Freeshooter92 said
Wot m8? Who are you? WHERE DID YOU COME FROM, WHO SENT YOU!?
oh right, haven't actually submitted a profile yet. Yeah, this looks pretty cool, I'm just an extraordinarily slow and untrustworthy person. Also I'm ugly.
And a potato.
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oh right, haven't actually submitted a profile yet. Yeah, this looks pretty cool, I'm just an extraordinarily slow and untrustworthy person. Also I'm ugly.
And a potato.
I enjoy that 2/3 of that name is comprised of New Phyrexia praetors.
I'm liking what I see so far. There's a preeetty good chance I'll join this.
Ya know what? This seems neat. Like a neat thing. I like it. If this is going to be a thing then cool, but I'm a little wary given the 3 week jump between anyone posting here.
Uhhh, that night from the beginning of the post was sort of supposed to be from several weeks prior to the start of the RP, just as sort of an overly-long setup for why Anton was in Sord, I probably should have made that clearer in the post.
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A soft breeze whistled through the air, adding soft ambiance to the cool Zenterrian night. It had already reached that magical hour when the last of the shopkeepers had completed their post-hours inventory and gone home for the night, transforming the usually bustling Market Street into a ghost town. A lone figure penetrated this darkness, shuffling slowly through the empty street. This figure happened to be Laureas Brissimon, an elf who worked as a janitor for the local baker. She had stayed late that night, making a valiant effort to hold back the tide of crumbs that had ensued when the day's loaves had ended up slightly harder than intended. Laureas had some reservations about staying as late as she had; the elf had heard the stories, had seen the rope cordoning off one of the alleyways where they'd found a body. Someone was murdering elves, and Laureas had little to no wish to become the next name in the paper. She wouldn't even be a front page headline, just a little page four article titled "Elf Found Cut Open, Killer's Count Rises" or something. She really shouldn't do that, imagine how they'd phrase the news of her death. Laureas had arranged to meet some friends of hers after work, safety in numbers not being the least of her reasons why. As she locked the bakery behind her and began walking, she wondered where they could be.
On the roof of a store not half a block from the bakery stood Anton, remaining both warm and anonymous in the comfort of his probably-stolen thaumaturge robes. A knife found its way into the man's hand, his grip tightening as he saw the young elf begin her trek down the street. It was too perfect. There were no witnesses, and she would not put up much of a struggle once the blade had pierced her breast. He could hide the body next to the butcher's shop amongst the cattle viscera, granting at least one extra day before they found it. I'm so glad it's Friday, Anton thought as he watched her walk closer and closer towards him, never suspecting that her death stood above her that night. It's already like, 2 AM. There's no way I would be able to wake up early enough for work tomorrow. She was almost in range now, just a few more feet and he could use an arte to appear right above her, at which point her fate would be sealed. But wait. Something was amiss. Who were these other people, walking towards her in the middle of the street. Do they know this elf? Are they friends? She didn't usually meet up with friends after work, this is cheating!
Loreas breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her friends not a block in front of her. She ran up to them eagerly, the specter of her death's headline quickly fading from her mind. Jake and Hanah had been really great to agree to walk her back to her home after work, and their presence put to rest her fears. However, as she neared them something seemed amiss. Both of her friends were staring slightly upward, toward the roof of a nearby building. Their expressions were of pure terror, and after following their line of sight Loreas understood why: a darkened figure, almost inhuman in its outline, stood atop the building. Though it was dark, Loreas could barely make out the faint outline of the creepy mask and coat most commonly associated with thaumaturges. A chill crept up her spine and she walked slowly towards her two friends, all her fears flooding back into her head. Was this it? Was she going to die? Would all three of them be found disemboweled? From his high perch, the figure thought to himself: Did I remember to check the mail today? I know there was something I forgot, but I'm not sure if it was the mail.
If all three of the pedestrians had been elves, Anton might have risked it. Hell, adding three bodies to the count? That would make the tally 1.5 times what it had been before. But even in this darkness he could see that at least one of them was human, and he would not risk hurting an innocent in this crusade of his. That little elf was lucky this night, though judging by her expression she probably wasn't feeling it. One quick shadow storm later, and Anton had disappeared into the night.
It had been the mail he'd forgotten. Upon returning to his home (now dressed in far more normal clothing), Anton discovered that there had been a letter left in his mailbox. Guh, it was far too late to deal with letters, words, and, God forbid, sentences. It would definitely still be there in the morning, and so Anton fell onto his bed and instantly conked right out.
The letter was totally still there in the morning. Didn't even make a slight attempt at escaping the house before Anton had woken up and felt ready to deal with the small, written communication. He saw before opening it that the letter had come from Sord, and was therefore most likely from his parents. Anton supposed it had been quite a while since he'd made an effort to communicate with them, and years since he'd last seen them. The letter wasn't much, just an update on how the shop was doing (Stacil had apparently really gotten the hang of profiting from vendor trash, and his parents were considering soon giving him full run of the store) and other bits and pieces from their lives. The letter concluded with a request that he visit sometime, as they both missed him terribly. Anton sighed after reading the letter, and supposed it was no longer any use putting it off. He'd accumulated a vast wealth of vacation days, and taking a few weeks off to go visit his parents wouldn't be an issue. Besides, while the elves in this part of Zenterr had grown wary with the growing body count, down in Sord they could be caught unawares.
This was how, a few weeks later Anton found himself in the South of Sord, fully dressed in his thaumaturge getup and looking for possible prey to stalk. Having not visited Sord in years, Anton hadn't been completely sure what to expect from the underdeveloped nation. What had definitely thrown him through a loop, though, was a local temple going up in flames only a couple days into his visit. The brightly burning temple lit up the dark night, and Anton sighed from inside his mask. He'd liked that temple, it had taken his family in for a night on the last leg of their journey from Boreas. Who would dare burn down an edifice that served to help out those who needed it? Anton would not put such a horrid thing past an elf. The wind to his back, he rushed through the shadows of the night, making his way to the building as quickly as he could, on the off chance that the arsonist was still in the area.
A soft breeze whistled through the air, adding soft ambiance to the cool Zenterrian night. It had already reached that magical hour when the last of the shopkeepers had completed their post-hours inventory and gone home for the night, transforming the usually bustling Market Street into a ghost town. A lone figure penetrated this darkness, shuffling slowly through the empty street. This figure happened to be Laureas Brissimon, an elf who worked as a janitor for the local baker. She had stayed late that night, making a valiant effort to hold back the tide of crumbs that had ensued when the day's loaves had ended up slightly harder than intended. Laureas had some reservations about staying as late as she had; the elf had heard the stories, had seen the rope cordoning off one of the alleyways where they'd found a body. Someone was murdering elves, and Laureas had little to no wish to become the next name in the paper. She wouldn't even be a front page headline, just a little page four article titled "Elf Found Cut Open, Killer's Count Rises" or something. She really shouldn't do that, imagine how they'd phrase the news of her death. Laureas had arranged to meet some friends of hers after work, safety in numbers not being the least of her reasons why. As she locked the bakery behind her and began walking, she wondered where they could be.
On the roof of a store not half a block from the bakery stood Anton, remaining both warm and anonymous in the comfort of his probably-stolen thaumaturge robes. A knife found its way into the man's hand, his grip tightening as he saw the young elf begin her trek down the street. It was too perfect. There were no witnesses, and she would not put up much of a struggle once the blade had pierced her breast. He could hide the body next to the butcher's shop amongst the cattle viscera, granting at least one extra day before they found it. I'm so glad it's Friday, Anton thought as he watched her walk closer and closer towards him, never suspecting that her death stood above her that night. It's already like, 2 AM. There's no way I would be able to wake up early enough for work tomorrow. She was almost in range now, just a few more feet and he could use an arte to appear right above her, at which point her fate would be sealed. But wait. Something was amiss. Who were these other people, walking towards her in the middle of the street. Do they know this elf? Are they friends? She didn't usually meet up with friends after work, this is cheating!
Loreas breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her friends not a block in front of her. She ran up to them eagerly, the specter of her death's headline quickly fading from her mind. Jake and Hanah had been really great to agree to walk her back to her home after work, and their presence put to rest her fears. However, as she neared them something seemed amiss. Both of her friends were staring slightly upward, toward the roof of a nearby building. Their expressions were of pure terror, and after following their line of sight Loreas understood why: a darkened figure, almost inhuman in its outline, stood atop the building. Though it was dark, Loreas could barely make out the faint outline of the creepy mask and coat most commonly associated with thaumaturges. A chill crept up her spine and she walked slowly towards her two friends, all her fears flooding back into her head. Was this it? Was she going to die? Would all three of them be found disemboweled? From his high perch, the figure thought to himself: Did I remember to check the mail today? I know there was something I forgot, but I'm not sure if it was the mail.
If all three of the pedestrians had been elves, Anton might have risked it. Hell, adding three bodies to the count? That would make the tally 1.5 times what it had been before. But even in this darkness he could see that at least one of them was human, and he would not risk hurting an innocent in this crusade of his. That little elf was lucky this night, though judging by her expression she probably wasn't feeling it. One quick shadow storm later, and Anton had disappeared into the night.
It had been the mail he'd forgotten. Upon returning to his home (now dressed in far more normal clothing), Anton discovered that there had been a letter left in his mailbox. Guh, it was far too late to deal with letters, words, and, God forbid, sentences. It would definitely still be there in the morning, and so Anton fell onto his bed and instantly conked right out.
The letter was totally still there in the morning. Didn't even make a slight attempt at escaping the house before Anton had woken up and felt ready to deal with the small, written communication. He saw before opening it that the letter had come from Sord, and was therefore most likely from his parents. Anton supposed it had been quite a while since he'd made an effort to communicate with them, and years since he'd last seen them. The letter wasn't much, just an update on how the shop was doing (Stacil had apparently really gotten the hang of profiting from vendor trash, and his parents were considering soon giving him full run of the store) and other bits and pieces from their lives. The letter concluded with a request that he visit sometime, as they both missed him terribly. Anton sighed after reading the letter, and supposed it was no longer any use putting it off. He'd accumulated a vast wealth of vacation days, and taking a few weeks off to go visit his parents wouldn't be an issue. Besides, while the elves in this part of Zenterr had grown wary with the growing body count, down in Sord they could be caught unawares.
This was how, a few weeks later Anton found himself in the South of Sord, fully dressed in his thaumaturge getup and looking for possible prey to stalk. Having not visited Sord in years, Anton hadn't been completely sure what to expect from the underdeveloped nation. What had definitely thrown him through a loop, though, was a local temple going up in flames only a couple days into his visit. The brightly burning temple lit up the dark night, and Anton sighed from inside his mask. He'd liked that temple, it had taken his family in for a night on the last leg of their journey from Boreas. Who would dare burn down an edifice that served to help out those who needed it? Anton would not put such a horrid thing past an elf. The wind to his back, he rushed through the shadows of the night, making his way to the building as quickly as he could, on the off chance that the arsonist was still in the area.
Holy sheep, 22 IC posts? I better hurry up and finish this intro post.
Edit: Oh, I guess a lot of them are just repeat posts? What?
Edit: Oh, I guess a lot of them are just repeat posts? What?
Name: Anton Selsvart
Age: 27
Appearance: Anton's not really the tallest guy around. At barely 5'9, Anton tries to maintain good posture to make up for his height. Keeping his medium-short blonde hair slicked backwards, Anton is the picture of professionalism. Which isn't to say he doesn't look friendly, as the almost chronic smile would suggest. He clearly exercises with some regularity, though it is clear that he has focused more on tone than mass to maintain a more agile physique. He is also the proud owner of a most likely illegally-obtained thaumaturge outfit, for those times when he would rather people not know it was him. This is a good approximation of how he looks.
Birthplace: Boreas
Personality: Anton is a very nice guy. Really. He's amiable, with an easy smile and a quick laugh. I mean, yeah, it is theoretically possible to get him angry, but you have to really be trying at it to get a rise out of him. Okay, so he can be a little sarcastic sometimes and it's not always easy to tell what his opinion is of you (acting friendly doesn't necessarily mean he considers you a friend), but overall he's not a bad guy to know. Just, you know, don't be an elf. He hates elves. Okay, so maybe that wasn't the exact right way to phrase that; he murders elves. It's not a matter of revenge or anything (though one could be forgiven for jumping to that conclusion), it's just that he believes that elves are naturally egotistical would-be tyrants who if left unchecked will enslave or wipe out all humans. Anton sees Boreas as the beginning, and if nothing is done all of Glazend will be like Boreas or worse. Ultimately he would want to wipe the elf-led nation from the face of the planet, but seeing as how he's just one guy with finite resources he's willing to settle for elf-murder for now. Baby steps. He's not super fond of half-elves or dark-elves either, but at least he's not straight-up homicidal in that area. The dude is just sorta cold towards them, and they probably shouldn't expect that he'll remember their birthday or whatever.
Race: Human
Canon or OC: OC
Weapon: Knives. Lots and lots of knives. He tends to throw them a lot, so he keeps quite a few on his person at all times.
Thauma #1: Sylph
Thauma #2: Shadow
Base Artes/Spells: Crow Blade, Ill Wind, Severing Wind, Shadow Storm
Bio: Technically, Anton was born in Boreas. That doesn't necessarily mean he grew up there, 'cause he didn't. Born to merchants Jack and Estel Selsvart, Anton's family enjoyed moderate success selling slightly better swords and armor to wandering adventurer's whose current swords and armor were slightly worse than what they could get at the shop. Somehow, Anton's parents even knew how to make a profit from buying hordes of what their customers referred to as vendor trash. Anton never understood how they did that, even well into his twenties. His parent's business hit an unfortunate stumbling point when elf soldiers from the Boreas military came in the night and set fire to their shop. Anton never knew if the arson was just a random act of violence against some humans or if they had done something specific to incur the wrath of the Boreas elite, and if his parents knew they never told him. The whole family fled that night, packing as much as they could (and being experienced merchants that was actually quite a bit) and fleeing into the night. They ran, and the kept running. Quite a few of Anton's formative years were spent this way, with his family traveling South to escape Boreas. The incident with the fire had put a great fear in the Selsvart family, and Anton's parents spent many a night telling he and his younger brother Stacil horror stories about elves from Boreas so the children would keep their heads down as they fled the country.
After years of travel the Selsvarts had successfully left the borders of Boreas and down into the heart of Sord. Estel's parents had moved to the steampunk nation for their golden years, and upon their passing had left their daughter their property there. It was in Sord that the Selsvarts set up a new shop, and a new sort of normalcy fell over the family. Years passed, and while Anton's brother had begun expressing interest in taking over the family store he had larger aspirations. When he came of an appropriate age, Anton left his family to travel North into Zenterr and make his fortune. Well, that's at least what he told his family. It wasn't a lie, really; it just wasn't the full truth. You see, Anton was a man on a mission. He had seen the cruelty of the elves, had heard the tales his parents had driven into him as a child. Anton was going to put a stop to the elves, was going to make sure the world was safe for humanity. Now, well into his 27th year, Anton works for the Willards and Turner bank, figuring that if one was to make their fortune, they might as well work where all the money is. He has killed 6 elves, and has not once been suspected of murder.
Age: 27
Appearance: Anton's not really the tallest guy around. At barely 5'9, Anton tries to maintain good posture to make up for his height. Keeping his medium-short blonde hair slicked backwards, Anton is the picture of professionalism. Which isn't to say he doesn't look friendly, as the almost chronic smile would suggest. He clearly exercises with some regularity, though it is clear that he has focused more on tone than mass to maintain a more agile physique. He is also the proud owner of a most likely illegally-obtained thaumaturge outfit, for those times when he would rather people not know it was him. This is a good approximation of how he looks.
Birthplace: Boreas
Personality: Anton is a very nice guy. Really. He's amiable, with an easy smile and a quick laugh. I mean, yeah, it is theoretically possible to get him angry, but you have to really be trying at it to get a rise out of him. Okay, so he can be a little sarcastic sometimes and it's not always easy to tell what his opinion is of you (acting friendly doesn't necessarily mean he considers you a friend), but overall he's not a bad guy to know. Just, you know, don't be an elf. He hates elves. Okay, so maybe that wasn't the exact right way to phrase that; he murders elves. It's not a matter of revenge or anything (though one could be forgiven for jumping to that conclusion), it's just that he believes that elves are naturally egotistical would-be tyrants who if left unchecked will enslave or wipe out all humans. Anton sees Boreas as the beginning, and if nothing is done all of Glazend will be like Boreas or worse. Ultimately he would want to wipe the elf-led nation from the face of the planet, but seeing as how he's just one guy with finite resources he's willing to settle for elf-murder for now. Baby steps. He's not super fond of half-elves or dark-elves either, but at least he's not straight-up homicidal in that area. The dude is just sorta cold towards them, and they probably shouldn't expect that he'll remember their birthday or whatever.
Race: Human
Canon or OC: OC
Weapon: Knives. Lots and lots of knives. He tends to throw them a lot, so he keeps quite a few on his person at all times.
Thauma #1: Sylph
Thauma #2: Shadow
Base Artes/Spells: Crow Blade, Ill Wind, Severing Wind, Shadow Storm
Bio: Technically, Anton was born in Boreas. That doesn't necessarily mean he grew up there, 'cause he didn't. Born to merchants Jack and Estel Selsvart, Anton's family enjoyed moderate success selling slightly better swords and armor to wandering adventurer's whose current swords and armor were slightly worse than what they could get at the shop. Somehow, Anton's parents even knew how to make a profit from buying hordes of what their customers referred to as vendor trash. Anton never understood how they did that, even well into his twenties. His parent's business hit an unfortunate stumbling point when elf soldiers from the Boreas military came in the night and set fire to their shop. Anton never knew if the arson was just a random act of violence against some humans or if they had done something specific to incur the wrath of the Boreas elite, and if his parents knew they never told him. The whole family fled that night, packing as much as they could (and being experienced merchants that was actually quite a bit) and fleeing into the night. They ran, and the kept running. Quite a few of Anton's formative years were spent this way, with his family traveling South to escape Boreas. The incident with the fire had put a great fear in the Selsvart family, and Anton's parents spent many a night telling he and his younger brother Stacil horror stories about elves from Boreas so the children would keep their heads down as they fled the country.
After years of travel the Selsvarts had successfully left the borders of Boreas and down into the heart of Sord. Estel's parents had moved to the steampunk nation for their golden years, and upon their passing had left their daughter their property there. It was in Sord that the Selsvarts set up a new shop, and a new sort of normalcy fell over the family. Years passed, and while Anton's brother had begun expressing interest in taking over the family store he had larger aspirations. When he came of an appropriate age, Anton left his family to travel North into Zenterr and make his fortune. Well, that's at least what he told his family. It wasn't a lie, really; it just wasn't the full truth. You see, Anton was a man on a mission. He had seen the cruelty of the elves, had heard the tales his parents had driven into him as a child. Anton was going to put a stop to the elves, was going to make sure the world was safe for humanity. Now, well into his 27th year, Anton works for the Willards and Turner bank, figuring that if one was to make their fortune, they might as well work where all the money is. He has killed 6 elves, and has not once been suspected of murder.
Hey, this seems pretty cool. If it weren't quite so 4 in the morning I would already be writing a CS up. I've only played Tales of Symphonia (and that was years ago), but I think I retained enough info to push out some sorta character.
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