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  • Old Guild Username: Cadvin
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    1. Cadvin 11 yrs ago

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ASTA said
That's because people are unwilling to step outside of their comfort zones. Seriously people, break some tropes. Shatter some stereotypes. Not everything has to adhere to the 'Tolkien Model' or the various mythologies that he based his series off of. Want to have a master dwarf mage that can disrupt molecular bonds through touch or thought? Do it. Want to have a dwarf arbalist that can put Legolas to shame? Do it. This isn't rocket science.


The problem is that breaking dwarf tropes usually requires you to already want to play a dwarf. Everyone can make a unique dwarf if they say "Okay, I want to play one of these but make it interesting." But usually people will glace at the race list and an idea for a unique human or elf (Whose instinctual roles are much more flexible) will pop into their heads without having to think "Okay, so right now I have a template for a character that I don't want to play. How do I turn it into a character I do want to play?"

Basically: Most people that play a trope-defying dwarf will be doing so because they were already interested in the idea of dwarves, but didn't want to play a beer quaffing miner. But most people aren't going to say "Man, that race looks boring, and that one looks fun to play. Instead of playing the one I'm interested in, I'm going to try and think of a way to make the boring race as interesting as the other race."
Hmm, good question. Mostly I think it's very easy for dwarves to be boring. The basic dwarven "template" is very generic: short, bearded, gruff, alcoholic. Not a lot of character development past a few posts. As with any other race it's easy the break the mold (I could easily make a nervous young dwarven sorceress that's self-conscious because women of other races don't have beards) but mostly that requires a preexisting interest in playing a dwarf. I love the little mountain men, but let's face it, when people read about elves everyone has a different character concept in mind. When people read about dwarves the first thing that pops into everyone's head is functionally identical to Gimli.
Hey, Khaemtir might be tricky to spell and of ambiguous pronunciation, but it's authentic Ancient Egyptian. It was on the internet and everything.

Anyway I haven't been active recently because I was installing a new processor. This should have taken an hour tops. Spoilers: It didn't.

I'll probably hold off posting until tomorrow. I'm getting dental work and planning out a post helps pass the time better than paying attention to what they're doing.
Honestly, I would just make it clear that you don't expect magic to be too powerful. Don't accept anyone that you think is taking it too far, and if someone does something out of line give them a talking to and make them retcon their post. It's a much more surefire solution than imposing restrictions on the magic system itself, because it's almost always easier to find a loophole than to plug them.
Gah, that name. My brain just can't seem to come to terms with how it's pronounced vs how it's spelled. Dang phoenicians, ruining everything.
"...And no matter what I try, the thing just keeps dropping off at the slightest hint of strenuous activity. Of course, I bandage it back on and let the tissue regenerate as much as it will, but it breaks off the next time I lift a stack of books, or try to unstick my door. Once it came off as a client was shaking my hand. Of course, I immediately-”
“'Course you did,” said the banshee, cutting off the mummy's raspy, droning speech. “I think I've heard all I need to. Should be a simple fix.” Khaemtir leaned forward, looking pleased. “Really? Excellent! I was worried it would-”
“Yeah I'm sure.” The banshee had intentionally interrupted him again. How irritating. She stopped brushing her hair and looked at him. “Okay, so first? You're a mummy, and an old one. You shouldn't exactly be lifting weights. Hell, it's a miracle you haven't crumbled to dust already.” The mummy stiffened, the smile dropping from his lips.
“I'll have you know, young lady, that aside from this temporary condition I am in perfectly physical-”
“And secondly,” She continued hurriedly, “All you need to do is wire it on for a bit. It should fix itself after a month or two. Just needs some time to strengthen up.” Khaemtir smiled, but only slightly.
“Very well. I thank you for your assistance.” He began to stand up.
“Thank your wallet. Hey, where do you think you're going?” She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him down, but it instead tore away from his shoulder with a sound like a snapping twig. “Oops, sorry. Yeah, but maybe it'd do you some good to try having fun. Live a little, gramps! You know, metaphorically speaking.” Khaemtir glared at her and snatched up his arm. He stuck it back up his sleeve and muttered a few words of ancient egyptian. A warm glow blossomed and then faded beneath the cloth at his shoulder- a spell of healing just strong enough to keep it from falling off from its own weight. Only when he was done did he look back up at the banshee, who had been watching a skeleton juggle his own head and a good few mugs.
“I'm not a grandfather,” He said. The banshee slowly rolled her head back towards him.
“With your attitude? Honestly? I didn't expect you to be. I'll be over there with the cute ghost.” She drifted directly through Khaemtir, bathing him momentarily in a sensation not unlike being stuck out in the arctic for several hours. Had he been alive he probably would have shivered.

He was left sitting alone at a table in the corner of the bar, with loud music all around and the skeleton close by, who was now juggling an inadvisable amount of objects. Dressed in a old brown suit, clutching a book, and sitting stiffly in his seat, he felt and looked very out of place. He snorted.
“Hmph. Bitch.”
No image- I can never seem to find one. Just imagine that right here is a picture of a desiccated corpse sitting cross-legged in a chair. His skin (From what you can see of it- mostly on his face, as it is the part least covered by thin strips of yellowish bandages) is the lovely color and texture of beef jerky. He is dressed in outdated clothing. Dark eyes peer severely at you through spectacles as withered fingers turn the page of a thick book he was reading.

Name: He has had many names that have risen and fallen with the sands, but one of them stands as an obelisk throughout it: Khaemtir.

Species: Mummy

Gender: Male

Age: Around 3000, but due to the miracles of preservatives, he doesn't look a day over 1000!

Occupation: Freelance magician. Many people in Gravetown have some magical talent, but few have the experience to dispel an Anomaly that's formed in their home, or to cast a veil in time for the dance, or to pass the Magic 203 final without tutoring. It's a broad topic, but after this long a little variance is exactly what he needs.

Personality: When a graverobber first woke Khaemtir some few hundred years after his demise, he was a little bit miffed about it. He appears to have carried this general sentiment all throughout his unlife. It's not really that he means to be rude, sullen, and patronizing, it's just that he's a bit of a bitter old man. After so many years the world starts moving too fast, and rather than walk away Khaemtir would much rather have everyone else calm down and take a seat, thank you very much. For someone with flesh dry enough to be used for tinder, he's a surprisingly wet blanket.

Bio: In life, Khaemtir was an Egyptian sorcerer-priest. When the pharoh died, Khaemtir was fairly willing (Not the he had an outstanding amount of choice in the matter) to be mummified and entombed along with him, to better serve him in the afterlife. Well, that didn't happen. Aside from the one graverobber, of course.
A scholar at heart, Khaemtir used his newfound immortality to learn. For many years he wandered the world, visiting all the greatest libraries, learning languages, and his favorite art, honing his magical abilities. Such intellectual pursuits kept his mind off of the dull, ever present aching pain that came with his condition. But sometime during Europe's dark ages, he became frustrated with the relative stagnation all around the globe, and set his sights on Gravetown.
Gravetown became a place of permanent residence, as it often does to the undead. Nowadays Khaemtir operates a small office in the Crypt district, with business on the first floor and living space in the lower.

Stuff you often carry: Usually carries whatever book he's reading and enough spare bandages to repair any mishaps he might have. Besides that is his wallet, house key, and clothes.

Type of magic, if any: Khaemtir is a potent magician, but he doesn't value raw strength much. He views himself as a bit of an artist, crafting his spells with finesse and efficiency in mind, rather than just throwing power at the problem. While he can work all types of magic with proficiency, he favors earth and air over fire and water.

Anything else?: Lemon mint smells lovely, don't you think?

Turns out I'm not quite as busy today as I thought. Also, is the Crypt district underground? It seems to be, but you never directly said it.
Just booting in to reserve my place, if'n you don't mind- I'm going to be really busy tomorrow, but I'm already working on my CS so expect a sullen mummygician to be joining the cast soon.
Looks good so far! I love these sorts of interpersonal RPs.
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