters in a row, which leads to a really strange trend where everyone notices the same thing... and mentions it one after another. Even more amusingly this can result in where perceptions of a character change post to post, not by fact but sheer opinion as you noted; "tall" is what to someone who is six feet in height? Is the comparison known previously? Hopefully it was in the character sheet.
The reason it tends to get forgotten or repeated? I believe it is, by and large, relevancy. If a responding player does not consider the detail truly that important to their character or themselves, which is often a consequence directly related to their level of roleplaying and maturity in it, it flat out gets dropped. Sometimes this even happens to the responding player's character who magically change features with no apparent reason short of retroactive continuity, be it intended or not.
Either way, my rambling over, I appreciate "effective comparisons" like the examples I noted. They give the sort of sensation that you can generally picture and "know" what the writer is trying to say without explicit, almost mechanical details.
None of these examples give explicit details as to what you're reading about - leaving it mostly up to the reader's imagination - but they tend to get brought up again later on... sometimes by multiple characters in a row, which leads to a really strange trend where everyone notices the same thing... and mentions it one after another. Even more amusingly this can result in where perceptions of a character change post to post, not by fact but sheer opinion as you noted; "tall" is what to someone who is six feet in height? Is the comparison known previously? Hopefully it was in the character sheet.
The reason it tends to get forgotten or repeated? I believe it is, by and large, relevancy. If a responding player does not consider the detail truly that important to their character or themselves, which is often a consequence directly related to their level of roleplaying and maturity in it, it flat out gets dropped. Sometimes this even happens to the responding player's character who magically change features with no apparent reason short of retroactive continuity, be it intended or not.
Either way, my rambling over, I appreciate "effective comparisons" like the examples I noted. They give the sort of sensation that you can generally picture and "know" what the writer is trying to say without explicit, almost mechanical details.
I believe that is everyone, right? I should be able to post by tonight.
To my awareness, that is correct, but I am a terrible source on such matters.
The cover of early morning darkness and its ambiance among the wounded city failed to bear witness to something most characteristically out of place as it crept among what shadows it could follow. Upon thick, wide feet, it carried itself akin to a whisper in the storm, leaving not a sound and hardly a trace. Dawn was soon, so soon that the horizon far off had begun to ease itself into a deep violet shade from its formerly darker tones. It was for this reason - that mere men would soon be awake - that the sleek pantherine form moved as ably as it did; building to building, ruin to ruin, shadow to shadow. There was little difficulty in remaining so concealed at this hour as it was despite its great size, for it not only could smell the watchmen before they could even know the beast, but the obscuring darkness was no friend to those without eyes of night.
At times it varied its travel, climbing with a single bound across the sturdy wood and stone framework to bypass those places upon the ground where there was no safety.
Landing one last time from atop a structure into an alleyway, the ebon paws fluidly traded themselves for the familiar worn gloves of the man known better by his deeds than by his name. "The Red", man once more, slowly standing from his low crouch in the alley, rubbed the dry ash covered dirt between his fingers. He had slept well - or at least as well as he could with the thought of demons free upon the world once again - this past night, but not here; outside the now battle-worn walls of Waeldeshore. No friend of this "cage", the stone walls and wooden buildings, there was little chance he could have rested; the sensation of being at danger's mercy too strong here.
Breathing deep, relaxing for a moment, "The Red" rubbed the ash laden dirt until all of it siphoned from between his fingers as sand would from a shattered hourglass. Here he closed his eyes, bringing his hands no higher than his torso; with a few simple, refined gestures, he distributed the very essence of his primal soul; like a refined weapon, each simple drawing motion was committed and faint ghostly wakes of white carried behind them before fading like mist. The essentia that augmented his magical aptitude found itself carefully channeled into two aspects more than any; the very nature of his bestial form, with its claws and fangs made more terrible, and his regenerative magic made more potent.
It was at this point, piercing eyes open once more, he struck out from the alley to the last, largest remaining inn of Waeldeshore... the "Crazy Cat Inn".
Although the name was unknown to him, the landmark and earth upon which it sat had been committed to memory from the day prior; the first rays of dawn's light breaking through night's hours, he would soon arrive to his destination at exactly the time he intended. Each carefully laid step "The Red" took left the imprint of his well worn, but sizable boots. There was no need to conceal himself now - anyone out at this hour to see a man cloaked in the fierce visage of a mighty lioness brandishing an aged scimitar was not going to prove dangerous unless they were part of this expedition. So he instead opted to give off a sense of deterrence with his mere presence as he came about to face the inn.
Punctual, for a mystic barbarian, but likely more honoring his own word than anything, the beastly man approached.
Admiring the morning sun was the woman from before, a cup perched upon the window behind her, and the younger sword-bearing man as well. They were engaged in some seemingly idle conversation, having not been awake for too long, but awake long enough to interact with one another. Issuing the pair a subtle nod, the savage stopped but just over the reach of a man's grasp away, not for lack of trust but for innate comfort; the advantage of having distance was a thing required when dealing with men. It was during this time he sized both up, with a long, thoughtful look.
The woman was lithe in form, but toned enough in quality that she certainly had some sort of martial history, as the axe she carried inferred as well; she was not one of the feeble common things that darted from market to market here. There was however, something more to her than just mundanity - "The Red" knew it by the feeling of unease he received internally about her capability, but whatever it was, nothing was clear. Isabeau was suited, in the primalist's eyes, for these tasks... after all, she did at least survive her initial confrontation with the forces of evil, that much was certain.
As for the man?
The disorderly black hair, bright blue eyes, and distinctive mark upon his forehead - almost a third eye it would seem - along with his compliment of the locket around his neck made him another distinctive figure. There was little doubt in the mind of the man that he was partial to the sword, having a new, untested blade across his back; the leather of its scabbard and sling not yet worn, cracked or warped, let alone scratched. This would... suffice as well, he reasoned for the mark upon the young man suggested that was not the only quality he bore.
"I assume there are others to arrive." "The Red" mentioned with his characteristic rumbling growl, looking about slowly then back upon both Isabeau and Siegfried.
@IcePezz@KazeXDZ
At times it varied its travel, climbing with a single bound across the sturdy wood and stone framework to bypass those places upon the ground where there was no safety.
Landing one last time from atop a structure into an alleyway, the ebon paws fluidly traded themselves for the familiar worn gloves of the man known better by his deeds than by his name. "The Red", man once more, slowly standing from his low crouch in the alley, rubbed the dry ash covered dirt between his fingers. He had slept well - or at least as well as he could with the thought of demons free upon the world once again - this past night, but not here; outside the now battle-worn walls of Waeldeshore. No friend of this "cage", the stone walls and wooden buildings, there was little chance he could have rested; the sensation of being at danger's mercy too strong here.
Breathing deep, relaxing for a moment, "The Red" rubbed the ash laden dirt until all of it siphoned from between his fingers as sand would from a shattered hourglass. Here he closed his eyes, bringing his hands no higher than his torso; with a few simple, refined gestures, he distributed the very essence of his primal soul; like a refined weapon, each simple drawing motion was committed and faint ghostly wakes of white carried behind them before fading like mist. The essentia that augmented his magical aptitude found itself carefully channeled into two aspects more than any; the very nature of his bestial form, with its claws and fangs made more terrible, and his regenerative magic made more potent.
It was at this point, piercing eyes open once more, he struck out from the alley to the last, largest remaining inn of Waeldeshore... the "Crazy Cat Inn".
Although the name was unknown to him, the landmark and earth upon which it sat had been committed to memory from the day prior; the first rays of dawn's light breaking through night's hours, he would soon arrive to his destination at exactly the time he intended. Each carefully laid step "The Red" took left the imprint of his well worn, but sizable boots. There was no need to conceal himself now - anyone out at this hour to see a man cloaked in the fierce visage of a mighty lioness brandishing an aged scimitar was not going to prove dangerous unless they were part of this expedition. So he instead opted to give off a sense of deterrence with his mere presence as he came about to face the inn.
Punctual, for a mystic barbarian, but likely more honoring his own word than anything, the beastly man approached.
Admiring the morning sun was the woman from before, a cup perched upon the window behind her, and the younger sword-bearing man as well. They were engaged in some seemingly idle conversation, having not been awake for too long, but awake long enough to interact with one another. Issuing the pair a subtle nod, the savage stopped but just over the reach of a man's grasp away, not for lack of trust but for innate comfort; the advantage of having distance was a thing required when dealing with men. It was during this time he sized both up, with a long, thoughtful look.
The woman was lithe in form, but toned enough in quality that she certainly had some sort of martial history, as the axe she carried inferred as well; she was not one of the feeble common things that darted from market to market here. There was however, something more to her than just mundanity - "The Red" knew it by the feeling of unease he received internally about her capability, but whatever it was, nothing was clear. Isabeau was suited, in the primalist's eyes, for these tasks... after all, she did at least survive her initial confrontation with the forces of evil, that much was certain.
As for the man?
The disorderly black hair, bright blue eyes, and distinctive mark upon his forehead - almost a third eye it would seem - along with his compliment of the locket around his neck made him another distinctive figure. There was little doubt in the mind of the man that he was partial to the sword, having a new, untested blade across his back; the leather of its scabbard and sling not yet worn, cracked or warped, let alone scratched. This would... suffice as well, he reasoned for the mark upon the young man suggested that was not the only quality he bore.
"I assume there are others to arrive." "The Red" mentioned with his characteristic rumbling growl, looking about slowly then back upon both Isabeau and Siegfried.
@IcePezz@KazeXDZ
Didn't come off as one.
As I can tell. I left all the negative parts in there to infer he is actually worse than what's just stated, then some. There's little "good" to him.
<Snipped quote by The Harbinger of Ferocity>
It didn't need fixing. I was stating my character's opinions of the other PCs she'd met, and that's what she thinks of Red.
It was a joke.
<Snipped quote by Dragonknighte>
...The Red is an ass that doesn't have respect for anything civilized.
Fixed it - not only does The Red not like the town itself, he doesn't even care for the people suffering in it. He is here to wreck vengeance on the demons. Nothing else.
He is by no means a "good guy"; the stand in for the party barbarian.
@The Harbinger of Ferocity I've done it, and while at first, it was pretty magical to see sunrise on my way home from work - I can't say the experience of working nights is magical at all :p
that being said, I want to say, perhaps northern us? Maybe midwest?
I'm pretty sure I've mentioned where I'm from/currently located about a dozen times. There is also a clue in my bio
I have been stuck on a schedule of most people for the past few weeks and I entirely loathe it. Not just because of the weather or beating sun, but that the moon and stars aren't around. I have been so accustomed to them that it nearly, or even actually, hurts to be on this routine.
Your guesses however? Much closer yet.
Rangering sort is a partial truth, but I do not have the questionable privilege of living in a place of fantasy... unless of course you consider working under moonlight in place of the day to be magical.
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