@Aristocles
Apologies, but I'm afraid I don't think your post fits very well with mine. Is it possible we could discuss this?
Apologies, but I'm afraid I don't think your post fits very well with mine. Is it possible we could discuss this?
- Last Seen: 5 mos ago
- Joined: 9 yrs ago
- Posts: 1455 (0.45 / day)
- VMs: 1
-
Username history
- bloonewb 9 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Kronshi,
Noctis,
Vampiretwilight,
Little Bill
Status
Recent Statuses
3 yrs ago
Current
Wheremst
2
likes
3 yrs ago
What if *I* was the small creature all along?
1
like
3 yrs ago
O . O staring
1
like
5 yrs ago
OooooooOooOOOOooooooOOOOOooOoooooooOOooOOOOoooOo
2
likes
6 yrs ago
V.1.26 (House of Caecilius Iucundus); 4091: Whoever loves, let him flourish. Let him perish who knows not love. Let him perish twice over whoever forbids love.
2
likes
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
@Hexaflexagon If there is still a spot left, I would like to join this prospective roleplay.
Name: Salim of Raydir
Age: 17
Ethnicity: A medium brownish
Vices: Stealing and Gambling
Personality: Salim is quiet and shy, preferring complete silence. He had begun to equate loud noises with the shouts of accusation of thievery, and sounds tend to throw off his probability calculations. He genuinely tries to be polite and courteous with everyone, so that he could justify looting their pockets as a sort of diplomacy tax.
History: Salim's father was one of the new converts to the Vicarian faith in the western borders of the old empire, before its decline. To show his devotion to the new faith, he sent his youngest child to act as both diplomat and student in the church. At the tender age of 15, he arrived at the city gates, and quickly became enamored with the life of the priests. Specifically, the secret one they don't want people to know about. His natural aptitude for quick mathematics was put to darker uses in the gambling dens under the nose of the Vicarian inquisitors, and his quick fingers always gave him a convenient loan when he ran short. Without the guiding hand of his father (not that he had much time for his sixth child), Salim had begun to turn away from the values taught by his new religion.
Equipment: An abacus, a thick book of theology, and a stack of ill-gotten banknotes.
Appearance: Salim is short and rail thin, with a pair of tiny spectacles always perched on his nose. He has a bit of a moustache stretching across his upper lip. He lets his hair grow out long, which he ties back into a tail.
Age: 17
Ethnicity: A medium brownish
Vices: Stealing and Gambling
Personality: Salim is quiet and shy, preferring complete silence. He had begun to equate loud noises with the shouts of accusation of thievery, and sounds tend to throw off his probability calculations. He genuinely tries to be polite and courteous with everyone, so that he could justify looting their pockets as a sort of diplomacy tax.
History: Salim's father was one of the new converts to the Vicarian faith in the western borders of the old empire, before its decline. To show his devotion to the new faith, he sent his youngest child to act as both diplomat and student in the church. At the tender age of 15, he arrived at the city gates, and quickly became enamored with the life of the priests. Specifically, the secret one they don't want people to know about. His natural aptitude for quick mathematics was put to darker uses in the gambling dens under the nose of the Vicarian inquisitors, and his quick fingers always gave him a convenient loan when he ran short. Without the guiding hand of his father (not that he had much time for his sixth child), Salim had begun to turn away from the values taught by his new religion.
Equipment: An abacus, a thick book of theology, and a stack of ill-gotten banknotes.
Appearance: Salim is short and rail thin, with a pair of tiny spectacles always perched on his nose. He has a bit of a moustache stretching across his upper lip. He lets his hair grow out long, which he ties back into a tail.
Name: Salim of Raydir
Age: 17
Ethnicity: A medium brownish
Vices: Stealing and Gambling
Personality: Salim is quiet and shy, preferring complete silence. He had begun to equate loud noises with the shouts of accusation of thievery, and sounds tend to throw off his probability calculations. He genuinely tries to be polite and courteous with everyone, so that he could justify looting their pockets as a sort of diplomacy tax.
History: Salim's father was one of the new converts to the Vicarian faith in the western borders of the old empire, before its decline. To show his devotion to the new faith, he sent his youngest child to act as both diplomat and student in the church. At the tender age of 15, he arrived at the city gates, and quickly became enamored with the life of the priests. Specifically, the secret one they don't want people to know about. His natural aptitude for quick mathematics was put to darker uses in the gambling dens under the nose of the Vicarian inquisitors, and his quick fingers always gave him a convenient loan when he ran short. Without the guiding hand of his father (not that he had much time for his sixth child), Salim had begun to turn away from the values taught by his new religion.
Equipment: An abacus, a thick book of theology, and a stack of ill-gotten banknotes.
Appearance: Salim is short and rail thin, with a pair of tiny spectacles always perched on his nose. He has a bit of a moustache stretching across his upper lip. He lets his hair grow out long, which he ties back into a tail.
Age: 17
Ethnicity: A medium brownish
Vices: Stealing and Gambling
Personality: Salim is quiet and shy, preferring complete silence. He had begun to equate loud noises with the shouts of accusation of thievery, and sounds tend to throw off his probability calculations. He genuinely tries to be polite and courteous with everyone, so that he could justify looting their pockets as a sort of diplomacy tax.
History: Salim's father was one of the new converts to the Vicarian faith in the western borders of the old empire, before its decline. To show his devotion to the new faith, he sent his youngest child to act as both diplomat and student in the church. At the tender age of 15, he arrived at the city gates, and quickly became enamored with the life of the priests. Specifically, the secret one they don't want people to know about. His natural aptitude for quick mathematics was put to darker uses in the gambling dens under the nose of the Vicarian inquisitors, and his quick fingers always gave him a convenient loan when he ran short. Without the guiding hand of his father (not that he had much time for his sixth child), Salim had begun to turn away from the values taught by his new religion.
Equipment: An abacus, a thick book of theology, and a stack of ill-gotten banknotes.
Appearance: Salim is short and rail thin, with a pair of tiny spectacles always perched on his nose. He has a bit of a moustache stretching across his upper lip. He lets his hair grow out long, which he ties back into a tail.
"Get word to the captains still out there. I want the campaigns to continue," said Rughoi, passing a stack of letters to the scout. He has not left his chamber since the meeting with Qorod, fearing the possibility of a traitorous plot to assassinate him. He wasn't even sure he could trust the scout, but some risks have to be made. "The letters detail a plan to help whatever remaining kobold people in Aredor escape before their inquisition finds them. I will not have innocent people, especially mine, die on my watch." The scout gave a salute, and left without saying a word. He knew better. Rughoi sighed, and returned to his chair, where he had placed a small crystal orb belonging to Kutur. He rubbed it to remove the condensation, allowing a small window in which he could directly communicate with his advisor. "Kutur, how are diplomatic relations with the humans coming?" he asked. On his side, it looks as if Kutur's face were inside of the orb, and he knew on the other end, it looks as if his face is hovering in air.
"They're fine," came Kutur's response. "Soldiers are on their way, but I don't see them arriving anytime soon."
"When they come, let them all in," commanded Rughoi. Kutur nodded, and relayed the order to whoever was operating the gate. The sound of thudding metal boots on stone roads thundered throughout the city, and he didn't even need the orb to hear it from the castle. "Tell my captains to meet with me in the palace to talk strategy. Oh, and the binding will have to wait. Aredor first."
"But Your Migh-,"
"There are kobolds dying, Kutur. Please . . . not today." And with that, Rughoi put down the orb and slumped in his chair. If being emperor meant he had to struggle with difficult choices, usually with a lack of both resources and knowledge, until he died, then so be it.
"They're fine," came Kutur's response. "Soldiers are on their way, but I don't see them arriving anytime soon."
"When they come, let them all in," commanded Rughoi. Kutur nodded, and relayed the order to whoever was operating the gate. The sound of thudding metal boots on stone roads thundered throughout the city, and he didn't even need the orb to hear it from the castle. "Tell my captains to meet with me in the palace to talk strategy. Oh, and the binding will have to wait. Aredor first."
"But Your Migh-,"
"There are kobolds dying, Kutur. Please . . . not today." And with that, Rughoi put down the orb and slumped in his chair. If being emperor meant he had to struggle with difficult choices, usually with a lack of both resources and knowledge, until he died, then so be it.
@Aristocles I think wingsofbronze is gone.
Still room in this RP for one more?
The entire ship rattled with the impact of the enemy vessel. Cards flew around the room and coins scattered across the ground. William grimaced and drank deep in the wineskin he stole from the cargo hold. Was he that drunk already? Unbeknownst to him, a pirate had broken off from the main battle on the upper deck and had slowly made his way below, looking for easier targets to slaughter and valuables to take. He quietly tiptoed down the steps, feet not making a sound due to thick leather soles, brandishing in his hand a cruel, jagged sword of surprisingly fine make. When he reached the level below, he found not piles of silk, spice, and jewels, like he had thought, but a gaunt, pale man slumped over a chair. Around his feet were littered a smattering of dragons, stags, and groats, not worthy of being called a hoard. He had taken the man for dead when to his surprise, an arm moved, carrying a skin up to the supposed corpse's lips. An eye lazily turned over to the pirate, and to his horror, he found it to be pale, seemingly without substance.
"Good day," William drawled, not making the effort to laugh at the intruder's stunned expression. "Don't be shy. Come, share in the coin, the wine, except not this wine. This wine's for me." As if to prove his point, he took another swig of 'his' wine and grinned.
"Aye," stammered the pirate. "The coin. Give it." He pointed the end of the sword at William, in an attempt to regain some small form of control over the situation.
"By all means, take it. It ain't mine," was William's response, waving his hand casually over the modest pile. He did nothing to stop his supposed enemy as he opened up a sack and began filling it with the gold on the floor. When he finished, he stood up, the sack now looking reasonably heavy and jingling with a merry tune, and closed it up with a bit of string.
"A pleasure doing business with you," he said, grinning back and pointing his sword again. "But I think I'll be having that skin. Coin collecting's thirsty work. Just ask the Hand." William rolled his eyes, and took an inordinately long sip, draining the wineskin of its contents. With that, he threw the empty sack at the intruder. It bounced off his armor and came to rest at his feet. He glowered, and advanced on his inebriated enemy. "If not that, then your sword. Can never have enough swords," he said, raising his own.
"What, this one?" William asked, drawing his sword and pretending to inspect it. "Surely not this one. Look at it. It's no good for anything. Ain't even castle forged. I bought it from a secondhand novelty dealer in Pentos. Didn't cost me three stags."
"Lies," spat the pirate.
"You're right, you got me. It was Braavos," answered William. The pirate charged, stabbing down at his foe. William moved his sword up to deflect, and stood up as he did so, stumbling a few steps and dropping his weapon. "Dearie me, buttered fingers," he said. The pirate, seeing the opportunity, charged again, this time readying his own weapon for a downward slash. Unfortunately for him this turned out to be a ploy. William stepped close, rendering the cut impossible, and brought up his hand clenched in a fist. It made contact with his opponent's face, sending him reeling. His sword flew out of his hand and bounced a few paces away. William strode up to it, as if he had all the time in the world, and picked it up. "Oh, lovely. It's probably worth double mine." With that the pirate scrambled up and slowly began advancing, fists ready to strike. Rookie mistake. Williams longer reach, combined with the fact that he was actually armed, meant that he could just lunge and pierce the intruder in his chest. He fell over, clutching the hole that exposed his heart. William just shrugged his shoulders, and picked up the sack of coin. "They were huge monstrosities," he said, taking out a dragon and putting it in his left pocket. "Two huge, burly raiders that overpowered me. One of them took the gold and ran, and I barely fought off the other." He put another dragon in his other pocket as he talked, and one more in the secret space in his sleeve. He went over to the window and opened it. "They took it all, I swear," he mused, tossing out the sack. Now for the sword. There was something peculiar about it. At first glance, it seemed like normal iron, but upon closer inspection, a line went through the middle, bearing the signature of Valyrian work. William tossed that out the window as well. If his enemy wanted to keep it, he should have fought harder for it.
"Good day," William drawled, not making the effort to laugh at the intruder's stunned expression. "Don't be shy. Come, share in the coin, the wine, except not this wine. This wine's for me." As if to prove his point, he took another swig of 'his' wine and grinned.
"Aye," stammered the pirate. "The coin. Give it." He pointed the end of the sword at William, in an attempt to regain some small form of control over the situation.
"By all means, take it. It ain't mine," was William's response, waving his hand casually over the modest pile. He did nothing to stop his supposed enemy as he opened up a sack and began filling it with the gold on the floor. When he finished, he stood up, the sack now looking reasonably heavy and jingling with a merry tune, and closed it up with a bit of string.
"A pleasure doing business with you," he said, grinning back and pointing his sword again. "But I think I'll be having that skin. Coin collecting's thirsty work. Just ask the Hand." William rolled his eyes, and took an inordinately long sip, draining the wineskin of its contents. With that, he threw the empty sack at the intruder. It bounced off his armor and came to rest at his feet. He glowered, and advanced on his inebriated enemy. "If not that, then your sword. Can never have enough swords," he said, raising his own.
"What, this one?" William asked, drawing his sword and pretending to inspect it. "Surely not this one. Look at it. It's no good for anything. Ain't even castle forged. I bought it from a secondhand novelty dealer in Pentos. Didn't cost me three stags."
"Lies," spat the pirate.
"You're right, you got me. It was Braavos," answered William. The pirate charged, stabbing down at his foe. William moved his sword up to deflect, and stood up as he did so, stumbling a few steps and dropping his weapon. "Dearie me, buttered fingers," he said. The pirate, seeing the opportunity, charged again, this time readying his own weapon for a downward slash. Unfortunately for him this turned out to be a ploy. William stepped close, rendering the cut impossible, and brought up his hand clenched in a fist. It made contact with his opponent's face, sending him reeling. His sword flew out of his hand and bounced a few paces away. William strode up to it, as if he had all the time in the world, and picked it up. "Oh, lovely. It's probably worth double mine." With that the pirate scrambled up and slowly began advancing, fists ready to strike. Rookie mistake. Williams longer reach, combined with the fact that he was actually armed, meant that he could just lunge and pierce the intruder in his chest. He fell over, clutching the hole that exposed his heart. William just shrugged his shoulders, and picked up the sack of coin. "They were huge monstrosities," he said, taking out a dragon and putting it in his left pocket. "Two huge, burly raiders that overpowered me. One of them took the gold and ran, and I barely fought off the other." He put another dragon in his other pocket as he talked, and one more in the secret space in his sleeve. He went over to the window and opened it. "They took it all, I swear," he mused, tossing out the sack. Now for the sword. There was something peculiar about it. At first glance, it seemed like normal iron, but upon closer inspection, a line went through the middle, bearing the signature of Valyrian work. William tossed that out the window as well. If his enemy wanted to keep it, he should have fought harder for it.
Disorder spread among the kobold soldiers. When they had left the city to track down the glowing light, they had been firmly under the command of Merat. Unfortunately, without the knowledge of almost a third of his troop, he had broken and fled back to the city walls along with roughly two thirds of his men. They had been fine, knowing for sure where the enemy was and how to feather them with pointy arrows, but when it came time to parley, none were qualified to do so.
"Now what do we do?" asked one soldier, peeking out from behind his cover.
"I'm not sure. Should we take him to Rughoi? Perhaps not. Take the survivors and head back to the city. I'll try to . . . speak with him, I suppose," responded another. He stepped out from behind the rock as his compatriot ran for the walls. "Hail, foe!" he shouted, diverting the attention of the dracon. "Erm . . . return to your home, I guess." When the dracon didn't leave, but instead looked at him with a weird expression, the soldier began to feel a little desperate. "Shoo! . . . Bad dracon?" he tried. It always worked with his house lizard when he was a child.
_______________________________________________
"Ardasa! Ardasa!" shouted Qorod's right guard, running up to her and what looked like her spiritual advisor. He stopped in front of her and kneeled. "Your esteemed father has finished negotiations with the emperor. It seems you are now Empress of All Kobold, Daughter of the Dragons."
Ardasa was shocked, to say the least. She could only stammer and say nothing, giving up after her tongue betrayed her for a solid ten seconds. Instead, she cracked a nervous smile at Kali, hoping that the other woman had confidence to spare for her.
"Now what do we do?" asked one soldier, peeking out from behind his cover.
"I'm not sure. Should we take him to Rughoi? Perhaps not. Take the survivors and head back to the city. I'll try to . . . speak with him, I suppose," responded another. He stepped out from behind the rock as his compatriot ran for the walls. "Hail, foe!" he shouted, diverting the attention of the dracon. "Erm . . . return to your home, I guess." When the dracon didn't leave, but instead looked at him with a weird expression, the soldier began to feel a little desperate. "Shoo! . . . Bad dracon?" he tried. It always worked with his house lizard when he was a child.
_______________________________________________
"Ardasa! Ardasa!" shouted Qorod's right guard, running up to her and what looked like her spiritual advisor. He stopped in front of her and kneeled. "Your esteemed father has finished negotiations with the emperor. It seems you are now Empress of All Kobold, Daughter of the Dragons."
Ardasa was shocked, to say the least. She could only stammer and say nothing, giving up after her tongue betrayed her for a solid ten seconds. Instead, she cracked a nervous smile at Kali, hoping that the other woman had confidence to spare for her.
"Certainly!" Ardasa exclaimed, standing from her kneeling position. There was always something about prayer and ritual that she loved. It always made her feel calm, the affirmation that there was always someone greater looking out for her in her greatest moments of fear. "Shall we? I'd love to see the city a bit more!"
___________________________________
"What about her?" whispered Rughoi, eyeing the new match. She nervously smiled back when she realized he was looking at her.
"I see nothing wrong with her. Then again, I saw nothing wrong with the one before her. And the one before that," Kutur whispered back, looking wistful. "Don't pass up this opportunity, Your Might. The Earthen Bear clan is one of the largest clans we've encountered since the Red Shadows." Rughoi nodded, and asked for a private audience with Chief Qorod. He quickly spoke to his daughter, who beamed back at him and quietly exited the throne room.
"Chief Qorod. I'd like to welcome you to the fold," began Rughoi, standing up from the dracon throne and descending the steps leading up to it. "It is not often we are graced with the presence of a chiefdom as grand as yours."
"The hard work of my ancestors," Qorod responded, chuckling. "I suppose you find my daughter . . . satisfactory? She is, after all, second in line to the chiefdom, behind her older sister." Kutur said nothing, but nudged his emperor's shoulder at Qorod's response.
"Well, I suppose I'd have to think abou-" said Rughoi, before he was interrupted by Kutur.
"We accept!" shouted Kutur. "Welcom to the Empire, Your Wisdom by law!" Rughoi gave a withering look to his advisor, but decided against it. This decision is as good as any. He kneeled before Qorod, waiting for the traditional response.
"I will accept you if you would accept me, Chief Qorod. Or should I say . . . father," he said. Qorod laughed and practically jogged over to put his hand on Rughoi's head.
"My son! My son! Of course! What's yours is mine!" he cried. "Quickly, guards! Find my daughter! Inform her of the good news!"
___________________________________
"What about her?" whispered Rughoi, eyeing the new match. She nervously smiled back when she realized he was looking at her.
"I see nothing wrong with her. Then again, I saw nothing wrong with the one before her. And the one before that," Kutur whispered back, looking wistful. "Don't pass up this opportunity, Your Might. The Earthen Bear clan is one of the largest clans we've encountered since the Red Shadows." Rughoi nodded, and asked for a private audience with Chief Qorod. He quickly spoke to his daughter, who beamed back at him and quietly exited the throne room.
"Chief Qorod. I'd like to welcome you to the fold," began Rughoi, standing up from the dracon throne and descending the steps leading up to it. "It is not often we are graced with the presence of a chiefdom as grand as yours."
"The hard work of my ancestors," Qorod responded, chuckling. "I suppose you find my daughter . . . satisfactory? She is, after all, second in line to the chiefdom, behind her older sister." Kutur said nothing, but nudged his emperor's shoulder at Qorod's response.
"Well, I suppose I'd have to think abou-" said Rughoi, before he was interrupted by Kutur.
"We accept!" shouted Kutur. "Welcom to the Empire, Your Wisdom by law!" Rughoi gave a withering look to his advisor, but decided against it. This decision is as good as any. He kneeled before Qorod, waiting for the traditional response.
"I will accept you if you would accept me, Chief Qorod. Or should I say . . . father," he said. Qorod laughed and practically jogged over to put his hand on Rughoi's head.
"My son! My son! Of course! What's yours is mine!" he cried. "Quickly, guards! Find my daughter! Inform her of the good news!"
© 2007-2024