Hi. We just started a big project in my class, and I've realized that I will not have as much time to do this as I would like for a while. This means that I'm going to have to cancel the game or at least put it on a break until I'm done with the project. I will probably be around the site for some more light hearted roleplaying, but I want this to be good and can't see that happen with the amount of time I will be able to put into it.
Question is, are you guys willing to wait or should we just call it quits for now and restart later?
Judging from how she felt, Iolaires face must have been as green as her eyes. As this had been her first time at sea, the voyage had been anything but easy. Even though sailing from the old world to the new had felt like an eternity, she didn't remember much; just the never-ending ups and downs and the countless times she'd been sick over the railing. She had wished so many times for dry land, but she didn't feel very happy now that she'd found it. In fact, the only thing she felt at the moment was sick.
She swallowed sour spit as the commander spoke, trying her best to steel her face and not to barf all over his shiny boots. The others seemed to be fine, or at least very good at pretending so. All she could think of was getting something to eat that wasn't covered in salt or mold. It made her even more sick, thinking of food, but she was so furiously hungry that she couldn't stop herself. First food, then sleep. In a bed. With a mattress. Maybe even a pillow. Yes, that'd do it.
The commander finished talking, but Iolaire hadn't really been listening. She'd just follow the others. There were other people here as well. A mage called Jile, and a creature the commander had called a "local" that introduced itself as Mizzie. It spoke Imperial well enough, but with a strange accent. She nodded to them both.
"I'm Iolaire." she mumbled while quenching a burp, "A pleasure."
Appearance: Short and sinewy. Shoulderlength black hair and vivid green eyes. Wears a traditional army uniform.
Common skills: Survival, tracking, hunting, cooking, first aid.
Fighting skills: Archery and basic melee training.
Magical skills: Schamanistic magic. Iolaire can commune with animals and manipulate plants to some extent.
Personality: Iolaire is kind of a loner, not because of arrogance but because she is shy. She feels insecure in the company of strangers and keeps to herself, only opening up to people she thinks she can trust.
Bio: The young elf comes from a very patriotic family. Being the youngest of her siblings, she didn't have much of an inheritance to look forward to and had to find another way to honor her name, so she joined up with the military for the expedition to the New Continent. Her training in schamanistic magic comes from a long tradition in her family, which lives like elves has traditionally lived throughout the ages.
Equipment: Two sets of uniforms, a warm green cloak, tools like knives and pans, rope, flint and steel, a bag to carry her stuff in, and a bow with a quiver of arrows.
Why did you join?: Iolaire joined to bring honor to her family.
"Then I will try to tell you, master knight, as well as I can! But where to begin..."
The old man is silent for a few moments more, before producing a fistful of leaves from a pouch under his poncho. He throws the leaves at the fire, which instantly starts to burn with increased ferocity. Shapes, like shadowy silhouettes of people, starts taking form in the raging flames.
'A very long time ago I was part of a great order of magi. At the time we were the most learned on the subject of the ancients and their ways in the world. One of my peers in the order, a woman of the Iwi people, was more learned than even most of the rest of us combined. She discovered something. A great power. It seemed that the ancients had found out the greatest of mysteries, or at least part of it. They had somehow learned to cheat death.'
The shadows in the fire have taken on the shape of a circle of people, moving in circles. In their midst stands a taller one in the shape of a woman. Suddenly, a few of them breaks apart and forms a circle of their own.
'The secret was not that of prolonged life, but a way to stop time. Or, at least to make it move in a controlled and never ending loop. With this power the ancients could have ruled the world indefinetly. Such power does not come without a cost, however. A great source of mana had to be found, and from what we learned the ancients did find it... But failed to control it. It heralded their doom.
The Iwi woman was certain she could succeed where the ancients had failed, given time. Others in the order, myself included, thought otherwise. These are powers not even the ancients understood fully. To tamper with them without a complete understanding could lead to disaster. We set ourselves against her, but she had already found allies of her own. They were more numerous, and she was stronger. The order succumbed to infighting and my friends and I became hunted prey.'
The circle with the tall woman in their midst starts to spin faster and faster, until it becomes a frenzied wheel. It then moves outwards and crashes into the second circle, swallowing or scattering its figures.
'I have fled and fought ever since, to thwart and stall the Iwi woman and her agents wherever I can. As far as I know, I am the last one alive. And tonight they come to claim me. I can run no more. They come tonight not because they need to destroy me, but to capture me. I have found something, you see, in my travels. I have found the last living one of the ancients. And he holds all the answers they seek.'
The mad wheel now spins around a shape in its midst, a shape looking eerily like a small camp on top of a hill. It begins to shrink in towards it.
'So you see, friends, that I can go no further. But you might. I can tell you where to find this last survivor of the ancients. Then you can, you must, continue the struggle and prevent the Iwi woman and her followers from reaching their goal. If you do not, I fear for the world and for the people in it.'
He suddenly snaps upright and stares off into the night. You can hear voices on the wind.
'They will soon be here. Do not raise arms against them, it will do you no good. Do nothing, for now, and all will be well.'
Name: Ashé Derundé Alias: The Bronze One, Mageblooded, Mage (often with disdain) Age: 23 Vitals:
Height - 1.8 meters Build - Medium and toned Appearance -
This image might be seen with my (main) characters for other worlds. No accident.
Background:
His prose and cosmopolitanism might give off an air of a cultured rearing, his subtle discriminating tastes betraying a position of rank, nobility perhaps, lost. If one were to think he is of esteemed heritage, they would be right, and wrong. Ashé was born in a village along the Yanoibi coast, expected to see no farther than the waves and the town opposite to where his father ventured, and his father's father ventured, until stories were just things told around fires. That changed not through strife, not through a grand display of power, but something small.
At five years of age, Ashé considered himself enough old to accompany his father—or argue his way—into the granary, to assist in what was to be a simple grab of legumes. His father stepped up on a stool and reached upwards at an empty sack, underneath a small crate. He pulled hard and brought the crate down on his knuckles, and yelped. Ashé jolted around, and seconds later, the leg under the stool snapped. Without hesitation, Ashé threw his arms forward. A swift gust, almost whip like, filled the air, and his father wrestled himself free of unseen force that spared him a harder fall.
His expression was an amalgam of horror and wonder, his still frame moved to action by Ashé fainting. He knew not the proper course of action—hurry to the herbalist, or take his family and flee—thus he did what anyone familiar with magic would have done, shook him awake. He repeatedly told Ashé to tell no one, and with a scared and confused nod, they left. One of the elders, however, thought otherwise; he revealed to Ashé's father that the "smell of magic was too great to remain hidden". Word spread through the village with haste, and the family became a source of trepidation and curiosity. Before long, those who went to the town returned with armed guards and two older individuals in embellished robes, and wielding bronze staves, and the family of seven found a new home.
Ashé was taught how to properly harness magic and how to read, his studies ranging from numbers and history to alchemy, in addition to some martial instruction, but he was not the only of his family to study the arcane. Three of his older siblings took up the ways of sorcery. Two studied as enchantresses and the other as a battlemage, and Ashé preferring healing. Each one left at age fifteen for the nearest city—which happened to be Arbudalu, the kingdom's capital—to continue their apprenticeship; the remainder of his family became merchants in what they knew best, crops.
During the final portion of his apprenticeship, Ashé acquired an interest in enchanting and in foreign lands (not surprising considering part of his heritage), chiefly Koraha, a region far north and known for its ancient structures. Yanoibi is constructed from a phrase that means the *here lies the land of bronze*, and is called such because that is all that bested the centuries of humidity. One would be hard pressed to find its temples empty of ancient bronze sculptures, and bronze jewelry is popular amongst its aristocracy. Warriors of rank are distinguished by bronze hilts and ornaments in their armour, and high mages with their bronze staves; talk of lands brimming with such metals filled Ashé with a desire to explore, and after returning to his village to have his heritage officially recognized, named Ashé Derundé, he departed with his older brother, Narbemmi, and others: mages, fighters, and a few traders.
However, their journey proved to be more baleful than expected, the initial ease a cruel deception, for those who continued forward as the environment itself became more unfamiliar, that is.
Illness slowed their pace, death warded off by Ashé's magic and salves, but claw and blade splitting flesh was another matter entirely. Pursuit by beasts and humans who were no better, and human-like creatures, forced them to abandon proper burials, and even a few of their own to a more terrible fate. They were ultimately forced farther north, worsened by the loss of provisions. The infighting intensified, and it was then Ashé had to kill for the first time, ever, including the blood of game. The madness of his friend, from the physical stress and his unhealthy use of magic, drove him to slay. When night fell, Ashé and his brother fled the group, fearing the insanity had spread amongst the rest. They were not sure if instinct proved them right as they did not bother returning, instead preferring the company of the stars and the wilds around them, and not long, Ashé had to grow accustomed to his own presence.
He wandered the wilderness alone and shattered, mentally spent from the vain excessive magic he flung into the darkened woods and put into Narbemmi's pierced chest, and for the following few days, survived on berries, insects, and the charred remains of animals, using magic as would a beast instead of hunting and making a fire. He did not find himself until he had to, until he was forced to.
He came upon a stream and leaned against a tree. He exhaled and uncorked his canteen, emptying what water was left, letting it wash away the dryness in his throat. He plopped down on the ground and felt the tension in his ankles flee, and closed his eyes. For the first, the wilds—the chirping of the bird, the rustling leaves, the flowing waters—felt serene, tamed, and with a sudden vim, he hurried out of his robes and footwear and into the stream, the coldness making the air crisp to his lungs and refreshing to his skin, which felt lighter nigh instantly. He donned his robes once more, filled the canteen, and began preparing a twig to cleanse his mouth. Shortly after, movement in the bushes earned his attention, and he found himself surrounded. The tallest one stepped forward and spoke, "Take him and let's have our people safe again." With that, a woman grunted and extended her arms. All went dark.
The creaking of wood and swaying motion woke him. Two men sitting before him had their daggers unsheathed and held no mirth in their stares. One of them began interrogating him about his presence, about why his "mage kin" were terrorizing their lands, and why his own wanted to kill him. Ashé did not speak. The man sat beside him and pointed the blade at his neck, snatching his head backwards by his hair. He still did not speak. The second man growled and pulled a head from the bag. Ashé's chest heated and his stomach felt like an abyss. The prying one asked again. He parted his lips but gave no utterance. He was not sure which was more shocking—seeing the head of one of the men he trusted, or the claim they wanted to kill him—and doubtful as ever, Ashé demanded evidence, and they threw theirs at his feet: an arrowhead, cut from the shaft and dotted with dried blood, and more importantly, of Yanoibi making. The man then threw a ring, Narbemmi's ring, in his lap.
Ashé eyes swelled. His mouth twitched and he clenched his bound hands as tight as he could, and he finally spoke. His voice cracked with anger as he told them of his quest and the troubles they faced, the fracturing of their group and how he came to be in that very situation. He then asked them why they spared his life if they believed he was such a threat dangerous. They spoke of how their clan needed the help of a mage, a properly instructed mage, the woman on a horse giving the man a cutting glance in response.
He wanted to be petulant, wanted to be snide in asking them why he should offer his services, but instead, he asked about his brother, why they were not taking him to his grave. He learned they intended to but that he must first meet their council. He learned Narbemmi was buried where he died, in territory belonging to a rival clan, and that their presence there threatened the peace, as would Ashé for his friendly interaction with them would be taken as a sign of allegiance. They told him his status as an outsider, and his reason for being in rival territory, would grant them a pardon, but only once. They told him after he spoke with the council, they would escort him to his brother's grave. They told him if he helped them acquire an artifact from the fierce lands of Koraha, it could unite the clans and help generations to come.
The desire to deceive was strong, seemingly rational, even, and then he glanced at his brother's ring, the closest thing to home he had, and wondered how he would return to Yanoibi on his own, and how he could tell his parents Narbemmi's death was for nought. And Narbemmi, how he would detest such intent, to know his little brother thought to tarnish their name, their village, their homeland.
Ashé squirmed and agreed to help them. The man loosened his bindings, and the trees started to give way to a collection of knolls. At the nadir was a collection of homes bifurcated by a river, and on the left side was the largest building in the village. He pulled the ring onto his finger and gazed at his palm. He clench once more and the incarnadine mist went in all directions. The man gestured for him to step off the carriage and told him of the other reason they did not kill him: taking a life without provocation was taboo.
Strengths/Weaknesses (+) - Inquisitive: learning is fun (+) - Literate: more knowledge begets more flexibility, more flexibility begets more advantages (+) - Artful: will exploit his skills, and maybe others (+) - Agile: good luck grabbing a hold of him (+) - Multilingual: because Arbudalu spoiled him with a variety of aesthetics (-) - Capricious: sometimes he braids his hair, sometimes he don't; sometimes he follows the law, but then sometimes he won't (-) - Entitled: thinks *what you know* should be enough (-) - Unforgiving: more like slow to forgive than unforgiving (-) - Sexist: sees women as the protected and men as the protectors, will irritate warrior women and cowardly men (-) - Rash: the reason why he is in this mess in the first place (-) - Magic: the arcane is linked to his disposition, safe when composed and risky, more than it already it is, when panicking
"When creating your character and playing the game, you will get the chance to flesh out the lore of the world in the process"
Does that mean I could make a culture/nation for my character backstory? If so, *turns Super Saiyan* I'm in.
As for magic, would it be okay if my character used it more for utility than combat? I still plan on having side effects depending on the circumstances, such as mental exhaustion, and at worse, mental instability. Also, could I make another character later in the role-play?
First question, yes.
Second question, yes.
Third question, yes - but! If you do, you have to collaborate with me in making a villain character.
Yes but you're still referring to us as if we are our characters when you earlier told us that we are to describe their actions instead of be inside their heads.
I think I get what you're saying. Will change that in my upcoming posts.
'I started a fight' the old man replies, 'A very long time ago. I started it because no one else would. Because it had to be done. All my life I have been fighting. But no more. I am too old.'
He is still and quiet for some time, then softly chuckles. 'How does one explain something like this?' he mumbles, 'I have not spoken about this to anyone for a long, long time. It is almost beyond explaining at this point. I know what I know because I must know it, but how...' He pauses and clicks his tounge, 'How do I make you know also?'
Red Wizard
