[OOC] Avalon: A Tale of Arthurian Legend

[AmongHeroes]

Avalon Chat

The World

It is the early 6th Century, and the land once known by the Romans as Britannia has come to a fragile peace. Arthur Pendragon, the young king of the Britons, along with his Knights of the Round Table, have halted the Saxon invasion, and unified much of the Brittonic lands. From the great city-fortress of Camelot, a new era of prosperity and peace radiates from the three-crowned heraldic crest of King Arthur.

Knights and nobles, even some with Saxony blood in their veins, rally to the great king, pledging their swords and fortunes to the promise of a new and just era. Veterans of the Saxon Repulsion find their purpose in the pursuit of chivalric duty, and the expansion of Arthurs influence throughout Britannia. Years pass, and the prosperity of Arthur’s kingdom grows with each new day. Amidst it all, Arthur is wed to the Lady Guinevere, and the people rejoice in the prospect of Arthur’s noble line continuing.

Fate, however, will come to call.

During a routine meeting of the Knights of the Round Table, a great vision appears to the gathered men. God himself calls to Arthur through this vision, commanding him to quest and find the cup of Christ—the Holy Grail. Struck with holy fear and awe, Arthur obeys, and leaves for the Holy Land to fulfill his duty to the almighty.

In his stead, Arthur leaves his most trusted friend, Sir Lancelot of the Lake, in command of Camelot with the charge of defending and sustaining the realm. With the other Knights of the Round Table questing with their king, the lesser knights pledged to Arthur are called upon to aid Lancelot in fulfilling his newly bestowed obligation.

Themes

This RP is a reimagining of the Arthurian legend, and as such, the feel of the story will share qualities with the epic tragedy and romanticism of that tale. Writers will play as knightly characters in the service of Arthur, and in general, will need to represent the grand characters found in stories of medieval legend.

The main themes to be found in the RP are as follows:
[x]-Combat/Warfare
[x]-Mysticism/Low Fantasy
[x]-Romance (if applicable)
[x]-Tragedy
[x]-Political Intrigue

Rules

[x]-This is to be an advanced level RP. The expectation will be for well-structured posts with character development, plot enrichment, and immersion within the setting. There is no true post length requirement, but there should be few occasions where less than a couple paragraphs is appropriate.

[x]-If you have an issue, need to leave the RP, or any other concern, please PM me. It’s ok if you lose interest. This happens. Just please be courteous and let me know so I can keep the RP moving.

[x]-Follow the Golden Rule. Strive to enjoy yourself and make the story fun for all involved. Cheers!

Character Creation

Submit character sheets in the OOC thread for approval. After approval then you may move your CS to the 'Character' tab.

-Name:
-Age:
-Appearance: Please utilize a photograph, or a written description. No anime or other graphic art.
-Gender: Male of Female
-Background: Write a brief synopsis of your character, and how they came to be in the service of King Arthur. Feel free to work with other players to come up with shared back story.
-Traits of Avalon: Knights in the service to the legendary king exemplify the martial tradition, and are to be pillars of chivalric prowess. Choose TWO of your characters’ most prominent skills. Keep in mind that just because you can only pick two does not mean that your character is deficient in another category. For example, every knight will have skill in riding, jousting, archery, swordsmanship, etc. As with anything however, some are always more proficient than their peers at certain skills.

∞-The Stag’s Eyes: You possess a keen and heightened awareness of things. In combat, your spatial acuity is above that of an average knights, and you are able to adapt and overcome with ease.

∞-The Sparrow’s Wing: You are fleet of both foot and hand. The innate speed you possess allows you to move faster than an average knight in combat and beyond.

∞-The Bear’s Fortitude: Your strength and physical prowess is renowned. You can overpower the average knight, and you are harder to be killed or seriously injured.

∞-The Wolf’s Teeth: Your swordsmanship is the stuff of legend. An average foe that is at the tip of your blade can expect to taste its fatal bite.

∞-The Fox’s Feet: You possess the ability to move silently, deftly, and with confidence. Your skill for stealth is far above that of an average knight, and your balance is masterful.

∞-The Falcon’s Talon: You are a master of the bow. The accuracy of your arrows is deadly and true, whether they be loosed from on foot, or from horseback.

∞-The Lion’s Roar: You exude an air of command, confidence, skill, and righteous purpose. Your enemies are hesitant to engage you upon the battlefield, and they grow anxious at the mere mention of your name.

Cast

GM Characters: WIP
NPC's: WIP
Player Characters: WIP

[AmongHeroes]

@Roosan@RisenDead@FluffyOne@Zendrelax@Austronaut@Danko@FitzEmpress@FellowFromNod@idlehands@Clumsywordsmith@Phoebas

[Barrett]

FIRST.

And I'm claiming the rights to Henry Cavill's face and knightly guise, pictured below. I'll get to work on character sheet as soon as possible.

Knight

[McHaggis]

.

[Rockette]

No tag, I'm heartbroken. </3
Now that there's a sheet, I can piece my concept into completion.

[AmongHeroes]

No tag, I'm heartbroken. </3
Now that there's a sheet, I can piece my concept into completion.

@Rockette

Ah! Rockette, I am so ashamed of myself. I just went through the interest check and listed off names. AmongHeroes has failed woefully...

[Rockette]

@AmongHeroes - No worries, m'dear, you'll make up for it I'm sure! Now to continue to spin the tale of my lady.

[Clumsywordsmith]

Oh damn! Looks like I'll have something to keep me busy tonight.

[Bright_Ops]

Sindri Myr

-Name: Sindri Myr

-Age: 21

-Appearance:


-Gender: Male

-Background:
Sindri Myr was born the fourth son of the famed knight Sir Bastian; Unfortunately his mother was one of his father's servants rather then his wife and thus he was legally a bastard and unable to take on his fathers name or hold any claim to his holdings. Despite the fact that his father refused to legally recognize him as his child Sir Bastian permitted both Sindri and his mother to remain on his lands, allowing Sindri to begin training as a retainer knight to serve under himself and after he had passed his eldest brother.

The training was harsh, made even harsher by his status as a bastard child, but he persevered despite the struggle. While he wasn't the strongest or most finesse of fighters Sindri's trainers noticed that he seemed to have a gift for spotting openings, weaknesses and environmental advantages alongside the natural speed to take advantage of them, often to devastating effect.

Then the Saxons invaded. Sir Bastian and his three children swore their fealty to King Arthur and rode off to war, Sindri following them just like any other servant or retainer would have. Sindri was the only one who returned alive when the war was over, his speed and awareness of the battlefield around him having given him the insight to know where he needed to be for maximum effect and survival, fighting alongside several of the knights who would later go on to sit on the Round Table at one battle or another.

With no other surviving male claimants to Sir Bastian's holdings, Sindri pushed his own claim. Despite his status as a bastard he was able to successfully push his claim and take over his father's estate, greatly helped by the influence of several knights of the Round Table that he had fought beside during the war.

With the departure of the King and his most trusted knights, Sir Myr has come forward to aid the regent Sir Lancelot in maintaining the kingdom.

-Traits of Avalon:

∞-The Stag’s Eyes: You possess a keen and heightened awareness of things. In combat, your spatial acuity is above that of an average knights, and you are able to adapt and overcome with ease.

∞-The Sparrow’s Wing: You are fleet of both foot and hand. The innate speed you possess allows you to move faster than an average knight in combat and beyond.

[RisenDead]

Lady Moire of Vedra

Name: Lady Moire of Vedra
Nick Name: Lady Fury
Age: 30
Sex: Female

Appearance:

Sword Combat

Stave Combat

Lady Moire is a rare beauty amongst the dark haired peoples of Britain. Her blonde hair hints at her less than conventional heritage and her decision to wear it in intricate braids and knots common amongst warriors North of Hadrians Wall only reinforce her lineage. She regards the world eyes of an icy blue that always seem to twinkle as if she is enjoying some private joke when she smiles. When she becomes angry the colour fades to an almost smokey grey in colour.

The war in the north has made many things either unavailable, or impractical, and plate mail armour is one of this things. Heavy armour has little use in a region where fighting often takes place in wet or marshy ground. Lady Moire is armoured accordingly and wears reinforced leather equipment. She has set metal bands into her leggings to prevent someone cutting through her ankles.

When not dressed for war she can set a striking figure and has long been sought after by male suitors on both sides of the Wall, some even from Camelot. Despite this, not even her most hated foe coulee accuse her of wanton lustfulness as it is rumoured she takes no man, or woman, into her bed.

Bakground:
Lady Moire is from the savage northern regions of Britain. She was born just south of Hadrians Wall in a town called Vinovia, the product of a Brynaich raid in which her father raped her Angle mother. The young child of that unwilling union was born into a region torn with violence the likes of which had not seen in nearly four hundred years. Two peoples, widely referred to as the Picts and the Angles, no longer separated by Roman swords, entered into a bloody war that would decimate their lands.

Young Moire was loved by her mother despite her heritage. She raised Moire to hate the Picts, and to seek revenge on the people who had raped her and destroyed her own family. Moire proved an apt pupil and was taken as a squire by a local knight, Sir Oswold of Bamburg, his own sons and daughters having been massacred by the Picts. Moire learned to fight with sword and bow, on horseback and on foot, the never ending combat between the various peoples in the north bringing her plenty of opportunities to hone her skills.

The volatile nature of the North allowed for men or women of any birth to rise in rank, few noble lines remained even partially intact, or alive for that matter. Sir Oswold of Bamburg officially adopted Moire on her sixteenth birthday, knighting her the following day. The Saxons came shortly afterwards.

Lady Moire earned her reputation fighting the Saxons and Picts both. A brilliant tactical commander and soldier she forced defeats on numerous well known enemies, garnering even the admiration of the soon to be King Arthur. On several occasions she received invitations to join the Kings Court in Camelot but fighting in the north prevented her from doing so.

The war in the north has been a savage one and is rarely fought on horseback. Here, amid the high stone hills and deep forests a warrior learns to be lethal with a sword, spear or stave, and stealthy in movement. Fights are close, personal, and always fatal to one party. Lady Moire earned her reputation as a skilled and deadly opponent, appearing where least expected and killing with a ferocity that earned her the nickname "Lady Fury".

But, unbelievably, a fragile has peace came at the hands of King Arthur, at least south of Hadrians Wall at any rate. The various Angle factions have been united by the Pendragon and the Picts beaten so badly that they had retreated into the highlands. Sir Oswold, aging gracefully for a man in her fifties, has ordered Lady Moire south to support the Kings court while His Majesty is questing for the Cup of Christ.

Traits of Avalon:
∞-The Wolf’s Teeth: Your swordsmanship is the stuff of legend. An average foe that is at the tip of your blade can expect to taste its fatal bite.

∞-The Sparrow’s Wing: You are fleet of both foot and hand. The innate speed you possess allows you to move faster than an average knight in combat and beyond.

[AmongHeroes]

Sir Delwin Pryde

[x]-Age: 27

[x]-Appearance: Sir Delwin stands just over 6’ in height, with broad shoulders and a lithe, defined frame. His eyes are a light brown, and his hair is a sandy blonde.

[x]-Gender: Male

[x]-Background: Sir Delwin Pryde was born as the first son of a Welsh fisherman under the rule of Uthyr Pendragon. Growing up, Delwin had every intention of carrying on his father’s trade, and was concerned little with the grander machinations within Britannia. At the age seventeen, this outlook suddenly changed for Delwin, as his father was brutally murdered at the hands of Saxon raiders.

After moving his mother and two sisters inland, and into the home of his mother’s family, Delwin departed to rally beneath the banner of King Arthur, and repulse the Saxons. With no previous martial skills, Delwin had to rely upon his wit, shrewdness, and bearing to maintain him upon the battlefield. Taken into Arthur’s army as a spearman, Delwin was obligated to learn his craft quickly, as his first battle took place less than a fortnight after leaving his family.

It was at the Battle of Celidon Wood that Delwin would meet his fate, and truly change his life forever. In the midst of the roiling onslaught of Saxon infantry, Delwin came to the aid of a knight who had been thrown from his horse. The knight had been knocked unconscious by the fall, and lay helpless. Taking up the knight’s sword, Delwin managed to defend him until his consciousness returned.

Following the battle, Delwin was sought out by the knight whom he had saved. The knight was Sir Lamorak, a skilled warrior, and member of the Knights of the Round Table. On Lamorak’s request, King Arthur knighted Delwin that very same day, and commended him for his bravery and loyalty in the service of the crown. From that day forward, Sir Delwin was constantly at the side of Sir Lamorak, soaking up every bit of knowledge and skill that the grizzled veteran could pass on to him.

Years passed, and Sir Delwin became a rigorous pupil in the ways of chivalry and knightly combat. Though not as skilled in swordsmanship as some of his noble peers, Sir Delwin commands a high degree of respect in the eyes of his enemies, and his adaptability make him a worthy adversary. He was granted a small plot of land along the River Usk, and is tasked with aiding in the patrol and defense of the northern reaches of the realm.

[x]-Traits of Avalon:
∞-The Stag’s Eyes: You possess a keen and heightened awareness of things. In combat, your spatial acuity is above that of an average knights, and you are able to adapt and overcome with ease.

∞-The Lion’s Roar: You exude an air of command, confidence, skill, and righteous purpose. Your enemies are hesitant to engage you upon the battlefield, and they grow anxious at the mere mention of your name.

[AmongHeroes]

@Bright_Ops-Thanks for the submission. Character accepted.

[AmongHeroes]

@RisenDead-Well done. Accepted.

[RisenDead]

@RisenDead-Well done. Accepted.

@AmongHeroes

Thank you.

[Rockette]

ℒ ᴀ ᴅ ʏ ℐ ᴍ ᴇ ʟ ᴅ ᴀ. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .ᴏ ғ ᴛ ʜ ᴇ K ɴ ᴜ ᴇ ᴠ ᴇ ɴ

^{"The face of she whose touch he yearned; Until whose kisses he had earned."}

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^{I M E L D A C L O U S E A U - V E R H A V E R T}
Twenty-six.♦ Female. ♦ Knueven Vallore.

_{[ ♔ ] A P P E A R A N C E}

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Sensuous debuts and appellations are befitting to Imelda's impression, validated with nontraditional degrees of beauty that sire dark hair, skin and eyes, fairness in mute shades that lightens her complexion to an olive hue that feathers in swarthy tones. Such is the signification of the compounding lines of Couseau and Verhavert, the sire and dame of her blood unified by marriage and wealth and genetic prosperity; infamy is highly recorded in their union, a previous scandal that bred estrangement within their valour, but has effected little else. With hair the colour of molten soils, reminiscent of rich sweets and near like sleekness and her eyes just as dark and shadowed, but bedecked with emerald and peridot slivers that interchange through shadow and sunlight. The only blemish, as it were, to the conception of perfection that seats upon her breast and soul.

_{[ ♔ ] B A C K G R O U N D}

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The lands of Couseau and Verhavert lie into the East, each inspire a crest of climbing foxes and descending ravens, plunging down low, the emblazoned heraldry of scavengers, tricksters, of the misunderstood fauna that amass the Eastern territories. The deeds sought by each of the families has long cleansed the misconstrued conception of ill-favoured pests, bringing rituals of valour, honour and swift royalty. The endeavors of each have been christened harsh, sometimes volatile, and ever conflicted with ambition with their continuous climbs to the upper echelons of court favour. The lords and ladies of these lands have been emblazoned with steelish fortitude behind their stone walls and thickets of Eastern forests, the rumours circulating, the defaming tales in-sighting to the perfection and rigidity that sires and breeds knights of every splendor.

Once, they were enemies, foxes and ravens pillaging one another, battles were carried in swift executions and silent malice, each favoured seedier methods, manipulation, poisons that were planted on tongue and touch rather than shield and blade. Whilst the neighboring lands warred or prospered, the Eastern territories continued to pit and plunge their hatred, old family blood boiled and even when their fathers vanquished and were entombed, the generations continued to rage and cry. It was, thus, by the union of a scandalous affair that saw to the combining riches and power, shaming their valour and elderkin, but fostering a future that would see the Couseau and Verhavert with righteous fame and duty.

These histories led into the unification of many Lords and Ladies, the surrounding duchy prospering under the commingling bloodlines that brought with it mild peace, for shadows still bred far and wide into the houses, hidden behind each crest. When the fox and raven came together in the sigil of a winged creature bedecked in thorns, flora of the Eastern soils, and rightfully crowned, the first generations since the union came to with celebration.

Old stories still linger within the halls of both Couseau and Verhavert, sometimes romanticized and embellished for the various squires sanctioned there, and many younger knights that pain and struggle under the tutelage of their masters. Imelda was one among many who aspired to the histories, the olden traditions in battle conduct, the secret murmurs of their forgiven hatred to one another, and the immediate affections of her own parents despite their infliction. And whilst she admired these tales, she also learned to hate them, for the birth rite and burden of such was eternally taxing, it brought with it long nights and even longer days, it brought with it expectations and predetermined fate and rule that was decided since her conception. The second child lost in the shadows of the former - who later become a Knight of The Round Table - and instructed to inspire the rest after her, Imelda could only cling to a smidgen of hope that she would prove well enough.

Her time would come during the Saxon invasion, paired with her bow and kin, the Couseau and Verhavert militia spread aloft into the warring lands, meeting the opposition and unified under the banner of the King. Imelda was hereby sworn into a particular contingent of knights, these that favoured stealth and found their niche in archery rather than swords, the Knueven Vallore, where she seemed to prosper, well even after their dispersion under the instructions of their Lords. For the living concept of a potential threat, even with the invasion thwarted and passed, could not be tolerated; they had to be careful, to not sire suspicion of treason and ill intent to the King. With her eldest kin a Knight under Arthur's reign, the burden of impression, power and tale came to increase, the dregs of such laden onto Imelda wherein she was transported to court as an envoy to the differentiating strengths to the Eastern territories, and to curry favour among the intrigue of political guise.

_{[ ♔ ] T R A I T S O F A V A L O N}

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_{∞-The Fox’s Feet. You possess the ability to move silently, deftly, and with confidence. Your skill for stealth is far above that of an average knight, and your balance is masterful.
∞-The Falcon’s Talon. You are a master of the bow. The accuracy of your arrows is deadly and true, whether they be loosed from on foot, or from horseback.}

[AmongHeroes]

@Rockette-Beautifully done. Accepted!

[Rockette]

@AmongHeroes - Thank you. ♥
I'm excited, since I had written her concept days ago. This is probably the quickest I've conducted a character, though. I think I struggled on her name, more than anything.

[RisenDead]

@AmongHeroes - Thank you. ♥
I'm excited, since I had written her concept days ago. This is probably the quickest I've conducted a character, though. I think I struggled on her name, more than anything.

@Rockette

Show off...

But seriously, well done. Looks very cool!

[Rockette]

@RisenDead - Guilty as charged.
Thanks though!

[Clumsywordsmith]

Arian Hydd

-Name: Arian

-Age: 31

-Appearance: Not of an especially great height, but broad shouldered and well-built nonetheless. He carries himself with a certain measure of grace and quiet confidence. Dark hair tied back, clothing plain and bearing little in the way of ornementation – save for a silver medallion he seems to always wear about his neck, upon which is engraved the spiraling shape of an antlered stag in constant motion. His lips seemed creased into a perpetual frown, and any smile he might make tends to end up masked behind a thick beard. Still, he wouldn't generally be termed unhandsome – if perhaps appearing more than a little dour at the outset.

-Gender: Male

Background:

Generally a rather taciturn individual, Arian is the sort who speaks only sparingly of his past – though perhaps a bit of drink and the right questions would loosen his tongue a little. A Welsh warrior hailing from one of the countless little towns buried amidst the sprawling moors and rolling mountains, he learned the art of his craft from the days of his early youth, a childhood spent battling the Saxons in countless skirmishes and engagements. His past has seen all those he once knew and loved passed on to eternity, and whatever the future might hold in store would appear just as bleak. Still, he seems to have found some solace in taking up service with Arthur's knights in Camelot: the cessation of war, one might find, does not always leave a warrior's heart at peace.

-Intro:

Plumes of breath in frozen air; soft crunch of hooves in the grass – and the boy crouches, grey eyes wide as he studies the creature before him. White on white – a monstrous stag of silver-white, sleek coat all but shimmering in the faltering twilight. The boy exhales, rises to his feet even as he stretches a cautious hand forward. Creeping, stretching. One foot, then the next. The stag eyes him cooly now, head tosses in uncertain gesture: wicked tines of branching antlers slice through the air, ears flap and twitch. But the boy presses on. Another step, and then another, until finally they stand a mere pace apart – the boy and the stag – and he reaches his hand forward, lays a finger against the soft velvet of the twitching nose...

(I draw my hands from the stream, splash the cool water against my face. Scrub at the blood and grime. Watch the red blossom take life, go swirling away downstream. I grit my teeth, clench my fists and feel the stubborn pain. Stagger to my feet and eye the clearing; hazy sheen of a midsummer's afternoon, vivid green of the forest's growth right up to the water's edge, and a quiet woodland stream murmuring quietly to itself amidst the droning hum of insects behind. I blink. The -heat-! And the bodies. Strewn here and there. Haphazard – the finality of death bringing a a strange kind of calm to their features. Soon the flies will come, buzzing thick – but... with an exhausted grunt I find myself, too, collapsing against the trunk of a nearby willow, stretching my legs toward the water and tilting my head skyward... thoughts wandering far, far away....

To a time of blood and fire – and I am running, now. Sprinting across the barren moor. That odd feeling of calm before the storm; that uncertain certainty of finding myself observing my own actions rather than participating. Like watching through a dream, from a distance. And then the first of the enemy appear over the crest of the further hill. A great cry goes up. They scream! I am screaming too, I find – screaming even as I tear past their further edge, the dust and heat driving me to a frenzy as we crash against the unprotected flank. Sword and axe alike are moving with a deadly grace – and yet it is not me, I think. No. I am quiet. Serene. The great white stag grazing in the midst of a forested meadow. Flash of light – screams of the dying – and then--

And then I come to myself again. Thoughts still disturbed – like searching for a lost trinket through the depths of a murky pool. Blurry confines of an old and ragged hut; no one there – just me – and the fire's last embers have fallen all to ash and smoke. I claw hands through my eyes, try to rub the smarting blur from my vision. The air... too thick to breath. I feel myself beginning to suffocate.

“A future, you say? Look then to the past!” The words come unbidden to me now, and with a gasp I spring to my feet, throw aside the hide covering to the hut's entrance and step outside. My horse is there, browsing quietly amidst the wildflowers. My axe and sword lean against the wooden wall. I could not say how long I had been asleep. I do not think it mattered. I know only that I am alive, and staggering to my knees I retch, spew some bile to the grass even as I clutch the back of my head; the pain of an iron spike driving into the back of my skull.

But I am alive. I gather my weapons, haul myself into the saddle and steer a course away from the hut. Away from the madness. There is a place, I have been told – a place where a luckless man of my gifts and talents might find himself of use. A place called Camelot. A man at his wit's end will try most anything, or so they say.)

-Traits of Avalon:

∞-The Stag’s Eyes: You possess a keen and heightened awareness of things. In combat, your spatial acuity is above that of an average knights, and you are able to adapt and overcome with ease.

∞-The Sparrow’s Wing: You are fleet of both foot and hand. The innate speed you possess allows you to move faster than an average knight in combat and beyond.