Query: Is this in a made-up world, or England, or just vague where-abouts? I'm wondering because of cultural icons and religions and such things as that.
Dawn casts its rosy fingers over the sleeping village, painting it in shades of pink and gold. The scene is painfully idyllic with just the right touch of birdsong. In the village green the signs of a thoroughly enjoyed mid-summer celebration can be seen: smoldering embers in the bonfire pit, empty jugs and overturned tankards, even a tunic or two. Early risers who have inexplicably dodged hangovers begin to slip from their beds and stoke the carefully banked coals from last night’s fires, waking a new fire in the hearth. The baker is up despite the night’s festivities as well he should be, elbow deep in dough, hastily kneading his product, his eyes on the already heated oven planning the steps of his day that should by all rights be just like any other. The Swineherd too is up too, getting dressed and ready to move his sounder out into the forest for grazing, His still dreaming mind hoping for the chance find of truffles.
He whistles as he walks to the pen, his crook in hand, but stops a few feet from it puzzled by what he sees. The pigs have gathered near the edge of the pen and are happily rooting at something. The sows gently push their young away with hind legs, intent upon what they are feasting on. The Swineherd curses under his breath, thinking that he’d lost a pig overnight and the others were indulging in cannibalism. He strides forward only to stop short again as his hastily eaten breakfast threatens to come back up. Poking up from the mud is a well gnawed human hand.
So it begins.
The village of Brooksby is located somewhere towards the edges of a peaceful kingdom that thrives on agriculture. The population is small, less than 200 souls give or take. It is on a road to somewhere important, but nowhere near that somewhere. This is convenient for when it comes time to ship goods at harvest time. Rarely does anyone or anything come their way and for the most part they like it that way.
It is the sort of town where everyone knows everyone but not so isolated that everyone is related to everyone. There are secrets of course, what else do they have to do in the cold winter months? Scandal and gossip of the rural variety entertain them over a pint at the local tavern in the evening hours. Everyone goes to church and pays tithe and the local priest leads the whole village in the seasonal festivals that aren't even thinly veiled pagan practices, they do things the way they have always done them and they like it that way.
The town is the property by and large of Lord Robert Bessom, and all pay him for use of his land and offer him fealty and a portion of their harvest on top of that. He's an easy landlord, largely unconcerned about what goes on on his land as long as the rent and taxes are paid and his larder is kept full. However his son, Marc is or rather was, a bit of a problem. Born on the wrong side of the sheets, the results of a mid-summer festival well spent, he was spoiled, doted upon and raised with a sense of entitlement. He was soon after supplanted by Lord Robert’s legitimate son but that never bothered him as he got the same level of indulgence with none of the responsibility. He grew into an arrogant bully, just charming and handsome enough to occasionally make a girl loose her sense of good judgment and guaranteed that he had a parcel of “friends” who liked work about as much as he did. Armed with a pack of flunkies and connections he made quite a nuisance of himself but was smart enough to never cross the line. So when he turns up dead the only one to mourn is his father.
Rules and Such
- No one liners
- No Speed posting
- Do not tie anyone up, if you cannot post let us know OOC so we can move you if needed
- No god modding (duh)
- No loners! (huge pet peeve of mine)
- if you are given privileged information, do not share, this RP requires such things get revealed in the appropriate scene.
- (possibly more to be added as I think of it)
- One paragraph minimum (average of five sentences) or higher, otherwise known as Guild standards.
- let at least 3-4 people post before you do again.
- Be especially conscious of not moving too far a head of the main plot. I keep track of this and if you go and have your character take a nap (for example) you aren't going to be able to react to the bar fight that breaks out even if it looks fun. This has come up in a few of my RP's so I thought I'd point it out here. Especially since there is only 24 IC hours allotted to this RP.
- If you are in a scene with another character, on that isn't connected to the others, with lots of back and forth dialog, take it to PM. Then after you have RPed out the scene in PM the conversation or scene can be posted as a whole by one of the players. This makes for nice banter and keeps from losing the feel of the conversation when it gets broken up by other people posting. Be mindful if you do this that you don't tie up a player for too long. The collab post should be wrapped up quickly, say within a day or so.
- I am not a grammar nazi but I expect to be able to read your posts, again, guild standards.
- Post every other day as a minimum unless I am told otherwise. If I don't hear from you in a week I'll work your character out of the play. If you can't post, just speak up and let me know. That counts as hearing from you and we'll work things out. (I am going to be strict about this since it's easy to avoid and I had some trouble with it last RP I ran)
- (more to be added as I think of it. But trust me, I am not the bitch this makes me out to be, lol)
I like a lively OOC, this is where we get to know each other and form connections both IC and OOC so don't hesitate to chit chat. I love to see it. I also like for my players to feel they have a say in the RP so if you have a great idea you can run it here or send me a PM and I'll do my best to work it in if I can.
For this RP I am going to be really customizing the plot to who comes to the table so there will be a decent pause between OOC and IC as I take the characters and players and tie them all together. So bear with me for this process. When you are done with your CS post it here and then PM me with your thoughts on why your character would want Marc Bessom dead. Have in mind a relationship with Bessom, a history and how your character might have killed him, he's a smarmy, charming bastard so lots of stuff to work with there. We'll hammer out the details via PM so do not share this part on the OOC. Remember, no magic and humans only.
Detailed Map of Bronwyn's private quarters
Cast of Characters
- Alain Longshot Played by Unlit
- Alyss Cloud Played by HerzinthTheDark
- Bronwyn Alricsdottir Played by Lillian Thorne
- Carson Brial Played by Tirgesfu
- Duncan Holdon Played by KnightShade
- Ioan Voda Played by May
- Lorelei Drover Played by Jilted Yellow
"Could Zhago give the huntsman a reason to suspect him as the killer for the lovely Bronwyn? Hell no!": written by Serge Drevlan made Jilted Yellow Lol.
"Duncan was doing the same thing he did whenever he got lost, head off in a completly different direction to the one from whence he came. It was simple really. The path he had just been down had got him lost, following it again would get him loster. Besides people never found him from that direction so it followed that the people who were found were down a different path. All Duncan had to do now was get from lost to found and this did not strike him as difficult, finding a lost person when lost made them both found. He couldn't understand why people fussed so much.": written by KnightShade made HerzinthTheDark almost speechless
Bronwyn was young enough that she wasn’t above taking advantage of the moment. When Carson put his arm around her to help her rise she leaned into him, feeling the tension in his body and knowing some of it was there for her. That thrilled her more than a little. from Lillian Thorne made Jilted Yellow Wordgasm.
Query: Is this in a made-up world, or England, or just vague where-abouts? I'm wondering because of cultural icons and religions and such things as that.
Spam Talks Philosophy 3rd Edition
It is a made up world but really just consider it to be a fantasy version of medieval Europe with no magic or non-human races. The general faith will be vaguely catholic/Anglican with pagan undertones. I am keeping it vague so you all have some flexibility. When in doubt ask/ad-lib.
Name: Bronwyn Alricsdottir
Apperance: middling tall with a head of thick scarlet red hair Bronwyn takes after her traveling player mother in physical appearance more than she does her large northern father. Her eyes are bright green and her skin milk pale with a mouth made for smiling and kissing. Her chin is just a touch stubborn and she has a small scar on it from a childhood misadventure. Her hands are red, rough and chapped from work, both in the tavern and in the garden out back despite the effort she puts into tending to them with lotions and such.
She wears plain but well made clothing with touches of amazingly detailed embroidery here and there to brighten it up. Any patches or mending she has to do are inevitably covered with more of the whimsical embroidery, a task she truly loves.
Personaltiy: It is here that she most resembles her hard-working father. She is patient with others and filled with much commonsense and kindness, almost too much so. She is also a practical no-nonsense attitude concerning the rowdier patrons of her tavern for which she carries a sap. Her kindness and generosity are beggaring her but she finds she cannot turn a hungry mouth away whether or not they can pay. She also has flashes of impulsiveness, especially when others are in danger and it is in these moments she shows her age.
History: Left on the doorstep of her father a just about a year after her Traveling Performer Mother’s troop had spent the night in Brooksby and the star of the troop, an amazingly beautiful red-head had spent the night in the bed of the tavern keeper, Bronwyn was ever the apple of her father’s eye.
Alric Mordenson was a soldier from a distant northern land who, battered and worn by war had travelled as far south as possible before his gold all but ran out. He landed in Brooksby and set up shop, building his tavern with his own two hands and much sweat. He was a generous man who was lonely despite having many friends. The arrival of a daughter was the cure for that loneliness and he never questioned her parentage just took her in and did his best. Bronwyn was something of a wild child and the old hen’s of the village clucked to themselves about how she needed a woman, a mother to tame her. Despite their best efforts Alric never took a wife but did agree that she needed to learn womanly arts. So Bronwyn’s tutelage at the hands of many of the town’s matrons began. She developed a love for embroidery and herb craft but never quite lost her independent ways.
She never married despite being several years past when she should have wed and as her father wasn’t eager to lose her. A year ago her father took a fever. At first it seemed a run of the mill fever but then it spiked and within two days she lost him. Grief took her hard and for a month she never left the tavern. Eventually, remembering his words about the responsibility of a Tavern-keeper, especially one that had become the center of a town’s social life to keep open for the good of the town she re-opened, determined to do it on her own despite her young and unmarried state. It took a good amount of sap work but now most of the patron’s know to keep their hands to themselves.
Relationships with other characters: She knows everyone and is friendly with all though not close to anyone especially since the loss of her father.
Name: Lorelei Drover
Appearance: She is 5'6, 110lbs. Slightly above average in height, but her slenderness makes her seem taller than she actually is. She has dark brown skin and brown eyes. Her hair is a crown of small black curls that fall past her shoulders, and she usually wears it down, with sections braided on either side at the front going to the back of her head and held in place with a barrette. She has a gorgeous, engaging smile. She is usually dressed pretty plainly, in a long grey skirt and white peasant top with a dull red bodice. She has a different outfit for when she performs: a purple dress with gold embroidery and accents. It's long, and flows with her when she moves on stage. It actually is quite a beautiful dress, and well made with soft fabric, quite unlike the home-made outfit that she usually wears.
Personality: She is a kindhearted girl, passionate and pensive. She lives for self-expression, which is a rare find in a small agrarian town like this, and enjoys performing because of how it can affect people and how she feels to be communicating with people. She is quite good at what she does. She dreams of travelling, and living a different life than she does now. Maybe, one day, she'll be a professional story teller for thousands of people, or sing for a king, or any number of things! She day dreams about this a lot. So she's a dreamer, and a sweet one at that. She is quite friendly, and most people who know her like her.
Lorelei lives to perform, and all around has a good heart, but at the end of the day sometimes thinks too deeply about things. She tends to pontificate about life at times, and can be overly sentimental.
History: She is the middle child of 5 children. She comes from a loving, if not sometimes noisy and chaotic, household. Her family owns a dairy farm. Much of her time is spent with cows, or churning butter. The only part of the job that she really enjoys is the icecream. She has managed to get out of working at her family's farm most days now because she has gotten steady work at the tavern. Her parents are also kind, and since they see how in love she is with the stage, they let her do that when there's not too much work to be done. She doesn't make much money performing, but it's something. Sometimes she makes a good amount in tips, especially if patrons have been heavily drinking. She made quite a bit at the festival because she got to do quite a bit of singing and story telling, and basically everyone in the town gave her a few coins at least.
Relationships: To family members. More will be added later.
Last edited by Jilted Yellow; 06-28-2012 at 09:46 AM. Reason: I gave her a last name. Today I added a tiny bit to her personality
Appearance: Angus stands roughly around six feet and six inches, he is considered a rather large brute of a fella, with long scraggly hair and a full scraggly beard to match. with a five inch scars from a wolf going over his left eye.
History: Angus has told many tales around the fireplace in the local tavern, some may be true, but a lot of it is mixed with exaggeration of how he fought off a bear with just his bare hands, or how he lived with a forgotten and lost tribe of natives, learning their ways and secret knowledge, or even the time he fought off a pack of wolves with only his hammer.
Whether his tales are just that, he makes a great storyteller, but most view him as a drunkard spinning child's tales as he drinks himself to death.
Relationships: He has no family, or if he does, he never speaks of them, and only a select few tavern patrons might be considered his friends.
Last edited by Chazz; 06-15-2012 at 02:17 PM.
Looks good Chazz, he's accepted. One thing, my bad, could you put in his occupation? I know you called blacksmith. I'll go add a section to the CS for it so future CS's don't have the problem. thanks.
Appearance: Tall, strong and broad shouldered with dirty blonde hair, pale freckled skin and vacant brown eyes. He either slouches or stares off into space depending on his mood
Occupation: Does errands for his Dad the town butcher who is trying, very hard and patiently, to teach him his trade
Personality: Acts dim and prone to wondering aloud or getting lost just outside his house. His uncle, the village healer, had given him up for dead at birth before he finally managed to start breathing. Loves stories.
Hates happy endings. In reality Duncan started to act dim because he realized it got him out of work, he is a skilled actor and manipulator with an excellent memory. Duncan is the epitome of avoiding responsibility, while some might blame themselves for their mothers death and being treated like they're stupid Duncan has deflected this onto his uncle Carter. If confronted about this he would simply blame it on his mother dying, which by no means justifies his behavior. Due to people only acting condescending towards him he idealizes his dead mother as to them different a little too much. As he has no normal interactions with others he is brutal, animalistic and manipulative.
History: His mum, Cassy, died in childbirth his dad never remarried so he is his dad's only son, his dad is trying to pass his trade onto him but it is a difficult task
Relationships: His dad, his uncle on his mothers side, Carter Lambrick, often tells him stories and generally looks out for him as his sister's flesh and blood, childhood friends with Lorelei and helps her set up for performance's, most of the villagers know him because they often have to set him back on track when he gets lost and he delivers meat for his dad
Last edited by KnightShade; 07-13-2012 at 01:14 PM. Reason: Something that's come up a few times butis only finally being crystalised into the character
I have decided to leave the guild for an indefinite period of time, long story short I have issues with depression that I need to focus on dealing with.
Should you feel it necessary to contact me you can do so on the address below:
Never mind the knight question, figured out a better option. :]
Tall, just hedging over six foot, his limbs are a little long, like they grew too fast when he was younger, but it doesn't make him too awkward and often comes to his advantage, as long as he's sober. Dark eyes that are almost black; black hair typically on the shaggy side if not well brushed at least, the longer parts pulled back into a pony tail most of the time. No matter the season there's always a scruffy bit of beard, with a surprising red tint to it, on his chin that tends to grow more the colder it gets. His hands are rough and calloused from years of hard work and training, his well muscled despite his lanky childhood. He's got the hands a fighter, well accustomed to meeting body parts with force. He'd be consider more handsome if he'd not had his nose broken so many times, but he isn't that bad to look at either. Rather average looking really. Quite a few scars about from brawls as a teenager, nothing too drastic looking though, and two golden rings through his right earlobe.
Jack-of-all-trades at the tavern
Like all humans, he has his moments of contradiction. As a teenager he had a temper that was ever at the boiling point, waiting for it's moment to shine and pummel someone's face in. But at the same time, he'd never hit a lady (unless of course she hit first, but that's just a different story), always looking out for girls that reminded him of his sister and other kids that were orphaned like he was. As he's grown though his temper as cooled to a controllable point , but the years of fighting constantly have left him with a taste for fights, he doesn't like to kill though, but he will if he has to.
He's cocky to cover over his lack of confidence in himself, even if it's minor. Has a tendency to run off at the mouth. He's ambitious, little stubborn, but loyal and more of a follower than a leader. He's far more street smart than book smart, doesn't actually like reading or learning all that much. But given the right circumstances, he's a sweetheart.
Youngest of two with an older sister, his family was holding on fairly well to their livelihoods and home. Until one winter when his sister came down with an awful cold that would not leave her. His mother caught it soon enough from taking care of his sick sister and by the time the spring came they were both dead and his father was lost in his drink and grief. With Ioan too young to bring in enough money through the pick-pocketing he'd learned out in the streets, and his father not working and spending what savings they had on more booze, they soon lost their home and were forced out onto the streets.
Within a year his father had drunk himself into a stupor and passed out in the cold. It wouldn't have hurt a healthy man, but the elder Voda wasn't that and he didn't wake. Ioan was left to totally fend for himself, but it wasn't like he wasn't used to that either. He spent years on the street, managing some how to travel, before finally being taken in by an older man in Brooksby, who he'd tried to separate from his coin purse, unsuccessfully. He worked hard for the man, keeping his new home repaired, and what other free time he had was spent at the local tavern, mostly sober, where he got into a lot of his fights. Which sometimes lead to breaking some things, so in order to pay that back he did some work for the tavern keeper, who eventually just hired him on as a jack-of-trades about the place from busking to bouncing to the lot.