BurningCold

Middle-Earth: The Fifth Age

@Bishop I'd like to add that, upon looking through some more of your history on this site, I refuse to roleplay with you. You really are just a troll, or something close, and I'd like to think we're all done feeding.

Middle-Earth: The Fifth Age

@Bishop My personal thoughts are no, that wouldn't really fit with the theme being set.

Middle-Earth: The Fifth Age

@MiddleEarthRoze@Dealdric I'd like to voice my agreement. Also, while Lucian does have the final say, I suggest that you start to rework some of the aspects of your app sooner rather than later, perhaps starting with that name.

Middle-Earth: The Fifth Age

@Dealdric Your app is currently being reviewed by the GMs. (That's me, @MiddleEarthRoze, and @Lucian)

The Valencia - [High Fantasy, Pirates]

@ihinka If I may offer a suggestion to number 4? Perhaps, like Orm, the Free Isles have become her home, and as a widely renowned doctor, she was asked to join the crew. Knowing that her home was in danger, she agreed to put her life at risk to attempt to save it.

Something like that, maybe?

THE LION'S ROAR: FREE LEGIONS (A super high-fantasy military RP)

We'll see if I can cobble a character together. It won't be my finest work if so, seeing as how they're liable to die, but I'll put great effort into my posts nonetheless.

The Valencia - [High Fantasy, Pirates]

Ludo stared hard at his brother. “Going out again? Your trial isn’t that far off, Orm. You should be preparing, like me, not prancing around in the forest.” Orm had no reply, save an involuntary twinge of his lips, then he was out the door. Prance? No, no. Orm was going to fly. Only yesterday had he unlocked the secrets of the owl, and now he was one. Well, not yet. But soon.

Rort and Ludo watched Orm depart, his form rapidly diminishing. “Big brother?” Rort began. “I feel sorry for Orm.” Ludo only shook his head, slowly.

“Don’t.”

---

Orm circled high above the Valencia, beady eyes of yellow and black eyeing the sailors boarding it carefully. The majority seemed to be drunk or hungover, and he was certain one or two were trying to mend the latter with the former. Not to worry, provided they weren’t the violent sorts, and kept their foul drink far away from him. It all tasted either too bland, or felt like fire creeping down his throat, threatening to spread itself to his heart and lungs and stomach. All in all, drinking alcohol was not the way Orm preferred to spend his twilight hours, or his daylight ones, for that matter. He remembered the time he and his younger brother Rort drank themselves silly on their father’s beer. It was not a pleasant memory. When Dram, their father, found the two, they were both beaten harshly and without question. Rort blamed their discovery on Orm’s “curse”, and the two went their separate paths ever since.

Shaking himself from his reverie, Orm thrust himself into a rapid descent, his white wings cutting through the air like a hot knife through butter, the wind singing in his ears. Closer and closer the vessel grew, before he pulled up, and landed with two feet on the deck. In the blink of an eye, the seagull was gone, replaced with a man. Adjusting the hat atop his head, Orm began to amble towards the quarters below deck, even as the captain gave the order herself. Finally reaching the communal bedding area, Orm claimed for himself a proper cot stowed away against one corner, noting with some disappointment that it seemed as though it would be rather quite shorter than him, if the cot were a man.

Returning back the way he came, he eventually came back atop the deck, immediately carrying himself to the railing. Staring into the water beneath him, his hands clasped on the wooden railing tightly, Orm tried to ignore the wandering eyes he caught wherever he went, sailors being a particularly nasty breed, when it came to jibes and insults. That knowledge aside, however, the same soft smile never fell from Orm’s face, rather, Orm the Albino as he had come to be known.

The Valencia - [High Fantasy, Pirates]

- Here's some mood music

Name:
Orm the Albino

Age:
24

Sex:
Male

Nationality:
The North (Exile)

Class:
Shapeshifter

Physical Description:
Orm possesses a pleasant face, gently raised cheekbones, barely concave cheeks, and a tapered chin, his nose strong and longer than most, but certainly not intrusive. His lips curve in such a way that it seems a soft smile always graces them. His hair, short and shaggy, is a white so bright and pure that only his skin, freshly fallen snow, can seem to compare. His eyes are wary, curious things, almond shaped, with dim fires of lavenders and pale reds swirling within. A general look of dubious calm seems to surround Orm at all times, as if every event that unfolds before him is something of a pleasant surprise.

Standing at six foot three, Orm is tall but not lanky, his body put together gracefully as if sculpted from marble by some great craftsman. Though toned and not unfit, his body as a whole has a very smooth appearance to it. The only discrepancy in the grace of Orm’s form is a barely discernible limp in his right leg, a constant reminder of his youth in the North. His attire consists of a simple cotton shirt, felt pants, and leather boots, with a navy blue bridgecoat covering the outfit, topped off by a brown tricorn hat.

Fighting Style:
With his status as a shapeshifter, Orm is well suited for various situations. Stealth and infiltration are afforded to him with ease, as is open warfare, or anything in between, thanks to the wide variety of animals at his disposal. When more conventional means of combat are required, Orm is a suitable shot with firearms, being adept with both pistols and rifles.

As a secondary skillset, Orm is well acquainted to the menial task of cleaning, finding the monotony of the exercise a soothing excuse to think to himself in peace.

Known Forms

• Polar Bear
• Grey Wolf
• Arctic Wolf
• Leopard Seal
• Harbor Seal
• Field Mouse
• Horned Owl
• Barn Owl
• Carpenter Ant
• Northern Cardinal
• Earthworm
• Squirrel
• Bald Eagle
• Falcon
• Seagull
• Rat
• Moose
• Deer

Personality/Mental:
Always ready to agree with others, his own personal opinions seemingly as changing as the winds, no one has ever managed to discern what Orm’s true motivations or beliefs are. Never one to enjoy conflicts of the personal sort, Orm endeavors as best that he can to keep himself as far removed from any kind of rising tensions, and with his soft spoken voice, eerily serene tone, and agreeable nature, this is not hard to pull off.

Orm prefers to spend time by himself poring over books or as an animal, seeing and feeling the world through the senses of an entirely new species. The antics of more boisterous and excitable people has little appeal to him, and only those with a similar appreciation for study or nature have a chance to garner any kind of real friendship with him. While he can sometimes enjoy the rush that comes with a good fight, he usually loathes the act, whether it be a friendly brawl, an anger fueled duel to settle some score, or a battle against strangers to defend his home. The latter of the three, unfortunately, is rapidly becoming a driving force in Orm’s life.

History:
The owl knew it was being watched. Its talons dug firmly into the tree, swiveling its head around and giving an occasional hoot, the owl could feel that curious pair of eyes peering at it from some distance away. It decided to do a little show for its tiny audience, flapping its wings heavily and drifting over to the next tree. Swivel. Hoot. Swivel. Hoot. Hoot. Flap, flap. New tree. The pattern seemed to continue along for hours, until eventually the pair of eyes and the body attached to it went away, after the sun started to climb down the sky and slide off the edge of the horizon.

So for three months and a day the eyes would scan the wooded area for the owl, and the owl would perform for its watcher, and then one day the eyes stopped coming so often. The owl didn’t fret though, because soon after it met its twin.

Orm was never terribly close to his parents, or the other children in the tribe, instead preferring the wide freedom of the outdoors to the safety and warmth that the camp promised him. Why stay there anyways? There the younger ones gawked and pointed while the older ones muttered about curses and doomed fates, and his father paid enough attention to him to teach him how to shoot the firearms they traded with the merchants from the south in exchange for furs and meats. Orm was very good at shooting, and he hated it too. His mother dedicated herself to her other children, sparing only a choice glance or two for Orm. As for his siblings? The were the same as all of the other children.

So Orm hid himself away in the wild whenever he could, learning from the animals until he found that he himself was one of them. He flew high into the skies with the eagles, hunted for rodents and smaller birds as an owl, experienced the terror of being hunted as a deer, and the thrill of the kill as a wolf. Even the secrets of the great northern polar bears were unveiled to him in time, and soon after he was a seal, swimming the icy currents of the northern ocean as if he had his whole life. The world away from home was like a dream, until it came to pass that Orm realized it was the great outdoors that was his true home.

But as with all dreams, eventually the dreamer must wake up, and reality will face him if he does not face it.

The eldest son followed him into the woods one day, bid by their father to discover what it was that Orm busied himself with day in and day out, rather than prepare for his trial. For hours and hours he searched and he called, determined to complete his father’s task. Ludo’s sixteenth name day had already come and gone, and he was determined to prove himself worthy of the blessings bestowed upon him by Mother Gaia. It was Orm who found him.

An explanation was demanded, and Orm refused to give one. The terse conversation quickly heated into an argument, and violence followed shortly after. Orm was smaller and quicker, but Ludo was strong, and the melee between the two did not last long. Bigger, stronger, but not at all slow, Ludo easily overpowered his younger brother, beating him to a pulp, raw rage overcoming him, not for the first or last time in his life. Eventually, the onslaught stopped, and Ludo fell to his knees, panting and panting. From Orm’s position, sprawled on the ground, bruised, bloodied, and broken, his brother looked like a wolf after catching a fresh kill. He struggled to rise to his feet, his right leg buckling out from beneath him as he attempted to stand. Painfully, Orm slammed back to the ground, and still Ludo knelt there, his breath heaving, eyes glazed over and staring at some far away thing Orm could not hope to comprehend or see.

So he began to crawl, and focused all of his energy into shifting as he did, and then Orm was flying, away from Ludo, away from the camp, away from his father with his foul guns, away from his mother and her apathy, away from the curses cast his way, away from the stares and the mutterings, away from it all. Away from his past, and towards the future.

Inventory:

• Flintlock pistol
• Bayoneted Musket
• Waterskin
• Spare shot and powder
• Spyglass
• Satchel with quills, jars of ink, and a few journals

The Valencia - [High Fantasy, Pirates]

@LadyTabris List has been added. I did the math and I think I significantly nerfed the number of forms he has.

The Valencia - [High Fantasy, Pirates]

youtube.com/watch?v=TfDpVhmhk2U - Here's some mood music

Orm

Name:
Orm the Albino

Age:
24

Sex:
Male

Nationality:
The North (Exile)

Class:
Shapeshifter

Physical Description:
Orm possesses a pleasant face, gently raised cheekbones, barely concave cheeks, and a tapered chin, his nose strong and longer than most, but certainly not intrusive. His lips curve in such a way that it seems a soft smile always graces them. His hair, short and shaggy, is a white so bright and pure that only his skin, freshly fallen snow, can seem to compare. His eyes are wary, curious things, almond shaped, with dim fires of lavenders and pale reds swirling within. A general look of dubious calm seems to surround Orm at all times, as if every event that unfolds before him is something of a pleasant surprise.

Standing at six foot three, Orm is tall but not lanky, his body put together gracefully as if sculpted from marble by some great craftsman. Though toned and not unfit, his body as a whole has a very smooth appearance to it. The only discrepancy in the grace of Orm’s form is a barely discernible limp in his right leg, a constant reminder of his youth in the North. His attire consists of a simple cotton shirt, felt pants, and leather boots, with a navy blue bridgecoat covering the outfit, topped off by a brown tricorn hat.

Fighting Style:
With his status as a shapeshifter, Orm is well suited for various situations. Stealth and infiltration are afforded to him with ease, as are open warfare, or anything in between, thanks to the wide variety of animals at his disposal. When more conventional means of combat are required, Orm is a suitable shot with firearms, being adept with both pistols and rifles.

As a secondary skillset, Orm is well acquainted to the menial task of cleaning, finding the monotony of the exercise a soothing excuse to think to himself in peace.

Known Forms

• Polar Bear
• Grey Wolf
• Arctic Wolf
• Leopard Seal
• Harbor Seal
• Field Mouse
• Horned Owl
• Barn Owl
• Carpenter Ant
• Northern Cardinal
• Earthworm
• Squirrel
• Bald Eagle
• Falcon
• Moose
• Deer

Personality/Mental:
Always ready to agree with others, his own personal opinions seemingly as changing as the winds, no one has ever managed to discern what Orm’s true motivations or beliefs are. Never one to enjoy conflicts of the personal sort, Orm endeavors as best that he can to keep himself as far removed from any kind of rising tensions, and with his soft spoken voice, eerily serene tone, and agreeable nature, this is not hard to pull off.

Orm prefers to spend time by himself poring over books or as an animal, seeing and feeling the world through the senses of an entirely new species. The antics of more boisterous and excitable people has little appeal to him, and only those with a similar appreciation for study or nature have a chance to garner any kind of real friendship with him. While he can sometimes enjoy the rush that comes with a good fight, he usually loathes the act, whether it be a friendly brawl, an anger fueled duel to settle some score, or a battle against strangers to defend his home. The latter of the three, unfortunately, is rapidly becoming a driving force in Orm’s life.

History:
The owl knew it was being watched. Its talons dug firmly into the tree, swiveling its head around and giving an occasional hoot, the owl could feel that curious pair of eyes peering at it from some distance away. It decided to do a little show for its tiny audience, flapping its wings heavily and drifting over to the next tree. Swivel. Hoot. Swivel. Hoot. Hoot. Flap, flap. New tree. The pattern seemed to continue along for hours, until eventually the pair of eyes and the body attached to it went away, after the sun started to climb down the sky and slide off the edge of the horizon.

So for three months and a day the eyes would scan the wooded area for the owl, and the owl would perform for its watcher, and then one day the eyes stopped coming so often. The owl didn’t fret though, because soon after it met its twin.

Orm was never terribly close to his parents, or the other children in the tribe, instead preferring the wide freedom of the outdoors to the safety and warmth that the camp promised him. Why stay there anyways? There the younger ones gawked and pointed while the older ones muttered about curses and doomed fates, and his father paid enough attention to him to teach him how to shoot the firearms they traded with the merchants from the south in exchange for furs and meats. Orm was very good at shooting, and he hated it too. His mother dedicated herself to her other children, sparing only a choice glance or two for Orm. As for his siblings? The were the same as all of the other children.

So Orm hid himself away in the wild whenever he could, learning from the animals until he found that he himself was one of them. He flew high into the skies with the eagles, hunted for rodents and smaller birds as an owl, experienced the terror of being hunted as a deer, and the thrill of the kill as a wolf. Even the secrets of the great northern polar bears were unveiled to him in time, and soon after he was a seal, swimming the icy currents of the northern ocean as if he had his whole life. The world away from home was like a dream, until it came to pass that Orm realized it was the great outdoors that was his true home.

But as with all dreams, eventually the dreamer must wake up, and reality will face him if he does not face it.

The eldest son followed him into the woods one day, bid by their father to discover what it was that Orm busied himself with day in and day out, rather than prepare for his trial. For hours and hours he searched and he called, determined to complete his father’s task. Ludo’s sixteenth name day had already come and gone, and he was determined to prove himself worthy of the blessings bestowed upon him by Mother Gaia. It was Orm who found him.

An explanation was demanded, and Orm refused to give one. The terse conversation quickly heated into an argument, and violence followed shortly after. Orm was smaller and quicker, but Ludo was strong, and the melee between the two did not last long. Bigger, stronger, but not at all slow, Ludo easily overpowered his younger brother, beating him to a pulp, raw rage overcoming him, not for the first or last time in his life. Eventually, the onslaught stopped, and Ludo fell to his knees, panting and panting. From Orm’s position, sprawled on the ground, bruised, bloodied, and broken, his brother looked like a wolf after catching a fresh kill. He struggled to rise to his feet, his right leg buckling out from beneath him as he attempted to stand. Painfully, Orm slammed back to the ground, and still Ludo knelt there, his breath heaving, eyes glazed over and staring at some far away thing Orm could not hope to comprehend or see.

So he began to crawl, and focused all of his energy into shifting as he did, and then Orm was flying, away from Ludo, away from the camp, away from his father with his foul guns, away from his mother and her apathy, away from the curses cast his way, away from the stares and the mutterings, away from it all. Away from his past, and towards the future.

Inventory:

• Flintlock pistol
• Bayoneted Musket
• Waterskin
• Spare shot and powder