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Thread: The Prophecy OOC - Epic High Fanatasy Adventure

  1. #1
    The Jack of Darkness Dark Jack's Avatar
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    The Prophecy OOC - Epic High Fantasy Adventure

    The IC-thread for this RP can be found here.


    Introduction
    This is a roleplay quite beyond the regular standards when it comes to the incredible extent of details that are already determined about the world in which it takes place. But at the same time as the world is elaborately defined, the plot of the roleplay offers a great deal of freedom within the bounds of the world. The main plot of this roleplay is that of an epic medieval adventure fantasy tale, with major plot-points partially derived from the series novels called The Prophecy, with most details taken from the first book of the series The Prophecy of the Withering by L. K. Petersen… also known as me. Dark Jack. DJ. Seriously. I’m looking for a publisher, but it is written and eventually that book will be published.
    The style of the roleplay will be that the storyline is extremely flexible, allowing the players to take their characters on detours and side-quests of their own design if they so chose, while only main plot-events are predetermined, although the outcome of these might not be. The roleplay will, aside from the main adventure-element, also have elements of war, and it has the freedom for the players to even make it a semi-social roleplay in which their characters may develop relationships, and even marry and have children, as long as it does not cripple the plot for the rest of the players.

    The Nomad's Prophecy
    The prophecy spoken by the Nomad at the end of the Age of Darkness, just before he disappeared and was never seen again. "The Foe" is presumed to refer to Kreshtaat, the Lord of Darkness and the leader of all demons of the Lower Plane.

    Once there shall be a disaster like never before,
    Which will shame the rich and crush the poor,
    Because even with the Spirits on our side
    Break, will the once-great Divide.
    The land in the middle a curse will suffer,
    That will turn father on son, sister on brother.
    Lives will wither away and be gone,
    A darkness will shatter all hope as we know,
    In the lands of sand, in the lands of snow.
    In the end, this evil will have spared none.
    A new Age of Darkness will arrive,
    And will try to mortals their freedom deprive,
    Gods and demons, locked in eternal battle,
    And mortals in the middle, the helpless cattle.
    But amidst what is already bad,
    There is a greater evil to be had.
    The Foe will rise once more,
    Step onto a world covered in gore.
    Unless all unite against this beast,
    He will upon the world return to feast.
    Death it is, a being of madness,
    Of power unmatched rage and sadness.
    Pray, for fate will truly be grim,
    The Foe will end this world on its whim.


    Due to this OP nearing the maximum post length allowed in this forum, all IC information for this RP can now be found here.


    Rules
    I realize that many of these rules are probably superfluous, but bear with me - it is better to be safe than sorry.
    - Seven spaces are open for new players, of which at least five are required to join on Jillian's side of the story.
    - All character applications are posted in this thread.
    - No god-modding. Don’t go around and controlling other people’s characters, that’s just annoying.
    - No instant death. Actually links to the previous rule, since it requires that you control another character to kill it. Another player-controlled character can only die if the RP'er agree beforehand.
    - Kissing, hugging and such is allowed, and so is mating to a certain extent – but do NOT go around and describe the entire act of mating. If anything, make a time-skip from when the act begins to when it ends. We don’t want any vulgarities here. Take it to PMs if you really need to type it out.
    - You may have only one character, but you can create and control as many NPCs as you want, although you should remain aware that these are NPCs, not your personal characters.
    - While there are no direct limits on how powerful your character may be, nor what race it can be, please refrain from being completely invincible. Remember, there are others playing here too. If your character is too politically or personally powerful, I reserve the right to require you to change the character or outright deny it.
    - Posting is not allowed until I have approved your character.
    - Each IC post should maintain a decent length and should offer at least some development for your character or the plot. The current minimum length of IC posts is two proper paragraphs, but I retain the right to change this at any time. The quality of your writing should be at least borderline advanced.
    - If you are unable to post for a longer period of time (more than four days, for instance) tell us first.
    - A maximum of six posts can be written by two players taking turns at posting without anyone else posting in-between is allowed (that is, three posts per player). If two days pass without input from anyone else posting, this maximum is reset. After another two days another six posts are allowed, and so forth (although hopefully that long periods of inactivity can be avoided).
    - I will set a limit of two PC demonspawn characters for this RP. One demonspawn-spot has been taken, and only one other demonspawn-character is accepted.



    Last edited by Dark Jack; 04-08-2013 at 06:29 AM.
    Noun - Jack: (archaic) A knave (a servant or later, a deceitful man). - Wiktionary

    The Dark Vault - characters of mine, both new and old.

    The Tale of Felgon Dragonslayer

  2. #2
    Nobody xbriannova's Avatar
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    Name: Annabelle Silversmith

    Age: 40

    Race: Human

    Sex: Female

    Occupation: Paladin of Liya (Retired), Housewife

    Appearance: Annabelle is an old woman (by medieval standards) but appears half her age. Despite having gone so long in the rigours of life and war, she seems to have aged little- possessing stunning beauty with her well-groomed, flowing blonde hair, wrinkle-free fair skin, silver eyes and soft features. Many who knew her attributed this to her affinity with Liya. Having gone her way to make her fortune both in peace and war, she had managed to keep herself well-dressed as well, in a brown dress drawing the eyes of many a peasants in envy but not of the noble class.

    When she was a paladin, she was armed and armoured to the hilt, with silver steel light plates bearing the emblem of the selfless paladins of Liya. A helmet of the same glory would shield her head and underneath, her hair would be tied up to a tight bun. In her hands would be a simple long sword and kite shield, however both were blessed by divine magic. All the very same gear are still with her, locked up.

    Personality: To the casual observer, Annabelle Silversmith appears to be a headstrong woman who prefers things done in her own way, especially when she is the only trained woman amongst common men and peasants alike. However, behind the stubborn will, behind the face that tells stories of how she endured years of studies, Liya's commands, training and strife, behind the arms that spoke of her skills in war, was a lady who has had enough of anything of that sort.

    Annabelle is kind, soft and gentle inside- Why else would she become a paladin of Liya and have children? (Though whether it was born this way or it was cultivated in her by the priests of Liya, or by her experiences in life, no one can be sure- There are stories of her however, that she used to be... rougher and relentless in several ways when she was younger and unknown) She tends not to be biased in any way when it comes to the sexes, or race, or the many different disciplines of magic (unless it is outright harmful).

    The Paladin is highly adaptive in her ways- She is calm and meditative out of combat, or whenever she needs to be, and she can be fierce and aggressive when the situation calls for it. As a housewife however, there was never a need for the latter, so the former has become more dominant. That does not mean she won't bring the warrior out of her if she needs to take up the sword again, however.

    In summary, she is a rock-solid like a slab of steel, but has a soft core on the inside.

    Biography: Annabelle seeked to join the Paladins of Liya when she was merely 16. Noticed by the elders to possess some promising qualities about her, she was accepted into the order and trained for many years, living according to the the principles of Liya, gaining the power of healing and banishing dark creatures. Her chance to fight came when more Paladins were needed to assist in the capture of Demonspawns within the region at large. As her mentor was killed in an earlier attempt, she saw it as an opportunity to not just prove her mettle and faith, but also as well to avenge her mentor. She succeeded, and it was the beginning of her decade as a Paladin fightining against the forces of darkness.

    However, weary from the fighting, and the bloodshed and violence, weary from the desperation, pain, sadness, anger and hatred she saw, weary from putting out the flames of life even if it came from Demonspawns and misguided practitioners of the forbidden arts, she decided at that time to put down the sword and agree to a marriage proposed to her by a victim of a Demonspawn insurrection whom she had personally saved, starting a family quickly soon after marriage at 30. To herself, she bore a son and a daughter who wishes to emulate her.

    Life seemed to be fine and happy for her, with a middle-class husband who works as a Silversmith with business in the shaping of all metals, with two children educated by a private tutor in the learnt ways of the scholar, but deep down, Annabelle has a dark secret, one that reminds her without fail everyday that this happiness may not last for numerous reasons...

    With the rumour that Kreshtaat is returning, no happiness is guaranteed to last however, especially hers.

    Relations: Upon marrying into the Silversmith family, Annabelle has become part of the Silversmith clan, a closely-knitted family of dominantly smiths of every kind- Gold, silver, black. A middle-income clan but somewhat influential by their sheer numbers concentrated within several cities, this has allowed Annabelle a better view of the working class world when all she knew in the beginning of her marriage was the life of a Paladin, fighting the forces of darkness, and something else that the middle-class would know little about...

    Annabelle was married to Burlo Silversmith, a rather well-built man. They met in rather odd circumstances- That was when Annabelle was sent into a part of the city that was suffering an insurrection of Demonspawns seeking to wreck havok. Burlo was among a few who remained behind to defend his property, and had nearly succumbed to their powers when Annabelle, a Paladin in her late 20s then, jumped in to defend him and a few others of the Silversmith family. It could be considered love at first sight, as Annabelle's character was suited entirely to Burlo- Strong in will and body yet without lacking senses, clad in a suit of armour and using weapons that Burlo would love to cast!

    The circumstances for Annabelle's marriage had been just perfect as well- By that time, Annabelle was very weary of fighting and killing, and it was to be one of her last mission before she officially retire. At that time, her reputation as a Paladin was at its peak as well, so she was often stopped by the citizens she protected for talk, tea and formalities. Used to it, she wouldn't be so quick to brush people off, including Burlo, when he asked that they get to know each other, and meet more often. She was proposed to the following day after her last quest, as she was told to meet at noon during one of her casual patrol in full plate around the city, to the glee of many citizens- Remarked to be a spectacle of the lifetime; A peasant kneeling before a beautiful but commanding Paladin in full armour with a ring in his hands.

    Annabelle has two children, a son and a daughter, 9 and 7 respectively, named Wolfric Silversmith and Isabelle Silversmith- Remarked by the family to be worthy additions to the family for they were beautiful like gems and intelligent and cunning for their age.

    As a Paladin who rose into prominence quickly, she has come into contact and knew many high-ranking men and women of the Order she was in. Also, she has made a name for herself amongst the peasantry and working class as well, for she defended them with a ferocity and passion unmatched. She was known to heal many citizens and taught the use of herbs and first aid to commoners so that they may take care of themselves. Hence, even after retirement, she remains a socialite, and has penetrated many circles, including that of the Duchy court.

    Physical Abilities: While Annabelle is handy with the sword and shield, her true skills in physical combat lies in some of the more dextrous weapons- She is best with light dual weapons such as twin daggers or twin short swords, what her elders deem to be very unorthodoxed for a Paladin. She is also skilled with the bow and crossbow. As for others, she could probably make do if her life depends on it. As such, her armory is vast, and blessed by Liya in its entirety, such that they could repel and hurt evil the agents of darkness so much more than they could do so with the good or neutral parties.

    Mental Abilities: In her ten years of retirement, housewifehood and personal happiness, Annabelle could afford to learn many things that she would otherwise have not been free to learn. She has become quite sociable and current with the ways of the world. She has become capable in childcare and educating children, and she is also able to hold her own in the ways of the merchant, helping her husband in running the operations of his smithy. She has picked up a few things on metalsmithing in general as well. What you expect from a homemaker, you will expect from her as well.

    Back then, when she was younger, and a Paladin, her mental faculties were put to use in the field of herbs and medicine, conventional healing (first aid), as well as in the more martial skills such as tactics and leadership.

    Magical Abilities: Being a Paladin of the spirit of Liya, she should have been very familiar and powerful with divine magic, but divine magic was never her strong point. While healing a deep cut would be effortless to your normal Paladin, it would make Annabelle sweat heavily just to do the same thing. Even her elders could only guess why. However, she does have a strong understanding of Infernal magic, the Dark arts and other forbidden magic from her days as a hunter of Demonspawns and Practitioners of the forbidden arts.

    Footnote: While it appears that I have revealed everything about my character, that is not so. Should you read a few lines and between the lines, you may realise that there is still much to be revealed about Annabelle Silversmith. What I presented to you would be what is mostly publicly known, and what I think should be known by all of you. As you guys know, Annabelle has been written as quite a well-known figure from where she came from that even a decade of absence from the fight against darkness hasn't put her under the radar yet.

    As the RP plays on, more will be revealed about her. There will be plenty, so much more for you to learn. Both the good and the bad will fall on your eyes should you stick around long enough...


    EDIT: Added a totally optional sentence at the bottom of the physical abilities section. I don't even know why I did that.
    Last edited by xbriannova; 02-21-2011 at 09:27 AM.
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  3. #3
    Fortune Favors The Brave Ezrath's Avatar
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    Name: Ez'rath D'nai

    Age: 28

    Race: Melenian

    Sex: Male

    Occupation: Assassin/Ranger

    Appearance: Unlike most male Melenians, Ez'rath does not hunch over. Nor is he weak, nor is he small. In fact, Ez'rath stands at 6'4", his body lean muscle. His fur is the darkest shade of black, and his eyes a shade of dark green. Though covered in fur, he can usually be found wearing black leather armor, with ghiril plates covering the important parts of his body. He wears a cloak, but rarely uses the hood attatched to it, preferring people to know who he is.

    Physical Abilities: Ez'rath's body is lithe and muscular after years spent as a slave in his childhood, and his constant training since. He is capable of holding a bow with a high draw weight steady under almost any condition, and is a crack shot to boot.

    Magical Abilities: Ez'rath's magical talents lie on the earthern side of Elemental Magic

    Weapons: Visibly, Ez has two weapons. A bow he carved and fashioned himself, rested in the quiver on his back, with two dozed self-fletched arrows. On the other side of his back, a falchion, stolen from a wealthy female Melenian.

    Invisible however, secreted on his person, were the tools of his trade. Two hidden daggers designed to not only fight with, but also kill silently with, were secreted in the folds of his cloak. Vials of poison lined in a protective metal capsule to keep from shattering were also found in his cloak. Throwing knives circled his upper arms, visible only when the cloak was off. Along his forearms was an invention of his own. A leather gauntlet that blended in perfectly with the rest of his armor held a thin, yet strong blade that activated with a certain twist of his wrist and hand.

    Skills: Fletching, woodworking, chemistry.

    Biography: Ezrath, like most male Melenians, started his life off as a slave. Born of a hardworking male and a bored female, his "mother" was taken aback when he was born, wishing for a female to groom and mold. Instead, she enslaved her own son, and worked him to the point of collapsing daily. Over the years, and as others realized he didn't walk, look, or act like most males; others began tormenting him also. His only respite were when he broke away from the females and made it into the forests. He was always found eventually, and punished, but he continued to do it.

    It was one of these excursions, at the age of fourteen, that two things changed his life. He had broken away and made it into the forest easily enough, but the female sent to find him had found him quicker than they usually did. He toyed with her however, making her angry. He hid in the shadows of trees and hopped from tree to tree, staying invisible. Unfortunately, he landed on a limb of a tree that had died long ago, and grown fragile. The branch shattered before he could leap once more, and sent him into the soft earth below.

    Before he could stand up, the females hand wrapped around his throat and began crushing his windpipe slowly; her anger getting the better of her, and she feared no retribution in her enraged state. Although Ez'rath was larger than an adult male even at his young age, the female was still larger than him, and his attempts to beat her off were futile. He began to grow desperate, and wished, as only a youth would, that somehing miraculous would happen, such as a tree falling on her.

    Ez'rath, again is desperation, took a swipe at her with his claws. He drew blood, but it surprised her enough that she dropped him. Oddly enough, a tree shook near the two of them, and its leaves began to fall. With a thump, it suddenly dropped into the ground, as though the ground were made of water. It toppled, and fell onto the females legs, who had attempted to move out of the way. She opened her mouth as though to scream, but made no sound. Ezrath took his chance for retribution then, and stole her dagger from her waist, unsheathing and slashing her throat in the same movement. As he realized what he had done, and her body stopped moving, Ez fell to his knees and wept. Moments later, he was back up and on the move.

    His first stop took him to a port, where he stowed himself away. He was eventually found by the captain, and was forced to kill for the second time. He immediately knew he could no longer stay on the ship, and hopped the side of the ship, into the cold water. He swam as far as he could, until he was picked up by a human ship. They treated him kindly, and he responded in kind. They dropped him off at the nearest port on the mainland, and he found his way in life from there, eventually taking up the profession of assassin so as to live, and learned many things from doing so, as well as enhancing his skills with magic.
    Last edited by Ezrath; 03-01-2011 at 07:56 AM.

  4. #4
    lord of the ninja ducks mew77's Avatar
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    Name: Lethe

    Nickname: "The Living Scroll"

    Age: 19

    Race: Human

    Sex: Female

    Class: Mage

    Appearance: Lethe wears a white dress decorated with runewords and assorted symbols. Over the dress she had a large sheet of paper wrapped tightly around her body. The sheet has numerous enchantments written all over it. She has more long thin sheets wrapped around her arms. She carries several rolled scrolls each with summon runes for her calligraphy brush, ink, and other tools. She also carries several small squares of paper on a necklace for use in cantrips. She has black hair that grows long which is decorated with a large paper bow.

    Biography: Lethe was said to have been born with eyes open, but never seeing. As the daughter of an arcane magi in Zerul, she was considered a dissapointment for her exceedingly poor memory. Her father was always trying out new techniques to boost her memory. Then at age 5 he made a breakthrough, Lethe discovered calligraphy. Her father immediately instructed her in the usage of arcane runes and rune magic. Everything for her had to be written down, or she would forget what had happened by evening. Her skills dramatically improved over the years. At age 16, she embodied her nickname, she was surrounded by scrolls and even had a large sheet covered in enchantments wrapped tightly around her regular clothes, along with other sheets wrapped around her arms. By age 18, having only known the world of the library, she left the country to travel the world. She wished to see the world and write about it. At the present time she is exploring the village of Borstown and selling simple spelltags for a living.

    Personality: Lethe is intensely curious, but also clueless about the outside world. She has terrible memory of events occuring a few years ago and sometimes is oblivious to even current events. Although her long term memory of important events is fine. To counteract this, she writes down everything in her scrolls. She is open to new ideas and enjoys interactions with other people.

    Skills: Calligraphy, Writing, Paper Making, Origami, inscription, Fluent in Written Runes

    Physical Abilities: Lethe is a gifted acrobat, who is good at evading damage. The wrappings on her arms have numerous spells on them that can assist her in physical combat, but she would prefer to not have to get into physical combat.

    Magical Abilities:
    Runic Magic-She is adept at runic magic by way of writing. She is incapable of casting verbally or by tracing symbols, but can cast effectively by infusing magical energy into rune words as she writes them on paper. The spells are then bound to the paper as spell tags. This gets by her initial weakness in arcane spell casting, her memory.

    Spell Tags-Spell Tags are short rune words or phrases written on small square sheets of paper.
    Unlike traditional casting, all spell tag runewords do not create an effect, but rather enchant the paper to have an effect. For example, an explosion spell tag would detonate when the crumpled sheet is thrown at something, or a heal spelltag could be placed onto a wound like a bandage. Spell tags already have some magical energy infused in them allowing them to be used easily, all one has to do is channel a tiny bit of energy into the paper to activate it.

    Enchanted Paper Armor-The large sheet she wraps around her has several enchantments written all over it. Enchantments include: water proof, fire proof, mage armor, weather proof, and magic resistance.These enchantments are like her spelltags and modify the properties of the large sheet. She does not require channeling to maintain the enchantments, but has to reinfuse energy every evening to keep the power in the runes
    The full details on how my character casts spells will be revealed in the actual RP.

  5. #5
    Grim Reaper Ashgan's Avatar
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    Basics
    Name: Zacharias of house Rilyn’Ath
    Meaning: Cloaked in Darkness; House of the Dragon/Wyrm/Serpent
    Gender: Male
    Race: True Deigan
    Age: 134
    Class: Assassin/Lesser Arcanist/Improvised Ranger

    Appearance and Equipment
    Attire and Looks: Zacharias appears fully clad in an outlandish, finely crafted leather jerkin that is highly protective. He wears gloves, boots and pants of the same make, and a black cape is swung over his back. It has an attached hood that he has drawn over his head most of the time to conceal his racial identity; it is more convenient this way. Two short scabbards hang by his side, bearing deadly weapons.

    Like all true Deigan, he has ominous red eyes and raven black feathers sprouting in the stead of hair. His skin is starkly pale from the decades of living in a cavern. Due to he hardships of his life, his face may appear more rugged than that of the common Deigan, but in turn it does bestow him with a touch of manly appeal.

    For reference, I found these amazing pictures that almost perfectly replicate how I imagined his gear.
    Spoiler


    Weapons:
    -Dagger: Possesses a serrated edge that can cut through most organic material with ease; particularly effective at sawing off heads or other limbs and generally inflicting painful, hemorrhaging wounds.
    -Shortsword: Little more than an elongated dagger, this blade has been crafted by a Penin mastersmith; the blade was forged from two different kinds of steel, folded together, so that the edge is hard and sharp, but the blunt side more malleable, allowing it to block incoming blows without breaking.
    -Shortbow: Carefully crafted out of ashwood, there are no particularly striking elements about this bow. It is lightweight and compact, allowing for easy transport and use. Zacharias creates the arrows by himself when he has the time.

    Spells:
    -Shadowmeld: Zacharias has learned and well memorized a spell to turn almost invisible for a given time, and only a light, flickering distortion may be visible to the trained and attentive eye when he moves.
    -Basic Pyromancy: Besides his trademark spell, he is also capable of creating inferior to moderate fire spells, such as balls of flame or incinerating the very air in front of him. Any dedicated mage (especially Deigan) will easily be able to dwarf his arcane exploits.
    -Minor Detection: As with all who dabble in the arcane arts, Zacharias too is more attuned to detecting the presence of nearby mages.

    Inner Workings
    History:
    Blank

    Personality:
    Blank

    Strengths/Skills:
    -Like A Shadow: Obviously, Zacharias is very experienced in sneaking around without being seen or heard. Combined with his invisibility spell, it is one of his biggest assets, allowing him to make for devastating surprise attacks and ambushes to take out enemies before they even knew what hit them.
    -A Foe To Be Reckoned With: Although he strikes from the shadows, Zacharias is not afraid to stand in the light. When faced in a fair combat, one on one, he is a very capable fighter. His agility allows him to avoid enemy strikes while stinging through gaps in the opponent’s defense.
    -Deigan Ancestry: Being part of the most gifted race in terms of magic, it is much easier for him to acquire additional arcane knowledge and apply it than it is for other races, not just because of his natural affinity, but also because of his largely indefinite lifespan.
    -Self-taught Ranger: Having spent more than a couple of decades in the wilds of Rodoria, he has become rather knowledged on its flora and fauna, as well as geography, even though his knowledge only comes from experimentation and experience. A true man of the wilds is guaranteed to be wiser than he in these matters.


    Wouldn't normally bother, but if you want to support me and a well-made browser game (these are rare, mind you), just click on this link. I think the mere act of clicking is enough, no registration required. No shenanigans either.

  6. #6
    The Jack of Darkness Dark Jack's Avatar
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    All characters thus far are accepted, though everyone except xbriannova (do you have a shorter nickname or something?) should keep the effects of magical exhaustion in mind, and remember that even magic has its limits.

    EDIT: Okay, finished the introduction for my character.

    ---

    The world just seemed to spring into creation from one second to the next, at first blurred and colorless and seemingly filled with overwhelming light, but then slowly coming together until the light faded to more manageable levels, faint contours because tangible objects and the monotonous white darkened, gradually filtering through his thoughts and being divided into the colors of reality. His eyes hurt and his head throbbed from his eyes opening too soon and too quickly, but it had been a natural reaction - like someone gasping for breath as they surface after having been underwater for a prolonged duration, his senses had seemed to grasp for anything within reach when he had woken in an effort to prove to him that he was no longer dreaming, and that this was reality.
    Jaelnec sat up in the bed, groaning to himself as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His conscious self had already confirmed that he was awake, but his subconsciousness desperately kept scanning and verifying that everything was as it should be. He was still lying on a slightly too hard bed with sheets that had once been white, but had grayed with years of use. He was still in a small square inn-room with wooden walls, a single door on one side and a single window on the opposite, covered by midnight-blue curtains. The furniture was as he remembered it from when he had gone to sleep - a small wobbly nightstand by the bed with an unused candle in a pewter-holder on it, a small desk by the window, accompanied by a single wooden chair, a small, cracked mirror on the wall and a stool where Jaelnec had tossed his clothes when he went to bed. The smell was the same stagnant arid one, although another musky one had been added, though that probably came from himself. From beyond the door, the sounds of the inn just starting up for the morning's business could be heard, and past the window, the murmur of many voices jumbled together in a single, incomprehensive noise as merchants and buyers were going to the town's square to set up stalls and browse merchandise at the annual black market gathering. Everything was as it should be.

    Jaelnec practically had to peel off the sheets from his pale skin as he stood out of bed, drenched with sweat. He realized that he was still trembling slightly from the nightmare, though the details of what it had been were already faded from his memory - not that it was even necessary to remember, since Jaelnec knew quite well what he had dreamt. It was always the same nightmare, each and every time: the clouds dyed red and black with flames and smoke, the dead littering the street, his parents and baby sister's corpses, and... the sword. Always that blood-dripping sword, and the twisted, wicked grin.
    He did not remember if he had gotten far enough in the nightmare for Freagon to arrive and save him, but he figured that he had most likely not, or else his heart would not have galloped so when he had spontaneously awoken, and the sense of petrifying terror would not have lingered in his mind. Not that it mattered - whether Freagon saved him in the nightmare or not was inconsequential to his current situation. Freagon had been there in reality, he had killed the man that had been standing over the ten-year-old Jaelnec and his murdered family and saved Jaelnec's life. The real Freagon had not been absent or late, but arrived at the exact right time, and had rescued Jaelnec and taken him away from the burning ruins of his birthplace, lead him far from the smoldering corpses of his childhood friends, and had patiently spent the following months nursing Jaelnec away from the edge of madness and back upon the safer shores of sanity.
    At the thought, Jaelnec could not help but to let out a short snort of laughter, despite everything still both amused and distressed by the irony of it all. Both from his parents and Freagon, after he became Jaelnec's guardian and master, Jaelnec had spent his entire life listening to myths and legends of great heroes of the past, and he remembered thinking several times how cliché it was for the hero of these tales to be motivated by having their family killed and homes burnt down, only to swear revenge. How truly cruel it was that the very same fate had overcome himself at the hand of the accursed Crusader's Guild. Even if Jaelnec had perchance survived that night ten years ago without Freagon's help, he would probably have ended up charging straight at the Guild soon after, blinded with rage, only to be killed himself - so in a way, Freagon's arrival saved his life twice at the same time by having his one-eyed patch-wearing rescuer prevent him from seeking vengeance against the Guild. Of course Freagon had saved Jaelnec numerous times since then, but Jaelnec felt more grateful for that first time than any other.

    Standing up with his full 5' 11", Jaelnec went to the stool and grabbed the black trousers there, quickly pulling them on and moving on to the white shirt. As he buttoned the front, he could not help but to notice how the fabric tightened over his chest and his arms, hard and appealingly muscular as they were from the long, strenuous years Jaelnec had spent as Freagon's apprentice. Following Freagon about Rodoria and southern Wegam Fermos had been challenging enough, but at times Jaelnec had had the feeling that undergoing the old man's merciless training had nearly killed him more often than monsters, bandits and other villains. Freagon could correct him all that he wanted, remind Jaelnec of his true title and its significance, but to Jaelnec, none of that mattered - no matter how his master demanded to be called Sir Freagon, Knight of the Will, he remained Freagon Nightmaregaze in Jaelnec's thoughts, and those of most people he met.
    Ten years... for ten long, exhausting and frequently downright dangerous years, Jaelnec had been Freagon's apprentice and undergone the training Freagon felt was necessary to ensure his survival and - one day - improve Jaelnec's skill enough so that he might one day become a Knight of the Will as well. Jaelnec's body had been pushed to the point where he cried out in agony at times, and he had practiced swordplay with the cheapest, heaviest and most poorly balanced iron longsword ever made, and fighting until his hands and feet were blistered and his arms bruised all over from repeatedly being hit by the far superior master. Freagon had even taken Jaelnec to a deo'iel base in southern Wegam Fermos, where he had made Jaelnec study the nature of various creatures to the point where his head felt like a hornet's nest.
    Yet somehow Jaelnec could not imagine what his life would have been like if he had not met Freagon, if the Guild's raid had never happened and Jaelnec had remained with his parents, living a happy and peaceful life. Would he have become a common peasant? Followed in his mother, Sabina's footsteps and devoted himself to Laon? Would he have studied with his father, Kurt, and become a sorcerer? None of that seemed like it could ever have been reality to him, and Jaelnec could not imagine being anything but the apprentice of a Knight of the Will, and sometimes he had difficulty comprehending that his life could have been very different, normal... mundane. And inwardly, Jaelnec was ashamed to admit that he would have ended up bored to death, his thirst for adventure and glory inevitably having drawn him from his home regardless.

    Shaking his head, not even wanting to follow that trail of thought any further down the road of paradoxes, he fetched the brown leather boots from below the stool and put them on, their heavy material feeling warm and soft to his feet. With a sigh, he picked up what could seem a shapeless pile of metal, but as it straightened, it revealed itself to be a cuirass of numerous overlapping metal-scales, shimmering in hues of purple and gold. It was more difficult to put on the ghiril-cuirass than he had thought, but after a couple of attempts he finally managed, wearing the feather-light and extremely valuable armor over his torso.
    He took the leather belt and the leather shoulder strap, securing one around his waist and the other diagonally over his torso, from left shoulder to the right hip. The strap contained eight little throwing knives of alchemical silver, fitted to be drawn and thrown in an instant. The belt had a small sheath by the right hip, containing a dagger of fine steel, but common design.
    He nearly forgot to take the leather scabbard from next to the stool, covering the thirty-five inch blade of the longsword sheathed in it, but not the golden hilt. Jaelnec took a moment to admire the design of the hilt - the guard artfully formed as extended dragon-wings, the dragon's tail wrapped around the handle, and the blade seemingly spawning from flames spewed from the tiny golden dragon's jaws. This single sword - Roct, it was called - was most likely worth more than an entire duchy, and now it was Jaelnec's. He fastened it to the belt by his left hip, where he could get to it quickly.
    Boots, armor, knives, dagger and sword - all of it had been Freagon's, and all of it was the equipment of a Knight of the Will. It had been three days since Freagon's burial, and Jaelnec still found it strange to think that he was no longer his apprentice. That Freagon, in the end, had not been killed by one of the countless beasts he fought, but by the single enemy that not even one of the best fighters in all of Reniam could defeat: the Withering.
    Jaelnec felt a lump in his throat, and although he tried he could not seem to swallow it. The Priest of Reina Jaelnec had found told him that Freagon had kept his condition secret from Jaelnec from at least four days after having contracted the plague, and had most likely been in horrid agony during this time. But Jaelnec could have sworn that Freagon seemed no different at all! He had simply endured the torments inflicted by the Withering while he kept training Jaelnec and hunting evil, right to the point when he could no longer stand and barely even remained conscious. Just before he had lost consciousness, and soon after perished, he had promoted Jaelnec to Squire of the Will and told Jaelnec that he would inherit all of Freagon's equipment... and all of his duties.

    Jaelnec, trying to come to terms with being a squire without a master, took the largest bolt of cloth on the stool and folded it out, revealing it to be a long black coat, and as he put it on its lower hem reached him to his ankles. The coat had been Freagon's as well, and oddly, Jaelnec could not remember Freagon ever having taken it off other than for a rare bath or in the last moments, when the priests had removed it and revealed the spreading gray, blotched areas caused by the Withering. It had no pockets and offered no protection, and was designed just to keep him warm and to make him more intimidating to behold.
    Grabbing the thick leather gauntlets - also Freagon's - which were all that remained on the stool, Jaelnec ponderously went to the mirror to see how it all suited him. Although Freagon had been dead for three days and these items had technically been Jaelnec's since then, this was his first time wearing them.
    Jaelnec was shocked at his own reflection and appalled at how he looked like Freagon, only with a different head. His features were obviously more youthful than Freagon's, with Freagon being Spirits-know how old and Jaelnec only being twenty years old - but it was more than that. As the eyes looking back from the mirror revealed, black as Stupor as they were, Jaelnec was a Nightwalker, the same as Freagon, and as such he matured more slowly than humans. He was a twenty-year-old, but had the appearance of a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old. No facial hair marred his shapely chin or broad jaw, nor his thin red lips. His nose was perhaps a little too long, but it was narrow and generally appealing. His hair, a luminous shade of golden-blond, fell smoothly on his shoulders.
    The overall impression was pretty good, Jaelnec thought nervously, though he was nowhere near as fearsome to behold as Freagon had been with all of his scars and the constant cold in his remaining left eye - that eye, from which a single glare could cause grown men to stutter and quiver in fear. Jaelnec's eyes were in stark contrast, being warm and, despite their color, calming and friendly. Jaelnec's only facial scar was the quite deep one that started at the right corner of his mouth and ran towards his right ear, and unlike Freagon's many scars, this one had not been inflicted during a breathtakingly exciting adventure or in battle against wicked beings. Rather, Freagon had not been too understanding about Jaelnec's teenage-tendencies to rebel against authority, and had reacted to Jaelnec's rebelliousness by taking the very dagger Jaelnec now carried by his hip and cutting open Jaelnec's cheek, all the way to the cheekbone. It had taken several stitches to hold the wound together long enough for a Cleric of Reina to heal it, but Jaelnec had never even questioned Freagon's orders since.

    Putting on the gauntlets, Jaelnec went to the desk, where he found his hat - wide-brimmed to shield his sensitive Nightwalker eyes from the sun, and colored a dusty gray from long years of use. This hat, Jaelnec thought profoundly, was basically the only visible piece of equipment that was different from what Freagon had worn, aside from Jaelnec's trousers, but even these looked a lot like Freagon's pants. It was as if Jaelnec had more than taken up Freagon's duties - he had filled the void in Reniam left by him when he died, replacing a champion with a man, a knight with a squire. Jaelnec knew that he was far from as good as Freagon had been, but he also knew that he was talented nonetheless, and ten years of practice had made him a capable swordsman. He was far from Freagon's equal... but only time would tell if he would grow to face the challenge, becoming Freagon's successor, or fail miserably trying.
    And his first step down this new road would be to attend to the black market gathering outside.
    Last edited by Dark Jack; 02-20-2011 at 05:09 AM.
    Noun - Jack: (archaic) A knave (a servant or later, a deceitful man). - Wiktionary

    The Dark Vault - characters of mine, both new and old.

    The Tale of Felgon Dragonslayer

  7. #7
    Nobody xbriannova's Avatar
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    Cool... It's well written, but it would be difficult to use it as reference as everything is just jumbled up in those paragraphs. As in, for example, if I ever wanted to know how your character's dressed like, I would have to search through the entire story to get the full picture.

    It's a beautiful prose, but not as functional. I like your character! Also, I kinda noticed that my character's the oldest, not counting that Deigan. I wonder why is it that no one wants to play a character whose age is quite advanced?
    Nobody

  8. #8
    Fortune Favors The Brave Ezrath's Avatar
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    I agree entirely with xbriannova. Beautifully written, but not very functional. And xbriannova, it's because playing a younger character lets you develop them as they age, molding them to adapt to the RP, and because it allows you the stamina and edurance of a young character. That's my reason, at least.

  9. #9
    Nobody xbriannova's Avatar
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    Hmm... I'm afraid I disagree. Who's to say older characters cannot develop and change? While they may not be as youthful, they have different advantages to their side as well, namely wisdom, experience, intelligence, skill and if they're trained enough they'd still be stronger and more endurant. Basically, age doesn't always decide what your character is capable of, both in real-life and in fiction.

    In the world of fiction and roleplaying especially, the possibilities are limitless. In the hands of a creative mind, anything will work, and there won't be such limitations- Besides, we obviously can't have ten or so characters barely out of their teens now, can we?

    EDIT: Oh right, and Dark Jack, isn't xbriannova short enough? If you want better convenience, you could always call me Brian.
    Last edited by xbriannova; 02-20-2011 at 08:36 AM.
    Nobody

  10. #10
    Fortune Favors The Brave Ezrath's Avatar
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    Well I'm not going to disagree with you on that, because you have a point. I'm not saying that's everyones preference, but it is mine. I don't know how the RP is going to be or how the world is, no matter what info Dark puts up, not until it starts. From my experience, you don't know what your book is going to be like until you write it either, no matter how much planning and notes you make.

    But age doesn't neccesarily mean they have wisdom, experience, intelligence, and skill. You can be young and have all of those things, also.

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