If it's at all relevant to anyone's characters, my dude is dying. Like, literally dying. He's cursed and will continue to grow weaker and sicker until he passes away one day, possibly during the course of the RP, if I decide I'm ready to move on to another character.
So, there's always a potential roleplaying opportunity with doctor-y characters, since he might need medicines or magical painkillers or whatnot from them.
If it's at all relevant to anyone's characters, my dude is dying. Like, literally dying. He's cursed and will continue to grow weaker and sicker until he passes away one day, possibly during the course of the RP, if I decide I'm ready to move on to another character.
So, there's always a potential roleplaying opportunity with doctor-y characters, since he might need medicines or magical painkillers or whatnot from them.
Now you've got me curious to see your sheet.
Please tell me they didn't make a deal with a demon salesman who offered them a magic sword payable by installments of a soul a month? There are escalating penalties for non-payment.
You know, your CS challenged me a bit. The whole 'cog for a head' initially made me feel like he's too steampunk for this medieval fantasy RP. But I do see that he is given life by magic, not science or technology, and it is a mage that brings him back as well. So, I think we can accept it under the grounds that he's essentially a machine man that is animated by mystic stuffs, and not a true robot.
I would ask, though, that we could remove the suit and bowler hat combo- again, it just feels too steampunk-y, and thus a little out-of-place in this genre.
Both seem fine to me if the aesthetic doesn't fit 100% I'm fine changing his overall appearance, his personality and history were the driving factors for me
Edit: He's also technically a soul in a metal body rather than a robot. Warforgeds have feelings and conscious thoughts
Both seem fine to me if the aesthetic doesn't fit 100% I'm fine changing his overall appearance, his personality and history were the driving factors for me
Edit: He's also technically a soul in a metal body rather than a robot. Warforgeds have feelings and conscious thoughts
Excellent! Once his appearance has been updated a bit, he's approved and you can drop him in the Char tab :)
Race, Age, and Time: Warforged, 2000+ years, Only a few weeks
Appearance: Standing at a hulking 7' tall, Scrapheap finds difficulty making space in small areas. Along with his great height, Scraphead is also remarkably large, his Warforged frame being composed of thick metals and heavy materials. As his name describes, he dons a body of mostly scrap metals and moss, however, he is unsure how he ended up with such an oddly featured body. He's really insecure about it too, try not to bring it up. He speaks in a resonating tone that comes from his chest. His voice is created by the very magic that holds him together.
History: Scrapheap's body was not always so poorly maintained, though he doesn't remember anything before it was. Back then, Scrapheap was a Warforged, a machine created for battle and adventures, bound together by magic and given life the exact same way. Unlike a construct or a robot, however, Warforgeds would be given to them by their masters, so in a way they are humans.
Scrapheap has no recollection of his past and that is perhaps a result of his body failing the tests of time. When he was picked up by a traveling mage just a few days before being sold to the caravan, he was rusted, torn apart, and in a sense, completely dead, but thanks to the efforts of the mage who sold him, Scrapheap was resurrected and able to freely serve the young man who saved him.
Before then, however, Scrapheap was a machine of war. He was created with the sole purpose of decimating waves of warriors for an old empire of man. Scrapheap was good at what he did, and every day he returned home from battle, gaining praise from his old master for a job well done. His master would clean the blood off of his body, and perform very minor damages to the Warforged, then Scrapheap was free to do what he wanted for the rest of his day.
Being essentially what was a human in a metal shell, Scrapheap fell in love as many other "normal" humans do, but was always too afraid to confess his feelings to the man he fell for. He was a soldier from another kingdom, a tale as old as time itself, whom he met at a tavern many nights before battle. They had been seeing one another for years, sharing tales on the battlefield before one unfortunate day.
There was no surrendering. It would have either been a victory or a defeat, but Scrapheap stared at the sky in disbelief as he lay, broken both mentally and physically. He couldn't find the courage to fight in himself and after the battle had been lost, he froze when he saw his love. Scrapheap lay, blinking slowly as the life began to slowly fade from his magical body of metal.
...
Over 2000 years later, Scrapheap woke up one day in a magical workshop, with no recollection of his previous life, and his hands and arms rusted. Something had happened to him, but he didn't know what. He met a short mage, clearly a student for some sort of academia for magick, wearing robes and a floppy hat. Scrapheap didn't know where he was or how he knew that, but he knew this person in succession was his new master and felt indebted to this young spellcaster.
And it wasn't very long before Scrapheap found himself fulfilling his debt by willingly letting himself get sold to a caravan shortly after getting cleaned and de-rusted. Now he had new masters, or would they be kind and befriend the Warforged?
Personality: Scrapheap is very kind and considerate Warforged despite being built purely for war, which may be in part to his soul being incredibly sensitive and gentle. He is often seen as the Gentle Giant of the caravan as his skill in combat does not reflect his personality.
He is also incredibly hardworking, performing duties to the best of his abilities at all times, and fighting for causes he believes are just and right. Scrapheap is also naturally a fighting spirit. He prefers to resolve conflicts with combat rather than dragging matters out. The strongest man wins.
Scrapheap is a very flirtatious soul and will often compliment and flirt with those who find either attractive or that he likes. Quite odd for what many people would consider a machine.
Motivation: Scrapheap believes his debt for being rescued has not been fully paid off despite letting the young traveling mage sell him for coin, so he serves the caravan as an indirect way to do so. Scrapheap also seeks answers for what happened to him before he woke up in debt to the mage.
Skills, Strengths and Weaknesses, and Tools:
Skills: - Scouting - Translator - Self-sustainable (can repair his own injuries) - Can act as a taxi - Heavy lifter - Can break things easily - Philosopher
Strengths: - Master of many weapons - Muscle of the group - Incredibly charismatic - Tank
- Very large steel axe - Small magic repair kit - Collection of books to keep him entertained - Pouch of gold coins - Giant bag of water for his friends
Optional Details:
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What they want most: Just to be happy and feel useful.
DnD Alignment Neutral Good
Three Likes: Flowers Over-sized weaponry A good book
Three Dislikes: Spiders People talking about his scrapped-body Being repeated
Follow their mind or heart? (Metaphorical) Heart
Worst Fear: Forgetting his memories again.
Favorite color Gray
Favorite time of day: Midnight
How he Dresses Doesn't wear any clothes, but is covered in moss.
Favorite Season: Summer (His joints don't freeze up or rust as much)
God/Deity: "If there is a God out there... I thank it for saving me."
@Expendable Oh no I scour Pinterest all the time. Kobold just don't have a lot of Dark/Grim fantasy art, I have a specific image in mind but no picture fits. A black scaled kobold with a sword slung over his shoulder. The issue I have is every kobold looks too happy, I want an unhappy kobold.
I'm just starting a few things and I am still recovering from a surgery, but is it possible if the caravan can be joined mid-route?
Of course. Part of my intention with this RP is that folks can join and leave freely, since the Caravan is always dropping people off and picking up new people. So yeah, no rush. Good luck with your recovery, my dude, you're in my prayers.
Thanks for both responses. I just like to check first because sometimes open doesn't mean really open. That and if there's too many to handle well...
CS:
Mergoux
Race: Half-Elf Age: 87 Time in Caravan: Newcomer
Appearance: Six-foot and slender, Mergoux's muscled frame presents as a pillar of strength. Though nearing her nineties, she still resembles a woman in her late twenties. Her shoulder-length coal-black hair is usually worn with braids to keep it from her face but otherwise loose. Her face is plain and unremarkable, neither ugly nor pretty, its most memorable feature being a vicious scar that travels from immediately under her left eye to the edge of her jawline. She has numerous tattoos across her body. Most visible is the word "Vengeance" tattooed vertically down her chin and onto her throat. On her wrists, she has tattooed manacles, which attach to chains that coil up her arm to the elbow, where they shatter and turn into vines. The vines coil up her arms to her shoulders, where they encircle a flower with eight petals on her left shoulder and a stack of eight coins on her right. For clothes, she usually wears a form of leather jerkin or medium armor, prioritizing freedom of movement. She also wears an enormous amount of earrings in her ears, enough so that they'll clink and jingle if she turns her head to quickly. Finally, she is never seen without her helmet, a sleek metal piece that covers all of her face but for around her mouth and chin, and has two jutting metal spikes.
History: Born Thalia Coldstone, Mergoux was the child of a meadow elf Elaina, and a Nordic merchant. Unfortunately in her home country, such couplings were seen with ill-disguised hatred by the majority, for though in that land Meadow Elves were known for peace, their cousins the High Elves were known for quite the opposite. Young Thalia faced such prejudice, that following an incident when she was eight, her father decided it was time for his family to leave. Bundling them into one of his trading caravans, they set off for greener pastures. They did not live to see that happy future.
Partway through their journey, their caravan was attacked by bandits, but this was no mere rabble. Unbeknownst to them, a great Shaman, proclaiming himself the Bandit King, had risen to power in the hinterlands, commanding a crime organization so vast it rivaled some smaller nation's own military might. Young Thalia's parents were killed, and she was captured as a slave, and brought back to the hidden fortress of the Bandit King. There, for the next thirteen years, she worked as a slave. First, as a kitchen wench, then as she grew older, bigger, stronger, they sent her to the mines, then finally to work as a logger to keep the fortress's fires burning bright. There, she finally managed to escape, traveling down the mountainside with no food, no water, and little to account for the bitter chill of a winter's storm. She would have frozen to death had it not been for a chance encounter with a band of mercenaries out for bounties on bandits.
They made their way down the mountain but only barely made it to the capital city, most of their party slain along the way by more marauding bandits, desperate to stop young Thalia from revealing the location of their hidden fortress. It was only by the hand of a god she was spared recapture and her new allies spared death.
When brought before the Queen, she revealed the location of the bandit stronghold and more information about both the mysterious Bandit King and his organization than had ever been known. In return, the Queen offered her whatever she might desire. Thalia asked for three things. A weapon, the training on how to use it, and to be allowed to be the one to kill the Bandit King. The Queen agreed, and Lord Horrus, god of heroes, further agreed to bring her to his training grounds, where the greatest heroes were taught under him.
However, all was not as it seemed, for while she was away learning to use the weapon she'd been granted, an ancient blade from the Kingdom's history, enchanted and powerful, the Bandit King was toppled, his organization obliterated, and his bandit hordes scattered. Of himself, however, there was no proof of his death. Thalia was furious at this betrayal, wanting to personally avenge her parents' deaths, but there was little else she could do.
Instead, she resigned to take on a role of a soldier in the Kingdom's army, for though the bandit threat was over, there were still many wars to be fought. For fourteen years, she was a soldier, promoted several times until she achieved the rank of Champion, a specialist in the army, promoted for their fighting prowess instead of their skill at command. However, when she was thirty-eight, a controversy occurred, and she was branded a scapegoat. Her time in the army had been hard, for many of her fellow soldiers harbored the same hate in their hearts that had forced her family from their home, but this was the final offense. Booted from the army, she sunk low, her life, her career, taken from her, those few she had found a sort of family in, lost from her again.
Little is known of what happened to Thalia Coldstone after that. Her record vanishes, but half a decade later, there arrived Mergoux. She was a servant of the god of death, now one of her sworn killers, and she was very good at what she did. A lifetime of abuse had turned her into a hateful, vengeful soul. She wanted death, to bring it, and have it brought to her, yet she could not bring herself to throw her life away. She had a new purpose. To slay every bandit, every criminal, every single being who might do to others what had been done to her. To harm them in any way was to earn a death sentence from her. For a time, this brought the mysterious helmeted mercenary a level of fame in her homeland, then a level of infamy, then after murdering a local mayor for unjustly evicting local farmers so that he might claim their land, she was finally branded an outlaw and a criminal herself. From there, she carved a bloody path South and vanished over the border, her stories fading into legend. Yet still, thirty years on, tales come back of a helmeted warrior woman butchering evil-doers. It is these tales that criminals use to scare their children into bed, lest Mergoux the Butcher come and lop off their feet, then make them walk home.
Personality: Outwardly, Mergoux appears more than an empty shell of a person. She finds no personal joy in the world, yet is granted a deep satisfaction by her actions, and what little enjoyment she has in the world she finds most often with a blade in her hands. Yet behind that exterior, she is a broken woman, robbed of family and friends time and time again. Those who did not die by the sword, she was forced to watch grow old while she remained young. She puts all she has into her task, viewing it as the only positive thing she has left that she can do, for all through her life she has buried most of her emotions so deep, she's unsure if she could ever dig them out again. All manner of hope, peace, love are gone, left by a bitterness that leaves her off-putting at best. She is Mergoux, and she is hate.
Motivation: Once again on the run from the law, Mergoux joins the caravan as an escape, and to perhaps further her goals of slaying wicked men on the road. Bandits are those she hates most, and bandits are always on the roads.
Skills, Strengths and Weaknesses, and Tools: Skills/Strengths: Mergoux is a skilled warrior, trained initially under the god of heroes for five years, then further improving her own skills through a long life as a warrior. She is an unmatched master with her enchanted greatsword and to a lesser degree, a master of very nearly every other style of swordswomanship. She is further adept with most weapons and is noted as a proficient markswoman with a crossbow. Through her long life she has also become adept at hunting and tracking. She also possess a keen eye and a cunning mind, often allowing her to outwit her foes, though she's no great intellect. Finally, when she wants to be, she can be highly intimidating, and interrogation was a specialty of hers in the army. She also possesses rudimentary medical knowledge, as she's often forced to patch herself up rather than attend any healers nearby. Finally, as a half-elf, Mergoux possesses both a speed both of mind or of movement faster than any human could attain. She also possesses an incredible sense of hearing.
Tools: Mergoux's armory and personal possessions are limited by what she can carry, but she always takes with her two magic items. Her sword, gifted to her by order of the Queen. Vainoth's Bane is a two-handed greatsword nearly as tall as she is. It is indestructible bar for perhaps melting it in magma, and is enchanted so that to the wielder, it weighs near nothing, allowing her to move faster and strike harder with the otherwise extremely heavy blade. The second is her helmet. It covers all of her face and head, except for the eyeholes and the area around her mouth and chin. It is enchanted that it nullifies any force that strikes its exterior. A giant could smash a tree on her head and it would connect as little more than the lightest of taps.
Weaknesses: Social skills. Mergoux is unlikeable, and has a hard time forming bonds outside of those formed in combat. Her elven ears often also present the problem of being overly sensitive to sudden loud noises, occasionally even leaving her disorientated briefly if the din is deafening enough. She also has extreme motion sickness and cannot ride a horse, a wagon, or a boat without extreme discomfort and nausea. Finally, Mergoux received little to know formal education before her 20s. While she'd picked up a lot, including the skills needed to read and write, she lacks a lot of more basic knowledge that someone might acquire through a more standardized education.
What They Most Want: What Mergoux wants most is something she knows is unattainable. True peace. An end to violence and bloodshed and the harm done to those she sees as innocent. But she knows this will never happen, and so merely does what she can to mitigate such occurings.
If They Had a DnD Alignment, It Would Be: I'd say Chaotic Good, but it's up for interpretation.
Three Likes: Her sword, her helmet, and hurting other people.
Three Dislikes: Seeing those she considers innocent hurt, bandits, greed.
Do They Follow Their Heart or Their Mind?: Mergoux follows her heart, using her mind. She's unlikely to act rashly, but she will act decisively.
Worst Fear: Ever being imprisoned or worse yet, enslaved again. Nothing is worse than having one's freedom taken away by others.
Favorite Color: Blue, like her mother's eyes.
Most Like The Animal: A fox.
Favorite Time of Day: Night, dark.
How They Dress: Typically in pants, heavy boots and a sleeveless leather jerkin. In colder weather with a heavy cloak and thick padded gambeson. Her armor is medium, greaves, breastplate, bracers, a pauldron or two, prioritizing movement for her fighting style.
Favorite Season: Summer.
What Gods/Spirits/Whatevers They Worship (If Any): They worship none, but respect all. Having trained under the god of heroes, and later serving under the goddess of death, she knows it is far better to respect them than anything else.
Wowza, it is rare that a CS is this much of a pleasure to read. You're an excellent writer. She's approved. Wonder what happens if Mergoux finds out about caravan members with criminal pasts?
@Katakuri I think I'll just write a description. But I appreciate you trying to find some pictures.
If you ever want to, we can discuss and I can try to sketch a rough-sketch of the character idea you're thinking of. I'm not the best at digital art, but I can at least try. No charge or anything. :)