sorry for taking so long! i only made minor edits (mostly just cutting stuff that was prompted by other characters and changing jen's name :P). i'll try to be more diligent in the future, but i know you've been pretty busy so hopefully the wait wasn't too bad. still, i'm embarrassed to have taken so long on a post that was pretty much copy-paste.
Bad Weather Member
STATUS: I need to stop getting distracted... 9 yrs ago
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I need to stop getting distracted...
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9 yrs ago
Been playing MGSV a ton, sorry for slowness.
Bio
avatar from here
I'm Mack, I'm agender and I like advanced roleplay.
My favorite setting is Thedas (the setting of the Dragon Age games), but I also like original fantasy settings, especially with magic involved. I also like modern/urban fantasy. I'm a fan of romance side-plots because I'm a huge sap, but they are not my focus.
I'm used to 500-800+ words per post, but I am flexible and do not mind playing with people who post less than that. As long as my character has got something to respond to, I'm fine.
I prefer roleplaying in small groups with emphasis on interpersonal relationships and character growth.
I'm Mack, I'm agender and I like advanced roleplay.
My favorite setting is Thedas (the setting of the Dragon Age games), but I also like original fantasy settings, especially with magic involved. I also like modern/urban fantasy. I'm a fan of romance side-plots because I'm a huge sap, but they are not my focus.
I'm used to 500-800+ words per post, but I am flexible and do not mind playing with people who post less than that. As long as my character has got something to respond to, I'm fine.
I prefer roleplaying in small groups with emphasis on interpersonal relationships and character growth.
Most Recent Posts
It was usual for Ronan to take up the rear whenever the freshly anointed Wardens traveled together as a group. He was not particularly active in their conversations, and he told himself that this was for the benefit of all parties involved. Of the two others he traveled with, it seemed to him that he was the only one with a dark stain on his past. Compared to the other Wardens- a potion maker and a scholar- it was easy to feel out of place. He was still unsure why Nelwa had taken an interest in him, but, rubbing his throat thoughtfully, he was glad she did. And now Berick, their mother hen for the past two weeks, had left them.
The first to speak was Sasha (he had gradually been getting the hang of their names), the scholar. "It's filthy here."
Ronan snorted, but cut his laugh there and kept his words to himself. He'd been around the noble crowd enough to know how much dirt affected them, especially when clothes were involved. He wondered what the woman thought of him, a Chasind born in and rather comfortable with the mire. Dust seemed the least of their problems. Jen warned them of thieves, and somehow Ronan doubted they'd be much of a problem to him. He carried very little on him, and he was especially barren of valuables since his visit to prison. Nevertheless he touched his fingertips to the knife in his belt, reassured by its presence. As long as nobody stole his longbow, he'd be fine. The small group discussed the Request Wall, and though Ronan did not contribute, he nodded in affirmation. He was on board with assisting the people of Redcliffe. Aside from the obvious reasons, Ronan was glad to be a Warden because it meant doing something worthwhile, something productive. It felt good.
So they headed toward the tavern. Ronan took his lead from Jen, the only person so far he knew of that had been here before. Redcliffe Village itself was mystery to Ronan, as was most of the northern reaches of the Olivine Kingdom.
"There it is," said Jen, and Ronan eyed the tavern uncertainly. "Watch out. Their ale may be good but it's not worth it when it's served by thieves." This produced a genuine laugh from Ronan, which were always eerily bright coming from him.
"The ale must not be that good if they resorted to thieving," he remarked. The Emerald Warden must have really liked those boots.
He trudged up the hill behind the others, stopping only momentarily to whistle for his Taillow (who quickly flew in to roost in the eaves of the tavern) before heading into the building. His stomach grumbled when confronted with the smell of cooking meat, reminding him that he had not eaten in many hours. He held the hunger at bay, for now, to check the papers on the wall. Upon seeing the request from the Redcliffe woman who'd lost her child, he felt a sharp pang of sympathy. Miscarriages had been common in his Chasind village, the harsh lifestyle took its toll on all who lived in the Wilds. The chef's request seemed appropriate to his skills as a hunter, should the man require meats. Though he would rather visit the grieving mother first, he kept the chef's mission in his mind.
Sasha suggested they get something to eat before evaluating the missions. He followed the other Wardens to their table but did not take a seat, instead standing at the head of the table.
"I'll get the food." He rubbed his nose and refused to make direct eye contact with those he was speaking to. "Wha' you all want?" He was thinking some bread, pork and beans for himself really, but he doubted the others (especially the noble scholar) would want to dine on the food of the lower classes. "Though I don't have the coin to pay for it all," he said, shaking a pitifully empty coinpurse for emphasis. "So pay up."
The first to speak was Sasha (he had gradually been getting the hang of their names), the scholar. "It's filthy here."
Ronan snorted, but cut his laugh there and kept his words to himself. He'd been around the noble crowd enough to know how much dirt affected them, especially when clothes were involved. He wondered what the woman thought of him, a Chasind born in and rather comfortable with the mire. Dust seemed the least of their problems. Jen warned them of thieves, and somehow Ronan doubted they'd be much of a problem to him. He carried very little on him, and he was especially barren of valuables since his visit to prison. Nevertheless he touched his fingertips to the knife in his belt, reassured by its presence. As long as nobody stole his longbow, he'd be fine. The small group discussed the Request Wall, and though Ronan did not contribute, he nodded in affirmation. He was on board with assisting the people of Redcliffe. Aside from the obvious reasons, Ronan was glad to be a Warden because it meant doing something worthwhile, something productive. It felt good.
So they headed toward the tavern. Ronan took his lead from Jen, the only person so far he knew of that had been here before. Redcliffe Village itself was mystery to Ronan, as was most of the northern reaches of the Olivine Kingdom.
"There it is," said Jen, and Ronan eyed the tavern uncertainly. "Watch out. Their ale may be good but it's not worth it when it's served by thieves." This produced a genuine laugh from Ronan, which were always eerily bright coming from him.
"The ale must not be that good if they resorted to thieving," he remarked. The Emerald Warden must have really liked those boots.
He trudged up the hill behind the others, stopping only momentarily to whistle for his Taillow (who quickly flew in to roost in the eaves of the tavern) before heading into the building. His stomach grumbled when confronted with the smell of cooking meat, reminding him that he had not eaten in many hours. He held the hunger at bay, for now, to check the papers on the wall. Upon seeing the request from the Redcliffe woman who'd lost her child, he felt a sharp pang of sympathy. Miscarriages had been common in his Chasind village, the harsh lifestyle took its toll on all who lived in the Wilds. The chef's request seemed appropriate to his skills as a hunter, should the man require meats. Though he would rather visit the grieving mother first, he kept the chef's mission in his mind.
Sasha suggested they get something to eat before evaluating the missions. He followed the other Wardens to their table but did not take a seat, instead standing at the head of the table.
"I'll get the food." He rubbed his nose and refused to make direct eye contact with those he was speaking to. "Wha' you all want?" He was thinking some bread, pork and beans for himself really, but he doubted the others (especially the noble scholar) would want to dine on the food of the lower classes. "Though I don't have the coin to pay for it all," he said, shaking a pitifully empty coinpurse for emphasis. "So pay up."
argh sorry i have been away! i'll get working on a post today or tomorrow...
its totally fine re: freya not noticing aster. i didn't think everyone would notice him throwing a fit in the corner :P i figured he would probably eavesdrop (i mean its a clearing and theres two interesting adventure-looking people and then a goat boy. how is he not gonna listen to that conversation) and then be like "my, what a curious bunch, i must acquaint with you immediately."
... does yandle know what he's gotten himself into by approaching?
its totally fine re: freya not noticing aster. i didn't think everyone would notice him throwing a fit in the corner :P i figured he would probably eavesdrop (i mean its a clearing and theres two interesting adventure-looking people and then a goat boy. how is he not gonna listen to that conversation) and then be like "my, what a curious bunch, i must acquaint with you immediately."
... does yandle know what he's gotten himself into by approaching?
no prollem! we kept ourselves entertained. <:
Okay, I wasn't sure if we were posting in the same order so I was waiting for smoke to get their post up. I'll get the intro up in the next couple days, then. <: My SO finally finished the new metal gear game which means its MY TURN!
aster is just... 
(is that me making a face at aster or using that emoticon to describe him? you decide!) he's gonna be fun to play. gonna get on a lot of nerves. he's insufferable but i feel kinda bad for him because he doesn't mean to be. he's just naturally annoying .
this is making me wonder about regional accents. what does everyone sound like? cause i just imagine everyone speaking "neutral" northwest american english because that's the kind i speak and it is considered the "unaccented english". but im certain that's not accurate.
(is that me making a face at aster or using that emoticon to describe him? you decide!) he's gonna be fun to play. gonna get on a lot of nerves. he's insufferable but i feel kinda bad for him because he doesn't mean to be. he's just naturally annoying .this is making me wonder about regional accents. what does everyone sound like? cause i just imagine everyone speaking "neutral" northwest american english because that's the kind i speak and it is considered the "unaccented english". but im certain that's not accurate.
"oh lamentable fates, what have i done to forsake thee, nyaa" yknow, it sorta fits, in a horrifying way.
where's that shakespeare quote where romeo says "my nyas?" it seems appropriate. also the fact that im comparing romeo to astrophel would make astrophel feel very happy, if he knew who romeo was. he loves that drama stuff
where's that shakespeare quote where romeo says "my nyas?" it seems appropriate. also the fact that im comparing romeo to astrophel would make astrophel feel very happy, if he knew who romeo was. he loves that drama stuff
luckily she doesn't need tape! all you have to do is say "hey aster! shut your trap!" and he'll just be like "oh. :(" and drift into sad, thoughtful silence
i tried to think of something to keep the monster joke running but i'm not that clever.
writing dialogue for astrophel is so extra. i usually write normal person speech and then when i go back and edit i'm like "okay, how do i make this sound as pretentious as possible"
writing dialogue for astrophel is so extra. i usually write normal person speech and then when i go back and edit i'm like "okay, how do i make this sound as pretentious as possible"
Astrophel arrived at the Stone of the Nine for the fourth time in his life. Ignoring the glade's other occupants, he slumped to the ground, the short cloak on his back rustling as he fell through the air onto his knees. His face was twisted with despair and exhaustion, his copper-penny hair strewn about his face, sticking with sweat. Sniffling, he slid the straps of his pack off one shoulder at a time, movements limp and drawn out. Scathing, self-directed admonishing thoughts crossed his mind, You worthless fool, you tarnished man...
The first had been some years ago, when he had first taken up wandering, which was all his extremely mild "adventuring" could really be called. He had been with only one other then, Paulson, a thick-skinned warrior type, raring for battle. It had been his longest partnership, lasting slightly over a year before Paulson's tragic death. Aster had almost gone back to Essia then, to be with his grandparents. On the trip home, just miles from Essia, he was mugged, left with no money and a fresh stab wound. And so in the time spent recuperating he decided that Essia was hardly safer than out on the road, and much less entertaining.
The second occasion had been a week past, when his new group of four (to whom he had grown quite attached in the past few months) arrived in Oakheim. His group had consisted of Archer, who was, ironically, a terrible shot with a bow, but gifted with a sword and their voice of reason; Stone, a grim beastkin woman operating under an obvious pseudonym; and Laurel, Archer's amicable teenage daughter. Upon arrival, Archer and Stone headed to the inn to secure their rooms for the night, and Laurel, knowing Aster had been in Oakheim before, begged the man to take her to the Stone of the Nine. There they met another Mage adventurer, Marten, and got along handsomely. Marten returned to the inn with them, received warmly from Archer, and as warm as one could expect from Stone.
The third had been early this morning, just as the sun was rising. Astrophel had gone ahead to wait for the group, at the behest of Archer. Abashed by his intoxicated behavior the night before, he paced anxiously. It was to be their last night in Oakheim before moving on, and Aster had said some embarrassing things to their dedicated leader, who he had always thought was quite breathtaking. The next morning had been filled with uncomfortable silence, as Astrophel floundered, unsure if he should apologize or pretend it had never happened at all. It did not help that he already had the sneaking suspicion that they were getting sick of him, and with Marten in their group now, he wondered if there was room for two mages.
He waited for hours, with still no sign of their approach. Aster walked up and down, along the path leading into the glade, perking up every time he heard the sound of dirt path underfoot. In a sick way, he hoped that something awful had happened to them. This dance was not unfamiliar to him. Though he hid it by clinging to optimism, he knew the signs. Oakheim was a safe town, with no end of passing travelers. It was the perfect place to leave someone behind, absolved of guilt for knowing that you were not putting them in danger. Still, it pained him every time, this abandonment. He had left groups of his own volition in the past, but his constant ache for companionship meant that more often than not, he clung to whatever group would have him. He grew tired of waiting. The inn was still there when he returned, and busy with activity, but he saw no familiar faces.
"Pardon me," he'd said, approaching the bar. The woman behind the bar's eyes betrayed no acquaintance with his face. "Have you perhaps seen my travelling companions? They would be with a man this tall-" He gestured, hand at chest-height, "Raven hair, close-cut beard..." The woman stared, clueless.
Aster went on, hopefully, "... A woman of lizard-like countenance?" The bartender's eyes had lit up with recognition, and for a moment Astrophel was sure that the woman would give him a proper explanation for his friends' disappearance.
"That lot left some time ago, I'm afraid."
His stomach began to sink. "How long ago did they leave?"
"Oh, this mornin', I'd say. Just shortly after sunrise." Aster was positively heartbroken.
He flapped his jaw uselessly for a few moments before the words came to him. "Many thanks, my good woman. Splendid day to you." The day did not feel splendid in the slightest, but he had nothing if not good manners.
And then he left. No longer sure of his next course of action, he headed back to the Stone of the Nine. By now it was midday, and sweat trickled uncomfortably down the small of his back, but he was too preoccupied with his emotional distress to pay it any mind. Unbidden, tears welled in his eyes. He hastily brushed them away. His head was abuzz, feet on autopilot. His hands tightened desperately around the straps of his pack, knuckles whitened from the strain.
Oh, cruel Fate, he lamented, where did I go wrong? Surely, Archer knows my folly, he must know how drinking transforms me...? He could not believe that last night's actions alone had caused the group to leave him. Reaching as far back in his mind, he scoured his memories with the group for some sign that their hearts had begun to turn against him. There had been a lingering suspicion for some time, but Aster had hoped it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He was forced to confront that he may have been right all along, and that he was only worth his meager magical ability to them. Even sweet Laurel, like the little sister he'd never had... Did she ask about me? Did they lie to her, tell her that I'd wanted to leave? Or, and the thought made his heart clench awfully in his chest, did she want me gone too?
He found himself back at the Stone, where some people had already gathered. A large bovine woman, and a very small human. He registered their presence but was, at the moment, ready to collapse into a sobbing heap. Fortunately, he did not do that, but instead fell to his knees as if he had just completed an arduous journey. He removed his pack, where his shoulders were beginning to smart, and settled his back against a tree. Parched, he reached into the pack for his water canteen, and drank deeply. He closed his eyes, covering his face with a hand, and tilted his head back so that it rested against the trunk. Eldra's wounds... he thought. Whatever shall I do now?
The first had been some years ago, when he had first taken up wandering, which was all his extremely mild "adventuring" could really be called. He had been with only one other then, Paulson, a thick-skinned warrior type, raring for battle. It had been his longest partnership, lasting slightly over a year before Paulson's tragic death. Aster had almost gone back to Essia then, to be with his grandparents. On the trip home, just miles from Essia, he was mugged, left with no money and a fresh stab wound. And so in the time spent recuperating he decided that Essia was hardly safer than out on the road, and much less entertaining.
The second occasion had been a week past, when his new group of four (to whom he had grown quite attached in the past few months) arrived in Oakheim. His group had consisted of Archer, who was, ironically, a terrible shot with a bow, but gifted with a sword and their voice of reason; Stone, a grim beastkin woman operating under an obvious pseudonym; and Laurel, Archer's amicable teenage daughter. Upon arrival, Archer and Stone headed to the inn to secure their rooms for the night, and Laurel, knowing Aster had been in Oakheim before, begged the man to take her to the Stone of the Nine. There they met another Mage adventurer, Marten, and got along handsomely. Marten returned to the inn with them, received warmly from Archer, and as warm as one could expect from Stone.
The third had been early this morning, just as the sun was rising. Astrophel had gone ahead to wait for the group, at the behest of Archer. Abashed by his intoxicated behavior the night before, he paced anxiously. It was to be their last night in Oakheim before moving on, and Aster had said some embarrassing things to their dedicated leader, who he had always thought was quite breathtaking. The next morning had been filled with uncomfortable silence, as Astrophel floundered, unsure if he should apologize or pretend it had never happened at all. It did not help that he already had the sneaking suspicion that they were getting sick of him, and with Marten in their group now, he wondered if there was room for two mages.
He waited for hours, with still no sign of their approach. Aster walked up and down, along the path leading into the glade, perking up every time he heard the sound of dirt path underfoot. In a sick way, he hoped that something awful had happened to them. This dance was not unfamiliar to him. Though he hid it by clinging to optimism, he knew the signs. Oakheim was a safe town, with no end of passing travelers. It was the perfect place to leave someone behind, absolved of guilt for knowing that you were not putting them in danger. Still, it pained him every time, this abandonment. He had left groups of his own volition in the past, but his constant ache for companionship meant that more often than not, he clung to whatever group would have him. He grew tired of waiting. The inn was still there when he returned, and busy with activity, but he saw no familiar faces.
"Pardon me," he'd said, approaching the bar. The woman behind the bar's eyes betrayed no acquaintance with his face. "Have you perhaps seen my travelling companions? They would be with a man this tall-" He gestured, hand at chest-height, "Raven hair, close-cut beard..." The woman stared, clueless.
Aster went on, hopefully, "... A woman of lizard-like countenance?" The bartender's eyes had lit up with recognition, and for a moment Astrophel was sure that the woman would give him a proper explanation for his friends' disappearance.
"That lot left some time ago, I'm afraid."
His stomach began to sink. "How long ago did they leave?"
"Oh, this mornin', I'd say. Just shortly after sunrise." Aster was positively heartbroken.
He flapped his jaw uselessly for a few moments before the words came to him. "Many thanks, my good woman. Splendid day to you." The day did not feel splendid in the slightest, but he had nothing if not good manners.
And then he left. No longer sure of his next course of action, he headed back to the Stone of the Nine. By now it was midday, and sweat trickled uncomfortably down the small of his back, but he was too preoccupied with his emotional distress to pay it any mind. Unbidden, tears welled in his eyes. He hastily brushed them away. His head was abuzz, feet on autopilot. His hands tightened desperately around the straps of his pack, knuckles whitened from the strain.
Oh, cruel Fate, he lamented, where did I go wrong? Surely, Archer knows my folly, he must know how drinking transforms me...? He could not believe that last night's actions alone had caused the group to leave him. Reaching as far back in his mind, he scoured his memories with the group for some sign that their hearts had begun to turn against him. There had been a lingering suspicion for some time, but Aster had hoped it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He was forced to confront that he may have been right all along, and that he was only worth his meager magical ability to them. Even sweet Laurel, like the little sister he'd never had... Did she ask about me? Did they lie to her, tell her that I'd wanted to leave? Or, and the thought made his heart clench awfully in his chest, did she want me gone too?
He found himself back at the Stone, where some people had already gathered. A large bovine woman, and a very small human. He registered their presence but was, at the moment, ready to collapse into a sobbing heap. Fortunately, he did not do that, but instead fell to his knees as if he had just completed an arduous journey. He removed his pack, where his shoulders were beginning to smart, and settled his back against a tree. Parched, he reached into the pack for his water canteen, and drank deeply. He closed his eyes, covering his face with a hand, and tilted his head back so that it rested against the trunk. Eldra's wounds... he thought. Whatever shall I do now?
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