Imagined World - Allaria - Character Deposit

[Rilla]

Hmmm, let's see.

I'm not quite sure how far I'm going to have time passed from the last chapter to this one.

But I will ask you to tone down his shamanism, at least, for right now. I don't really want anyone being able to make potions 'like a baws'.

As well as take away the ageless thing. :P None of the races are ageless; they closest are the goblins, but that's only because they reincarnate, even then, they can still die from old age.

Also, clean it up a bit. I don't mind you people goofing off in the OOC, outside actual IC-related conversations, but with the IC's, CS', and IC-Related OOC; I want them to not be filled with pointless cursing, and shit like 'baws'

--

And the tone has been set.

>Doesn't want a bunch of mage type characters.
>>First character put up is a Druid/Shaman.

[Rilla]

Name: Charr


Age: 132


Race: Goblin


Class: Shamen/Druid


God: Goblin Beliefs. Although most of the things he has done clash almost directly with them so he could be considered as atheist.

This is his true form but he will almost never take it as he can just as easily take the form of a more young, strong, and attractive goblin.

The best word to describe his personality would be Unstable. Unpredictable. Manic. Primal. Over one hundred years of drug use along with the mental effects his magic has on him have made him pretty crazy. Generally his personality is deeply affected by the creature he is taking the form of. He spends very little time in his true form which is probably the form in which he is most unstable. He is very wise but has very little ways to communicate with things that cannot understand understand primitive goblin speak beside body language and a very basic vocabulary of the common tongue. He is a bit perverse holds a sort of admiration towards humans, elves, and other races he regards as "beautiful".

Char gave up his spirit animal for extended life.

He doesn't generally carry much on him as things would be lost whenever he took the form of an animal. He wears an enchanted necklace he created while he served as a shamen for his clan, it is made of the bones of his ancestors and changes forms with him with him so that it fits somewhere on his body (As a necklace, collar, bracelet, belt, w/e it takes to stay on his body). He has it mainly for spiritual/religious purposes, believing that it will protect him from harm but it doesn't really do much of anything.


Ancestor Bone Necklace
Loincloth (Optional)- He only wears clothing that can be easily/quickly removed for him to be able to change into an animal but generally doesn't walk around nude. He is skilled at making a makeshift loincloth out of whatever he can find lying around.

Shamen- He can mix drugs and herbal remedies. But he mainly makes really powerful drugs. He is knowledgeable enough to make some teas or herbal rubs to help the healing process along but nothing overly effective. He has a bit more talent in the field of making potions to help creatures recover their spirit, as he has no other way to recover his own without his spirit animal.

Hightened Senses- His many changes have left him with sense more powerful than those of normal people.

Shapeshifting- He has the ability to take the form of anything smaller than or the same size of him. He thus has the ability to change into any small to medium sized animal or goblin (He could probably also pass for a very skinny Dwarf if he tried) or even bugs (Although he does not do this because it would leave him very vulnerable). This is more than him simply changing his form to the creatures though, he spiritually becomes the creature and his insticts and mind are heavily affected by this (Although with training he is able to keep his general intelligence and remain in control of himself). For example if he become a squirell, he would think and act like a squirell... Only a squirell with all the knowledge he has gained through his life and thus a very fucking smart squirrell.

He can live much longer than the average goblin with a lifespan about 4 times that of most goblins.
Shapeshifting allows him to take the form of any creature smaller or the same size as him. This makes him very good at tracking, hiding, running away, deception, and just messing with people's heads (which he loves to do).
He can mix drugs and folk medicines that will have various affects.
Each creature he has become has changed him slightly. He has the insticts and urges of 1000 different animals all packed in to one creature. This makes him very primal and ferocious while being very docile and skiddish.
He has lived many years as many different creatures, this has made him very wise.
You would have a hard time finding another intelligent creature with as much knowledge about nature and animals as him.

He is a goblin.
He can only become creatures of about the same size or smaller than your average goblin.
He is high... like 80% of the time. But is that really a bad thing?
He has almost no experience with weapons or combat out of the form of an animal.
Armor and clothes would just clash with his ability to shapeshift so he doesn't wear them. He might be convinced to wear more than a loincloth on special occasions but he would never wear something as restricting as armor.
He is very wise and intelligent but having been born as a goblin and having spent many years living as various animals(not to mention all the drugs), he has very few ways to express himself and his knowledge is limited to that of nature and animals. With him only having maybe the knowledge that a housecat would of civilized culture (as he spent several years as a cat in a city).
Drug use, old age, and all the different animal insticts clashing in his head have left him a little crazy... Maybe more than a little.
He is very good at avoiding combat but he is just not a good fighter at all unless fighting something with an obvious disadvantage.
The instincts of all the animals he has become and the fact that he could live forever if he doesn't get himself killed has made him a bit of a coward.
He has given up his spirit which has many bad effects. He does not recover his magical strength over time and must do so through non-natural means. He has no spirit world or animal and cannot communicate with them or other creatures through them. And giving up your spirit just is generally considered an evil thing by almost all religions out there.

Charr was born in to a primitive goblin tribe living in solitude far away from civilization. There he showed an intelligence above that of an average goblin that eventually earned him the position of Shamen in his tribe. He lead his tribe in its spiritual practices but could not hold himself back from wanting to conquer the belief he was teaching. He eventually learned from his spirit animal a way to sacrifice his own spirit to rule over the art of reincarnation and at the same time extend his own life. When his tribe learned of what he did, they shunned and even tried to kill him for it. He was forced to escape far away from them, the only others of his kind he knew, and live alone. But he soon found that he was not alone, his power allowed him to fully become the other species of animals he saw living around him and make new lives for himself with them. He spent time as the alpha male in a wolf pack, the flock leader of murder of crows, a powerful salmon in the river, and many other creatures of everything he could find in his small world. Eventually, one day as he was travelling across great distances as a mighty eagle he came across the city of Ladengrove. There he saw many new and civilized creatures that had been completely alien to him before then. He became very interested in these creatures that he considered "beautiful" and eventually found a way to live with them in the form of a housecat for a family in the city. He lived with a happy couple and stayed with them all through when their daughter grew from an infant to a beautiful woman. Eventually the parents died and he was left to live with the daughter alone. He never revealed himself to the family once until one day as he saw the pain of loneliness the woman felt he thought to show her the truth about him and teach her how to become like him and never be lonely, as he never had. She,obviously , reacted badly to this reveal and attacked Charr, nearly killing him. Charr escaped Ladengrove and began travelling again, but his new-found interest in the "beautiful" races of the world lead him to never stray so far from civilization that he wouldn't be able to find his way back.

Post Sample: Please


Dialogue Color(Can be a link, or a freshly written piece): Olive

That's better bitch

[mbl]

You stupid cunt... made me go through all that shit because you thought my char was just a bit too old

[Rilla]

Yeah, that was it, you retard.

[Nemaisare]

Name: Jonathan Quiggley

Age: 58- looks ten years younger

Race: Human

Class: Messenger/Thief

God: While he doesn’t subscribe to direct worship, he still believes in the gods, and has sent one or two absent prayers to whatever god feels like listening.

Appearance: Quiggley is not a large man, neither tall or wide, but he is rather round. Standing at 5’6”, his is a most unprepossessing figure, easy to dismiss as both unimportant and unthreatening. He is a great deal more circular than one might expect an experienced, successful, thief to be. Circular and maybe a little pudgy. In fact, he rather resembles the outline of a rudimentary figure sketch using rounded shapes to create the image of a man. This cushioning layer hides what muscle he has, which, while more than one might guess at first, isn’t nearly what it once was. As a continuation of his body’s natural theme, Quiggley’s head is topped with thinning, black and grey curls that, when combined with his round face, wide, brown eyes and slightly overlarge ears, gives him a certain boyish charm. He has a fleeting, marvelous grin that makes him seem friendly, understanding and very much like the sort of man one might wish to spend time with. But more often than not has a shy-er, more hesitant, smile that is more uncertain and faintly frightened than friendly or welcoming. His voice is deep and thick with the harsher accent of the slums, and is surprisingly quiet for a man of his rotundness. His skin is covered with indigo tattoos. Lines, circles, dots and sometimes a little of all three. There are rings around every one of his fingers, and about the bicep of his left arm and his neck. Upside down triangles are outlined beneath his eyes, three each along the bottom, with five circles on his forehead, the biggest in the middle. From the corners of his mouth lines fall straight down his neck with small dots along the outside. And so it goes.


Personality: With more indecent knowledge than formal education, Quiggley isn’t an overly moral sort. He has discovered that paying for his own sins and past mistakes is a costly enough procedure without having to pay for the hard life of others. Not that there isn’t any pity in him, the poor fellow merely finds himself in the terrible position of arguing with himself about the better choice. Sometimes his conscience wins and sometimes it gets defeated by his more base needs. Although he can, to give him some credit, come up with an altruistic reason more often than not, they aren’t always viable, but he can come up with them.

Strangely, for a man with such a background, Quiggley is amazingly polite. To those of greater rank it is, granted, something of an oily politeness, designed to get them softened up and him off the hook, but to those on his level, he can be quite the gentleman. Uncultured and very much rough around the edges, but rarely rude or insulting, and never cruel. He might sometimes use force, and can be quite strict when it comes to word-breaking, although his appearance doesn’t help him much in that regard, but he is reasonable, and can be very understanding. And, knowing his wife as he does, he has never, and likely never will, go a day of their marriage without complimenting her on her looks: be it her hair, her eyes, her smile or her dress.

As a small man with small ambitions, he lacks the forceful personality that would help him move up in life and, instead, relies on a quiet pacifism (when under a superior’s gaze) that usually allows him to keep beneath anyone’s notice. This isn’t always successful and on such occasions he either tries talking himself out of trouble or running like hell. It’s worked for him so far. There have been moments when he gets a fire in his belly about something and then he’s quite good at being determined and seeing these ideas through no matter what. He gets a slightly crazed light in his eyes and those who know him shake their heads and sit back to enjoy the show.

Given his rather rough upbringing, Quiggley is not what one might refer to as a model citizen. Most obviously not in his thinking, nor in his behaviour. He has learned a few vices whilst growing up. And, given his earlier form of employment, it is hardly surprising that he enjoys the thrill of gambling. There is the same sort of skill and chance involved, an art that demands both luck and a ready knowledge of the bets, as there can be in thieving. He isn’t terrible at the betting, but that’s only half of what many men know when it comes to throwing their money away, and, unfortunately for Quiggley, he is terrible at cards. And more than a few of the men who frequent the establishments he does know this, and take advantage of it. And, while he is aware of it, he can’t help but want to keep trying so one day he’ll prove that he isn’t so horrible as they all think. It’s a matter of pride, I suppose. What little bit of it he has won’t let him quit.


Spirit Animal: Forest Dormouse

Spirit World: A blackberry bush

Equipment:
Outfit- sturdy pair of boots, pants, tunic, lined cloak with pockets, leather belt, pendant that marks his status as Lady Dalia’s employee
Stuff in his pockets- bit of twine, purse and a few coins, dried fruits and nuts, and lock picks in the hem, bit of lard wrapped in thick felt
Weapon- has a small knife in his boot


Skills: Thieving- While he is stronger with picking pockets and sneaking away store products, he does know how to pick locks and slip window latches open from the outside. He’s also not a horrible climber, though both age and his own weight generally slow him down, along with a certain preference for keeping both feet on the ground. Eight years of refraining as much as he is capable of it have left him rather rusty at everything, though it ought to come back fairly swiftly should he need it.

Magic: Messaging- He can send and receive messages, though he is better at receiving, and in conjunction with this, has learned how to have his spirit animal act as a semi-reliable scout for a variety of semi-ethical reasons.

Strengths:
Rough diplomacy with his own sort, easy compliance with those above him.
Fast fingers, good sleight of hand.
Fairly easy to get along with.
Disarming appearance, unremarkable except for the tattoos.
His questionable morals leave him open to far more opportunities than many honest men.
Can be very determined when passionate about something.

Weaknesses:
Not very good at fighting or anything requiring endurance.
Addicted to gambling.
Not well educated.
Little ambition.

History: Quiggley doesn’t know who his parents are and his earliest memories are of living on the streets, stealing what he needed and making do with whatever he could find. Someone must have looked after him somewhere along the way, but he’s never thought much about them. His days of running wild didn’t last long, however, and he was caught in a general roundup and sent to a community orphanage in an attempt to clear the streets of his sort. It wasn’t half bad, really, he got free food, a bed halfway warm and he didn’t have to get wet if it was raining.

He got his name there too. And since every other boy there was called John, he goes by his last name. He learned a little about reading and writing and arithmetic there, just enough to keep him from being completely illiterate, but they weren’t skills he really needed. The proprietor had other career paths in mind for his orphans, and he made his money to look after them by giving them to the guilds, to apprentice in the trades, or just for cheap labour. If things worked out, they’d pay him back, or the guild would. If they didn’t, it was one less mouth to feed. Most of them weren’t sent to the honest guilds though, and Quiggley was among the majority when he was sent off to apprentice in the thief’s guild. He learned the ropes fast and never tried causing trouble, they taught him how to pick pockets and squirrel merchandise away without being caught. They showed him how to track a mark and how to plan a heist, his body wasn’t exceptionally well suited for the trade, but it did mean he could slip beneath the radar.

By the time he was grown, he’d made a small name for himself in the thief’s guild and carved himself a comfortable niche in life. It didn’t take him long to learn the benefits of having a bit of spare money lying around and found himself visiting the brothels more than once in his spare time. He ended up marrying his favourite girl after a few years. It wasn’t exactly love, but close enough. Life got ordinary, routine, and then, 20 or so years ago, Quiggley started having some strange dreams, and he didn’t have to be unconscious to experience them. They weren’t conducive to a good night’s sleep, or a hard day/night’s work. He drunkenly shared a few of them with a more educated ‘friend’ and the man told it sounded like he was a messenger like a girl he’d known once. She’d worked for the merchant’s guild, made a hefty profit too.

Well, Quiggley took that little tidbit to heart and though it took ten years to accomplish, found someone who could, and would, teach him this messenger business. He’s been working for a noblewoman for the past eight years, cleaning up his act and all.


Dialogue Color: Dark Blue

Post Sample

[Dorian Gregory]

Name: Aaensin “Sin” Mardizo

Age: 22

Race: Human

Class: Alchemist/Apothecary turned Thief

God: Asclepius

Appearance:


Personality: Aaensin is a simple man. He values good over evil, if only as a means to perpetuate his own ends of staying amongst the living. He values life over death. Most importantly, he values secrecy over all else. Sin will generally go out of his way to his way to help people medically. It has been instilled in him that life is of the utmost importance and if it can be saved it should be. However, he is often skeptical of new acquaintances, slow to make friends, and even slower to forget enemies. While he often enjoys the company of a few strangers at the local pub, he rarely is found outside of his shop for anything other than necessity.

Spirit Animal: Rat, with a nifty ability to help sniff out particular natural ingredients.

Spirit World: A maze of sewers

Equipment: The smallest threat in Sin’s arsenal is the simple dagger that he has recently grown accustom to carrying. Rarely is it every shown and it is most useful to him through surprise or as a last resort. Over his shoulder is an apothecary’s satchel that contains various mundane healing supplies. More recently Sin has been carrying alchemical ingredients disguised as mundane healing supplies. Rarely does Sin leave without his backpack that is filled with a few boxes of vials and flasks as well as few living essentials such as a medical supplies, number coins, a water skin, and a map case carrying maps that contain a little something more in a cryptic manner. Finally, Sin rarely leaves home without a number of flasks and vials containing a variant of alchemical concoctions that provide various preferable outcomes.

Skills: Sin’s prominent major skill is in that of alchemical creations in the manner of potions and other physical agents that essentially mimics the effects of magical spells to a certain effect. A secondary skill would be those generally attributed to his duties as an apothecary. This includes trained skills such as diagnosis, treatment, and other forms of mundane healing.

Magic: Much like his Master Quov Tsin, Sin is capable of casting a limited form of magical generally enacted through runes or limited to extremely contained areas. For example, Sin may create a rune of heating or freezing to cause a reaction amongst his concoctions or he may create a small area void of oxygen for the same reason. It is a rarer seen to see Sin use this magic for anything other than alchemy such as his business as an apothecary or for self-defense.

Strength: Sin’s most useful quality in any party are certainly his skills as a healer. While with mundane mechanics, his skills are limited to his youth; however, alchemy had always been his passion and the main focus of his life. His potions range from that of glass flasks that explode into fiery conflagrations to an inhaled vapor that provides enhanced abilities. The latter is a concoction that has yet to be perfected.

Weakness: Unfortunately, outside of his alchemical abilities Sin’s combative skills are severely limited. It was just recently as the Apotheoses that ruled over Rocoa clenched their iron fist even tighter around the city’s inhabitance. To this extent, Sin skulks through the shadows as he acquires what he needs from the enormous list of contraband forbidden to the general public. And through the shadows he does skulk with only a simple dagger.

History:
Aaensin has lived in Rocoa his entire life. He was born in the city, educated in the city, and employed in the city. His parents worked in partnership with a number of farmers. While they maintained a market within the city walls, the farmers would supple their stands with goods. One might compare it to a modern day produce market. On any accord, they certainly lived a very well. Aaensin was never left to want for anything; however, he had never really asked for much.

Before Aaensin had come of age, the young boy lost his Mother. She had fallen ill. She was taken over by a physical ailment that no mundane treatment was able to cure. Sin’s Father had spared no expense in trying to save his wife. Unfortunately, by the time that the family has sought out an alchemist, with healing abilities a little less mundane, it was already too late. However, it was not too late as to have allowed Sin the opportunity to finally learn of his calling in this World.

From the tender age of twelve, Sin had willingly exposed himself to the tutelage of one of Rocoa’s most well-known apothecaries named, Quov Tsin. Well known for his bed side manner, Quov traveled from one side of Rocoa to the other just to ensure his patients health. Of course, very rarely did Quov acquire a patient that would be considered well off economically. He is a poor man’s doctor and has only been so lucky to inadvertently cross paths with a wealthy man in need. Of course, on the black market Quov is known for another reason. For centuries as the rumors carry, Quov Tsin has become well renowned for his skills in alchemy. He has become well known across the underground market for a variety of books, spells, methods, recipes, and potions that are marked with his name. Few people know of his whereabouts, but in the field of alchemy there is always someone looking for him.

Sin has been learning both apothecary and alchemy from Quov Tsin for ten years. Over those ten years, he has learned more of the mundane medical treatments and ingredient identification. However, alchemy swiftly became his study as soon as Quov Tsin’s physical condition began to deteriorate. Sin had come to believe that more than five decades of work were being crammed into only a year and a half. It is any surprise that his head is still not spinning.

Now, while Quov Tsin is not yet dead, Sin has taken responsibility for managing both the apothecary and the alchemist shop hidden within. While Sin appears to be handling things to the best of his ability, all is not well. There have been occasions that Sin has had to deny patient care because it was beyond his comprehension. When the conversation of alchemy arises, it typically revolves around ingredients, containers, and prewritten recipes rather than advice and education. However, with Quov Tsin slowly fading from the image various people have been creeping into the niche that he once dominated as Aaensin is not knowledgeable enough to remain competitive.

Post Sample: Deemed unnecessary.

Dialogue Color(Can be a link, or a freshly written piece): Dark Khaki

[Rilla]

Alright, you two are good.

[Dorian Gregory]

Really? Not alterations required... This may be looking a gifted horse in the mouth, but wow...

Also, if you want to go over some starting points for our little story there are a couple of quests or possibilities I was considering for side quests and such while I was creating Sin.

[Rilla]

None of the stuff seems overpowered past where I want it to be for this arc.

And I'll be around the IRC sometime today

[MelonHead]

Name: Forsoff Glintson

Age: 22

Race: Dwarf

Class: Armourer/Blacksmith

God: Abbathor

Appearance: Standing at around four foot seven, Forsoff is short and stocky like most of his race, with bulging muscles from his work. He wears his hair natural, and it’s of medium length just short of his shoulders. Black in colour, he also has a thick beard stretching down about two inches from the bottom of his chin and a classic dwarven moustache. His face is scarred from conflicts in his youth and his large hands are heat scarred from the forge.

Personality: Hearty, social and practical, Forsoff is hard working because he feels it only heightens the pleasure of drink and relaxation afterwards. However, he doesn’t take insults lightly and has a fighting spirit. His pride is also something of a weakness, and he is strongly conscious of his low stature. He would probably be considered average in intelligence, but he does have the odd moment of clarity. His particular thinking set makes him greatly adverse to things magical in nature, and he particularly detests criminals and those who prey on honest working men.

He has a measure of respect for those of higher class, so long as they do nothing to lose it. (For example, a lord known to be cruel or harsh to his workers would be met with a certain cold and test manner from Forsoff) In general though, he usually greets everyone in a cheerful way. To sum up, he’s a fairly simple and honest man who doesn’t stand for disrespect and respects those who work hard and treat others well.

Spirit Animal: Ram

Spirit World: Rocky mountainside

Equipment: Rawhide leather blacksmiths tunic, iron bracers, Dwarven blacksmithing hammer, leather boots and leggings. Small rucksack with basic travelling supplies and a purse with his savings, he doesn’t have a huge amount of money, but a moderate amount for a working man.

Skills
Major: Dwarven fighting skills (Axes and Hammers especially.)
Minor: Blacksmithing

Magic: None.

Strengths: Physically strong (even for a dwarf) with considerable muscle endurance. Has a degree of hardiness and resistance to heat and cold. Has knowledge of weaponry and armour which helps in battle on top of blacksmithing. (Also has most other dwarven strengths, such as decent vision moderate resistance to magic and mind effects, poisons etc.)

Weakness: Slow and short, he lacks the finesse to deal with multiple opponents who have any degree of agility or speed at their own disposal. However in the heat of battle he can easily knock a man down to his size with a powerful blow to the legs.

History: Forsoff was born to a warrior caste of moderate renown. His father was a strong willed and fair man, who taught him the morals he still holds to some degree now. As he grew his siblings were never close to him, located all over the world in numerous Dwarven settlements on account of their father setting them all loose on their 18th birthdays. However, his father taught him well the skills he had learned in a lifetime of conflict. He left with his parents love, and never returned. Relatively unskilled in all but the fighting techniques learned as a child, but strong and hardy with a love of good ale instilled in him from a young age, he wandered into a mining town. He settled there for a while, although he never owned any property or set down any real roots. Forsoff left his home in the caves of Alkarin after he was forced to beat some of his fellow mine workers to near death in a brawl after a serious altercation.

Once again he wandered, although his knowledge of certain metals had grown to a degree and his strength and endurance had improved. The blacksmith trade appealed to him greatly as there was a fair amount of money to be made in it. When he found a dwarf willing to teach him he learned all he could of the trade, not a significant amount as his teacher forged mundane items, and moved on. He is still learning to this day, and probably would have continued down that path had it not been for the sudden interference of a certain god.

Dialogue Color: Burlywood

Post Sample: The dimly lit hall was clouded with smoke and filled with an uncomfortable ruddy heat. Hearty laughter and good natured chattering drowned out the lone Dwarf’s thoughts as he puffed on a pipe in one corner of the room. The town was one of many for him, the tavern a thing he was more familiar with than his own father. Forsoff dropped his pipe with one hand and seized a half filled tankard of ale, drinking it in massive gulps. Some spilled over his heat worn leather apron, and his arms knotted with the smallest of movements, making it blatantly apparent the trade he practised. With a sigh he slammed the mug onto the wooden table and stood, walking with a certain unstable lurch and belching as he passed the other occupants of the ale house. He stood a little under shoulder height on the humans outside, but he ignored them as he made his way doggedly towards the smithy.

With a forceful push he sent the wooden shutters flying and strode into his temporary home in the forge, where he lived and worked while he learned what he could from the Dwarven weapon master in town. His skill was progressing rapidly, Forsoff was after all a Dwarf, but he was still considered an apprentice in most respects. All of the basics were there, only in experience was he lacking.

As the drink befuddled dwarf made ready to snuggle down beside the still warm embers of the forge, heavy footsteps caused him to raise his head in alarm. The overwhelming aura of strength and the dull hammering of the forge surrounded him, and he looked into the face of his god.

“A little young and more than a little drunk, but aye you’ll do.”