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Dragon's Mask

Name: Riley Taylor

Age: 8 years, 2 months

Hometown: Scarborough, UK

Description:
Riley stands at about 4 feet 3 inches, and weighs about 57 pounds. Her hair is a very light flaxen, that she likes to play with and braid when she's thinking very hard. No matter how much her mother combs and cuts it, it never seems to get perfectly straight or even. Her eyes are a dark grey that her father is very proud of, claiming it comes from his genetic line. She can always be found wearing a dark green dress with camouflage patterns, which she likes to tell her parents helps her hide from the beasts and never lets them wash.

Personality:
Riley is, first and foremost, easily excitable. She is easily impressed, but is not picky about what she is impressed by, so a collection of rocks catches her attention just as much as a beetle or grass clippings. Her love for exploration is a very large motivator in her life, overriding that of mannerly conduct, meaning she often abandons people mid-conversation or even mid-sentence to chase after a butterfly or raccoon, something that annoys her parents to no end. She also loves reading, especially anything to do with traditional local folklore, almost to the point of frightening obsession. However, these traits have left her with a level of skittishness and shyness not common among her peers.

History:
Riley was born to a rather unhappy family in Barrowcliff parish, to a couple desperate to make an effort to stay together. From the beginning, her mother was doting and overprotective, her father even more so. They, deciding Barrowcliff was not a nurturing environment for their child, packed up and moved to Scalby parish, still in Scarborough but closer to open fields and further away from the city. Riley spent much of her spare time in the fields, near the woods, and around the lakes, believing that if she searched the area for long enough she'd find the fairies depicted in her books. One day, as she was searching for mythological creatures, she saw out of the corner of her eye an otter. She went to chase it, but it quickly jumped into a lake and dove under. Not breaking pace, she jumped in the lake after it, but never hit water.

Dragon's Mask

Name: Riley Taylor

Age: 8 years, 2 months

Hometown: Scarborough, UK

Description:
Riley stands at about 4 feet 3 inches, and weighs about 57 pounds. Her hair is a very light flaxen, that she likes to play with and braid when she's thinking very hard. No matter how much her mother combs and cuts it, it never seems to get perfectly straight or even. Her eyes are a dark grey that her father is very proud of, claiming it comes from his genetic line. She can always be found wearing a dark green dress with camouflage patterns, which she likes to tell her parents helps her hide from the beasts and never lets them wash.

Personality:
Riley is, first and foremost, easily excitable. She is easily impressed, but is not picky about what she is impressed by, so a collection of rocks catches her attention just as much as a beetle or grass clippings. Her love for exploration is a very large motivator in her life, overriding that of mannerly conduct, meaning she often abandons people mid-conversation or even mid-sentence to chase after a butterfly or raccoon, something that annoys her parents to no end. She also loves reading, especially anything to do with Celtic or Germanic culture, almost to the point of frightening obsession. However, these traits have left her with a level of skittishness and shyness not common among her peers.

History:
Riley was born to a rather unhappy family in Barrowcliff parish, to a couple desperate to make an effort to stay together. From the beginning, her mother was doting and overprotective, her father even more so. They, deciding Barrowcliff was not a nurturing environment for their child, packed up and moved to Scalby parish, still in Scarborough but closer to open fields and further away from the city. Riley spent much of her spare time in the fields, near the woods, and around the lakes, believing that if she searched the area for long enough she'd find the fairies depicted in her books. One day, as she was searching for mythological creatures, she saw out of the corner of her eye an otter. She went to chase it, but it quickly jumped into a lake and dove under. Not breaking pace, she jumped in the lake after it, but never hit water.

Magic RP (Open to new players)

Already, harrowing reports are flooding in from the battlefront on eastern Lake Draconis. Messages speak of scouts raiding on the water brigades, when they are suddenly ambushed by armies carrying the flag of Aredor. More letters come in from within the walls of Aredor, where even worse tales are being told. The Aredors have put their city on lockdown, and closed their doors to all immigration. Any who try are killed. Captain Reoam was executed on the walls of his city, and his head was tossed down to his men below. According to the informants who snuck into the city via their efficient sewers, the Baron Elector of Aredor has called an inquisition on all kobold people in the city and any unlucky enough to be born non-dracon are taken from the streets and purged. Rughoi read these notes, his worry and paranoia growing with each word. Eventually, he set down the last one, rubbed his eyes, and gazed into the cozy fire burning merrily away in the hearth. Kutur sat a little further away, reading up on scrolls of magic. An occasional burst of fire or red light emanates from the tips of his claws, and he congratulates or curses himself depending on an outcome only he can recognize.

"There is corruption in our midst," Rughoi declared. Kutur looked up from his scrolls.

"How can you tell?" he asked, afraid that he was about to be declared a traitor and sent the way of Merat.

"Look at these reports. The enemy knows what we're doing, even before we do it. They must have informants inside the city. Perhaps I was wrong to trust in the dracon tribal leaders. Perhaps I was even more wrong to trust that all my people want change and freedom. I need to have them found and executed."

"Perhaps I can offer a better alternative," Kutur said. Rughoi said nothing, but sat up and focused all his attention on the dimunitive kobold. "As everyone knows, Your Might is a powerful, ambitious figure focused on introducing his people to freedoms and rights, forcibly if possible." Rughoi nodded at that. "Perhaps what they need to see is a new side of the coin. As every kobold knows, His Might is not complete without Her Mercy."

"Are you suggesting a match?" Rughoi asked, his eyes narrowing. "I have no time for mating."

"But please, Your Might. Keep an open mind. Another hand on the throne could be what you need. For every act of violence you make, she will perform an act of kindness, balancing out the authority of the crown in the eyes of your people. You are always saying that our morale is beginning to weaken, wouldn't a huge ceremony raise the people up again? Think of it. Another name to shout on the battlefield, another figure to raise mighty structures to. Have a huge binding, where everyone can see it. Organize a breadgiving, then call the purge. The people will stand behind every head you take, once reluctant kobolds will flock to the city to see the beautiful empress, and soon, you'll have someone to carry on your purpose if . . . something happens."

Rughoi though about it, and the more he thought about it, the more he liked it. "Send for the tribal chiefs. Select a daughter from them. We will bind on the coming of the new moon." Kutur bowed, smiled, and was about to stride out when Rughoi stopped him. "Before you go, tell me the stories again. The ones about the Son of the Dragons. I may need some help from my predecessor." Kutur stopped. He stepped back in the room and began talking.

"Yes, Your Might. It all started with Arjun, first of the short lived Arjunid Dynasty. He started life as a criminal on the streets of the Ancient City. When he was approached by guards of the dracon King, he spit in the face of the captain, and . . ."

Dragon's Mask

Still room in this RP for one more?

Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

(A collaborative work. Thanks @MrDidact!)

Blade met with blade as Arak and William fought, up and down the deck of the ship. Arak knew he was out of his league. A rank-and-file soldier through and through, he had not learned how to effectively fight with a sword, sticking instead to spears. This mistake, he thought, would prove fatal.

William, however, was finding it to be very easy. He had a natural aptitude for blades of various kinds, and this duel here was almost trivial. He found an opening in Arak's defense, and plunged in with his sword. Arak deflected, but a little too late, and his sword was flung out of his hands, landing a little ways away. "Ooh, bad luck," William said, circling his opponent.

"Yield! I yield!" shouted Arak, covering his head with his arms.

"Yield?" William said, raising his sword. "You must not know me very well."

Before William could strike, a Dragon's Tooth stepped in front of Arak, shielding the man with his sword and shield raised and William felt a strong hand grab his sword arm while another arm reached for his off hand and William felt a cudgel rest on his shoulder. The cudgel was held by another Dragon's Tooth and Black Visenya gripped William's arm with another man at her side, stopping him from striking.

Visenya snarled, the special forces ranger and not the childhood friend, commanding William, "William, stop. Disarm." He was outnumbered and the special forces troopers had gotten the drop on him. Visenya continued, her arm taut on Williams, "You might be a friend William, but I will not let you get away with slaying a member of our company. We are all working under the king's banners, I will not have comrades shed each other's blood. And don't even protest, telling me it's mutual. Both you and I know you provoked this duel and wanted a lethal conclusion. Well, I tell you now that you will stop being you and you will start being a soldier of this company. If I see you put the lives of our comrades in jeopardy again, I'll have you put in chains."

Visenya kept her hold on William, "Believe what you want, but I'm doing this for you William. For the sake of our friendship. If you had killed Arak, you would have been condemned. The Starks would have called for your head for striking down an unarmed man, and you would be forever known as a kinslayer."

Seeing, the look on both of the men's faces, Visenya frowned, "You didn't know? You're half-brothers, both sons of Ramsay Bolton."

Arak was crushed. To think he had come so close to being slain, and by his own brother no less! He had wished never to see his brother in his life, and this was in no way the ideal way to meet. He fell to his knees, only barely propping himself up with his sword.

William, however, was enraged. Lord Tyrion the Halfman was strongly suspected of killing his own father, and by his current position as Hand of the King, proves rather conclusively that the kinslaying curse is but superstition of the smallfolk. Eventually, however, after a lengthy period of thinking, removed one finger from his sword, then another, and the steel blade clattered on the wooden deck.

". . . Aye," he muttered. "Now, if you could command your men to stand down, let me pick up my sword, maybe both of us could be on our way. Don't hear me wrong, I do like embracing, but to do so with a woman I haven't married strikes of infidelity."

"My . . . brother?" Arak gasped.

"Yes, yes, we're all very impressed by your ability to hear things," growled William.

Visenya frowned and nodded at the man in front of William, who sheathed his weapons and helped him to his feet, keeping a hand on his swordbelt in case William tried anything. She nodded at the other men holding William and they disengaged, though they too were ready for the young Lord to get out of line. Visenya however, kept her arms loose at her sides, trusting that William wouldn't try anything.

She replied to William, "Your ability to make jokes in such situations will never fail to amaze me Will. Very well. You both may go on your way. But no more duels, at least not duels fought in earnest. Arak, if you wish you may go see the Acolyte if you need medical attention. William, please don't cause any more trouble. If this goes well, Sansa will convince Brandon and Jon to reconsider your position. They will give you back the Dreadfort. If you can prove yourself. It's all you ever wanted, since we were children. Don't throw this chance away."

One of her men went with Arak, escorting him away from the group if he needed medical attention, while the two remaining Dragon's Teeth flanked William and Visenya made eye contact with William, "I'm sorry Will. I thought you knew. Arya told me before we left. I thought they would have told you the same. Are you alright?"

"I'm not gashed, if that's what you're asking. Incredibly annoyed, however, that I'm the last to know of my brother," said William. Gods, his weakness revealed itself then. He's too honest with Visenya, a half-Targaryen of all people. He didn't know if his grandfather or father had a proper burial, but if they were, no doubt they'd be spinning so hard in their graves they'd dig themselves back up. "Was I that obvious about the Dreadfort?" he said in an attempt to change the subject, albiet a little feeble.

Visenya knew not to press the subject too hard, and that asking further was liable to sour his mood even further so the bastard princess obliged him, she smiled a little, "You didn't have to be. Anyone would want their ancestral home to be theirs. I know I would have." She laughed, a strong almost throaty sound, not the more sedate giggling of a proper lady, "Indeed that is true. I remember the time you threatened to duel that poor squire over the honor of a dance with me. Daenyra's thirteenth name day. Can you believe it's been so long? Do you ever miss those days Will? When we were young and didn't have to worry about any of these intrigues?" She thought back to her childhood, growing up a bastard with her royal cousins and the children of the realm's greatest warriors and most powerful nobles, and how a young boy, the only heir to a dishonored house had been one of her closest friends. The thought made her smile truly.

"Which one?" William asked, smiling with her. "I think many squires over many years are out for my blood today." He, too, did have some complaints of living life by the great game. It was one thing to be a bastard of the Targaryens, left out of the high table in great feasts or the prospect of marriage with a powerful house. It was quite another to be the son of the infamous Ramsay "the Raper", destined to have enemies he may never meet. Nearly everywhere he looked, he knew there was someone in his vision who would gladly rip his guts from his living body, simply because of a thirdhand account of him told by a lying drunk in a seedy tavern. The two of them naturally gravitated towards each other, two rowdy, dishonored kids in a sea of disapproving faces. "You know what? I think I'm done with watching dolphins for now. Maybe I'll go down to the rooms, cheat Aemon out of a few dragons. Another time, Visenya." With that, William picked up his sword, slid it into his sheath, and walked away, whistling to himself.

Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

@Greenie Ooh, me! Pick me!

Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

So you're saying the Targaryens did Summerhall?

Magic RP (Open to new players)

"Return to your temple," said Rughoi. "Now." He turned and strode away to his chamber, then upon arriving, slammed and locked the door behind him. The Wise Sister was admittedly right. Aredor's government may be oppressive, but there was no denying their organization. He can't attack the city like a dracon would, but what if he could do it like a kobold? He unlocked and opened his door, surprising a small kobold, scrubbing the floors. "Good maid," he said, his words coming out in a rush. "Assemble the captains of my army. I have an idea." She, scared out of her wits, nodded and rushed off. The captains were at his door in minutes. "I've reached a decision," he said. "This will require some clever thinking, but that is what our kobold minds were made to do. Captain Naaga, you will take a squad to Lake Draconis. Aredor and former Traeton shared the lake, and there was never a need to defend the water brigades that came to collect water for the city. That is our edge. You will raid up and down Aredor's side of the lake, and starve the city of water." Naaga nodded, and quickly strode away to assemble his team. "And you, Captain Reoam. You will find yourself a few willing spies and infiltrate the city posing as itinerate workers. Their secret police can't be perfect. You will meet with other secret revolutionary covens, unite them, and storm the streets in a revolt. Once the rebellion reaches its height, the Bytheseas will likely have arrived, and we will attack a very weakened Aredor from the outside." Reoam rushed out to carry out his orders.

____________________

Krakas screamed and tripped, landing in the sand. She covered her head in her arms, hoping that the sword would be quick and soon painless. Hetuis swallow her quick.

Magic RP (Open to new players)

"You forget your place, Wise Sister," growled Rughoi. "Arda put you on this ground for a reason. That is to offer spiritual guide. Leave the matters of the physical world to me." Perhaps it was wrong to ignore the advice of a medium of the spirits, but Rughoi felt he had to be firm. If he succumbed to honeyed words and vague promises, soon his advisors would be clamoring over themselves to contradict him. "Kutur, send a message to the Bythesea Archmage. The moment those humans arrive, I want the legion ready to march. We will have to strike Aredor quickly, while the peace with the Fertile Valley lasts." As much as he himself hated to admit it, the Kobold Empire must become a player on the world stage, with alliances and rivalries like any else. The slow game will have to pay off, because rabid nationalism and racist fervor is already beginning to stall and falter.

_______

Krakas nervously looked up. Rama had shouted something at the dracon warriors, and now one of them, the familiar one, began running towards them. He, with his sheer size and strength, bowled over Rama as if he were but air. In desperation, she began limping faster. If she through a miracle of Scen reached the city before a hulking dracon reached her, she would give herself to the service of Arda.

[Dead]Across the seven seas (Pirate Roleplay)

"Yessir," muttered Frank, not listening too closely. He learned the hard way that in every haven there was a strict border maintenance crew, often with a pass phrase or other proof of piracy necessary for entrance. There would be no sneaking into port, especially with as large a ship as theirs. Quickly, he ran through the ones he knew, many of them but faded memories now. Maybe if he prayed to a god he didn't believe in enough, the crew would be somehow spared from being hacked to death by cutlass.