Very well done. Looking forward to postage. Once you have Lyra set in place with an IC post bringing her up to speed I will move things along.
Available on page 3 and reported here for sake of ease. =) Sorry for the long wait, guys.
Lyra OakhartA kind and cheery tomboy, longing for adventure.
Lyra was nearly fourteen years old before anyone seeing her for the first time could guess she was a she. Lanky and long-limbed, she was never much blessed with a woman's figure, but has a smile and stunning pair of green eyes to make up for it. Her fair skin does not burn, but freckles harshly in the sun, given her cheeks and shoulders in particular, a ruddy-tannish look. Her hair is red as flame and just as untamable, hanging boyishly into her face, often as not.
Lyra is a tomboy if ever one walked the earth. She's almost always seen wearing clothes fit for a young man, hemmed or rolled or cut (since she never quite got the hang of sewing) to fit her slightly smaller frame. She's quick to laugh and quicker to make friends, and has a tongue sharper than many of the young men in her village. She's also been known to be exceedingly reckless, and, though she is a smart girl, it is not uncommon for her to make foolish, spontaneous decisions. She is not courageous so much as naive and high-spirited, though she is remarkably loyal, and couldn't hurt a fly if she tried. She has no enemies, but if she did, she'd give him or her the shirt off her back if they so much as smiled at her.
She does not talk about her father if she can help it, and only falls out of her bubbly disposition when presented with lots and lots of water.
The only child of a farming family, Lyra become restless and reckless after her twin brother, Alden, drowned in front of her when she was six. She works as a stable girl, caring for many of Antigall's horses, though she is forever getting into whatever trouble she can find.
Lyra was six when her twin brother drowned, and it turned the shy, curious girl into a reckless young woman. At the funeral, she panicked at the site of her brother's blue and bloated body and could not assist in helping her brother wrap the corpse. Having been raised in a devout family, she knew exactly who to blame for her brother's drowning, and when her father and a cousin carried his body to the cave on the shore, she cried near-blasphemy, saying the Kyakos had been either blind or cruel.
She later apologized, and the village dismissed it as the ramblings of a shocked and grief-stricken child, but ever since, Lyra has harbored a need to break free from the bounds of Antigall tradition.
Her behavior at the funeral, however, created and irreparable rift between Lyra and her mother, a cool sort of politeness between them Lyra believes arose when she wouldn't or couldn't help her mother with her brother's body. Perhaps this is why Lyra saw fit to raise herself as a boy. She played with the other boys of the village, leading several families to joke that she'd absorbed her brother's energy to go along with hers. She was near tireless and was constantly proclaiming (out of earshot from her mother) that she would never be married.
She began working in the village stables, caring for horses when she was twelve, as they were the only animals who could match her energy. While she had a way with them, there were still some whispers that she was too much a handful to ever marry off or hope to 'civilize'. Some said she was a blasphemer, though you might not guess it to witness her on Gods' Day. She has spent several years hence daydreaming about how to escape the holds of Antigall, if only for a short time.
To experience life's most grand adventure(s)...and on a more personal level, live the life she believes she cost her brother.
• She is severely hydrophobic and has been known to break down at the sight of vast amounts of water nearby.
• She avoids rivers, streams, oceans, lakes, etc. at all costs.
• She is an animal lover.
• She is, however, skilled with a bow and has hunted before.
• Her greatest weakness is her kind heart.
Very well done. Looking forward to postage. Once you have Lyra set in place with an IC post bringing her up to speed I will move things along.
I've caught up with the IC thread. Good job everyone.
Waiting on the "need to know" information to create my character.
"Out of every one hundred men, ten shouldn't even be there, eighty are just targets, nine are the real fighters, and we are lucky to have them, for they make the battle. Ah, but the one, one is a warrior, and he will bring the others back." - Heraclitus
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Working on the now. The geography post in the group will come out when I finish the CC3 map. That will be followed by the military side of things. Gunther I am looking at having your character coming in on the detachment sent to Antigall in order to get you in the mix sooner.
Great! Should have time to throw up a post tomorrow. =)
At the moment we will be moving to a new house wherein I may not have internet connection of any form. I will still be able to go online whenever I go to school on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays because they have free internet, but the problem is they won't allow me to access this site for some reason.
One of my current ideas on how to access this site was for me to make use of the public library's internet, but even that may be tricky. I had an idea was that someone from an RP send me the posts made on the RP via email and I reply to them for that said person to post for me, but that would be taxing and I cannot impose that task to someone unless they volunteer. I came up with the compromise that maybe someone can send me just the details of what has happened and I can reply to them in short posts if again that's fine with the other person involved. As for the advanced RP's seeing as the short reply's won't really do justice to the story If it's okay with any of you then I hope that the idea of sending the individual posts would be okay.
If any on you who are in the RP with me has the time to spare then I will be most happy if any of you wish to volunteer, but if not then I will be okay with what decision you guys make.
To my 1x1 and own RP's here is what's going to happen. For the 1x1 if it's okay we can continue the story vie email as long as you want or until the arc ends with dignity. For my own RP I have already mentioned how the 1st arc should go and be followed so please feel free to continue that until the arc ends afterwars it is all up to you what happens and to the person who I will ask to be in charge after the arc ends if you guys want to continue the story.
As for now this is still all just conjecture seeing as that the person who will decide to get a home internet connection is not me. However I have with confidence that for at least a few weeks going onto months we will not have internet connection. Therefore if I disappear then please treat the characters I have made kindly and if possible kill them off with respect or throw the in the freezer until my eventual return.
Vralgon is a withered young man of nineteen, with long bony limbs and a flat belly. He is short of stature yet quite lithe in his build, a quality that has served to benefit him over the years as a hunter in the wilds of his hell. His body is a myriad of scars, sashes of deep purple that cut across his stomach, chest and back. His most prized is a long gash along the length of his arm, received from a lively maiden as he took her forcefully. He is a deceivingly strong man. One glance and one might assume that he is starved and weak, and though the former is certainly the case most times, the latter is an underestimation. Years of hunting and living in Dugar by himself have made him physically and emotionally able to cope and adapt.
Vralgon’s face is long and sharp, with a chiselled nose and defined cheekbones. His lips are a light pink, dry and cracked from insufficient moisture. Beneath his eyes are pale blue hollows, credited to sleepless nights as thunder burst across the sky and predators stalked beyond him, another reward from Dugar. Due to the incident that earned him the name ‘ravenslayer’, he is blind in his right eye. The entire eye is jet, an orb filled with shadows that serves to remind people of who he is and what he has endured. His working eye is a glassy blue, as if coated by morning frost, and his hair is a shockingly stark white that falls to his waist in a river of snow. His skin matches his hair, though his skin is covered in dirt and dust, given him a darker appearance.
In terms of armour, Vralgon wears very little. His main feature is his prized conquest, his raven cloak. Fashioned from the feathers and skin of the rock raven that gave him his name, it shrouds him from head to ankle, a swirling wind of ebon and black. The raven’s head is shaped to serve as a cowl, which hides his easily distinguishable white hair. Other than that, he wears boiled leather rags to shield his nether regions and a loose-fitting rock raven tunic. His arsenal includes a longbow of gnarled black wood that he uses for hunting, bolas, a few knives made from the bones of various animals and an axe that he stole from a rival hunter.
Vralgon was born in darkness. In what you could call winter in Dugar, in the deepest and darkest depths of a cave beneath a mountain, his mother screamed in pain and brought him into the world. He was raised with his mother and her sister and brother. He never knew his father, who had snuck into his mother’s village and took her unawares as she slept. The four of them made residence in the cave he was born in, once the home of a shadowcat that his uncle had slain. Together, they survived, and built their own community in that cave. His uncle would hunt, his aunt would go to the nearest village and attempt to barter, and his mother would take him to forage during his younger years. They never strayed too far from the cave, and would always return with a bountiful harvest of moss and mushrooms. His mother taught him how to identify whether they were dangerous or not, and how to make nourishing pastes from moss and poisons out of the toxic mushrooms. It was a hard life, though nothing compared to the trials that his uncle and aunt had to endure.
When he was five, his mother made a grievous error with a mushroom. She became terribly ill and died within the week. Vralgon wept, but in Dugar, time is precious and sorrow is weakness. Following her death, Vralgon’s uncle took him hunting – with their mother dangling over his shoulder like a bundle of lumber. His first hunt was a shadowcat, which his uncle used his mother’s body to lure out of a cave. His uncle slaughtered the beast, robbed its cave of whatever fresh meat could be found, and took it all back to their home. Vralgon’s mother was left behind, a half-eaten corpse, homage to a god that Vralgon was growing to hate. When he expressed his distaste for the gods to his uncle, he laughed, and told him “that’s the point. Hate them, love them, no difference for gods.”
Vralgon often hunted with his uncle. His uncle became a father to him, and despite being as rough as the island they resided on, he was an insightful man. He explained to Vralgon of the gods, of how Lord Tartarian became one, and what each stood for. He taught the young hunter how to swim, hunt and track, as well as how to fight if it ever came to that. Their conversations bordered on philosophical at times, often about the gods, and sometimes about history. Vralgon’s own views were somewhat similar to his uncles, though his uncle was a true believer, and Vralgon was growing to think of them as nothing. “The beast is a beast; it will kill you whether you offer it another carcass or not. Prayer is for fools who think that the wind out of their mouths will save them. You’re shit to them, and they’re shit to you,” he would say to his uncle, who would respond with a laugh.
Sometimes, Vralgon would go with his aunt into the nearby village. He learned much there too, about the rest of the island and the people living there. He learned about history, and why the Tartarians were so cursed. A crone at the village would sometimes tell him stories about the Great Green, where life was easy and the storms would come only a few times a year. Vralgon would often dream of this long forgotten land, of villages in hills of green, where the trees were bright and Ayreon’s beasts stayed in the wilds and away from men. He knew no better.
When he was 11, his uncle died from a wound given to him by a manticore. His aunt then abandoned him, as he was old enough to fend for himself. He remained in the cave, and hunted in the morning hours. He became bolder and stronger, though also more reckless. He climbed the peaks to snatch eggs from nests, and snuck into caves to steal from absent creatures. He frequented the village a lot more now, offering eggs for knowledge and supplies. Through bartering, he managed to obtain a longbow and arrows. When he was 15, he killed a man for an axe he had.
It was on one such night that the rock raven came for him, big as a tree and dark as a winter’s night. It swooped down from the peak and attacked him as he slept. Vralgon fought it off desperately. It took his eye, but Vralgon slew the beast with a blow to its gut. When he came to the village the next day with an eye the colour of a crow’s feather, he was forced to tell the tale. The same old crone who told him of the Great Green gave him the name Ravenslayer, believing it to be the same rock raven that had taken two of her sons from her the year before.
When news of Ironhand and his fleet departing came to him, he knew what he had to do. He packed up his cave, gave the crone one of his shadowcat pelts, and went off to seek the Great Green beyond the tempestuous seas.
I'm working on my IC post now. I apologize for my tardiness. Again.
Me too! It's coming along wonderfully.
Awesome guys i love the Cs's and the posts so far. I just got back from a weekend herding cats... I mean training reservists in the field so once I catch up I will probably post so background stuff and move the Ic aling once DotCom and Rulaan make thier entrances.