Reply With QuoteOh thank you Word.
This is Rulaan's sample post for the role of the Noble, copied from Evernote:
The Arryndar River stretched before Quentyn Merithese like a snake bathing in the heat, its waters red and glistening as the sun appeared behind the Mountains of Malene. Ribbons of pink and gold made the sky a theatre of dazzling colour, it's audience the earth below and its conducter the rising sun. The river was wide and calm, with enough room for Dawnsail and its followers to proceed unhindered. It would cut through Malene and take them into the Kingdom of Belindor, where they would land in Serval. Serval the prince thought bitterly. It should be ours. It was ours. It is ours. How embarrassing.
A week before, Quentyn did not imagine himself leading his countrymen to join the Grey Company. The news of General Gergoran Barka and the plight of the northern kingdoms came to the prince at the behest of his uncle. "Barka has called for men," he said in a hushed voice, "he has raised the Grey Standard." Faernia had apparently fallen, Belindor was besieged, and Malene's only defense was the wooded mountains that divided north and south. A war council was called. Not by his father, the foolishly reckless oaf he was, but by his son, the Crown Prince of Malene.
"Your Radiance," he addressed his father with a dutiful nod, "Lady Malyse, Lord Cyrius, lord uncles." The crowned prince unravelled an old papyrus scroll, the known continent sprawled across in black ink with each of the kingdom's borders shown by different colours. Malene was gold, Belindor was cyan. An olive-skinned hand glided across the behemoth that was the Kingdom of Belindor, its size a conveniently grim reminder to the council of everything Malene once was, and what it could have been. "If there is any hope at all for our kingdom to live up to our forebears, it resides here," his finger stopped at a large northern expanse, labelled 'the Fields of Mennor'.
"Why Belindor, my lord?" asked the Court Coinmistress, Malyse of Thaye.
"War. The Dark Army, they're calling them in the north. The northern kingdoms are gone, swept up by this scourge. General Barka has roused his army and scoured the kingdom for men and supplies, defying his own king. King Mahesa has sent much of his strength to join them. Osaran intends to do the same. Barka is yet to ask anything of us," the reply came from his uncle Alessandro, the War Lord of Malene. "The Grey Standard has been raised."
"Good. Let them all follow the words of some long dead fool to their graves. When they do, we'll take Mahesia and Karos, and stall this Dark Army at the Mountains of Malene," the king had declared with pride. Such childish pride, father.
The council remained silent after that but Quentyn was seething with rage. It was as if his soul was a forest in flames, fanned by his anger. It is up to me. I am the true king. He is naught but a fool - a lazy, fat, done fool.
Quentyn grew up in the shadow of his father's shame. From the fishwives of Arryn Quay to the men who called his father 'brother', he was known as Sessandro the Sloth. Yet, Sessandro remained a proud man, though it was his pride that rid him his credibility as a king when he thought to try his might against Belindor and expand the coastal kingdom. It was a glorious idea, one that showed great promise... until General Barka drove his sword deep into Khaylen Merithese's chest. After the king lost his brother and strategist, the war fell to Sessandro. Naturally, it all went down hill.
Gergoran Barka defeated Malene, and the king was humiliated. He conquered the former capital of Serval for Belindor as well as the lands beyond the mountains and then handed everything east and west of the Arryndar to Mahesia and Karos. Finally, when all else was done, General Gergoran Barka took from the king his red-gold diadem of suns and swords and crowned him with a wicked thing of black, barbed iron. His uncle Navesse once told him that "the sun still shines over Malene, but it will no longer shine over the Merithese Kings." But it will shine for me, as bright as it did for Saliras the Suntouched and the Kings of Summer and Dawn. I will be a part of history. All of Malene will love me, for now and forever, until the heavens fall and the stars explode.
It was the night before they set sail at one of his father's soirees that Quentyn went to his uncle Alessandro and the First Sword of Sirthos, Cyrius Porvo. "Let him stay here and sit on his arse. He's been doing that for the past ten years," he said in response to his uncle's protests. Cyrius was much easier to convince. Wherever steel sang its sweet song, Cyrius Porvo was always there to play.
The deviants chose to sail in the gloom of the midsummer night. Dawnsail headed the procession with its golden sails and one hundred oars. The two-headed eagle of the Meritheses flew at the ships meagre castle while the prince's adopted flag whistled in the cool breeze at the mast, a swirling red sun on teal and gold; the earth and the sea and the sun of the fabled summerseas beyond Malene.
As the sun climbed into the sky and gold and pink became the blue of a springtime ocean, Cyrius and Alessandro were with the crowned prince. They dined on black olives swimming in oil, a salad of pear and rocket with walnut and goat's cheese and dragonfish roasted with lemon, thyme and garlic. "In a day, we will be in Serval. In four more, I expect to be dining with General Barka and his captains. My friends, we will be hope for the Grey Company. Years from now, people will tell tales of the knights who rode into the last battle atop white stallions with long golden manes, with fire in their eyes and the sun on their shields. They will sing of the Knights of the Sun, and how they came from Malene," he paused, happy with the twinkle he saw in their eyes. They believe in me. When this war is done, I shall be a great king. The sudden epiphany added fire to his words. "We will be heroes, gentlemen. And our swords shall be the light that fights the darkness."
Oh thank you Word.
Rulaan: Very nice post. I like the backstories you've created. You are able to quickly create a rich setting while staying relevant. I like it a lot. Just one thing though - the Noble's character needs to have just a tad bit more of self-indulgence. He is almost perfect for the role right now and just needs a little burnish. I am not going to force you to edit, because the post stands quite sturdy as it is. But I want you to keep in mind that the prince can get quite haughty and proud about himself. But be that as it may, you are definitely in. I am going to keep watching for someone to trump you, but I think you've got it.
Oh yay! A little more self-indulgent... hmm. Yeah, it won't just be about him being a good king in the future, but also being a good commander and just being quite full of himself. I'm hoping for conflict between him and the other characters as a result of his arrogance and pride.
Thank you and Merry Christmas to all and have a wonderful day!
Yeah, I think I just got owned XD
Can I still hop in as a minor?
I AM TEH HOBO RAWR
When everyone is dead, I will be in my box.
Dndd8686 - Much better this time around. I can see him in action, I can see him as a living breathing person. Much better. I have to tell you though - lengthy posts are not always a good thing in advanced RPs. It can be tiring to the other person to sift through paragraphs of his inner thoughts, many of which others cannot act on. Give enough for the others to respond to, and have a single purpose to your posts. Do not truncate just because it is lengthy, however. Anything that you think is irrelevant to the situation at hand, remove it. But on the whole, very nice post. You are now almost in. Just hang around and we'll see if anyone else beats you to it. If not, the role is yours.
happyhobo2000 - There is still the Swordsman role no one seems to be going for. You could give that a shot. You will notice that the Swordsman does not have as rich a history as others, but he is a character with a lot of promise for the storyline. In some ways, he could be an easier character to play - not many shades to him. Want to try?
- - - Updated - - -
Dunadain - I totally missed your post until now. It looks good. I like the length and I like the description of the impending battle. But your character is still not real. Can you edit your post once, give me a glimpse into his personality? I know his original character description is not much to go by, but he is a young, inexperienced, starry eyed soldier who suddenly finds himself in a position of command, over men at least twice his age. How does he handle the responsibility? How does he win the admiration of his men? How do they ride into battle trusting him? You don't have to lengthen your post - just add events and actions that indicate to these things imaginatively.
happyhobo2000 - I spoke too soon when I said no one was gunning for the Swordsman. But I want you to try for him nevertheless. If you would rather not, then you can come up with an idea for an original character that you think will fit in this world. Read through the other's posts and see if you can find a place for you in any of their worlds. For instance, the Queen of Faernia has a trusted aide/soldier who has helped her so far and who intends to lead the Faernian regiment into battle. You could try to be that guy. Or you can be one of the men in the Ax Legion, under Toric (played by Kegger). Your call, really, but be creative.
I'm still confused as to whether i should be awaiting Barka's company in Shara or Belindor
Another day, bored, tired, in need of a good read
Hobo I got no problems with you making a character for the Legion. Since Toric is the type you could be a bastard son of his.
Zeratul: Though we strike at you from the shadows, do not think that we lack the courage to stand in the light.
Still working to get around to giving you my dreadlord sheet. I'm just busy with Christmas stuff
Another corpse landed on the ground as a wounded man was pulled onto clean sheets. The soldier screamed, wide eyed as the corpse was dragged out of the room, onto the burning pile sixty feet from the foot of the tent. The air was foul, smelling of blood and flesh and badly burnt meat. This made some of the priest's apprentices sick, although the priest was used to it by now. Many of his sons in the faith had really only wanted the prestige of the position, the easiness of a life lived off of the church. This was before the demonic invasions, in a time of relative peace. Most of his sons, and most of his brothers, and most of the fathers of the church had forgotten their duties in the time of war. The preaching before battle wasn't so bad, and most of those in the church were very charismatic, morso than Zalon. Zalon was always considered an outcast among priests- his church was visited only by zealots, and his sermons put people to sleep rather than awakening them to the light of god.
Initially in the campaign the Ax Company had considered themselves to be cursed by the most boring, uninspiring, sarcastic, and sometimes unholy preacher. But once the battles started and the wounded began to go into the healing tents, the Ax company quickly noted that Zalon's knew how to stitch a wound, knew how to cauterize a cut limb, and knew when to amputate. They also noted how the other priests endlessly chanted for the victim's souls but never touched the wounds of the mortal body.
"Well, that's a shallow cut. A bit more shallow than the cut in the other fortunate fellow's leg, yes?" The victim of war was screaming, possibly because of Zalon's sarcastic words, but more likely because of the gargantuan cut in his thigh several inches deep. Blood was spewing everywhere, and the apprentices were either busy tending their own patients or trying not to vomit. "Thomas! The pliers please! We got a rather nice one over here, don't you think?" Zalon removed the bits of blade from the wound. "How about we cut this open to let it bleed more, hey Thomas?" Soon linen wraps were in Zalons hand, and after setting the bone Zalon quickly placed the linen wrap into a bowl filled with water. "Arrowroot and Whiteroot would be great for this tea party, Thomas!" Soon the items were in his hands, and he mixed the water, arrowroot, and whiteroot together before wrapping the leg with the concoction. The soldier calmed, filled with an overwhelming relief. "Okay. Your going to die."
"What? Are- are you serious? Why are you smiling?"
"Yes, I'm very serious. I suggest you get a coffin at your little family farm so forty years from now your children can bury you." Zalon winked, instructing Thomas to give the man only slightly cooked meat in order to give him more blood. Zalon turned around and looked at the soldier. "I suppose I'm supposed to say something about the gods helping your soul, but I don't see that happening after what you did in the tavern with those ladies last week."
I AM TEH HOBO RAWR
When everyone is dead, I will be in my box.
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