We're also missing our medic.
BartlebyWhale Member
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- BartlebyWhale 10 yrs ago
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Ha ha, nah.
I'd rewrite it now to include her, but that's too detailed a change for me to attempt now, having had a wee bit of an after-dinner drink. Instead, I'll assume their arrivals happened concurrently, with Avelina touching down just before I reach Sonne.
EDIT:
I edited my introductory post to account for Capt. ver Niklos and Angel's arrival, as well as to correct a stupidly glaring oversight on my part where I assumed the two ships were tethered in the air rather than on the ground. And while I was there my inner editor forced me to make a few more cosmetic changes. Like when I changed the old woman's bushel of fresh vegetables to a basket of salt fish because I thought it would be funnier. Sorry. I'm tired and weird like that.
I'd rewrite it now to include her, but that's too detailed a change for me to attempt now, having had a wee bit of an after-dinner drink. Instead, I'll assume their arrivals happened concurrently, with Avelina touching down just before I reach Sonne.
EDIT:
I edited my introductory post to account for Capt. ver Niklos and Angel's arrival, as well as to correct a stupidly glaring oversight on my part where I assumed the two ships were tethered in the air rather than on the ground. And while I was there my inner editor forced me to make a few more cosmetic changes. Like when I changed the old woman's bushel of fresh vegetables to a basket of salt fish because I thought it would be funnier. Sorry. I'm tired and weird like that.
... Yes.
YES.
YES.
My dreams of being a Sindar Treasure Hunter are nigh at hand!
YES.
YES.
My dreams of being a Sindar Treasure Hunter are nigh at hand!
So I just noticed that I ignored @BartlebyWhale's character. (I think your post went up while I was still writing mine.) That wasn't actually intentional, so I just edited to fix it.
No worries! I missed Avelina's entrance myself. At least I hope so, because I'd hate to think my character is so jaded that he wouldn't react to a woman with cybernetic wings.
Hydrogen or Helium airship?
Just asking.
Yeah...just asking...
I'd assume helium, as it's not flammable like hydrogen. Given that it's a battleship and prone to combat, filling it with hydrogen seems like an unnecessary risk, unless helium is not a readily available resource in this world.
Oh this is off to a great start, it seems.
I'd like also to say that even though I'm a new member playing a decidedly antisocial character, please don't think that means I don't want him to interact with anyone. Though I have a vague arc planned out for him, my main goal for Barsad is to have him grow and ultimately change as a human, whether for better or worse, so I'd relish a lot of interaction with other players. Feel free to approach Barsad if you see him milling around the ship, or to knock on his door if you've killed some unspeakable horror from the Shatterzone and wish to see what its insides look like! For science, of course.
Looking forward to seeing where this goes!
I'd like also to say that even though I'm a new member playing a decidedly antisocial character, please don't think that means I don't want him to interact with anyone. Though I have a vague arc planned out for him, my main goal for Barsad is to have him grow and ultimately change as a human, whether for better or worse, so I'd relish a lot of interaction with other players. Feel free to approach Barsad if you see him milling around the ship, or to knock on his door if you've killed some unspeakable horror from the Shatterzone and wish to see what its insides look like! For science, of course.
Looking forward to seeing where this goes!
"Out of the way, out of the way!" Barsad shouted at the throngs of people milling about the Port Titanicus docks, who, though quick to vacate the path of the train of laborers carting his laboratory equipment to his quarters aboard the Tychon, could not move fast enough for his liking.
"Who dares impede the progress of science?!" He gesticulated wildly at an old woman crossing the procession, nearly bent double beneath the weight of a basket of salt fish on her back. "You! Decrepit crone! Get thee gone!"
Barely taking notice of her baleful glare, Barsad eyed the dirigibles resting serenely on the docks, like leviathans dreaming of flight. His mouth twisted in distaste at the multitudinous numbers of the robed members of the Order of Progress. Stuffy, officious fools, too enamored of their own traditions and hierarchy to ever fully give themselves over to their professed calling. Science, Sir Nero knew, demanded sacrifice and an empty heart, not fetishistic affectations and self-inflating titles. Watching them wield their Shatterzone gear like an adolescent wearing his father's armor, he was reminded, and not for the first time, of a tribe of nomadic humans he had encountered in the Pikelands during the first years of his journeys. Having separated themselves from the rest of society centuries ago, the tribe had devolved into a near-feral state, but still clung to the practices of their ancestors, imitating rituals and ceremonies of which they had no clue, no understanding, beyond the vaporous illusion of comfort in the familiar. He believed that the Order, peacocks preening about with salvaged Shatter Tech, was no different: scavengers who surrounded themselves in the trappings of a lost world, claiming dominion over legacies to which they had no right.
But what they did have was unparalleled access to the Shatterzone, that ancient place of things unremembered, the playground of all imagination and cold cradle of monsters. And Sir Nero Barsad would have to learn to play nicely if he was to have the same.
His spirits picked up slightly when he saw a pair of Setra ascending the Tychon's boarding ramp. In that strange and contemplative species Barsad saw the opportunity for intelligent discourse during the voyage, for he had not been reassured when he saw that most of the crew was comprised of humans: dull, squishy, and terribly predictable, with nary a tentacle or chitinous exoskeleton or hyper-evolved psionic glands among the lot of them. He had already resigned himself to spending much of the upcoming journey shut up in his ad hoc laboratory, for these humans, slaves to their primal apish genetics, would have little to offer him in the way of mental stimulation.
Nor was he at all encouraged by their youth. Most of the faces of the Tychon's crew were smooth and unlined. He guessed the majority of them to be in their late teens and early twenties, with even the grizzled veterans among them barely approaching the ripe pastures of thirty.
"Children," he muttered to himself, almost giggling in disbelief. "It's a damned children's crusade."
Vapid youth, creatures ruled entirely by instinct and brazen ambition, whose higher functions and capacities could be overridden with the simplest chemical changes. Raw emotion, barely removed from the wild rutting beasts of the field, choking the air with the scent of their sweat and energy and hormones.
Hormones. Ew.
He shuddered slightly in revulsion, then stood up straight and adjusted his white hat and tie. He spotted Sonne, the Senior Agent of the Order assigned to the Tychon, in conversation with his fellows in the Order.
"Let us get this farce over with," he said quietly. He directed the lead stevedore to deliver his equipment aboard, and turned to Sonne and the others, already dreading this simple requisite interaction. But the sooner he announced himself, the sooner he could board the airship and set up his laboratory.
But already others were approaching. Walking towards Sonne with the unmistakeable purpose of a career officer, was the captain, a Faldkrest named ver Niklos. But more interesting was the girl. Gliding in on metal wings as though she were born to them was the damned oddest halfling Barsad had ever seen.
His eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly. Perhaps he had been too harsh in his earlier appraisals.
Sacrifices, he thought. This expedition was to be greater than himself. There could be no room for ego. The birth of science, he knew, came only at the death of the scientist. It would be the hardest lesson he'd have to teach himself yet.
And so, with mad visions of all the creatures hidden in the 'Zone spread upon his operating table, waiting for the smiling edge of his scalpel to bring their horrors into the light, Sir Nero Barsad made his way to Sonne and his new crewmates, doffing his hat to the future and all that was not yet known.
"Who dares impede the progress of science?!" He gesticulated wildly at an old woman crossing the procession, nearly bent double beneath the weight of a basket of salt fish on her back. "You! Decrepit crone! Get thee gone!"
Barely taking notice of her baleful glare, Barsad eyed the dirigibles resting serenely on the docks, like leviathans dreaming of flight. His mouth twisted in distaste at the multitudinous numbers of the robed members of the Order of Progress. Stuffy, officious fools, too enamored of their own traditions and hierarchy to ever fully give themselves over to their professed calling. Science, Sir Nero knew, demanded sacrifice and an empty heart, not fetishistic affectations and self-inflating titles. Watching them wield their Shatterzone gear like an adolescent wearing his father's armor, he was reminded, and not for the first time, of a tribe of nomadic humans he had encountered in the Pikelands during the first years of his journeys. Having separated themselves from the rest of society centuries ago, the tribe had devolved into a near-feral state, but still clung to the practices of their ancestors, imitating rituals and ceremonies of which they had no clue, no understanding, beyond the vaporous illusion of comfort in the familiar. He believed that the Order, peacocks preening about with salvaged Shatter Tech, was no different: scavengers who surrounded themselves in the trappings of a lost world, claiming dominion over legacies to which they had no right.
But what they did have was unparalleled access to the Shatterzone, that ancient place of things unremembered, the playground of all imagination and cold cradle of monsters. And Sir Nero Barsad would have to learn to play nicely if he was to have the same.
His spirits picked up slightly when he saw a pair of Setra ascending the Tychon's boarding ramp. In that strange and contemplative species Barsad saw the opportunity for intelligent discourse during the voyage, for he had not been reassured when he saw that most of the crew was comprised of humans: dull, squishy, and terribly predictable, with nary a tentacle or chitinous exoskeleton or hyper-evolved psionic glands among the lot of them. He had already resigned himself to spending much of the upcoming journey shut up in his ad hoc laboratory, for these humans, slaves to their primal apish genetics, would have little to offer him in the way of mental stimulation.
Nor was he at all encouraged by their youth. Most of the faces of the Tychon's crew were smooth and unlined. He guessed the majority of them to be in their late teens and early twenties, with even the grizzled veterans among them barely approaching the ripe pastures of thirty.
"Children," he muttered to himself, almost giggling in disbelief. "It's a damned children's crusade."
Vapid youth, creatures ruled entirely by instinct and brazen ambition, whose higher functions and capacities could be overridden with the simplest chemical changes. Raw emotion, barely removed from the wild rutting beasts of the field, choking the air with the scent of their sweat and energy and hormones.
Hormones. Ew.
He shuddered slightly in revulsion, then stood up straight and adjusted his white hat and tie. He spotted Sonne, the Senior Agent of the Order assigned to the Tychon, in conversation with his fellows in the Order.
"Let us get this farce over with," he said quietly. He directed the lead stevedore to deliver his equipment aboard, and turned to Sonne and the others, already dreading this simple requisite interaction. But the sooner he announced himself, the sooner he could board the airship and set up his laboratory.
But already others were approaching. Walking towards Sonne with the unmistakeable purpose of a career officer, was the captain, a Faldkrest named ver Niklos. But more interesting was the girl. Gliding in on metal wings as though she were born to them was the damned oddest halfling Barsad had ever seen.
His eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly. Perhaps he had been too harsh in his earlier appraisals.
Sacrifices, he thought. This expedition was to be greater than himself. There could be no room for ego. The birth of science, he knew, came only at the death of the scientist. It would be the hardest lesson he'd have to teach himself yet.
And so, with mad visions of all the creatures hidden in the 'Zone spread upon his operating table, waiting for the smiling edge of his scalpel to bring their horrors into the light, Sir Nero Barsad made his way to Sonne and his new crewmates, doffing his hat to the future and all that was not yet known.
Name: Sir Nero Barsad
Age: 52
Gender/Race: Male/Human
Role: Xenobiologist/Pathologist
Bio: Born the youngest son of a middling farmer among many other thousands in Atrea, Barsad was saved from a certain future of anonymity, poverty, and worst of all, boredom, by an incurable curiosity matched only by the needle-like focus of his intellect. A polymathic autodidact, Barsad taught himself first to read, and then to read quickly. With his voracious appetite for the printed word and all the knowledge they represented, he obtained a working understanding of a variety of academic disciplines before turning his concentration onto medicine. A minor noble sponsored Barsad's enrollment into the King's College of Surgeons in Atrea's capital, where a few years' worth of accelerated education gained him a place among the Royal Family's cadre of personal physicians, a not unimpressive salary, and the title of baronet.
While a lifestyle that those of his born station could only dream of afforded him every luxury, Barsad despised indolence, fearing that the security of his position would encourage complacency and contentment and, ultimately, would dull the edges of his intellect. He briefly considered joining the Order of Progress, assured that a meteoric climb through the ranks would allow him access to troves of secret information and hidden data enough to keep even his mind busy for a lifetime. But he possessed no taste for their bureaucracy and believed that pure knowledge could be accessed only through an independent will and a pristine curiosity for the unknown, unfettered by the banal ambitions of superiors and managers. Thus he resigned from his post and used his considerable savings to fund an indefinite expedition around the world, a quest for understanding, for both internal and external discovery.
It was during the second decade of his pilgrimage, after spending much time with the various non-human races that inhabited this world with him, that his focus turned itself onto the fields of anatomy and genetics. He retrained himself as a pathologist, specializing in non-human anatomy, determined to find the origins of life hidden within their unfamiliar genetic structures, and quickly made a name for himself as one of the world's foremost independent authorities on xenobiology.
Now, intrigued by rumors of the odd creatures creeping out of the Shatterzone, Sir Nero made the decision to sign on with the crew of the Tychon, eyes aglow with all the possibilities to be unearthed in that ancient land.
All those artifacts.
All that knowledge.
And all that strange and alien life to cut open and peer into.
Personality: Sir Nero is mercurial at the best of times. He is hyperactive, irritable, and easily bored. He seldom gets along with others, not because of any cruelty or malice in his heart, but because he is convinced that he simply thinks too fast for most people to command his attention for more than a few moments. He believes humans are by-and-large incapable of providing him with any sort of interest, and identifies more, and interacts better with, non-human species. He nurtures a particular kinship for the Setra, those inscrutable insectoids whose natural intelligence and curiosity near rival his own.
He thinks himself a hunter of mysteries, a detective of the undetectable, an investigator of the unknown, a bearer of the light of knowledge and science in dark places, and, though he'd sooner draw a scalpel across your throat than admit it, an amateur poet.
Equipment: Portable field laboratory, basic medical gear, anatomy texts and journals, a few vials of fungal spores that, when prepared and ingested properly, tend to induce prolonged periods of, uh, spiritual commune. Oh, and scalpels. Lots and lots of scalpels.
Skills: Sir Nero's travels and natural aptitude for learning have bequeathed him with a host of skills and talents. Along with his expert knowledge in his chosen fields of study, he is able, given a modicum of interest and time, to teach himself the basics of near any discipline. Though focused primarily on biology, he enjoys a working journeyman's knowledge of fields ranging from mathematics to music to theology. And though his left-brain analytics and right-brain intuitiveness are far superior to his left hook and right cross, he has also trained himself a bit in the art of pugilism, and can acquit himself reasonably well in a fight. At least, much better than one would expect of a white-haired academic of late-middle years.
Appearance: Though he gives no thought to class or social graces, Barsad has a weakness for finely tailored clothing, and is rarely seen without some variation of an immaculate white suit and hat. He keeps himself in remarkable physical shape for his advanced age, and his long travels have given him deeply tanned skin and sun-bleached white hair.
<Snipped quote by BartlebyWhale>
Post your sheet in the character tab, we could use a Xenobiologist.
Excellent!
Will start working on my first IC immediately. Thanks for having me aboard.
Hi, all. Longtime lurker here who suddenly found the time to actually participate. Freeform RP's are my preferred outlet for practicing my creative writing and character studies, but I haven't played for over a decade and a half now. I suppose I'd be considered what you young whippersnappers call an old fart, but I'm not here to poop on anyone's parade or tell you to get off my lawn or bore you to death with thrilling tales of how we roleplayed back in the bad old days, where we huddled over our magic electricky machines, sending narratives to one another via mysterious airwave bulletins (I have been told these are called e-mail today. What a ridiculous term). I'm just here for the storytelling, and for creating outlandish characters and seeing if they can survive whatever you guys dish out.
Currently hoping to join the new "Diving into the Abyss" RP over in the Casual boards, which seems like it could be incredibly fun. If you aren't playing it, then hopefully I'll run into you elsewhere on here.
--BW
Currently hoping to join the new "Diving into the Abyss" RP over in the Casual boards, which seems like it could be incredibly fun. If you aren't playing it, then hopefully I'll run into you elsewhere on here.
--BW
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