@princess Sure. Ignoring the strait for convenience's sake, how long would it take to walk, say, from Kolonivka to Montauppe? What kind of a land scale are we looking at here? I was thinking of placing the prison where it would be cold, alienated, and inaccessible (ie. near Kolonivka); but not if it'll take me three months IC to hit the scene lol
Is there an established, canonical lore I should be reading up on and strictly adhering to on when I'm invited to the Discord, or are we free to worldbuild?
In the same vein as the previous question, when was the last time this setting was embroiled in total war, or any conflict large enough to upheave power structures, borders, etc.? Anything you can tell me about that conflict, such as numbers, factions, results, famous battles, etc.?
Here in the OOC tab, one GM post says this is a pre-industrial society, while another GM post declares this universe has developed steam ships, dirigibles, trains, etc. Which of these is accurate? If we were to look at firearms as a microcosm of the technological epoch, are people using flintlocks? Percussion caps? Matchlocks? Earlier, or even no firearms at all?
@princess Sure. Ignoring the strait for convenience's sake, how long would it take to walk, say, from Kolonivka to Montauppe? What kind of a land scale are we looking at here? I was thinking of placing the prison where it would be cold, alienated, and inaccessible (ie. near Kolonivka); but not if it'll take me three months IC to hit the scene lol
Is there an established, canonical lore I should be reading up on and strictly adhering to on when I'm invited to the Discord, or are we free to worldbuild?
In the same vein as the previous question, when was the last time this setting was embroiled in total war, or any conflict large enough to upheave power structures, borders, etc.? Anything you can tell me about that conflict, such as numbers, factions, results, famous battles, etc.?
Here in the OOC tab, one GM post says this is a pre-industrial society, while another GM post declares this universe has developed steam ships, dirigibles, trains, etc. Which of these is accurate? If we were to look at firearms as a microcosm of the technological epoch, are people using flintlocks? Percussion caps? Matchlocks? Earlier, or even no firearms at all?
That's what I've got for now.
Kolonivka is quite far from Montauppe. To walk, definitely months. A train would take a week. I would suggest you write him walking from the prison as a flashback and past situation if you want to insist on that so that you can arrive right now into Sorian.
My apologies about the confusion as the first GM post is outdated. We are within a industrial revolution.
I'm okay spending a few posts alone to do some character writing, but yes, thank God for the railroad. I can 100% work with the logistics of what I wanted to do in the north.
Might have the application ready as soon as this evening.
I'm okay spending a few posts alone to do some character writing, but yes, thank God for the railroad. I can 100% work with the logistics of what I wanted to do in the north.
Might have the application ready as soon as this evening.
You may not want to do your initial plan as a heads up, a day is taking a few months to get through. Another heads up just in case as we have had this misunderstanding before: the genres of this roleplay are romance, drama, mystery... as opposed to nation wars.
♠ Strange, flamboyantly side-braided hairstyle, indicative of his time in the 2nd Hussars ♠ ♠ His distinctive sword—a spadroon, both stouter and heavier than the smallsword of the modern style—also eschews in its handguards the usual brass or pinchbeck in favor of sterling silver ♠
♠ Single Combat—participating or spectating ♠ ♠ Billiards, chess, piquet, & misc. games of skill ♠ ♠ Schnapps ♠ ♠ Solitude ♠
Dislikes
♠ Sycophants ♠ ♠ Bragging, and other worthless noise ♠ ♠ Apathy, lethargy, listlessness—call it what you will but a better man lives by a code, relentlessly and sincerely ♠ ♠ Most people in general, truth be told ♠ ♠ Opium—the one vice he fears and forgoes ♠
Sexuality
Heterosexual
Hobbies
♠ Provoking better men into fighting him ♠ ♠ Killing those men ♠ ♠ Gambling ♠ ♠ Drinking ♠ ♠ Brooding ♠
Life Goals, Dreams
He hasn't been free long enough to have yet decided. His elderly mother succumbed to tuberculosis while he was "away," so he hasn't anyone left to protect; the authorities would have confiscated his modest fortune long ago and yet it particularly interested him to begin with. He has no need for power. He supposes vengeance sounds nice, but hardly even knows what he might avenge at all: his wounded pride? His disgraced name? The freedom of which he was very deservedly robbed, because of the crime he most assuredly committed? Bah.
Personality
To describe de Pontviliard, first describe a creature whose hand is spurned to its hilt at even the slightest insult (imagined or otherwise); a creature engorged with hot, musky, vinegary pride behind the promontory of its breastbone. Describe the fervent, almost religious slaking of thirsts and lusts, as it stands to reason that no worthy God, or "gods," or fate, or constellation, or any other idol would festoon the earth with such sweet sacks and honeys and breastmilks and mean for man, in his finite and flimsy resolve, to abstain from them. The creature loves much, and it loves unabashedly, and it loves equally, and so describe a tongue which worships at all of its altars with the very same undying veneration: the altars of grape and grain and quim and deadly, caustic jape. Describe—ergo—a creature who refuses, altogether and regardless of the cost, to regulate his passions—for even death itself is preferable to boredom.
♠ Career Soldier—a Chef de bataillon in the Varian Grand Royal Army ♠
Current Occupation
♠ Vagabond ♠ ♠ Grifter ♠ ♠ Sponge ♠
Relatives
♠ Valabrandt—Father, for which Guillains has not forgiven him ♠ ♠ Alesna—Sister ♠ ♠ A web of insignificant cousins, nephews, uncles, et al.—he doesn't know them and nor does he care to ♠
Skills
♠ Fencing—his first and finest love ♠ ♠ Shooting ♠ ♠ Horseback Riding ♠ ♠ Oration ♠ ♠ Wargaming ♠ ♠ Bluffing ♠ ♠ Wine Tasting—for such a shameless lush he's surprisingly knowledgeable about fine liquors ♠
History Summary
Very few can attest—at least, not with any credibility or candor—that they'd have been better off born amongst Varian's commons than her landed gentrymen; that they yearn, truly, for the grueling hours and the squalid conditions of a textile factory, or a slaughterhouse, or even the decks of a whaler over the pampered, powdered lap of idle luxury—that they envy the farmhand's sunburnt nose and the boatswain's blisters. After sixteen hours in a sweatshop, with all the body's reserves of vigor thusly sapped, the intellect, itself depleted by tedium and rote, longs for nothing more than the sedation of a hot meal (though lukewarm will do), cold gin, and straw-stuffed burlap's blithe oblivion. (One will find this principle, on the whole, divulges why the intellectuals of the time, and every time, are always bred in the taverns: where blends that heady admixture of late hours, plentiful beer, and melancholic humors which in one or another ratio has produced all human philosophie.) But Guillains de Pontviliard, soldier and gentleman (if only in the past tense), might indeed be counted among that rare breed: a being haunted by his own cynicism, hollowed by grief, and perpetually doomed to either destroy or despoil whatever he touches.
There comes that event horizon in every boy's maturation—his fermentation, as Guillains puts it—where he has just had his very first thought which he can truly consider his own; a thought not bored into him by the intentions and expectations of others but which materialized from his own matter, like the bubbles at the bottom of a soup cauldron; when he first realizes his father is a dullard, for instance, or he has for the first time violated the household's curfews and received no punishment, or formed his first conjectures, volatile and indignant, on god or king or family or some other pillar infallibly sacred and yet evidently powerless to strike him down for his apostasy. It's been since that vague day, Guillains supposes, that he has abhorred life: its futility, its tyranny, and its futile, tyrannical dullness.
But even in his tenderest boyhood he hated when he wanted a cup of watered wine, for there was ever and always a servant there to fetch it for him. (Soon he'd learned not to seem thirsty whatever, absconding instead to the wells and streams to reel up the farmhands' jugs and sneak sips from their switchel.) He hated that he would grouse and fuss when he was made to sit down for horn lessons, and rather than whack him upside the head and guard the door until he'd recited his major scales, and the minor as well for the inconvenience, his father would acquiesce, and grovel, and after the boy had pecked at his supper that night would allow him the same heaping dessert as every other. And more than anything else, the young Guillains hated Midwinter—when both his parents and all his grandparents and godfathers, his uncles, even some of the more doting servants would muster, to spend an entire week lavishing him with undeserved gifts, gorging him on feasts of chocolate; plucking, honeying, and roasting whole flocks of pheasants in his honor; celebrating deeds he hadn't performed and virtues he didn't possess. A bizarre child, he; these appeasements would have rotted any other boy through with vulgar haughtiness, while Guillains bittered instead with a precocious disdain for all such pomp and ceremony, and the likes of people who profit thereon.
Never did he feel more pathetic, however, than a mild day early in the autumnal harvest of his eleventh year. Tucked his breeches into sagging stovepipe boots did he, and went forth into the fields in a slouch hat hoping to assist the sharecroppers, and share in their ways, but each of them at best ignored him, or likelier rejected him outright; for wheresoever went the little lord went also the men tasked with his utmost safety, wearing carbines slung over their backs and sabers at their hips. They would not be responsible for the snapping of an ankle in a gopher hole, or the trampling under a draft animal's metal shoes, or the opening of his hand on one of their deathly-keen sickles, and so they sent him away to eat the breakfast they'd reared and slaughtered that morn, and bathe in the waters they'd arduously lugged up all those stairs for him, and dress into the fineries they'd years ago embroidered from their finest wools and cottons.
Not even the boy's personal physician could fully rationalize why Guillains's humors tinged so strongly melancholic at what should be such a carefree and choleric age; nor why before his twelfth birthday he was already a socialist. But in that unripe shade of life, owing at least partly to his rigid countenance and his seething disposition, he already passed for a man of sixteen, and therefore in that year successfully lied to a recruiter and enrolled himself in the military academy in Stravy. The choice surprised and appalled many among the manor, father most of all, though perhaps it shouldn't have; if Guillains wanted to feel like he had earned his place at the family table, and in the world itself, what sacrifice among young men would be more readily lauded than to offer up body and limb and spirit to be crushed under the iron spokes of war? But on the whole they had taken him at his appearance—that of an undisciplined, sulking, disaffected little wretch—and so as he packed his paltry belongings and departed, they suckled on the comfort of knowing he'd drag himself not two months through a military career before he'd struck a commanding officer, or ignored a direct order, or in some other way effected his own discharge.
Four years later, then a man of "twenty," Guillains graduated from the academy and entered the Grande Armée Royale as a sub-lieutenant. By unsubmitted technicality, he was the youngest commissioned officer in the army.
Of course, no small degree of mischief happened along the way. It is there at the academy, for instance, via the centuries-old tradition of Mesure, that our fiery Guillains discovered both his penchant for dueling and his talent for it. Every cadet wore a sword by compulsion, and having joined a fraternity, as was the fashion, his tendency—indeed, his duty—was to defend his fraternity's honor and his own whensoever arose even the faintest opportunity to do so. That meant both accepting every challenge issued out to him, and, as he soon learned, challenging others as well over any slights he could perceive no matter how subtle. Daily for all those four years these flashes of violence erupted in the squares and forums of the school, and even in the city beyond, with a dozen or more bystanders always gathering round to bear witness for the contestants. And although no one "lost" these duels—the "loser" displaying just as much bravery by taking a scar, as the victor did skill by inflicting one—Guillains made it his purpose to develop and nurture his deadliness as far as it could naturally strive. Thankfully as the son of a landed man he'd already had some training, but what truly set him above his peers in this period was his utter disregard for the value of his own life; thus, his fearless abandon in the face of his enemies, even when their intent was terrifying, and vicious, and dangerously real—aimed at organs and arteries in lieu of the cheek.
Those scars from his academic days have long since faded (those few opponents who marked him having been very deft indeed, their cuts clean), though for as long as they lasted Guillains wore them proudly, as does any Varian man of any worth.
And it was there, standing at the precipice of greatness, that Guillains de Pontviliard, then a young man filled with strength and cunning and courage, met again his lifelong mortal foe: he could never have realized military life would be so frightfully dull until he'd already signed on, but there he was, ordering his troop (and later on an entire battalion, as he climbed to the rank of major) to dig defensive trenches against an enemy which would never come; to march themselves up and down unneeded communications lines; to polish their boots and scrub the cannons and cut the frays from their tassels. Fourteen years and five ranks and outside of drills and training, Guillains could recall precisely one time a gun was fired amongst his unit: a negligent discharge during a routine patrol across from the Caesonian coast, for which the guilty corporal received a terrible rebuking. Yes, as it happens the world has no need of career soldiers during over a century of industry, trade, and the kingly cowardice called "peace"; and though the Chef de bataillon de Pontviliard could think of many ways in which to incite a conflict, he would instead go on to scapegoat several others for his pent-up bloodlust. The Grande Armée Royale strictly forbade dueling between men of different ranks, so Guillains could only challenge other sub-lieutenants, then lieutenants, and so forth as he climbed the ranks himself. And challenge them he did: at least eight of them, in fact, over the course of a year, though likelier ten. And though normally the Varian military courts did not sufficiently care to enforce this rule, instead allowing dozens of officers to die each year to their own comrades' indignantly drawn blades, this year there was supposedly a cold war with Caesonia—supposedly, on one side of the river a landed family had stubbornly refused to relocate and make way for the construction of a new railroad route through their property. And with one kingdom defending the family's right to homestead where they had been settled for over a hundred years, and the other kingdom grousing that they alone should not renegotiate a new route and shoulder the additional construction costs (several hundred thousand pounds of silver by the sound of it), each side watched the other warily from across the choppy waters, leering for any sign of instigation—escalation. And while the war slowly, tediously amounted to nothing, there was Battalion Chief de Pontviliard, taking out his aggression and his meanness on his fellow officers for injuries and insults nigh-imperceptible to everyone but himself. And with the whole world holding its breath, watching for any escalation, any dropping of a hat, someone high up in the Varian military tribunal must have decided they should not overlook the law this time—not with such great bloodshed and national embarrassment at stake. So they court-martialed de Pontviliard, and dragged him before the tribunal, and because he is not ashamed or a liar he confessed to all ten duels, although only six of them stuck (on the basis of their having resulted in "grievous bodily injury which has rendered the victim, whether by death, dismemberment, or other affliction, unwillfully derelict in his duties to God, queen, and country"). The court contemplated the heedless waste of life at de Pontviliard's hands; but to his surprise, so too did they consider that the deaths had occurred under the code of honorable combat, with each of the slain consenting to the fight beforehand, and even this only after allegedly besmirching the plaintiff's personal reputation in the first place. In the end he would serve six years in a military prison near Kolonivka: one for each of the captains he maimed, with two of them laying figuratively dead at his feet, their literal bodies delivered to their homes for burial.
That was six years ago to the date. They release him today, and learn whether his time in a dank, cold cell has changed the man for the better, or driven him ever deeper into the throes of his angst and his wrath.
Hello @pugbutter! Unfortunately, after some discussion, we are going to decline this application. You have an enormous talent for writing very beautifully, however, we have decided it may require too high of reading comprehension for the casual atmosphere of the roleplay.
Height: 6’3 Weight: 205 lbs Eye Color: Deep brown Hair Length/Texture: Medium length, wavy Hair Color: Black Skin Color: Light Brown Facial details(freckles, moles, etc): None Distinguishing features: Being handsome Clothing Preferences: Bright colors, flowing fabrics, and wearing just enough gold/jewels for it to be a little too much.
Psychology
Likes: -Gardens -Hookah lounges, tea houses, taverns - Anywhere he can meet interesting people -Art, beauty, music -Wild parties and extravagant feasts -Keeping life as fun as possible
Dislikes: -Conflict; a friendly spar is a good time but anything with malice, he’s out -Being alone -Anything too serious
Sexuality: -Bisexual
Hobbies: -Partying -Swordsmanship -Meeting new people -Anything that sounds fun
Life Goals/Dreams: To have a good time, make exceptional memories, and regret nothing.
Personality Summary:
An extreme optimist; for Rohit, his glass is not merely half full, his cup runneth over with fine wine. To him, the world is a wondrous and beautiful place, with so many things to explore and learn about, so many interesting people to meet, and even bad luck turns around with time. Not that he’s ever had bad luck, good fortune seems to cling to Rohit. Though he possesses a kind-hearted and gentle nature, his noble upbringing makes it difficult for him to understand, or truly relate, to hardships. It takes a lot to bring his mood down and he will choose to look for common ground or a sufficient compromise when conflict arises. Rohit seeks to understand, to know as much about the world as he can, and hopes that one day he’ll be at least half as wise as his father.
Rohit is a wandering dreamer. Often too caught up in whatever has caught his attention to be punctual and easily led astray by curiosity and the allure of new experiences. He knows his promises are flimsy at best, and thus rarely makes them. Having grown up accustomed to the finer things, he enjoys indulging in all that makes life worth living and ensuring those around him have the same opportunity. A generous people pleaser, Rohit will do just about anything to make sure those around him share his joy, because sad people make him sad, and who wants that?
Background
Current occupation: Known throughout Kimoon as a wild free spirit whose scandals are easily overshadowed by his charity work* and philanthropy.
*(most of the actual work part is done by a team of people but Rohit does make sure his projects happen and are well funded)
Any past occupations?: None
Relatives: Navi Amar, Vali of Kimoon - Father Aisha Amar - Mother
Skills: -Physically fit -Being oblivious to anything too serious -Talking to people -Seems to be naturally blessed with good luck
History Summary:
The Astral Arcana truly blessed Rohit, not only with noble birth but in the care of the kindest and most patient people he knows, his parents. Raised by scholars, Rohit inherited their curiosity about the world but lacked their discipline in studying. He’d rather explore outside than study things from the pages of a book, he’d rather hear people talk about the things they knew than stare at words on a page. Rohit hated being still, hated being alone for too long, hated when things were too quiet.
His parents were endlessly patient and his every whim was encouraged and supported. When he showed interest in music, musicians were brought in to instruct him, when his parents noted he enjoyed touring Kimoon’s gardens, botanists were brought in to teach him about plants, and Rohit once noted that the stars looked ‘pretty cool,’ and a telescope was purchased the next day. His interests always flared and burned out, but his parents always supported learning something new. His childhood was near idyllic; surrounded by luxury but raised to appreciate it all as a blessing.
When his father was made Vali of Kimoon, life only became more exciting. There were even grander opportunities; better tutors and mentors, bigger feasts and elaborate parties, and meeting people from all over Alidasht. He was more than happy to support his father’s new role; socializing at events and engaging in charity work for Kimoon, strengthening the family image. Even with Rohit’s occasional scandal, it was easy for the Amar family to look good when the last Vali was executed for embezzlement and treason. His good deeds and eagerness to spend time with citizens always outshined any trouble he found himself in.
Rohit jumped at the chance to travel to Caesonia for the summer but arrived late due to his instance of stopping at every interesting port along the way. There was only so much time Rohit could spend on a ship before he grew restless, the frequent stops were necessary.
Questionnaire
History Did you grow up nurtured or neglected?: “Nurtured, my parents are lovely people.”
When you were upset, where was your sanctuary?: “Sanctuary? I would just seek counsel from my dad, wisest man I know. Life’s too short to spend it upset, best to remedy the situation and move on.”
What were you like in your teenage years?: “Happy, wild, and free. Just as I am now.”
How close are you to your parents?: “Very close, we get along well and I value their insights.” Rohit’s answer lacks the confidence of his previous ones. For a second he wonders if his parents secretly wished for a scholarly son, one more suited to follow in his father's footsteps. His smile soonreturns and the thought vanishes as the next question is asked.
Do you have any trauma that haunts you?: “No…and who would want to discuss that?”
What advice would you give your younger self?: “Rohit, I know books are boring. So, so, boring, but we must try and read them. Or pay someone to read them to us. It is the only way to keep up with the conversations at family dinner.”
Were you an obedient child or defiant?: “Obedient; my parents upheld no frivolous rules, everything was explained so that I understood the why of it and how I was to act. This makes it easy to respect their wishes. …But a little more defiant in my teen years.”
What is your biggest regret?: “None, next question.”
Romance Have you ever been in love? : “All the time, it’s a fleeting feeling though isn’t it? Comes and goes like rain.”
What is most important in a partner to you? Describe your dream partner.: “Only one? I guess they’d need to have everything. Kind, fun, passionate about something, and good to look at.”
How do you display affection? What is your love language?: “With affection, however the other person prefers it.”
Have you had your first kiss? What was it like?: “You’d have to get me drunk to pull that story out.”
Do you believe in love at first sight? Why or why not?: “Yes, people claim it, and who am I to question if they mean it.”
What does marriage mean to you?: “Being tied to one person, which is fine, if that’s what you want.”
Are you currently crushing on anyone?: “Every pretty face in front of me.”
Do you ever consider having children in the future?: “Probably, in the distant, distant future. Far past where my current plans extend to.”
Personality
Describe your ideal Sunday morning: “Brunch at the Enchanted Garden! Have you been? There are glowing mushrooms on the trees and food you cannot find anywhere else. Everyone should go at least once. It’s very relaxing after a good Saturday night.”
What kind of person do you aspire to be?: “Kind.” Rohit did not feel a need to expand on that answer.
What bad habits do you have?: “I don’t think I have any.”
If you could go back in time and change anything in your past, what would it be?: “I’d try harder with my studies, maybe try and read a couple of books in front of my parents, I think they’d like that.” Rohit shifts uncomfortably at this question, hoping the next one is lighter.
What is your greatest fear?: “That’s a dark question! Being eaten by a tiger? That sounds bad, let’s go with that.”
What are your pet peeves?: “Who wants to worry about other’s habits?”
When you are in a sour mood, do you like to be alone or with others?: “With others, people who can cheer me up.”
Are you more likely to fight with your fists or your tongue?: “Neither, I prefer to look for common ground.”
Height:6'3"/1.91m Weight:200lb/91kg Eye Color:Vibrant Blue Hair Length/Texture:Shoulder length when down but that is rare Hair Color:Dirty/dusty blonde Skin Color:Fair, but weathered by the sea breeze Facial details(freckles, moles, etc):Some minor scars and healed wounds from prior battles Distinguishing features:His braided/forked beard, which is the same color as his hair Clothing Preferences:He keeps his clothing choices simple, choosing not to spend what meager wages he gets on something as trivial as flashy clothing. He tends to stick to a dark/navy/muted blue and a variation of darker browns. He will occasionally allow himself small adornments in his tied hair or braided beard and he will always been seen with a armlet, intricately engraved with runes that looks tarnished.
Psychology
Likes:
Being at sea
Pillaging
Rum, which is always gone for one reason or another
His brothers at sea
Seeing the rich suffer
Dislikes:
Rules
The navy
The Royal Family
Being poor
Sexuality:Heterosexual
Hobbies:
Singing Sea shanties
Going on raids
Visiting brothels
Sailing the seas
Drinking
Life Goals/Dreams: The be the most infamous seafarer in history
Personality Summary: Brash || Unapologetic || Direct
Background
Current occupation: Privateer/Pirate
Any past occupations?: Commodore with the Sorian Navy
Relatives:
Ragnar Agnarrson / father / Alive
Freya Torsdottir / mother / Alive
Ingrid Ragnarson / sister / Alive
Halfdan Agnarrson / Uncle / Wanted criminal, location currently unknown
Skills:
Seafaring
Naval combat
Naval survival
Swordsmanship
History Summary:
One For All
Well. Where does one begin with Arne. His upbringing was fairly normal. Decent family from Krasivaya, father was a career naval officer and mother was a homemaker. Arne and his sister Ingrid grew up in relative comfort, with their father bringing home his salary and their mother making things work at all times. This continued for what felt like ages.
Until his uncle Halfdan showed up at their doors. Arne's father, Ragnar, of course welcomed his brother into his house and shared food and drink with him. Halfdan of course did not refuse. Being 13, Arne was allowed to stick around and share ale with the men as they talked about life and their own journeys. Sven with his heroics with the navy and Halfdan with his exploits as a privateer at sea. They all worked for the Royal Family, no doubt, but their approach to life could not be more different. Ragnar was a man of the people, always following the law and he was fair with all he had dealings with. Halfdan was cunning, willing the bend the law for his benefit and tended to take advantage of people as long as it did not cause grievous harm. Young Arne did not understand the difference, but he knew he wanted to be like his father, and be a officer in the Royal Navy. So. As soon as he was allowed to, much to his mother's chagrin, Arne joined and was coincidentally placed into his father's squadron, as the lowest enlisted member. Ragnar gave young Arne no quarters. He treated his son as any other enlisted seamen, and one could even say he was extraordinarily strict towards the young Arne. Arne paid it no mind. He understood that his father was behaving as such to sharpen him up, to make him seaworthy. Dutifully, Arne served and learned. The other members of the squadron thought Arne was going to rise faster than them due to nepotism, but no. Arne rose slower than his peers, as his father would have liked. He was to be given no leeway. His achievements were seldom acknowledged, much less celebrated and his mistakes were scrutinized and reprimanded accordingly. Arne never once bared a grudge towards his father or other officers in the ranks. He wanted this. He wanted to learn and become someone his father can trust.
Fast forward 5 years. Arne, now 20, was a lieutenant in the Royal Navy. His peers were ranked higher but they did not care. To them, Arne was the most deserving of a higher rank than all of them. Arne has always done exemplary work and the senior and flag officers would all agree to that. Ragnar, now ranked Rear Admiral, had to constantly remind and sometimes plead with his own peers to not over-praise Arne.
Meanwhile, Halfdan Agnarrson, Privateer, was still roaming the seas, parading his royal pardon to any who would listen. Often, it would be Rear Admiral Agnarrson commissioning Privateer Agnarrson and his ship, the Sun Howler, to 'rid the coasts of would be intruders'. Stories of Halfdan's ruthlessness started reaching back to the naval command and Ragnar had to call Halfdan into a meeting, unofficially. The conversation got heated and that's the last Arne heard from or about his uncle...
Fast forward another 5 years. Now 25, Arne has once again climbed in ranks. Commordore First Class Arne Ragnarson. That was his official title. To anyone that served with his father, and have not retired, his title when not in an official setting is 'The kid' or 'Ragnar's boy'. Such as it is when your father is a retired legend, with over 100 sorties and expeditions under his belt, having been made Vice-Admiral just before he reached his maximum service time and retired to full honors. Arne carried all with him with pride. His father, and his achievements, have always been what he striven to reach. Now that there is a clear, and defined, goal ahead of him, Arne can do everything in his power to make his father proud.
Or so he thought.
On one sunny morning, an order came down from command that Arne and his squadron is to set out in pursuit of a company of rogue privateers that have since been labeled pirates. Arne, being the dutiful officer that he is, accepted the mission without hesitate and tasked his crew to embark posthaste. Aboard the HMS Thunder Waves, the flagship in the newest Zephyr-Class warship, Arne and his crew spearheaded the chase of this rogue privateer. One thing of note is that the mission did not disclose the name of the privateer or his ship. They were simply given an order to pursuit any ships that flew the black. During the mission, Arne operated efficiently, albeit all with a sense of unease, like he was doing something wrong.
After two weeks at sea, Arne receives a message from another ship in the squadron that they had spotted three ships, all flying the black. Arne gave the command to set course to pursue the trio of pirate ships and his crew sprang into action. Over the next two days, the HMS Thunder Waves and her squadron made up for lost time and were now in range to fire upon the rogue ships. Arne fired a volley of warning shots, hoping that the ships would slow and surrender themselves. When that did not happen, Arne gave the order to make the necessary adjustments and prepare to fire. Just then. The three ships being pursues simultaneously lowered their flags and raised a white flag on their main mast. Arne gathered nine of his best fighters and left the HMS Thunder Waves in the command of his first mate before boarding a dingy to set out to parlay with the pirates.
What he would see when he reached the other party would shock him. It was his uncle, Halfdan Agnarrson, leading the pirated. Arne and his team were lead aboard the Sun Howler to treatise and come to terms. However, Halfdan gave Arne his side of the story, of how the Royal Family grew tired of how wealthy Halfdan had gotten with his royal commission and simply wanted him gone. That Arne is now faced with a decision. Arne can fight him and his crew, potentially win, and accomplishing him missions, But in order to do that he'd have to kill his own blood. Or, he can join him and become a pirate, living freely of any shackles in doing so. Arne of course declined and continued to try to reason with his uncle, that him and his crew should return to port with Arne and all will be sorted with the Royal Family. Halfdan laughed at how naive his nephew was and made the first move. Halfdan's crew snuck up and gave a swift stab to any unsuspecting naval crew and was able to dispatch any remaining. Arne, shocked to his core, drew his standard issue cutlass and prepared to fight to the death. Instead, with one hand gesture, Halfdan stood his crew down and let Arne leave. Halfdan told Arne to think upon his words and actions, and see the light of what the Royal Family really is about.
Arne made it back to the HMS Thunder Waves and gave the command to pursue the pirates with everything they had. However, in the delay of Arne rowing himself back to his ship, the pirates caught the easterlies and disappeared behind the setting sun. Dejected, having lost the lives of 9 of his crew, Arne called off the pursuit and returned to port. The Royal Family of course did not take kindly to their mission being failed and came down hard on Arne. Arne, being who he is, shouldered the blame of everything and made certain that his crew were only very lightly reprimanded, if at all. Through it all, Arne was was placed on an indefinite leave without pay, and even his own father had his pensions reduced to that of an captain for 6 months as punishment. Arne tried to explain what happened, the choices he faced and the information he was given by his uncle. Ragnar tried his best to understand, but his sense of justice did not allow him. He saw this family as the biggest stain on the family, even more than his own younger brother essentially turning to piracy. He disowned Arne, despite the pleadings of Arne's mother and sister.
Devastated, Arne left home. All he had with him with whatever monies he had on him and the uniform that he wore that faithful day. Arne spent the next 6 months drifting from port to port, not being accepted by neither side of the coin. The freefolk saw him as a officer of the law and the common folk saw him as a disgraced officer. This turn of events turned his heart to ice, made him realize what his uncle told him that day was the truth, that the Royal Family would squeeze every drop of usefulness out of someone then they're simply discarded without second thought. Everything he has done for them meant nothing.
He tore apart what remained of his naval uniform and burned it. He vowed to take down the Royal Family. It was no longer "One For All" for Arne.
He used what he had available to him, that being knowledge of the Royal Navy and their strategic position, and bargained his way aboard the Remembrance. Fighting, pillaging, and redistributing whatever loot he came across, this is now his mission. Never again shall the Royal Family use him for their benefit. Now, he shall be the biggest thorn on their side.
Questionnaire
History Did you grow up nurtured or neglected?: Nurtured When you were upset, where was your sanctuary?: My room, but now the Crow's Nest on a ship What were you like in your teenage years?: I don't want to talk about it How close are you to your parents?: He disowned me. I don't know how my mother and sister are doing Do you have any trauma that haunts you?: No What advice would you give your younger self?: Never trust the Royal Family. They don't care about you Were you an obedient child or defiant?: Obedient What is your biggest regret?: Having to face my father that one day
Romance We don't need to talk about this
Personality Describe your ideal Sunday morning:... Really? What kind of person do you aspire to be?:... What bad habits do you have?:Whatever you think are bad habits, I probably do it If you could go back in time and change anything in your past, what would it be?:Fuck off What is your greatest fear?:... What are your pet peeves?:People with too many questions When you are in a sour mood, do you like to be alone or with others?:What do you think? Are you more likely to fight with your fists or your tongue?:Sword, pistol, fists
Not too much is different, but I touched up Stratya's sheet. The little changes I made are a great improvement, though, I think. Straightened up her backstory, added a dash of drama to it, tidied up some other parts.
Knight-Captain of Caesonia Stratya Durmand, 26, Female
Appearance
Height: 5'6" Weight: 150 lbs Eye Color: Brown Hair Length/Texture: Long and silky Hair Color: Light Brown Skin Color: Fair Facial details: A freckle here or there, particularly on her cheek bones. Distinguishing features: Plain but pretty, Stratya can be heard from afar by her thick dialect. Clothing Preferences: Nothing very fancy. She often finds herself in uniform, which suits her fine. It doesn't get in the way of her movement.
Psychology
Likes: Peace, music, good food, mead, shellfish, weird parrying daggers Dislikes: Competitive pressure, tension, abuse, regular fish, fine clothes
Sexuality: Bisexual
Hobbies: Baking, drinking, playing music
Life Goals/Dreams: Peace and safety for her people. She's a simple woman, content with simple things. Food in her belly, the sun on her face, people she likes and cares for. A good pint of mead. She's got a house and money and her family's taken care of. That's all she really wants, it's just too bad some people won't let things be that simple.
Personality Summary: Stratya is a simple woman with a sharp mind that thinks too much. She's fairly easy-going, and always tries to be fair. Boisterous and joyful, she loves a good drinking song at the tavern. She'd love to just lay on a hillside and play the flute or have a drink at the tavern all day, but unfortunately, there's much work to be done.
Background
Current occupation: Knight Captain
Any past occupations?: Baker, Town Guard, Soldier
Relatives: Father deceased. Mother, younger brother and two sisters operate the bakery and brewery in the Vermillion region
Skills: Fife and vocals, cooking and baking, swordplay and brawling, thought and deductive reasoning
History Summary: A young girl in a small farming village worked in her mother's bakery, helping to make the bread and often carrying the bread throughout her village to the various shops and folks that needed it. Her father, a guard for the village and nearby trading town, taught his eldest child, Stratya, the traditional fighting methods passed down to him from his father, and to him from his mother, and so on into days they had no records for. One day, while on her delivery rounds for lunch, the lass did witness an incident between her father and a thief. Her father was injured and, incited, a young Stratya charged forward. She disarmed the thief with her father's dropped sword and pinned him. After another guard came and arrested the offender, Stratya was made a guard at a young age. After two years of guard service, Stratya Durmand began her service to the crown as a common soldier at the age of 18, but through persistent service to the populace beyond her duties as a soldier, she was recognized for excellence and made an officer. As a Captain, her sharp mind began sniffing things out. The investigation that earned her knighting was the shattering of an underground sorcerer's ring, the capture of at least a dozen gathered magic-users, and the elimination of just a few violent resistors, including her father. Her father who had, seemingly without intending to, tipped her off. She used a small, well-organized squad to breach a meeting and take the ring by surprise. That was two years ago. The question of her father's intentions has plagued her since.
NPCs! These two men are part of Stratya's squad, within the larger company she commands.
Army Sergeant Gale McLeary, 34, Male
Appearance
Height: 5’10” Weight: 230 lbs Eye Color: Brown Hair Length/Texture: Short Hair Color: Dark Brown Skin Color: Tanned Facial details: Sturdy, strong features and a seemingly permanent five-o’clock shadow. Distinguishing features: There's a scar across the back of his right hand, and he's got a nice rural Vermillion accent Clothing Preferences: Usually found wearing some amount of armor, he wouldn't be caught dead in anything fancy.
Psychology
Likes: Cap’n’s baked goods, Cap’n’s mead - alas, “she's gone an’ spoiled the cheap stuff f’r t’ men, she ‘as” (she has), a good steak, leave time, the squad, good cover
Dislikes: Open field combat, fine dining, his men having it rough, crossbows
Sexuality: ‘at’s my business, thank ee
Hobbies: Evenin’s at the pub, wood carving, archery
Life Goals/Dreams: Retire quietly with a family
Personality Summary: A gruff but kind man, Gale is a seasoned soldier that survives because of his good judgement and experience, not because he’s a particularly skilled combatant. His focus on keeping his squad alive and coordinated has seen a distinguishingly few number of casualties among his men. That said, he values the lives of his men and himself over an immediate victory.
Background
Current occupation: Army Sergeant
Any past occupations?: Town Guard
Relatives: Thanks to Cap’n, his sisters and nieces and nephews are much safer.
Skills: Archery, whittling, squad coordination
History Summary: His first love was lost to bandits when he was still just a lad. He still thinks about her, sometimes. Perhaps his entry into the guard and then the military is some way of avenging her, even though he’d rather live than fight. He was part of Stratya's squad during the raid two years ago.
Army Lieutenant James Clearwell, 23, Male
Appearance
Height: 5’5” Weight: 130 lbs Eye Color: Green Hair Length/Texture: Slightly long, slicked back Hair Color: Black Skin Color: Fair Facial details: Slender, soft features, slightly tall face Distinguishing features: He wears rectangular glasses Clothing Preferences: James will almost always be found in some variety officer's uniform.
Psychology
Likes: The Captain's baked goods (but he’ll never admit it), a tidy desk, a glass of wine for too much paperwork, classical music, a fine meal, writing and receiving letters Dislikes: The Captain’s drinking habits, poor manners
Sexuality: Private, thank you.
Hobbies: Reading, writing, stargazing
Life Goals/Dreams: Bring prestige to his family
Personality Summary: He’s a man that’s looked up to the nobility since he was small. He wishes to stand among them, someday. He’s jealous of the Captain’s meteoric rise, but he also respects her for it.
Background
Current occupation: Army Lieutenant
Any past occupations?: Student
Relatives: Mother, father, two sister
Skills: Etiquette, logistical and strategic organization, math and forensic science
History Summary: James has had a comfortable, middle-class life in the Sorian capital for most of his life. With some hard work and a scholarship, he was able to gain entry to university and graduate before transitioning into a role in the army, seeking glory and prestige.
History Summary: James has had a comfortable, upper-middle-class experience in the Sorian capital for most of his life. With some hard work and a scholarship, he was able to gain entry to university. Two years ago, Knight Captain Stratya Durmand, Hero of Encia, took him as her squire and, subsequently, stuck him into her personal squad in the army. She told her men she’d be training him to be their lieutenant, and before very long, they’d left the Capital Sorian on an investigation, with himself kept close by her side. She only took her closest men and him with her. The Captain relied on his education heavily during her investigation, and by the time it was over and they’d returned to the capital, he had earned her men’s respect and his position as Stratya Durmand’s officer.
Oh, and a Baron NPC
Baron in Rural Vermillion
Raynor Lancaster, 30, Male
Appearance
Height: 5'7" Weight: 145 lbs Eye Color: Blue Hair Length/Texture: Short and well-kept, straight, smooth, somewhat oily Hair Color: Black Skin Color: Fair Facial details: Gentle but strong features and a shaved mustache and beard. Distinguishing features: His eyes are very blue. Clothing Preferences: Robes and billowy things, though sometimes a nice, crisp suit is good, too.
Psychology
Likes: Fine spirits, quiet, firelight, old lore, plays and theater, anthropology, archeology Dislikes: Electric light, burned things, lost knowledge, too much company
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Hobbies: Reading, star-guided divination, ancient rituals to the Gods, preserving knowledge, sketching
Life Goals/Dreams: He has much to learn and rebuild, after the ruin that visited his family. He had been looking forward to a relaxing life of reading, and had been considering becoming a priest, though how serious that consideration had been is unknown. He must soon consider finding a wife to be an important priority.
Personality Summary: Raynor has become a serious man out of necessity. The rigors of rebuilding the trust in his family his father lost and dealing with staffing issues has drained him of whatever humor he once had. He prefers his time spent alone in the library or in his study, but finds himself often in meetings with his staff.
When he’s not drowning in work and lament, he’s kind and easy-going, he’ll even crack a joke. He’s not a very tidy man, often haphazardly tossing garments onto the floor or some such, though he takes care of his appearance.
Background
Current occupation: Baron
Any past occupations?: None
Relatives: Father, Baron Maximilian Lancaster (Deceased) Step-Mother, Baroness Analise Lancaster (Missing, Wanted) Brother, Lord Donovan Lancaster (Deceased)
Skills: Literature and Lore, wine and mead tasting, delegation, star navigation, acting
History Summary: Before the Kingdom of Caesonia expanded into the region now known as Vermilion, the barbarians that occupied the area around present-day Encia were particularly resilient. Whenever one clan came under attack, with an alarming frequency, another clan would come from a flanking position on the Kingdom’s advancing army. While the Kingdom advanced steadily, engagements were trying. Their strategic coordination was strange and powerful. Their warriors, as well, were particularly formidable among the barbarians in the area. Due to the costly nature of engagements, when the Kingdom received an offer of submission, they took it. The warrior clans asked only to keep their way of life, their culture, and a treaty was struck. The Lancaster Barony is old, old enough that many have forgotten the importance of it.
Up until two years ago, Raynor Lancaster had an easy life to look forward to. Nothing too opulent, like you might find in the capital city, but easy enough. His needs were to be met and he would marry a woman from one of the clansmen elder families, or marry upward, if possible. Two years ago, such ideas were shattered when the then Lieutenant Stratya Durmand shattered his father’s underground sorcerer ring and black market. Raynor was left with many pieces to pick up and put back together.
With his time, the bookish man had read much of the library in his home since childhood. Myths, legends, fiction, non, he’d read much and more in the thousands and thousands of pages. That’s how he noticed something amiss in his town.
It started with the disturbances in 1733, speckled with murders. Stratya, the first child of an elder family and his old friend, had come to him for counsel after the first murder in 1734. Her keen observation and his literary mastery proved useful together, to his surprise. The implications of the things they discovered ran deep into the Barony. It was discovered that Maximilian Lancaster had been keeping things quiet as his own . The problems were routed in 1737.
Knight-Captain of Caesonia Stratya Durmand, 26, Female
Appearance
Height: 5'6" Weight: 160 lbs Eye Color: Brown Hair Length/Texture: Down to her shoulder blades and silky Hair Color: Light Brown Skin Color: Fair Facial details: Tall, round, slender and strong. Like Xena, but rounder. Distinguishing features: Plain but pretty, Stratya can be heard from afar by her thick dialect. Though she dresses to hide them, she has a few scars on her body. A few old cuts on her arms, lots of little ones on the backs of her calloused hands, and one on the left side of her torso, shallow. Clothing Preferences: Nothing very fancy. She often finds herself in uniform, which suits her fine. It doesn't get in the way of her movement, and she doesn’t have to think about fashion. Clothes that are too nice just make her worry she’ll damage them or get them dirty.
Hobbies: Baking, drinking, playing music, training
Life Goals/Dreams: Peace and safety for her people. She's a simple woman, content with simple things. Food in her belly, the sun on her face, people she likes and cares for. A good pint of mead. That's all she really wants, it's just too bad some people won't let things be that simple.
Personality Summary: Stratya is a simple woman with a sharp mind that thinks too much at times, and an appreciation for nice things. She'd love to just lay on a hillside and play her fife or have a drink at the tavern all day, but unfortunately, there's much work to be done. She's fairly easy-going, which can cause people to lower their guard to her, perhaps even to think she’s less capable than she is.
Questions regarding her father have been a specter in her woods since. Whether she could have done something to have come to a different end, to have left him alive. She feels responsible, partly, like she didn't do enough. Like she didn't see things quickly enough. Part of her says she did what she could, part of her says it wasn't enough.
Background
Current occupation: Knight Captain
Any past occupations?: Baker, Town Guard, Soldier
Relatives: Father deceased. Mother, younger brother and two sisters operate the bakery and brewery in the Vermillion region.
Skills: Flute and vocals, cooking and baking, swordplay and brawling, thought and deductive reasoning
History Summary: A young girl in a small farming village worked in her mother's bakery, helping to make the bread and often carrying the bread throughout her village to the various shops and folks that needed it. Her father, a guard for the village and nearby trading town, taught his eldest child, Stratya, the warrior traditions passed down to him from his father, and to him from his mother, and so on into days they had no records for. The day of her first hunt was an important day for her. At just 15, she brought back a whole wild boar for the festival that had been the purpose of her hunt. A very successful hunt. After another year, when she was considered of age by the militia, she enlisted into the town guard. After two years of guard service, Stratya Durmand began her service to the crown as a woman-at-arms for the local Barony’s militia at the age of 18, but through service exceeding her station, she was recognized for excellence and given an officer position. As a Lieutenant, and with the authority such rank gave her, her sharp mind began sniffing things out. The particular event that earned her knighting was the shattering of an underground sorcerer's ring, the capture of about a dozen gathered magic-users, and the elimination of violent resistors, including her father. She used a small, well-organized squad to breach a meeting and take the ring by surprise. That was in 1737. Since then, she's gone from the capital on a major investigation that was, ultimately, a failure, but not without fruit.
Personality Summary expanded History Summary revised Distinguishing Features expanded Clothing Preferences expanded
