Cool, so I've been out of the RP game for a while now, so someone else is more that welcome to jump in to post before I pitch in.
Arkaotic Member
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<Snipped quote by Arkaotic>
wonder how many people have used that picture already lol
I hate looking for character pictures, and it was that or ciel from bloody black butler because couldn't find any other suave looking mofos. Leave me be D:
Name: Alexander Corvus
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Sin: Pride
Personality: Counted among the Nobility of Great Britain, Alexander can often come across as condescending but always prides himself for his formal social niceties. Although like anyone he can fall prey to emotions, he maintains them behind a mask of cool expression, as all things in his life must be controlled. On occasion, some OCD tenencies can be seen if you watch him long enough. Whether that be straightening a crinkle out of his suit or adjusting a book on a shelf, he's never been able to get rid of it.
Fears: Worthlessness, mediocrity.
Biography: Raised as a young Viscount of Great Britain, Alexander grew a genius far excelling his tutors and teachers. Whether this was due to a lack of family involvement in his life as even from a child he knew more of his nanny than he did his father (His mother having passed away during childbirth). Or maybe it was due to his confinement from the outside world apart from structured events that lead to his academic mind. In either case, his intelligence bloomed. From law to commerce, Psychology to Physics. Alexander read textbooks like novels. Eventually not even his father's libraries could contain him. He needed the outside world, he needed to expand beyond these blasted walls and converse with more than gentile, obedient servers and snivelling businessmen. So he packed his bags, grabbed his passport and left for america. None of the staff could physically stop him and his father was, as always, away for business. And so with a near endless credit card and academic record of achievement a little ridiculous, he picked a college and went to see what this land of opportunity would offer, be damned what his father thought when he found out.
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Sin: Pride
Personality: Counted among the Nobility of Great Britain, Alexander can often come across as condescending but always prides himself for his formal social niceties. Although like anyone he can fall prey to emotions, he maintains them behind a mask of cool expression, as all things in his life must be controlled. On occasion, some OCD tenencies can be seen if you watch him long enough. Whether that be straightening a crinkle out of his suit or adjusting a book on a shelf, he's never been able to get rid of it.
Fears: Worthlessness, mediocrity.
Biography: Raised as a young Viscount of Great Britain, Alexander grew a genius far excelling his tutors and teachers. Whether this was due to a lack of family involvement in his life as even from a child he knew more of his nanny than he did his father (His mother having passed away during childbirth). Or maybe it was due to his confinement from the outside world apart from structured events that lead to his academic mind. In either case, his intelligence bloomed. From law to commerce, Psychology to Physics. Alexander read textbooks like novels. Eventually not even his father's libraries could contain him. He needed the outside world, he needed to expand beyond these blasted walls and converse with more than gentile, obedient servers and snivelling businessmen. So he packed his bags, grabbed his passport and left for america. None of the staff could physically stop him and his father was, as always, away for business. And so with a near endless credit card and academic record of achievement a little ridiculous, he picked a college and went to see what this land of opportunity would offer, be damned what his father thought when he found out.
Name: Alexander Corvus
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Sin: Pride
Personality: Counted among the Nobility of Great Britain, Alexander can often come across as condescending but always prides himself for his formal social niceties. Although like anyone he can fall prey to emotions, he maintains them behind a mask of cool expression, as all things in his life must be controlled. On occasion, some OCD tenencies can be seen if you watch him long enough. Whether that be straightening a crinkle out of his suit or adjusting a book on a shelf, he's never been able to get rid of it.
Fears: Worthlessness, mediocrity.
Biography: Raised as a young Viscount of Great Britain, Alexander grew a genius far excelling his tutors and teachers. Whether this was due to a lack of family involvement in his life as even from a child he knew more of his nanny than he did his father (His mother having passed away during childbirth). Or maybe it was due to his confinement from the outside world apart from structured events that lead to his academic mind. In either case, his intelligence bloomed. From law to commerce, Psychology to Physics. Alexander read textbooks like novels. Eventually not even his father's libraries could contain him. He needed the outside world, he needed to expand beyond these blasted walls and converse with more than gentile, obedient servers and snivelling businessmen. So he packed his bags, grabbed his passport and left for america. None of the staff could physically stop him and his father was, as always, away for business. And so with a near endless credit card and academic record of achievement a little ridiculous, he picked a college and went to see what this land of opportunity would offer, be damned what his father thought when he found out.
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Sin: Pride
Personality: Counted among the Nobility of Great Britain, Alexander can often come across as condescending but always prides himself for his formal social niceties. Although like anyone he can fall prey to emotions, he maintains them behind a mask of cool expression, as all things in his life must be controlled. On occasion, some OCD tenencies can be seen if you watch him long enough. Whether that be straightening a crinkle out of his suit or adjusting a book on a shelf, he's never been able to get rid of it.
Fears: Worthlessness, mediocrity.
Biography: Raised as a young Viscount of Great Britain, Alexander grew a genius far excelling his tutors and teachers. Whether this was due to a lack of family involvement in his life as even from a child he knew more of his nanny than he did his father (His mother having passed away during childbirth). Or maybe it was due to his confinement from the outside world apart from structured events that lead to his academic mind. In either case, his intelligence bloomed. From law to commerce, Psychology to Physics. Alexander read textbooks like novels. Eventually not even his father's libraries could contain him. He needed the outside world, he needed to expand beyond these blasted walls and converse with more than gentile, obedient servers and snivelling businessmen. So he packed his bags, grabbed his passport and left for america. None of the staff could physically stop him and his father was, as always, away for business. And so with a near endless credit card and academic record of achievement a little ridiculous, he picked a college and went to see what this land of opportunity would offer, be damned what his father thought when he found out.
If you give me a bit I'll write up something for pride.
Wednesday, Spring 3rd
Mineral Town
3:33am is what the alarm clock read within the small room Sketch had rented the night before at 'Doug's Inn' and as like any other day, it was at 3:33am on the dot that Sketch opened his eyes. His covers were an absolute mess, sprawled around him, half on the floor and he made no effort to fix them before hauling himself from the bed and over to the mirror. The moonlight was enough to catch the reflection of his face in the mirror above the washbasin, both eyes visible as his eyepatch hang from the chair with his clothes. The right eye shone a brilliant violet, almost producing it's own shine rather than reflecting that of the moon's rays whilst the left was dimmed and washed from the scarring that surrounded it. Then began the morning, and perhaps the reason why he gets up so early:
Step 1 - Splash the face and dry after playing with the tabs for an unhealthy amount of time.
Step 2 - Watch the water swirl down the drain and contemplate it's journey for an equally odd amount of time.
Step 3 - Brush his teeth for the approximate time it would take for a dentist to whiten each individual tooth of a great white shark to the point of blinding you before death.
Step 4 - Wash brush/mouth and repeat step 2.
Step 5, Shower, scrub self clean for the approximate time and muscle power it would take to grind down a kilo block of hard cheese (There should be at least 3 layers of skin removed).
Step 6 - Repeat step two and dry.
Step 7 - Don clothing and eyepatch, readjust tie approximately 12 times leaving it a mess, fiddle with buttons of vest for an equal if not greater amount of attempts, Tie cloth strips around upper arms.
Step 8 - Contemplate insanity by window, continue until snapped back to reality.
By the time that all this was done, the sunrise was in full effect around 7-8am when his neighbours within the inn started stirring. Finally ready for the day, Sketch grabbed his notebook and assorted gear before heading off to the Rose Plaza, from which he was told was the centre of life in the area. Whilst walking he heard the notable lack of jingle from the remaining coins in his pocket and pondered how much longer he'd last without selling something. This sort of thought never bothered him at all, he'd never starved for too long before and preferred to draw when he felt like it rather than because he needed something. Plus the thing is, when you're on the move there isn't really all that much you can by that will come with you so basic day to day monetary demands are limited in themselves. Nature always provides, The thought crossed his mind as he walked along the path on the way to the plaza, passing many plants before coming to one with an edible and really not that bad tasting root. His crocked smile found it's place and he nommed the root, watching the sky as he walked.
Before he new it, he was in the centre of the Rose Plaza, Mineral town. He glanced around, taking in the world around him; the people and places all the while wondering how long it took him to get there with his head up in the clouds. Meaningless time to silver in the sky, inspiration hit Sketch like an explosion of enlightenment as the thought drifted through his lofty mind. With the idea situated perfectly in his head, remembering the view from having almost been pushed over last night and the view of the sky earlier, he ran up to the nearest tree he could find. Anyone watching would definitely have had an interesting moment in their day to watch the one eyed boy swing himself, perfectly fluid in each motion, up into the tree and to then hang upside down from it within moments. From there, as he watched the world flip and the ground become the sky and the clouds become the platforms for the people to walk about; he drew. The people walked upon the silver clouds and sat among the treetops that hung like chandeliers from their solid roof, they conversed upside-down with storeowners, offering goods and money between the two perspectives. All these things came to life with a piece of charcoal in his hand, strokes guided almost by the gently humming as he worked.
Whilst a new 2D world took shape, woven from the mind and bound to paper, a few other pieces of his art rested at the bottom of the tree on showcase for the passes by. Among these were the artwork of the previous nights party at the Blue bar as well as a few pieces from the other places he had travelled. One portrayed a single leaf with an intricate city burnt into it, another was a wolf cowering before a mouse. Each of the pieces were realistic and precise as could be and yet contained a shade of otherworldliness about them.
Mineral Town
3:33am is what the alarm clock read within the small room Sketch had rented the night before at 'Doug's Inn' and as like any other day, it was at 3:33am on the dot that Sketch opened his eyes. His covers were an absolute mess, sprawled around him, half on the floor and he made no effort to fix them before hauling himself from the bed and over to the mirror. The moonlight was enough to catch the reflection of his face in the mirror above the washbasin, both eyes visible as his eyepatch hang from the chair with his clothes. The right eye shone a brilliant violet, almost producing it's own shine rather than reflecting that of the moon's rays whilst the left was dimmed and washed from the scarring that surrounded it. Then began the morning, and perhaps the reason why he gets up so early:
Step 1 - Splash the face and dry after playing with the tabs for an unhealthy amount of time.
Step 2 - Watch the water swirl down the drain and contemplate it's journey for an equally odd amount of time.
Step 3 - Brush his teeth for the approximate time it would take for a dentist to whiten each individual tooth of a great white shark to the point of blinding you before death.
Step 4 - Wash brush/mouth and repeat step 2.
Step 5, Shower, scrub self clean for the approximate time and muscle power it would take to grind down a kilo block of hard cheese (There should be at least 3 layers of skin removed).
Step 6 - Repeat step two and dry.
Step 7 - Don clothing and eyepatch, readjust tie approximately 12 times leaving it a mess, fiddle with buttons of vest for an equal if not greater amount of attempts, Tie cloth strips around upper arms.
Step 8 - Contemplate insanity by window, continue until snapped back to reality.
By the time that all this was done, the sunrise was in full effect around 7-8am when his neighbours within the inn started stirring. Finally ready for the day, Sketch grabbed his notebook and assorted gear before heading off to the Rose Plaza, from which he was told was the centre of life in the area. Whilst walking he heard the notable lack of jingle from the remaining coins in his pocket and pondered how much longer he'd last without selling something. This sort of thought never bothered him at all, he'd never starved for too long before and preferred to draw when he felt like it rather than because he needed something. Plus the thing is, when you're on the move there isn't really all that much you can by that will come with you so basic day to day monetary demands are limited in themselves. Nature always provides, The thought crossed his mind as he walked along the path on the way to the plaza, passing many plants before coming to one with an edible and really not that bad tasting root. His crocked smile found it's place and he nommed the root, watching the sky as he walked.
Before he new it, he was in the centre of the Rose Plaza, Mineral town. He glanced around, taking in the world around him; the people and places all the while wondering how long it took him to get there with his head up in the clouds. Meaningless time to silver in the sky, inspiration hit Sketch like an explosion of enlightenment as the thought drifted through his lofty mind. With the idea situated perfectly in his head, remembering the view from having almost been pushed over last night and the view of the sky earlier, he ran up to the nearest tree he could find. Anyone watching would definitely have had an interesting moment in their day to watch the one eyed boy swing himself, perfectly fluid in each motion, up into the tree and to then hang upside down from it within moments. From there, as he watched the world flip and the ground become the sky and the clouds become the platforms for the people to walk about; he drew. The people walked upon the silver clouds and sat among the treetops that hung like chandeliers from their solid roof, they conversed upside-down with storeowners, offering goods and money between the two perspectives. All these things came to life with a piece of charcoal in his hand, strokes guided almost by the gently humming as he worked.
Whilst a new 2D world took shape, woven from the mind and bound to paper, a few other pieces of his art rested at the bottom of the tree on showcase for the passes by. Among these were the artwork of the previous nights party at the Blue bar as well as a few pieces from the other places he had travelled. One portrayed a single leaf with an intricate city burnt into it, another was a wolf cowering before a mouse. Each of the pieces were realistic and precise as could be and yet contained a shade of otherworldliness about them.
Well the charge has been made, suppose it's time to follow suite.
Damnit now I have to think, such commitment ,_,
Damnit now I have to think, such commitment ,_,
I'd have to say I've never played a Harvest Moon game ,_,
Also, Anomaly, Our chars really should meet at some point.. I think it would be interesting. And I haven't been added to the members list, sad face.
Also, Anomaly, Our chars really should meet at some point.. I think it would be interesting. And I haven't been added to the members list, sad face.
Tuesday, Spring 2nd
Forget-Me-Not Valley
Now that the ground has stopped freezing, the crops we can start receiving. And to that I say it's Winter that we will not be missing!
I could not be more obvious that Clara had been drinking If there had been neon signs directed at Clara's mug saying that it probably wasn't the first and in fact most of said mug's contents were already coursing through her blood, and this wasn't at all lost by Sketch. A faint tug at his lips produced what could possibly be labeled as the beginnings of a smile at her verse like reply and he was near regretting not having chosen to draw them all with their mugs in the air. To the grin she offered he returned the same faint tug of his lips as earlier before she disappeared into the mass of patrons who, as most crowds have the strange ability to do, had organised themselves without communication into dance partners and proceeded to do just that; dance.
Luckily for him, sketch was leaning by the same wall he had been since entering the establishment and so was not swept up in the human tide of dancers and alcohol. On the other end of the scale, this was a rather large group of people and that had always been a bit difficult for him. Not difficult in a freak out sort of way, simply that because there is so much going on, he tends to get lost in it. And that much was happening as the dance continued around him, the single visible violet eye drifted over the masses, seeing untold things as the music washed over him. Every now and again he would catch a glance of Clara as she danced merrily with the other patrons and each time he did he took note of different aspects of her: the blonde hair, the amber eyes. As he watched, he sketched the finer details to finish the piece.
At some point during the festivities, as he was losing himself in the moment, he was suddenly brought back to reality when something or someone fell into him. Fortunately he had the wall there to support him, unfortunately that's not the direction he was pushed. Instead he almost fell into a table, just managing to balance himself at a near perfect horizontal angle on the one leg and pull himself back up into a standing position. Funny how the world looks different from that way, the thought played through his mind as he checked his art book. A small frown starting moving across his features as he noticed that some whisky has been spilt across the drawing of the bar and it's occupants before it changed into something near thoughtful as he traced his finger through the amber liquid and used it to blur and swirl the charcoal drawing. The whisky changed the scene so the music was tangible and blurred most of the features of the occupants, leaving their faces to echo the happiness of the place without form. He decided to leave the pied piper girl. All this he did in a few swirls before popping the whisky soaked finger in his mouth to clean before looking up to see who had bumped him. From the look on her face she hadn't at all realised it was him that she bumped into and he'd obviously just missed something she said.
Yeah sorry about knocking you there; The dance is just a bit... Yeah...
Sketch blinked a few times like a deer stuck between headlights before removing the finger from his mouth. "..Yes, people but not people, all as one big thing not thinking.. Bound to bustle some into some others", he offered her a crooked smile this time rather than the tiny version from before, it even lit up his violet eye as he looked down at her. After a moments pause and thought he spoke again, "Peaches or Pears?".
Forget-Me-Not Valley
Now that the ground has stopped freezing, the crops we can start receiving. And to that I say it's Winter that we will not be missing!
I could not be more obvious that Clara had been drinking If there had been neon signs directed at Clara's mug saying that it probably wasn't the first and in fact most of said mug's contents were already coursing through her blood, and this wasn't at all lost by Sketch. A faint tug at his lips produced what could possibly be labeled as the beginnings of a smile at her verse like reply and he was near regretting not having chosen to draw them all with their mugs in the air. To the grin she offered he returned the same faint tug of his lips as earlier before she disappeared into the mass of patrons who, as most crowds have the strange ability to do, had organised themselves without communication into dance partners and proceeded to do just that; dance.
Luckily for him, sketch was leaning by the same wall he had been since entering the establishment and so was not swept up in the human tide of dancers and alcohol. On the other end of the scale, this was a rather large group of people and that had always been a bit difficult for him. Not difficult in a freak out sort of way, simply that because there is so much going on, he tends to get lost in it. And that much was happening as the dance continued around him, the single visible violet eye drifted over the masses, seeing untold things as the music washed over him. Every now and again he would catch a glance of Clara as she danced merrily with the other patrons and each time he did he took note of different aspects of her: the blonde hair, the amber eyes. As he watched, he sketched the finer details to finish the piece.
At some point during the festivities, as he was losing himself in the moment, he was suddenly brought back to reality when something or someone fell into him. Fortunately he had the wall there to support him, unfortunately that's not the direction he was pushed. Instead he almost fell into a table, just managing to balance himself at a near perfect horizontal angle on the one leg and pull himself back up into a standing position. Funny how the world looks different from that way, the thought played through his mind as he checked his art book. A small frown starting moving across his features as he noticed that some whisky has been spilt across the drawing of the bar and it's occupants before it changed into something near thoughtful as he traced his finger through the amber liquid and used it to blur and swirl the charcoal drawing. The whisky changed the scene so the music was tangible and blurred most of the features of the occupants, leaving their faces to echo the happiness of the place without form. He decided to leave the pied piper girl. All this he did in a few swirls before popping the whisky soaked finger in his mouth to clean before looking up to see who had bumped him. From the look on her face she hadn't at all realised it was him that she bumped into and he'd obviously just missed something she said.
Yeah sorry about knocking you there; The dance is just a bit... Yeah...
Sketch blinked a few times like a deer stuck between headlights before removing the finger from his mouth. "..Yes, people but not people, all as one big thing not thinking.. Bound to bustle some into some others", he offered her a crooked smile this time rather than the tiny version from before, it even lit up his violet eye as he looked down at her. After a moments pause and thought he spoke again, "Peaches or Pears?".
Tuesday, Spring 2nd
Forget-Me-Not Valley
Another day, another place. Sometimes it all seemed to meld together, the traveling and the day turning to night and the night turning back to day. But here he was, arriving in the next stop on the journey to nowhere: Forget-Me-Not Valley. It wasn't that sketch particularly had planned on this being a stop, in fact he had no idea it would be.. But that's no surprise considering he usually never knew where he was going or why. But that was Sketch, he just.. went. And so with all that, Sketch found himself wandering through town, wondering where on earth his bed would be for the next unknowable measurement of time.
Sound; singing and clapping and cheering. All these things came pouring forth from what he could only assume was a bar, and with too few coins in his pocket and a bed not yet found he could think of no finer or suitable place for him to be. With all the bustle and motion, it seemed a squeeze to get through the door. In fact it took several bumps and haphazard apologies, comments and quips to find himself a spot of wall to lean against so that he could watch the events before him unfold. The man made music consumed him, pulsing through his mind as he scanned the world around him. These people were his new neighbours, mostly farmers and small towns folk to fit this small town it seemed. He could see them, all bits and pieces of them moving around and making a cheery mess, like some story book tavern he thought.
But of course, for all the motion and all the sound there was no possible way to miss the girl dancing upon her makeshift stage. With a slight tilt of the head, Sketch watched her dance about and lead the masses into a song of nothingness, simply of the emotions of the scene. It was perfect, how on earth could he not take the opportunity. And so within a flash it was that his old tattered sketchbook lay open in his hand and the graphite set to page. The world out there and the world he saw met as his hand flew across the page, sketching out the patrons in an almost mystical way. Things were slightly different, different accents and changed proportions. A man who was for all purposes quick average became a pot bellied dwarfish looking man of great mirth and so it was for many of the characters and the bar itself was transformed, different carvings in the woodwork as physical manifestations of the music itself and the lovely girl's stage made anew. And for the leader of this merry bunch little much was changed, but for the slightest of enchanting touches for she was nothing if not some mystic creature to capture the crowd. All the while his eye danced around the bar and from his lips without a thought came a call to join the waves of sound around him, "What say you pied piper to the winters sleepy passing?".
Forget-Me-Not Valley
Another day, another place. Sometimes it all seemed to meld together, the traveling and the day turning to night and the night turning back to day. But here he was, arriving in the next stop on the journey to nowhere: Forget-Me-Not Valley. It wasn't that sketch particularly had planned on this being a stop, in fact he had no idea it would be.. But that's no surprise considering he usually never knew where he was going or why. But that was Sketch, he just.. went. And so with all that, Sketch found himself wandering through town, wondering where on earth his bed would be for the next unknowable measurement of time.
Sound; singing and clapping and cheering. All these things came pouring forth from what he could only assume was a bar, and with too few coins in his pocket and a bed not yet found he could think of no finer or suitable place for him to be. With all the bustle and motion, it seemed a squeeze to get through the door. In fact it took several bumps and haphazard apologies, comments and quips to find himself a spot of wall to lean against so that he could watch the events before him unfold. The man made music consumed him, pulsing through his mind as he scanned the world around him. These people were his new neighbours, mostly farmers and small towns folk to fit this small town it seemed. He could see them, all bits and pieces of them moving around and making a cheery mess, like some story book tavern he thought.
But of course, for all the motion and all the sound there was no possible way to miss the girl dancing upon her makeshift stage. With a slight tilt of the head, Sketch watched her dance about and lead the masses into a song of nothingness, simply of the emotions of the scene. It was perfect, how on earth could he not take the opportunity. And so within a flash it was that his old tattered sketchbook lay open in his hand and the graphite set to page. The world out there and the world he saw met as his hand flew across the page, sketching out the patrons in an almost mystical way. Things were slightly different, different accents and changed proportions. A man who was for all purposes quick average became a pot bellied dwarfish looking man of great mirth and so it was for many of the characters and the bar itself was transformed, different carvings in the woodwork as physical manifestations of the music itself and the lovely girl's stage made anew. And for the leader of this merry bunch little much was changed, but for the slightest of enchanting touches for she was nothing if not some mystic creature to capture the crowd. All the while his eye danced around the bar and from his lips without a thought came a call to join the waves of sound around him, "What say you pied piper to the winters sleepy passing?".
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