CelticSoldier

Treasure Hunters - A Warhammer Fantasy Adventure

@Jbcool@DrunkasaurusRex@Maxwell@Bright_Ops@Andreyich
Sorry it took so long to get out, I've been ill for a while, but the next post is now up!

Treasure Hunters - A Warhammer Fantasy Adventure

The wizard wondered, seemingly oblivious, into the dense green jungle. His eyes were fixed on his map, and every so often he conjured some kind of magical needle that you guess acts as a compass. From the amount of cursing he does trying to get it to work, you suspect that a real compass might have been easier. Eyes down and focused, his apprentice has to nudge him slightly this way and that in order to avoid the many trees that appear in his way. As you journey ever inward it starts to become distinctly hotter and more humid, and sweat soon drenches everyone's cloths, creating a most delicious meal for all the flies and mosquitos that seem to follow you incessantly. Luckily, you have not yet come across any of an extraordinarily abnormal size, but when they bite it's like they have tine openers on there feet. Darren appears to have prepared a spell in advance, as any bugs that come near him vanish in a puff of flame. Apparently it's 'not safe' to enact the spell over more than one person, so you'll just have to put up with it.

After hours and hours of hacking through ridiculously dense jungle that seems determined to trap you forever, you come to a large swamp. Darren looks somewhat bewildered when his foot sinks up to his ankle in thick mud, glancing curiously around him. "This wasn't here before." He pondered, "I must have taken a wrong turn. Ahh yes, we're here, not here, as I thought, we must have been cut off and circled round here..." He continued to narrate your mis-adventure, interspersing it with sharp jabs at the map. Alison looked round apologetically. Darren, however, lost none of his enthusiasm. "Well, come on then, let's get to it!" Just before anyone might try and kill him, another voice rings out over the swamp. "Lost, are you?" An elf, of all things, seems to glide through the trees towards you. Far from being hampered by the dense undergrowth, it appears as though he is accustomed to it. "Can be deadly, out here." While possessing his natural, arrogant countenance, he is otherwise dressed far more appropriately for the environment, wearing a thin cotton shirt, tall boots and thick trousers. "I am Thirodaen, of Ulthuan, though I have spent a number of years mapping this gods forsaken jungle. I can most likely take you where you wish, the company would be appreciated. Regardless of whether you let me guide you though, I suggest you camp here. Night will soon fall, and this is not the kind of place you would wish to be caught out."

I don't know about you, but this seems far too convenient. Darren really doesn't care. "A cartographer? Perfect, simply wonderful! I've not been this way very often, as you can tell, but this is quite fortunate is it not? Well, let's camp then, come on, get to it!" Darren lights a fire with magic, since the wood is so damp that no normal method is going to light it, while Alison cooks something in a large metal pot that appeared out of nowhere. Magic does have some perks. While you're eating, Darren wanders out a bit into the jungle, talking to the elf, (Did I ever tell you about the time....), leaving you to your own conversation.

The World of Lasgoul

More bandits. Never seemed to be a shortage of them, which was lucky, because otherwise Thirodaen suspected that he'd be out of many a job. Greed and avarice, he was glad that the human realms seemed to be full of them. No that his own home had none. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of the dwarf, which was, as usual, beer and sweat. He had been brawling, and was late, and was quite obviously drunk. No more than he'd expected really.

He raised an eyebrow at their second late comer, the elf from bright wood. An elf, at least, but hardly fey. Flimsy too. Very pretty, of course, and should they ever need to seduce the enemy into submission, she would be a valuable asset, but flimsy. She wore a sword, he supposed, and he assumed that she had enough common sense that she knew how to use it, but other than that, perhaps it might be good to travel with someone who didn't smell like a sewer. The bright wood elves were...more a race of dreamers, he just hoped that this one might be weighed down in reality.

As to the plan, there was nothing to say, so why say anything? He'd never been a particularly complex planner, and most people were surprised by his bluntness when they allowed him to plan their attack. This plan seemed as good as any.

The World of Lasgoul

@BlackFlag I do apologise for the stereotype. He does have reasons...if that helps...at all...

The World of Lasgoul

It appeared that Thirodaen was not alone in standing, though the human who remained so surprised him. He should have more respect for his superiors. He stood with the rest of them, might as well, if he was going to be associated with them for a while, he should probably get used to it. The elf was dressed in a thin, baggy linin shirt, and a small silver wolf hung on a thin metal chain around his neck. Two swords in intricate sheaths rested by his side.

"Thirodaen," He gave a mock bow, "They call me 'Fey wild'. Don't ask me who they are. I don't know." That was always the first question he received from those people who thought themselves smart enough, or drunk enough, to have any form of wit. It had become a habit to say the last bit, usually ended the conversation. His speak was smooth and graceful, like any elf's, but there was a hint of sarcasm there too. He'd never been one for formal occasions. He preferred these things done as quickly as possible, which ended up better for all involved. Glancing at the rest of them, it appeared that doing it quickly would certainly be better for him, anyway.

The World of Lasgoul

Name: Thirodaen ‘FeyWild’
Race: Fey Elf
Age: 85
Class: Blade Dancer
Alignment: Neutral Good

Description: His face is almost inhumanly elongated, though still possesses a kind of ethereal beauty common to his race. His red hair has been cut short and remains messy and spiky, maybe with the odd twig here and there. He has piercing blue eyes and an arrogant smirk always playing on his thin lips. Tall and willowy, he can seem quite effeminate from a distance.

When not in armour, he has adopted more human clothes, much to his disdain. He typically wears a loose white shirt with leather trousers.  He keeps it as simple as possible, refusing to adorn himself with further ‘human baubles’. He does, however, wear a tiny silver wolf on a thin chain around his neck, from his native wildwood.

Weapons: Wildwood longbow
        Elven Double-glaive
        

Double Glaive

Like this, but with straighter blades.

Curved dagger ‘Hiketash’ (he refuses to translate)

Armour: When going into battle, he adopts dulled human mail, having found that it offers significantly more protection than his native leathers. He does, however, still wear said leathers when traveling, as they’re far more comfortable.

Experience: Thirodaen has been hunting in the wildwoods since he was ten, and upon leaving aged 43, has been fighting for various mercenary companies for about 42 years.

Fighting Style: Thirodaen is a dead shot with his bow, and is quite happy to stand in plain sight, calmly picking off the enemy from a distance, absent mindedly avoiding any arrows that might have found their mark in him. Should the foe decide to close, then the killing really starts. His double glaive starts spinning, slowly at first, but getting faster and faster, forming intricate patterns around his body until it is nothing but a blur, marked by the blood of those who get too close.
Like any self respecting Fey elf, he can sneak and skulk with the best of them, striking unseen from the shadows. But that’s really not fair on the poor humans.

Personality: Thirodaen is cold and remorseless. He has a superior and arrogant attitude regarding humans and most other species, considering them to be lesser than himself. He does not deign speak to them, if he can help it. He trusts no-one implicitly, but he will still work with most people, convinced that they couldn't do him much harm anyway, regardless, he always has one or two knives of his person, even if you can't see them. He can also be judgmental of his faults, and defensive of his own. However, he holds himself to the high standards upon which he bases his disrespect for all others, and you will never find an elf quite so loyal, determined, or ferocious as Thirodaen. In defence of his allies, he would give his life. Albeit grudgingly, with promises of much haunting.

BackStory

Backstory: Quite young for an elf, like many, he does not remember a time before humans. He was born into a quiet, secluded world, forever warned of the dangers of stepping outside the forest. For years that forest was his home, he was happy. Back then, he was a good person, perhaps slightly naive, but a more friendly person you would struggle to find. He married a girl named Miste, who had hair of gold and a voice like silk. He loved her. He gave her a child. But it was a lie.
He was woken by the cries of a screaming child, and went through to see what was wrong. He found his wife cradling their baby, dressed for a long journey. “Miste? What are you doing?”
She had sighed, seemingly annoyed, “I had hoped to avoid this.” She carefully placed down the baby, dusted him off, and smashed Thirodaen through the wall, pinning him to the wall behind. Telekinesis had always been her speciality. She slowly walked up to him, keeping him held a foot of the ground. Thirodaen was lost, “I...Why…”
Miste sighed again and shook her head. She looked almost pitying. “Thirodaen, poor, poor Thirodaen. Why did you ever think I loved you?”
“Because...I loved you.”
That made her laugh, “Stupid youngling. I married your blood, your line. You have no idea the powers this child possesses. I never loved you, you were just too naive to see it.” She stepped  back, as if contemplating what to do with him. “I shall have to kill you.” She concluded, drawing a long dagger, “Such a shame, you were a very nice person. Maybe try harder next time?” She giggled, placing the cold steel on her husband's throat. “Goodbye.”
She forgot that he was never unarmed. She stumbled back, a curved knife protruding from her stomach. Her eyes went wide in surprise, her magic failed and her breathing became shallower, and shallower. He held her, as she died. As she breathed her final breath. And with that breath went any compassion Thirodaen had left.
The child was gone when he turned back. Whoever she’d been, Miste had not been working alone. He left the wildwood that night, seeking to make his way in the human world. He kept the knife, and named it Hiketash. Widower. Wife killer.

The World of Lasgoul

Sorry I'm late! It was about midnight for me when this was posted, and I've not had much of a chance to reply yet. I will have something up today.

The Obivec Isles: Battle for Abbaden [Lore Rich, Lots to Explore]

Name: Jaime Cartarsy
Age: 25
Race: Human
Appearance: Short, red hair, sea blue eyes and a pale complexion, Jaime has the cast of a dreamer. Despite spending days under the scalding sun, he never seems to burn. If you looked closer, you would see the faint outlines of two runes etched into his skin, just beneath the nape of his neck. The first channels magic, the second provides a degree of fire protection.
He is of middling height, around 5ft 11inch, maybe six on a good day. Despite resembling a learned man, his body has been honed by years of fighting beasts, first in his native Tour de Rouge, and then in the Nether Gate. He also happens to be quite handsome, which even the girls he has left behind will bitterly attest to.

Attire: Typically, when not fighting monsters, Jaime wears a white linin shirt under a jacket of monster hide died red. When he is fighting monsters, he wears only padded leather armour, with a few metal plates behind over more vital areas. They are, however, empowered by runes of his own design so that, when hit, he armour is harder than plate. Like all heroes, he neglects a helmet, stating it would ruin his hair. In reality, it blocks the flow of magic to the rune on his neck, which would significantly hamper his runic enchantments.

Bio:

Bio

Growing up, Jaimie fully embraced the hunter ethos, throwing himself into each fight with an almost suicidal vigour. It was his mother who gave him his runes, she herself being a skilled rune smith, and she instilled his curiosity and his desire to learn more. As he began to craft his weapon, she aided him with knowledge of the correct symbols to inscribe and the correct way to pull the magic through the blades, though of course, he did the work himself. The weapon that he crafted was one that he had always wanted even as a boy, when he fought with nothing but a long stick. His father called it a double-glaive, a thick metal haft with sword blades at either end, (You, like those things some elves use on LotR) Jaimie's also split in half to form two short sword. Despite it's tremendous weight, he has fought with it long enough to know how to use it properly. He first kill was a huge golem which had been driven crazy by a wild magical force, it was ten feet high and crafted of stone. The fight went on for hours, and it is said that they fought for so long that the runes on his blade grew hot enough to slice through the golems stone body, and this was how it was defeated. This much is true.
At the bidding of his mother, whom desired that he also should learn how to craft runes, lest there be none locally when she died, he set off for Nether Gate in order to improve his craft, aged only fifteen.

Upon arriving there, he apprenticed with a demon hunter named Marik, who was well known for often going out alone to hunt demons, and returning with more heads than many parties could hope for. It took much cajoling, fighting, and a life debt before he agreed to take him on, but he soon found that the boy was an apt learner, and soon they were discussing runes as practically equals, as opposed to student and teacher. Jaime made quite a name for himself as an accomplice to the legend Marik, establishing one of his own.

Completing his 'apprenticeship', Jaimie bid farewell to Marik, vowing that they would meet again soon. Journeying back to his native village, as he promised his mother, he returned to the life he'd led before, hunting, fighting, working, he even began work on an runic chainmail suit, every link being individually inscribed with the desired runes, but he still hasn't finished it. It just wasn't the same, back home. He missed the thrill, the adventure of Nethergate. So he left. Now he's in Tour de Rouge, looking for someone to share in his adventure.

Personality and Aspirations:
Jaimie's a thrill seeking, risk taking son of a bitch, and can barely sit still unless he's doing something
(weak ADHD), but his speech is quite smooth and practiced, which comes with being an shameless f***boy ladies man. He is a constant seeker of adventure.

Inventory:

Bright Flame

Jaimie's aptly named bright flame glows with the power of the runes used upon it, which allow it to slice through even the hardest of mundane metals as if they were butter. As the fight goes on, the runes become more powerful as they begin to heat up with the current of magic passing through, and more than a few times, flame has manifested itself on the blades. It can be wielded as a double glaive, or split into two short swords.

Flame Scale Armour

Jaimie's leathers, as well as having a strength akin to plate, are completely flame retardant, and ehance the strength of the rune on his skin to the point the he could stand in a bonfire and barely feel a prickle.

Basic survival supplies
Coin purse (respectable amount of money)
Backpack
Equipment to complete minor runes


Skills

Runesmith:
Jaimie has the knowledge required to create powerful runes, although he is not a master. He specialises in creating flame enchantments and developing runes of his own design, but is more than capable of creating almost any kind of other rune you could imagine. And some which you couldn't.

Beast Hunter:
Jaimie has fought many beasts and demons in his time, and he knows how to handle himself and adapt his strategies.

Agile fighter:
Despite it's cumbersome weight, Jaimie has found a way to use his weapon that involves as many doges as parries, and can keep it up for quite some time.

Languages
Jaimie speaks fluent Abbalic and Neath-scratch.

Current Location: Tour de Rouge

Searching for a Partner [MxF] Historical/Fantasy

Hello! I've been doing RP's for a while, but recently got into 1x1's and decided to put this up because I'd like to get one or two more going. I'm interested in mostly fantasy (any kind), sci-fi or ancient/medieval historical, so if you've any idea's for that, PM me, if only because it makes me feel important and valued. You could really improve my life here. Think about it.

As for content, I will vary between casual and high-casual, depending on how much there is to write about. I'll usually go for at least one paragraphs, but in that case looking for about five or six lines minimum. Otherwise, a paragraph can be from about three. I know that it can be shorter in situations like dialogue and so forth, so I'm not exactly draconian. No one-liners. Please :)

I'm a bloke, and will play a bloke, because otherwise I won't be able to play the character properly. For pairings, I'll do MxF, because, again, I can't play anything else (romantically) properly. Sorry. Over 18 preferably, and as for smut, if you want to do it, go for it, but if I try you'll most likely just laugh. Pretty much anything else goes, within reason.

So, that's all the boring stuff. Took a bit longer than expected, but we're here now, so welcome back! Now if all goes to plan, this is the interesting part. Hopefully it will go to plan. We'll start with fandoms, because I don't have very many, but maybe I share some with you!

Fandoms

Mistborn
Stormlight Archive
Worm (online serial)
Hunger Games
Game of Thrones

Note that they're all books. At least they were. Then moving pictures got made. I don't know why I noted that. Let's move on. I also like Arthurian settings, but that's not strictly a fandom I don't think, so it's here instead.
I won't suggest any pairings here, though I may add some, but if you have an idea feel free to tell me!

I have a few original ideas, check these out too! I mean, you don't have to, but you're here now so you might as well.
aaaaaaa = Taken

Historical

Jean de Clisson

Jean de Clisson was a French pirate robbing French ships in French waters after her French husband was unlawfully executed by the king of France. How French. The adventures of a powerful woman exacting her own personal brand of revenge, what adventures might she have had? You would play Jean, my role could be anything from her son to her lover.

Bounty of the Tigris

A little explored area of history, the first civilisation was a land known as Sumer, 5000 years ago, and women here held as much power as men. The city of Kish was the first to establish dominance, defeating the Elamite barbarians and creating the first Sumerian dynasty, a tradition that would continue for over 1000 years. This is their story.
So in this you have the option of soldiers, merchants, rulers, whatever you desire (though women soldiers were unusual). This is a time when writing had just been invented and sail boats were a fad. There was not even a standard definition of time.

True King of Macedon

Alexander the Great, who has embarked upon a great quest to destroy the Persian empire, has declared himself a god. Many people disagree with him. Many have money. And many would see him dead. So they have hired you. Following him on his campaigns, you are to await the opportune moment to create the perfect...accident. Deep under cover, you meet a soldier. He speaks of the great things Alexander does, of his bravery, of his courage. Then you see it for yourself. Does such a man really deserve to die?
I say you play the assassin, but you could also play the role of the one convincing the assassin not to kill Alexander. You might end up killing him anyway, you might not. Either way, the consequences will be tremendous.

Dark Age

Saxons, Jutes, Angles, Celts, Britain is just a gigantic battlefield and no one knows who will win and who will lose, only that the price for loss is death. For a man of mixed blood and unknown heritage, only one question matters...who's side are you on?
Less developed and far more free than previous idea's, you can be whomever you want. I think it's a good idea and I'd really like to develop it with someone.

Fantasy/Sci-fi

Death of a Hero

We start where most stories never end. The chosen one, the hero, the last hope, whatever you call him, is dead. And you just watched him breath his last on a dirty, godforsaken battlefield. It's up to you to rally you're forces and fight back against encroaching evil, or strike out alone, and settle things the old fashioned way. This guy insists on following you, and its starting to get annoying.

Starfall

Deep in space, you are the ace pilot of a one man fighter craft, flying for the United Confederation. As far as you're concerned, and organisation for peace, justice and exploration, and you're defending it from the malicious entities that would bring it down. Then you crash land on a planet in the farther reaches of the Confederation, and someone shows you just how wrong you were.

This will be updated should I ever find another plot lurking somewhere. If you want to join me for any of these, or even a different one you think I might like, PM me! I love to talk! Also, if you post in this thread I might miss it. I hope to hear from you soon!

The Adventures of the SkyShark

@DrunkasaurusRex Nah, it's alright. Wouldn't be much good with just one. Might try and re-boot it at some point, but until then I'll put this idea to bed.