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6 yrs ago
Current Why am I bothering to update the status anyway? No one's gonna care
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7 yrs ago
"Remember to look at the stars not down at your feet." Inspired me ever since. Rest in peace Professor Hawking
7 yrs ago
I don't know why, but the boredom is killing me slowly
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I'm still not sure of the 4th skill yet, but had a 3rd passive since I see a couple people having more than 2. Putting this up for review thus far, and can readjust if needed.

Hey there. This looks interesting to me. I'm into the orc archetype, but more of the 'civilized' type. How's the orc civilization doing in this world in general? Depending on the setting, I can choose either a banished orc who intermingled with humans more or a veteran soldier turned adventurer. But of course, I can be flexible beyond it if needed.
In Avalia 10 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Time: Evening
Location: Forest clearing, campfire
Interactions: Aurora/Rowan @mole Zora
Mentions: None
Equipment: Longsword and Plate Armor

"Hmmmm..." Following these people around weren't the satisfying answers Barrock wanted, but it was what he expected. He wanted to see something a lot more reassuring, something that felt like rebel activities or that he was working towards a goal. But he'd take that answer for now.

"Nothing happened." He grumbled. "I caught sight of my kinship several times, and nothing has changed in my absence. The same gluttonous beasts I left behind."

Most orcs never learnt. Some like that clan that favor peace and cooperation were the only exception, but even he couldn't stand them. They often fancied themselves as enlightened orcs, which he considered self-congratulatory nonsense. Some looked at him no different from the orcs of his clan, which told him all he needed to know. They might be more civilized than normal orcs, but they weren't anymore than the rest, and would be subjected to just as much biases.

He noticed Aurora saying something was approaching, and while Zora joked about her brother's controlling tendency, Barrock could sense something too. Not physically, his danger senses were tingling. He clutched his sword close to his thighs, one hand on the hilt and one on the sheathe. "Ready your weapons..."
In Avalia 11 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Time: Evening
Location: Forest clearing, campfire
Interactions: Aurora @mole Zora @13org
Mentions: None
Equipment: Longsword and Plate Armor

Cutting through the wordy descriptions, the one bit of information that triggered in him even more sense of curiosity: Humans. The Dugmaghords didn't have written records of much, and for as long as he lived there, there had been no contact with any human whatsoever, only the fact that if seen, they would be killed onsite. It was only through elven records that one way or another fell into his hands that he knew the existence of these...he would call walking magic tower. It's also no secret that the ones who wrote about these towers also despised them. And yet here is one, in the flesh, walking around, in this rebellion, bonding with the two elves. While he had little preconceived biases against them, the fact that this 'New Dawn' rebellion were using them says a lot about their power, which is not much at all.

Hearing what Rowan said about this group, he wasn't exactly surprised. He pretty much answered the question without revealing much details at all. Though it could simply be because of secrecy. A new guy wouldn't get the information that easily.

Word for a word, it was his time to answer the question.

"Work." He replied. "I go where the coins take me. The clan does not welcome me anymore, nor do I welcome them."

He took a sip of water in solidarity with Rowan too, before looking over to Zora.

"What is to happen anyway?" He said, having decided to ask straightforwardly. "Where are we going, now that I have joined the cause?"
In Avalia 11 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Time: Evening
Location: Forest clearing, campfire
Interactions: Aurora @mole Zora @13org
Mentions: None
Equipment: Longsword and Plate Armor

He had officially joined this so-called rebellion, but things hadn't picked up much. A lot of this happened to just be camping, surviving in the wilderness and getting to know each other. Only one of it he considered to be part of what a rebellion should be. The rest felt rather weird, considering there was no shortage of supplies or amenities if they just headed back into Riverbloom. They said they were up to some sort of training, but he hadn't seen it yet.

"Hmm." His breathing festered into a long hum, as he slowly gaze over the two elves and this strange lady. "You said you are a traveler from a distant land." He directed his first question towards Zora. "Who are you exactly? You have no features of the creatures of this land."

They said they were tasked of training this lady. For what exactly though? To become a leader? A fighter? For someone who didn't look like they come from this land, why were they in this rebellion in the first place.

"As for this rebel group of ours." Now he eyed over Rowan, with an occasional glance to Aurora, both of them seemed like they held a position of power to some degree. "What leads you to join this little rebellion? Who is in command of this whole movement?"

If he was to shed blood for these fellows, it might be worth hearing more.

Time: Evening
Location: Lover's Lake
Interactions: Callum @Helo Ari @Tpartywithzombi
Mentions:

He's been late, but John wanted to give the false impression that he was busy with his work. It was somewhat true that he was in meeting with some of the physicians and servants, but it was not for direct work purposes. No, it was far more important under the current situation.

John was accompanied by another man, an individual of rugged features by the name of Frederick. A doctor with merits just as credible as John was concerned, but his military background contrasted John's extensive civilian services, and his grey balding hair contrasted John's youthful brown. But their demeanour with each other was one of casual politeness and professionalism, cloaked under a cryptic invisible veil of common agenda. And both today wore matching black asymmetrical jackets, the collar ornamented in gold flower imagery. A pin sat on the upper right side of the jacket, the prestigious symbol of the medical world, but a strange one for medical doctors to be wearing them publicly. The only ones who wore them would be Alina and Hunter.

"I would not have considered her a member just yet." His voice had a commanding firm to it that gave him an aura of authority. "She is Caesonian, and from the cursory description, it seems like your research has been shallow."

"She need not be. A partnership of information is just as valuable." John reassured, with similar calm. "Especially as we will operate on the heart of the snake."

"How can we trust that she will not leak the antidote to the snake himself?" Frederick raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Her master has been a victim of the snake." John replied.

"From my research, she's also made inauspicious remarks towards her master as well."

"And you are able to see that. What does that say about the man she chose to serve?"

Frederick slowed his paces, and John slowed to match his too.

"Her intel has already come in on the first movement of the snake, so we, or rather I, can expect the poison."

"So you've already locked hands with her. I trust that you know what you're doing." The old man worded, half with trust, and half with warning. "Am I expecting to have to lift a finger for you?"

"For this one? No." John shook his head firmly. "It is only a matter of what message should we send to him."

As the two doctors trotted peacefully through the park, their boots clanged on the cobblestone under the ever-increasing starry sky, the rugged doctor looked at the woods in the distance.

"Xenophobia." Frederick said, and John looked over at a peculiar choice of word. "He's a puppeteer. Let's introduce him to the scissors."

"It will be done." John nodded, as they both entered the forest. They had a ceremony to attend.

The alluring symphony was the two's compass in the calm woods. Once again among the religious traditional attire, the black jackets would be a step outside the curve. If anything, it made them look a bit ominous how the jackets look exactly the same. Especially to one of the guest who seemed to have drank a bit too much. The man who'd point and make this bird mimic gesture would actually be pointing straight at the two black-jacket men, who were approaching him from the trees. If he looked close, he might see something strange...
Steffen Gravinir


The Ingvarr's display would have normally been perplexity and mild annoyance at the utter disregard of personal will in these so-called tests, but that grueling grind of perpetual death the other night already dulled his sense of impertinence. For now, Steffen simply let that Knight-Witch speak her piece, her praises left for later, and the journey proceed in silent observance. It was definitely weird, and made little sense from the world he came from, but he expected nothing less from this pseudo-dreamworld, but he'd give it ample credits that it was quite vivid and full of creative imagination like the paintings she sent in. Even more vivid was the old legend Cyrus in front of everyone. Steffen had close to zero doubts that this was a brush stroke on Merilia's canvas, and that the real legend was indeed relegated to that of legends, but it was such a lifelike recreation that even a small part of him was skeptical this was simply a memory fragment.

His mentioning that everybody of his caliber was in this city, everybody except for Elionne and Tyaethe, sparked an interest in him. Ever since that night, the words of Erich continued to kite in his head at the least expected moments, the Erich that was created by the same Knight-Witch. Would he have the same recollection of that night then? What else does he have to say? The Ingvarr wanted to see him face to face, outside the bloods a battlefield where his mind would be sharp and reflection clear.

"Old man Erich is here, huh?" Steffen finally spoke up, stepping up from behind the group of knight, the deeper voice echoed a more serious aura compared to Cyrus and Fionn's more playful banters. "Am I going to have to find him myself? Or will there be directions?"

@Raineh Daze@VitaVitaAR
Steffen Gravinir
&
Gerard Segremors


Some time

Today, the Ingvarr’s office was bustling with activities. Not the serious kind though.

An intense battle raged between two warriors, one a senior of the Iron Roses, Red Flag grizzly veteran, well-versed in many battle tactics and strategies, while the other a fearsome warrior of the north in a rather conservative Thaln outfit. Both were unrelenting, fighting for every bit and piece of the other, before a grand audience of nobody. For a while, they didn’t feel the need to speak, the chess speaks for itself.

“Can’t believe you’re getting away playing like this.” The older knight, Katte, finally broke the silence, after realizing he couldn’t play for a win. He brushed his white hairs back over his forehead, a long sigh relieved the tension of the match, reminding himself that the person on the other end was still his friend.

”It only worked with me a time or two, old man.” Steffen laughed, extended a handshake and was received.

“Just you wait, Steffy-boy, I’ll get my repertoire sorted out and I’ll get back at you.”

”Always keep your mind sharp old man.” Smirked the Ingvarr, as they both assembled their pieces back to its starting setup.

It was at this time that a knock on his office door brought about his attention that he was still in the middle of a work day. People still wanted his expertise.

”Come in.”

The handle turned steadily, normally— not flying through it’s threshold for load at the end of a boot as it had oftentimes seen prior, by the looks of things. Who the hell did they keep around who’d do that?

“Hey, you got a minute? I was gonna bug Renar, but he’s ou—”

Amber eyes blinked as they registered the unexpected scene before them, connected to a certain nonplussed ex-mercenary that the room had never hosted before now. A beat hung in the air for a moment, as Gerard seemed to weigh his options…

“My bad. Afternoon, Sir Steffen, Sir Katte.”

And went with an inclined head, nodding to each man in turn as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him, burying his urge to glance back at the squeak of the hinges. He’d been about to turn on his heel and leave them to their business, following his first instincts, but if the Ingvarr would humor the interruption he’d take him at his word.

“Game of kings, huh?” he noted, scanning the pieces and remembering little of how they moved. Symmetrical as they were, he hazarded a guess that he’d either caught the end or the start of a match. “Who’s winning?”

“Oh?” Katte turned around and gave Gerard a classy bow. “It is indeed. Our scores are still neck and neck. Somehow…” The old knight shot a sharp glance at Steffen, who smirked in return. “This guy keeps pulling hogwash out of thin air and survives.”

”Hey, if you can’t exploit your advantages, it means nothing.” The Ingvarr gave a rare gloat, but from the tone of it, he was on the playful side. ”Anyway, same time this weekend, I presume? Also tell Frederick to come as well. I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“I sure will.” Katte stood up slowly, looking at Gerard like any kind old grandparent and bowed again. “I apologize for impeding your visit. If you need me, I will be in my quarter.”

”Sorry about that, some old folks around here wanted company.” Mostly through entertainment like board games, but sometimes through some heart-to-heart chat. Especially Katte himself. ”Anyway, what’s up? What wind brings you to this boring little corner over here?”

Gerard stepped aside for a moment to let the senior knight pass, giving him a deferential inclination of the head and a word of apology before bringing his full attention back to bear on his larger comrade.

To business.

“Financials. I’ve gathered yourself and Sir Renar are the ones that have been shouldering most of the Order knuckleheads’ bookkeeping, pro-bono or otherwise.” the blunt affect did nothing to hide the implication of Gerard being one of the aforementioned. He had his delusions, as all young men did, but he knew himself. “Since I haven’t been devoting much attention to my pay lately, I figured I’d stop by and get a handle on where things stand— before I go putting in any special orders from the Armory.”

It had been like a vacation, in one sense, letting someone else (presumably) handle the micromanaging after over half a decade of budgeting regiment pay.

But he hated owing money, hated interest, and hated anything remotely close to the treacherous realm of “installments”. If he could help it, he’d make whatever expenditures his near future held in store singular and concrete.

“I know Fionn’s been shoving most of that onto Renar rather than you— like I’d been about to say, I’d have sooner bugged him on this, but couldn’t pin him down today.”

”Haha, good choice. You can say a lot about Renar’s integrity, but when it comes to paperwork and finance, I’d always put my trust in him. At least for us lower knights.” Steffen also understood that it was also a tight-knit circle that even he had issues getting close to that might influence why they’d rely on him more than the bookworm Ingvarr, but at least from the latter’s perspective, he didn’t see any incentives for Renar to do anything less than a stellar job.

”Anyway, the latest audit came through, I should have the latest copies of your pay. In the meantime, help yourself. Tea, snacks, anything.” Steffen pointed at the tin teapot and a few rather large mugs before heading to the bookshelf behind him.

Being a bookkeeper might seem like a hard task to many people, but it was not as monumental of an achievement. Once again, all you needed was some literacy and proper organization. Going through the shelf lined with notebooks and papers, small pieces of wood wedged a map of names. Steffen’s fingers tapped each of the wood a specific number of times, then seemingly dug out a random notebook, opened it, closed it and returned it back to where he got it from. He repeated one more time before he found the correct book, turning back with a satisfied look.

”Alrighty!” He flashed a casual smile as he sat back down looking at Gerard, gently putting the notebook opened in front of the lad. ”Here’s what you have right now. What exactly are you intending to purchase?”

“Just a little short.”

Gerard didn’t return the grin, eyes instead narrowing into a pensive frown as he rolled the numeral over in his head against what he understood to be “market value”— there was some allowance for shifts in economy trend going from Velt to Thaln, but whatever he may have had as inroad being a member of the order was doubtless counterweighed by the upmarking that came with quality, with pedigree.

He folded his arms as everything came up around the same no matter how he could reasonably twist it, pinning the page with a glare usually reserved for wartime. “Dammit, I’ll have to do installments.”

A moment later, his shoulders went slack and he sighed through the nose, and Sir Steffen would hear his question answered in a grumble, frustrated but fangless.

“Armor, mainly. Fighting more mindfully or otherwise, I’ve got to bring my protection up to par by our next sortie.” he explained, pointing to the fresh scar on his jaw before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fionn’s already sourced a good quantity of material from that Commander he didn’t get to duel, but Ardor’s not going to cut labor cost just because he likes us, let alone accounting for whatever steel he can’t repurpose…”

A groan.

“Reon roast it all, I trust him, but I hate owing money. I’ll have to eat this.”

”So I assume you won’t prefer letting me loan you some.”

Not a very sophisticated guy, but Steffen respected it. After all, owing money was never just the amount, it’s the worries and guilt too of when to repay and constant threat of when that number would spiral out of control. While limiting, he could imagine a much more carefree mindset.

If it were normal, he could simply let Gerard figure it out for himself, but considering it’s one of his active comrades, the Ingvarr was down for lending a helping hand.

”Hmm, let me think.” His fingers tapped on the table repeatedly until, ”You said you’re going to do installments. I may need some help doing that too…well…” He quickly realized how ludicrous that sounded. An Ingvarr needing physical help, pfft. ”A friend of mine needed it. She’s a veteran of the Red Flag war, and long story short, she’s roped in and now trying her damnest to help her kin in Aimlenn. What she’s up to is a communal house for them.”

He shrugged his shoulders. ”Both me and Sir Katte are invested, but it’s not enough labor, so…” His wrist rotated before angling towards Gerard in a suggestive manner that shouldn’t escape the lad. And if that wasn’t clear enough. ”What do you think?”

“You’re right. I’m leery of loans too.” he readily admitted, leveling an even, unflinching gaze onto the northerner. Somewhere within him, he did understand that this was largely idiosyncrasy talking— but that was buried deep beneath a resolutely fostered suspicion of anything that could be less than cut and dry, money leaving his hands for a service or product guaranteed to take its place.

He didn’t need it, being so less surrounded by spendthrifts, scammers, and scoundrels as his mercenary days, but crystallized habits never wore down in a day. So although the resolve was welling up within him to grit his teeth and bear multiple charges coming in over the next few months… When Sir Steffen made his offer, the gears shifted all too smoothly in his head. Trading labor for coin was always preferable to a favor— and to be totally fair, he’d been up to much the same with Fionn’s mill for far less.

“I’m game. What’s she need, then? Just a workhorse to split the load generally, woodworking, someone to get foundations hammered in?”

On and on. Erecting a building had all number of moving parts that needed tight, effective work to be managed properly— his family home had stood for far longer than any Sagramore that lived, but he and his brother had done their time with refurbishing sheds around their hometown. Carpenters had a guild for a reason.

“Additionally, who’ll I be working with? I take it this isn’t someone from the Order.”

He hadn’t dropped a name, after all.

”Excellent. I don’t know specifically, but she doesn’t need actual construction, as she’s trying to reuse the building she lives in, so I would say it’s refurbishment. You should ask her directly when you get there.”

He was more than satisfied that Gerard was fine with the offer so quickly. It’s naturally easier to trust someone you know rather than some bozo out there ready to scam you out of payment. Perhaps a little too professional too. Steffen was trying to be light-hearted about the deal, but it seemed like the young lad took it more as a business deal, nothing more and nothing less. It’s ultimately harmless, but still, a little bit deep down, the Ingvarr wanted to get to know him beyond the cold blades of the battlefield.

”Her name is May. May Delisle. She’s not from the Order, but don’t worry, she’s a sweet woman. But uhh…” He felt somewhat obliged to let Gerard in on the details. ”She’s a social butterfly, so if she comes off as overly friendly or chatty, even more than this piece of work here, pay her no mind.”

Especially if she knew about Gerard being his colleague knights, which she will, she probably won’t ever shut up about it.

”But on the bright side, I would not mind if you become friends with her. You might be there for business, but nothing hurts coming out of it with that, right?” He covertly sneaked an advice in. ”As for payment, I can always give that money sooner for Ardor to work on, or if you’d not prefer owing anyone, just complete the work then I’ll imburse you. Any extra work, just let me know I’ll pay extra.”

“I can’t imagine why you would. May Delisle, then.” he replied with a light shrug of the shoulders, affable enough to mask a growing sprout of confusion as he worked the name over into his memory. Reon bless him, Sir Steffen was quite evidently a man with a keen head for numbers, taking on the thankless task of juggling extra budgetary concerns for others, but…

I’m pretty sure I’m giving him more questions than answers, if he feels like he needs to nudge me like this. That, or Fionn’s more right about how stiff I come off than I gave him credit for.

“I’m from a farming town, so a little normal friendliness can go a long way compared to all the etiquette I’m trying to properly observe these days— but I’ll have to meet her to find out either way. You said she’s based here in the city. Where about?”

His mental map of the capitol was slowly growing in scope and fidelity as the days passed by into weeks, but all in all it was still far from complete, major points of interest aside. He knew the Spikes, the Palace, Candaeln. The Brass Panther. The Wisp And Wander.

He was getting there. He had a while to go yet.

He folded his arms, and allowed himself a breath. Let this be another step, then.

“And regarding pay… I’d rather take the librans into my own hands. Nothing against the generosity, don’t get me wrong, but Fionn’d already gotten Ardor half the steel before we even broached the idea.”

He cracked a wry smirk.

“Can’t be leaning on everyone. I’d fall over. You can swing by and see the work with your own eyes when I’m finished, if that’d suit you. If not, just go by Miss Delisle’s word.”

”Hmm. I guess I’ll do whatever suits the moment. I trust her.” Steffen shrugged his shoulders. ”She’s in the slums. Or rather the guys she wanted to help are themselves from there.”

She didn’t need to do it, but one thing led to another and she’s now stuck with them. But at the very least, there are still attempts to bloom flowers in the barren soil.

”I’ll be writing a letter to her anyway to let her know about your employment. I will include proper directions too. Maybe check in with me in a few hours or later this afternoon, that sounds good for you?” The Ingvarr said, his hands laid out on the table. ”Other than that, anything else you need me for?”

”No complaints.” came the easy reply, followed by a shake of the head from the shorter man. He blinked for a moment, his eyes lingering on the board that Sir Katte and the Ingvarr had abandoned upon his unceremonious arrival, the pieces in paired rank like so many soldiers on the field.

”Actually, if you’ve got a minute...” he ventured, indicating the chessboard with a pointed finger. ”I never had the chance to learn. Run me through the basics?”

”Oh, if you say so…” Steffen clasped his hands together. It’s been a while since anyone asked for a lesson in the art of the board. This is going to be fun.
Steffen Gravinir


'They sure use a lot of metaphors.' Steffen spared a curious thought for Gerard and Fionn but left unsaid. What's more important is doing the thinking after all, making sure the captain knew the course of actions. But for just a moment, a shadow was cast upon his face as Gerard compared the brutal obligation of being the leader of a knight's orders to that of a parent throwing their kids into the fields. It's not an inapt comparison, but the way it was phrased, it sounded like this was somehow okay? He hoped that was not what Gerard meant. He did not seem like the kind of guy that would come to that conclusion.

Steffen cleared his throat, and also his doubts, as he returned to Fanilly. "Sir Gerard's right. From my perspective, quite frankly but with all due respect, it feels like if we're not out sortieing, we either do our own things or train ourselves to get stronger whether that be studying, reading or in a brawl, with me and Sir Renar having the added bonus of occasionally drowning in contaminated tax documents." He quipped dryly. "I personally wouldn't mind doing some reading or searching on this, at least I know what bigger picture I am fighting for in my sorties, rather than a 'it's just a mission to complete', you know?"

And like Gerard said, having more people obviously helped with the workload. And having extra pair of eyes, ears and brains at work is obviously better than one.

"Once again, don't feel like you're bothering me or anything. My office is always open, except for the door, which I will kindly ask if you come to open it gently." He emphasized, mainly for comedic purpose, but his tone of voice at the end could still be construed for stern guidance.

"Anyway, is our lovely smithy working today? I want to ask them a favour."

And by favour, he meant a request for a fully-clad armor-suite, finally having the funds and time to order one.

@VitaVitaAR@HereComesTheSnow@The Otter
In Avalia 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Time: Morning
Location: River
Interactions: Aurora/Rowan @mole Zora @13org
Mentions: None
Equipment: Longsword and Plate Armor

The rewards mentioned by the ladies were rather vague. Of course there would be reward, he wasn't that badly mistreated. Danger never really was an issue. Bearing that abhorrent symbol on his head, Barrock wasn't granted the privilege of treading on solid ground ever. But what Rowan said: freedom. The last he knew, there were no such thing as a safe haven free from Dark Elves subjugation. That begged the question: Was this some sort of rebellion?

The orc closed his eyes, his fingers resting and occasionally tapping on his sword, a clear and, although strange coming from an orc, deliberate sign of thoughtful thinking. Would this be a legitimate rebellion, or some upstart people being delusional? If this was the latter, he was pretty sure the Dark Elves would not take kindly to his involvement. He had suffered from their prison once, he would not want sufferage again.

But what else could he choose really? Refuse and go back to his fugitive lifestyle? A runaway prisoner, an orc that will forever be looked down upon by society, by these low-life elves born into privilege of the conquerors? He already was barely surviving, what else could possibly be worse than this.

At least they had the decency to treat him like an equal. With respect.

"Fine." Barrock stated, as he opened his eyes. Maybe all of that was worth the risk. "I do not care about your honor or riches, but freedom is a precious cause I will fight for."

He looked through the three individuals in front of him, whom he would likely be calling comrades and fighting partners in the very near future. Their decency aside, he wasn't sure how well they were as fighters. He had seen Rowan's technique, but like battlefield experience go, you can never judge them accurately until they get punched, sliced or pierced.

"Let me know what needs to be done. Before and after this 'mission' is done."
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