bloonewb

Magic RP (Open to new players)

(Yeah, I think so. The soup nazi, right?)

"I'm not sure that was necessary," Kutur mumbled, mostly to himself. He felt like a complete idiot. The pairs of eyes slowly wandering his way didn't help in the slightest. The soup vendor returned quickly, slapping down two bowls of steaming soup. It certainly smelled good. Better, at least, then the exotic delicacies that the Bythesea courts ate daily. Kutur could never completely stomach the lark's tongues or the buzzard's gizzards, and pork (and other meats) sounded pretty good to him.

"Free of charge! Honor to serve companions of the emperor!" gasped the vendor. One didn't need to be an expert psychologist to see the fear in his eyes. Kutur sighed. The vendor was expecting some sort of vengeance! What horrors did he expect to have inflicted on him? It made him a bit sick to even accept the soup.

"You don't have to do that," Kutur said. "I'll get you the gold I owe you tomorrow, promise."

Wych (open and accepting!)

Sigrid grabbed the cloth and tied it around her head. It did well enough to cover her hair, at least until the cloth gets soaked. They began to run, the two of them, as the rain beat down harder and harder. By the time the trail was reaching its end, the droplets felt like cold knives on her back. If she wanted to be wet and frozen, she would have stayed in Jutland.

Sure enough, though, the estate was slowly rising over the horizon into view. Sigrid nearly stopped running to admire it. Her grandfather's house was large, yes, but this building could easily have dwarfed it. These Angles certainly know how to build! The house in the fields resembled a smaller version of the manor-houses that occasionally dominated a village's landscape, and was comparable to even the greatest of Jarl's halls. Better still, it meant shield from the harsh rain that seems to brew up out of nowhere in the Angle kingdoms.

However, there was a complication. Sigrid smelled it as soon as she saw the house. The complication smelled of fresh earth, that being what it was. She yanked the cloth off her head, and found it covered in watery mud. With her other hand, she grabbed for her hair, bringing it to her eyes. Just as she suspected, it was Norse blonde. If she knew any flowery curse words, perhaps she would have made use of quite a few of them. However, there was nothing she could do. To be scooping dirt into her hair now would be even more suspicious, and being driven out of a village or two was not worth risking lungwater disease for. She could only pray that the owner of the estate took kindly to daughters of Vikings.

Haven: Summer camp for Supernatural Teens

Scrapped post. Remaking one.

Magic RP (Open to new players)

Kutur shrugged his shoulders. What was he supposed to do? Money obviously was not going to budge the cook, but Kali was looking at him like he could somehow make the problem go away. How, though? Was he supposed to play the authority card? No, Kali is as high a priest as any. She could have easily done that. Blast him with a spell? Not only was Kali probably able to do the same, setting kobolds on fire would likely draw the ire of Rughoi. Perhaps if he just got a few answers out of the cook, then he'd know what to do. "So . . . why pork today? Are you having family over?" he asked, quieter than he would have liked his voice to be. Maybe if the cook were saving food for special ones in his life, that would make sense.

Wych (open and accepting!)

Sigrid was never an expert on the weather. Unlike her grandfather, she didn't "feel the storm in her bones". It was only following Mildemaer's casual mentioning of it that Sigrid noticed something was out of place in the sky. She stood up, and rushed over to her boat. From her pile of sea-things, she pulled out a heavy tarp, used to cover up the trade goods when rain comes. Wordlessly, she pulled it over the foodstuffs, shielding them from the harsh influence of the elements. She could only hope that the tools would survive on their own. Then, a thought struck her. Her dress! She had to look for it! Sigrid began frantically searching through her cloths, turning them this way and that, looking for that spot of midnight blue. Then, as the first drop splashed against the back of her head, she spotted it. She grabbed at the corner and yanked it out of the pile, clutching it close to her chest. "Well then, let's get going," she said. "An estate sounds quite lovely right about now."

Wych (open and accepting!)

"A bit, yes," Sigrid said. It was a lie, and she knew it. She could read, but only a little bit, and even then only the Futharc used in Jutland. The Angle runes baffled her. They were familiar, but just not familiar enough that she may recognize the corresponding runes in Futharc. What's more, she's pretty sure the Angles have at least twice as many runes in their script. "Why do you ask?" She hoped that there wasn't some sort of test coming up, or worse yet, a task assigned to her that required mastery of the script. Most horrifying of all would be if her failure to read Angle script marked her forever as a foreigner, a blood with the brutal raiders that ignited the flames spanning the whole Angle-land coast. Sigrid took a nervous bite of her pear, and found it tasting like ash. Perhaps she should have gone to the other farmer . . .

Soon enough, the pear was done. Despite its taste, Sigrid still wished there was more. Pears aren't exactly the filling type, and a merchant's job was never finished. She still had a couple of things to handle before night, not least of which was meeting the local jarls and working out a charter. She looked over to her ship, her mind cataloguing all the articles of clothing she owned. There had to be a fancy dress somewhere in that rotting log. She distinctly remembered buying something of the sort in . . . either South or East Seaxe, definitely something with Seaxe in the name. Yet, for the life of her, she cannot remember if she traded it away. That'll be an afternoon of digging through her muck again.

The Black Void Pirates

@Spriggs27 I'm sure there is a way to keep the personality and goals of my character, while still integrating your suggestions. Allow me to tinker around with my character a bit, I'll see what I can do.

The Black Void Pirates

@Spriggs27 Why do you say that? If you could give me a couple of suggestions, then perhaps I can change the character to fit the group better.

The Black Void Pirates

Name: Fahim ibn Omar (or "monkey")
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Class: Sniper
Race: Human
Home world: The Legislator-23, a space station orbiting the star Taekar's Fire

Appearance: At first appearance, Fahim looks exactly like his nickname implies. He is so short an average man would see right over him, not taking notice of him until they look down. This is not helped by his near-horrific spindliness, brought on by years of poor care and his own mockery of self-sufficiency. On his head lies a thick mop of dark curly hair, which also dusts his arms, legs, and chin. Occasionally, his left eye twitches from a vitamin deficiency.

Former Profession: N/A. Wants to become a philosopher.

Personality: Fahim, raised in a strongly religious environment, is a faithful adherent of the Mecca Faith. He dreams of learning the holy language on his sound recorder, and making the pilgrimage to Sol 3 that his caretakers had always said was mandatory. In the few occasions when he could get someone to listen to him, his conversations eventually turn to him preaching what little he knew of his faith. However, he can rarely get anybody to listen to him, and has therefore resigned himself to his largely silent life. Therefore, he could go days without saying a word, which suited both him and his former superiors just fine.

History: Fahim was born on the Legislator-23, a space station system consisting of a residency and a Dyson Sphere. Both of his parents worked as mechanics, maintaining the Dyson Sphere on behalf of Dimashq Corp, a subsidiary of Steele Corp. Soon after his birth, Taekar's Fire spit up an unexpected solar flare, blowing up the Dyson Sphere and killing every worker on it. He was raised with all the other kids orphaned by the flare. The caretakers did what they could, but they had their hands more than full with all of the children.

Taekar's Fire was a strange star capable of producing oxygen, and was thus inhabited with ever-flying sunflies. They were as big as dogs, and would often chew through wires along the Dyson Sphere or even attack the mechanics. Steele Corp always supplied the station with rifles to clean out infestations of them, but since the flare, they have shot up in number. The older children, Fahim included, had to take the abandoned weapons and protect the younger ones from being carried away.

Most of the surviving adults were chaplains, many graduates of the Medina School of Philosophy on Sol 3. Because of this, Fahim was enraptured with his vision of the Medina School, and the moment he saw a ship heading in that general direction, he stowed away and offered his services at a very low rate, though not before stealing a smattering of things from the Legislator.

Primary: An old Steele Corp Projector, a light sniper rifle that fires lead bullets.
Secondary: N/A
Melee: A heavy wrench

Equipment:
A watch set to Earth time.
The above-shown heavy wrench.
A sound recorder with a few sermons saved on it, all in a language he doesn't understand (Arabic).

Haven: Summer camp for Supernatural Teens

Lukas had just arrived in the clearing when he heard the bosun sound of an electrical bell ring out across the camp. Was he late already? He hadn't yet had a chance to speak to the counselors, or anybody for that matter. Perhaps this'll be sorted out by the end of the day or something. That can't be too far away, right?