Member
This is a W.I.P., but constructive criticism is welcomed at this point.
Name: Ashdane/”Ash"
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Appearance: Ash stands at approximately 5'8" (173cm) with brown hair cut short on the back and sides, the length on top pulled into a tail. Soft brown eyes that lighten to an amber color in sunlight and a skin tone carrying a light tan with it. His body appears athletic with the baggy white clothes and his leather armor, but beneath them Ash is lean and toned, befitting a person who prefers dexterity and agility over strength and hardiness. His face is largely angular, having a narrow jawline and high cheekbones with a face that often appears to be scowling when at rest. The choice of a baggy white shirt and pair of pants allows for breathable attire when his thick leather armor is finally removed at the end of a long day or mission. Even relaxed Ashdane remains tense and wired, though. A nervous disposition and eyes that often dart around his surroundings with subtle bags beneath give this man a dangerous, paranoid look that can easily set others on edge.
Fighting Style: “Artificianado.” A joking name a comrade from the Wayward Wolves once used to describe Ashdane's methods. Naturally, Ashdane ran with it. This style consists of a mix of swordplay, throwing knives, and artificer gadgets such as shrapnel bombs, razor wire traps, and more. When dealing with direct confrontation, evasion is a high priority and countering with quick strikes or a gadget when opportunities present themselves.
Equipment:
-Two spathas in scabbards across the back. While initially intended to be used in a dual-wielding stance, Ashdane usually uses one at a time and keeps his off-hand empty to utilize his throwing knives or gadgets.
-Studded leather armor meticulously cared for and modified heavily from his time in the Wolves. Thick armor around most of the body, leaving only the head, arms, and legs exposed for maneuverability.
-Three throwing knives located at the right hip. Reliable, sturdy, and retrievable.
-Leather toolbag typically situated on the left hip, filled with artificing tools along with metal and leather field care items, such as oils and whetstones. A separate pocket contains some extra scrap metal bits for use in field-crafting extra shrapnel bombs or replacement gadget bits. Ashdane will normally drop this bag using a quick release strap before engaging enemies as it can be cumbersome.
-Shrapnel bombs are small clusters of junk metal set into a metal base with just enough primer to launch the pieces at a respectable level of force capable of embedding and cutting flesh at a radius of 5 feet in a full circle. With slight modifications, and angling the base, Ashdane can give better aim and reach to the shrapnel, giving his teammates a better chance of not getting sliced and delivering more focused blasts to his foes. Bombs are primed by removing a small plug that acts as a brake for a dial on the underside of the base in place and twisting it 15 or more degrees clockwise, the bomb then detonates between 2 and 3 seconds later. Keeps 2 bombs on his person at the start of every mission.
-Spring razor wire traps are set into a tightly-wound cylindrical coil set into a cylindrical pillar that is hollow at the bottom, where it connects to the metal base. The hollow space is filled with enough primer to launch the pillar upwards roughly 4 feet, where it separates from the inside brake and the coil untwists at a rapid speed, flinging 3 strings of razor wire outwards in an 8 foot radius and dealing numerous cuts to those unlucky enough to stand in reach until the coil is at rest. These traps are primed similarly to the shrapnel bomb, having a dial at the underside of the base. Like the shrapnel bomb, the dial has a plug that acts as a brake for the device in order to prevent it from going off prematurely. The dial is turned counterclockwise by 45 degrees and plugged loosely so that most light vibrations through a nearby surface will release the plug and the dial will set the primer off. As a result, the spring razor makes for a good perimeter mine and alarm system. These traps are also made to be reusable, so long as more primer material is at hand and the base of the cylindrical pillar isn't too damaged to contain it. 4 of these are carried at the start of every mission.
Skills/Abilities:
-A skilled artificer, Ashdane can craft gadgets and traps from small metal pieces for use in combat and battlefield control.
-With his past as a street urchin, Ashdane is an accomplished pickpocket, eavesdropper, and adept at walking quietly without being noticed.
Other Information:
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Appearance: Ash stands at approximately 5'8" (173cm) with brown hair cut short on the back and sides, the length on top pulled into a tail. Soft brown eyes that lighten to an amber color in sunlight and a skin tone carrying a light tan with it. His body appears athletic with the baggy white clothes and his leather armor, but beneath them Ash is lean and toned, befitting a person who prefers dexterity and agility over strength and hardiness. His face is largely angular, having a narrow jawline and high cheekbones with a face that often appears to be scowling when at rest. The choice of a baggy white shirt and pair of pants allows for breathable attire when his thick leather armor is finally removed at the end of a long day or mission. Even relaxed Ashdane remains tense and wired, though. A nervous disposition and eyes that often dart around his surroundings with subtle bags beneath give this man a dangerous, paranoid look that can easily set others on edge.
The man in the modern day, the one who rarely looks you in the eyes, whose mind is constantly running thought to thought with no end. The guy that always seems like a tightly-wound coil at all hours and whose eyes never find enough rest. He was a child at some point, too. Not all lives are so glamorous, nor are they all so dark. Ash has a past that is less storied and mysterious, more fearful and manic. Ups and downs, every life has them. One just has to work and earn those ups; bright sides and good endings don’t find the lazy, the lost, or the clueless.
Not a coin, a cloth, or a heritage in any sense to his name. Ashdane's earliest memories are of rooms of orphans, scents of sweat and body odor, and simple instructions here or there. Out at the Golden Shores, Ash ran with small-time thieving crews, earning his weight in food and clothing. There would always be someone in charge, with one idea or another. Ideas that would land other thieves in danger, detainment, or death. Ash himself would be the first to admit, he was nothing special. Pick a pocket, keep an ear out, don’t lie to the man feeding you for today. If you got a beating, you deserved it no matter what you thought. If there was a heavy purse out at the docks, you better find it, because it could be what keeps you alive and fed a little longer. Just make the crewleader happy. Ash probably went through a hundred of them in his youth. The life of a thief was what he’d known from dusk to dawn.
You needed to be aware, be ready, be playing that “what if?” game. What if that guy next to you had a knife? What if your good will with the big guy was running out? What if you got caught on the street with your hands red and it ain’t yours? Ash had an advantage in that department, though he didn’t know it. A hyperactivity disorder is a pretty nifty thing when your continued existence depended on being alert to your surroundings and the people around you. A wild imagination even moreso. Innate curiosity and deft hands make for good partners. What if he could use that? What if he was good at what he did? What if *they* knew? And, hey, how did that thing over there work?
People in crews had some tricks here and there. Some had uses for spare metal bits and pieces. Nothing big or harmful, no. If those things started showing up on the streets, marks would get scared. Targets would stop coming out with so many Soverns. Less pay, more guard patrols, and a city with too many eyes out made for bad business, both in the light and out of it. Looking back, that makes a lot of sense. More sense than a 17 year old lifelong thief on the streets had at the time. But making use of scrap was an opportunity. A good one. One that could, maybe, make you a real important guy in the crew. So what if a few people would get hurt? What if some marks started getting a little paranoid? We’d have more ourselves! That’s all that mattered. Right?
A single little contraption goes off in broad daylight. One noble young buck, with too much money in his purse and too little sense to properly hide it, gets hurt. Not dead, just a few scratches across his pretty face. Boy, those look deep. Maybe too much primer, Ash would have to change his first formula to-what if? What if that kid prattles to his daddy and makes things harder for us to steal? What if we can’t make enough to live another week? What if the guards find any of us? What if…the next one is better? What if the next one goes cleaner? It could happen.
Never got the chance. That noble boy’s scars became an example of just how bad thieving was getting. More guards! Keep a closer eye out! There’s an artificer out there leaving his dangerous toys out and targeting noblemen for coin and virtue and their lives and…what if Ash was no longer useful? What if this had made him a detriment? A marked man? That’s what came next. A wanted artificer, targeting nobles, patrolmen on the look out for any unusual mechanisms and descriptions passing through the areas his crew had frequented. They’d have to give up their hunting grounds. And that description that people were using to find the mad artificer? It matched Ash to a point. He must’ve been seen running with that purse! But his crew would hide him! He would be alright! The guards would never find out who he was and everything would be fine! Except…
What if it wasn’t? His crew didn’t stand with him. He had become a liability. A recognizable face being sought out around the Shores didn’t make for good thieving work. They had turned him in before a week had passed from the event. Now he’d spend the rest of his short days stuck in a cell. Sentenced to execution for terrorism and assault against a member of the noble class. The theft itself wasn’t even on the rap sheet! And here come the guards now! He knew the sound of metal boots and cuisses and plate mail, had run from it too often, had survived by being out of sight from the ones who make it. The cell offered no such cover or methods of concealment. He’d been left out to dry by his crew. The cell, the sentence, the damned cuffs chafing his wrists! If he hadn’t started to trust in this crew, for once, none of this would have happened!
But the man on the other side of the cell door wasn’t the bailiff. He wasn’t the executioner, either. So who was he? This older fellow, he wore no uniform, no guardsman armor, but he had a crest on his doublet. Ash didn’t recognize it. Was this man another noble? Why’s he got a guardsman with him? How important is he? And then he spoke.
“A thief off the streets, playing with toys and surviving by the skin of your teeth. Hardly a terrorist. Come here, boy, let me get a good look at you.” Ash didn’t question the man, but he had a few for him. This mysterious old coot looked him up and down, and watched Ash's eyes closely. To his credit, life on the streets had taught Ash a few things; such as when he was being analyzed in more ways than one. The boy didn’t look this man in his eyes. He diverted his gaze to the left or right, or down to the floor, all the while keeping the old man in his periphery and looking him over as well.
The old man grinned, Ash didn’t know if that was good. “You’d be useful. Plenty of potential in you, yet.” He turned to the guardsman beside him. “Tell your captain I've got a favor. This boy comes with me. Make haste, and be discreet!” The guard looked a mix of surprise and worry as he scampered off, leaving Ash alone with this enigmatic fellow. “You already know what you did wrong with that device that landed you here, yes? Too much primer, too much OOMPH and hurt the boy you were trying to scare. Would’ve worked, if not for that.” The voice of experience, Ash would have guessed.
Ash was released into the old man's custody. The captain had indeed owed him a favor, the nature of which Ash could only guess. As it turned out, the geezer was the commander of a mercenary company, one with rather loose relationship with the law. Ash's previous life was put to the axe (or had it been the gallows?), a replacement made from another unlucky criminal in order to sate the noble he'd scarred. From here on, he would be Ashdane of the Wayward Wolves; the name was a symbol of the company he now belonged to.
Errol was the name of the man who’d taken him, and he himself had been an urchin before. While maintaining ties with the underground, Errol used his ties mainly as a way to get jobs for his mercenary business. Each and every member had been a “rescue" in one form or another, be they a previous convict, or a person trying to better their lot in life. He was a firm, fair, and consistent individual, and over time Ashdane began to see him as a true father. It was through no fault of Errol's own that Ash had trouble trusting and being at ease in the company. A lifestyle of thieving would carve its nature into a person’s bones. His mind stayed racing, he would often flinch in the presence of his comrades, and looking a person in the eye was very difficult for him. Always, Ashdane looked through a person rather than at them, because surely if they weren’t a threat, something or someone nearby was.
Despite his issues, Ashdane would spend the next several years of his life with the Wolves. Errol was as much a leader as he was a teacher, and he was often honest with his men about the contracts they fulfilled to make their living. Even Ash, who hadn’t had an education or an opportunity in his life, was not left out of this process. He was an illiterate teen on the cusp of adulthood, and he knew nothing more than surviving on the streets. And yet, he took to it like a fish to water. Being able to clearly define what was needed to fulfill a contract seemed like a simple expansion to having an objective back as a kid. Pick a pocket, cause some ruckus, kill a monster. Perhaps it wasn’t so simple, now that he could read the once-nonsensical scribble (not that contracts were a large part of thieving, but marks the crewleader would point out were sometimes picked by another, and Ashdane was beginning to figure out how), but it gave a greater degree of certainty in what form of action to take.
By the time he was a man grown, Ashdane could read, write, negotiate, and make a more proper little trap than the one that had landed him in prison. The last of these were taught by Errol directly. He was an old hand at the skill, and took great interest in what few pupils the Wolves could scrounge together. Ash learned and memorized numerous blueprints throughout his few years, and learned to always keep a few pieces of scrap on hand and a few traps ready to set. It had come in handy through a few missions, maybe that was an understatement. He could trap their campsites to provide defenses while his squad slept, could set a stage for a fight that would go heavily in the Wolves' favor, or even detonate directional shrapnel bombs mid-melee. A thief, even one no longer a thief, had to be pragmatic. It was only natural that a tool should be used against something that wanted you dead.
The Wayward Wolves had molded the once-thief into a proper mercenary. And mercenaries knew how to survive. Being one didn’t necessarily mean that you were invincible, or that you were immune to age and decay. Errol’s death is one such example of this. He had been both outlaw and merc. Had taught so many so much. He had been a paternal figure in the lives of many of its members. But all these accomplishments did not make one immortal, it just meant that he passed away surrounded by family. Pride in his pack flushed through his chest until the light finally left his eyes. Ash had been taught another thing in Errol's passing: the pain of losing a beloved parent. This experience, he learned at the age of 26.
The Wayward Wolves dissolved without a leader, unable to elect another. Ashdane's squadmates went their separate ways, either continuing their mercenary lifestyle in another company, or becoming contacts in the underworld for one another. His family all but gone, and reeling from the loss, Ashdane was among those who continued as a free mercenary.
Not a coin, a cloth, or a heritage in any sense to his name. Ashdane's earliest memories are of rooms of orphans, scents of sweat and body odor, and simple instructions here or there. Out at the Golden Shores, Ash ran with small-time thieving crews, earning his weight in food and clothing. There would always be someone in charge, with one idea or another. Ideas that would land other thieves in danger, detainment, or death. Ash himself would be the first to admit, he was nothing special. Pick a pocket, keep an ear out, don’t lie to the man feeding you for today. If you got a beating, you deserved it no matter what you thought. If there was a heavy purse out at the docks, you better find it, because it could be what keeps you alive and fed a little longer. Just make the crewleader happy. Ash probably went through a hundred of them in his youth. The life of a thief was what he’d known from dusk to dawn.
You needed to be aware, be ready, be playing that “what if?” game. What if that guy next to you had a knife? What if your good will with the big guy was running out? What if you got caught on the street with your hands red and it ain’t yours? Ash had an advantage in that department, though he didn’t know it. A hyperactivity disorder is a pretty nifty thing when your continued existence depended on being alert to your surroundings and the people around you. A wild imagination even moreso. Innate curiosity and deft hands make for good partners. What if he could use that? What if he was good at what he did? What if *they* knew? And, hey, how did that thing over there work?
People in crews had some tricks here and there. Some had uses for spare metal bits and pieces. Nothing big or harmful, no. If those things started showing up on the streets, marks would get scared. Targets would stop coming out with so many Soverns. Less pay, more guard patrols, and a city with too many eyes out made for bad business, both in the light and out of it. Looking back, that makes a lot of sense. More sense than a 17 year old lifelong thief on the streets had at the time. But making use of scrap was an opportunity. A good one. One that could, maybe, make you a real important guy in the crew. So what if a few people would get hurt? What if some marks started getting a little paranoid? We’d have more ourselves! That’s all that mattered. Right?
A single little contraption goes off in broad daylight. One noble young buck, with too much money in his purse and too little sense to properly hide it, gets hurt. Not dead, just a few scratches across his pretty face. Boy, those look deep. Maybe too much primer, Ash would have to change his first formula to-what if? What if that kid prattles to his daddy and makes things harder for us to steal? What if we can’t make enough to live another week? What if the guards find any of us? What if…the next one is better? What if the next one goes cleaner? It could happen.
Never got the chance. That noble boy’s scars became an example of just how bad thieving was getting. More guards! Keep a closer eye out! There’s an artificer out there leaving his dangerous toys out and targeting noblemen for coin and virtue and their lives and…what if Ash was no longer useful? What if this had made him a detriment? A marked man? That’s what came next. A wanted artificer, targeting nobles, patrolmen on the look out for any unusual mechanisms and descriptions passing through the areas his crew had frequented. They’d have to give up their hunting grounds. And that description that people were using to find the mad artificer? It matched Ash to a point. He must’ve been seen running with that purse! But his crew would hide him! He would be alright! The guards would never find out who he was and everything would be fine! Except…
What if it wasn’t? His crew didn’t stand with him. He had become a liability. A recognizable face being sought out around the Shores didn’t make for good thieving work. They had turned him in before a week had passed from the event. Now he’d spend the rest of his short days stuck in a cell. Sentenced to execution for terrorism and assault against a member of the noble class. The theft itself wasn’t even on the rap sheet! And here come the guards now! He knew the sound of metal boots and cuisses and plate mail, had run from it too often, had survived by being out of sight from the ones who make it. The cell offered no such cover or methods of concealment. He’d been left out to dry by his crew. The cell, the sentence, the damned cuffs chafing his wrists! If he hadn’t started to trust in this crew, for once, none of this would have happened!
But the man on the other side of the cell door wasn’t the bailiff. He wasn’t the executioner, either. So who was he? This older fellow, he wore no uniform, no guardsman armor, but he had a crest on his doublet. Ash didn’t recognize it. Was this man another noble? Why’s he got a guardsman with him? How important is he? And then he spoke.
“A thief off the streets, playing with toys and surviving by the skin of your teeth. Hardly a terrorist. Come here, boy, let me get a good look at you.” Ash didn’t question the man, but he had a few for him. This mysterious old coot looked him up and down, and watched Ash's eyes closely. To his credit, life on the streets had taught Ash a few things; such as when he was being analyzed in more ways than one. The boy didn’t look this man in his eyes. He diverted his gaze to the left or right, or down to the floor, all the while keeping the old man in his periphery and looking him over as well.
The old man grinned, Ash didn’t know if that was good. “You’d be useful. Plenty of potential in you, yet.” He turned to the guardsman beside him. “Tell your captain I've got a favor. This boy comes with me. Make haste, and be discreet!” The guard looked a mix of surprise and worry as he scampered off, leaving Ash alone with this enigmatic fellow. “You already know what you did wrong with that device that landed you here, yes? Too much primer, too much OOMPH and hurt the boy you were trying to scare. Would’ve worked, if not for that.” The voice of experience, Ash would have guessed.
Ash was released into the old man's custody. The captain had indeed owed him a favor, the nature of which Ash could only guess. As it turned out, the geezer was the commander of a mercenary company, one with rather loose relationship with the law. Ash's previous life was put to the axe (or had it been the gallows?), a replacement made from another unlucky criminal in order to sate the noble he'd scarred. From here on, he would be Ashdane of the Wayward Wolves; the name was a symbol of the company he now belonged to.
Errol was the name of the man who’d taken him, and he himself had been an urchin before. While maintaining ties with the underground, Errol used his ties mainly as a way to get jobs for his mercenary business. Each and every member had been a “rescue" in one form or another, be they a previous convict, or a person trying to better their lot in life. He was a firm, fair, and consistent individual, and over time Ashdane began to see him as a true father. It was through no fault of Errol's own that Ash had trouble trusting and being at ease in the company. A lifestyle of thieving would carve its nature into a person’s bones. His mind stayed racing, he would often flinch in the presence of his comrades, and looking a person in the eye was very difficult for him. Always, Ashdane looked through a person rather than at them, because surely if they weren’t a threat, something or someone nearby was.
Despite his issues, Ashdane would spend the next several years of his life with the Wolves. Errol was as much a leader as he was a teacher, and he was often honest with his men about the contracts they fulfilled to make their living. Even Ash, who hadn’t had an education or an opportunity in his life, was not left out of this process. He was an illiterate teen on the cusp of adulthood, and he knew nothing more than surviving on the streets. And yet, he took to it like a fish to water. Being able to clearly define what was needed to fulfill a contract seemed like a simple expansion to having an objective back as a kid. Pick a pocket, cause some ruckus, kill a monster. Perhaps it wasn’t so simple, now that he could read the once-nonsensical scribble (not that contracts were a large part of thieving, but marks the crewleader would point out were sometimes picked by another, and Ashdane was beginning to figure out how), but it gave a greater degree of certainty in what form of action to take.
By the time he was a man grown, Ashdane could read, write, negotiate, and make a more proper little trap than the one that had landed him in prison. The last of these were taught by Errol directly. He was an old hand at the skill, and took great interest in what few pupils the Wolves could scrounge together. Ash learned and memorized numerous blueprints throughout his few years, and learned to always keep a few pieces of scrap on hand and a few traps ready to set. It had come in handy through a few missions, maybe that was an understatement. He could trap their campsites to provide defenses while his squad slept, could set a stage for a fight that would go heavily in the Wolves' favor, or even detonate directional shrapnel bombs mid-melee. A thief, even one no longer a thief, had to be pragmatic. It was only natural that a tool should be used against something that wanted you dead.
The Wayward Wolves had molded the once-thief into a proper mercenary. And mercenaries knew how to survive. Being one didn’t necessarily mean that you were invincible, or that you were immune to age and decay. Errol’s death is one such example of this. He had been both outlaw and merc. Had taught so many so much. He had been a paternal figure in the lives of many of its members. But all these accomplishments did not make one immortal, it just meant that he passed away surrounded by family. Pride in his pack flushed through his chest until the light finally left his eyes. Ash had been taught another thing in Errol's passing: the pain of losing a beloved parent. This experience, he learned at the age of 26.
The Wayward Wolves dissolved without a leader, unable to elect another. Ashdane's squadmates went their separate ways, either continuing their mercenary lifestyle in another company, or becoming contacts in the underworld for one another. His family all but gone, and reeling from the loss, Ashdane was among those who continued as a free mercenary.
Fighting Style: “Artificianado.” A joking name a comrade from the Wayward Wolves once used to describe Ashdane's methods. Naturally, Ashdane ran with it. This style consists of a mix of swordplay, throwing knives, and artificer gadgets such as shrapnel bombs, razor wire traps, and more. When dealing with direct confrontation, evasion is a high priority and countering with quick strikes or a gadget when opportunities present themselves.
Equipment:
-Two spathas in scabbards across the back. While initially intended to be used in a dual-wielding stance, Ashdane usually uses one at a time and keeps his off-hand empty to utilize his throwing knives or gadgets.
-Studded leather armor meticulously cared for and modified heavily from his time in the Wolves. Thick armor around most of the body, leaving only the head, arms, and legs exposed for maneuverability.
-Three throwing knives located at the right hip. Reliable, sturdy, and retrievable.
-Leather toolbag typically situated on the left hip, filled with artificing tools along with metal and leather field care items, such as oils and whetstones. A separate pocket contains some extra scrap metal bits for use in field-crafting extra shrapnel bombs or replacement gadget bits. Ashdane will normally drop this bag using a quick release strap before engaging enemies as it can be cumbersome.
-Shrapnel bombs are small clusters of junk metal set into a metal base with just enough primer to launch the pieces at a respectable level of force capable of embedding and cutting flesh at a radius of 5 feet in a full circle. With slight modifications, and angling the base, Ashdane can give better aim and reach to the shrapnel, giving his teammates a better chance of not getting sliced and delivering more focused blasts to his foes. Bombs are primed by removing a small plug that acts as a brake for a dial on the underside of the base in place and twisting it 15 or more degrees clockwise, the bomb then detonates between 2 and 3 seconds later. Keeps 2 bombs on his person at the start of every mission.
-Spring razor wire traps are set into a tightly-wound cylindrical coil set into a cylindrical pillar that is hollow at the bottom, where it connects to the metal base. The hollow space is filled with enough primer to launch the pillar upwards roughly 4 feet, where it separates from the inside brake and the coil untwists at a rapid speed, flinging 3 strings of razor wire outwards in an 8 foot radius and dealing numerous cuts to those unlucky enough to stand in reach until the coil is at rest. These traps are primed similarly to the shrapnel bomb, having a dial at the underside of the base. Like the shrapnel bomb, the dial has a plug that acts as a brake for the device in order to prevent it from going off prematurely. The dial is turned counterclockwise by 45 degrees and plugged loosely so that most light vibrations through a nearby surface will release the plug and the dial will set the primer off. As a result, the spring razor makes for a good perimeter mine and alarm system. These traps are also made to be reusable, so long as more primer material is at hand and the base of the cylindrical pillar isn't too damaged to contain it. 4 of these are carried at the start of every mission.
Skills/Abilities:
-A skilled artificer, Ashdane can craft gadgets and traps from small metal pieces for use in combat and battlefield control.
-With his past as a street urchin, Ashdane is an accomplished pickpocket, eavesdropper, and adept at walking quietly without being noticed.
Other Information:
1. Listen to the GM(s), If you have a complaint tell me. I am not an evil dictator and if I am wrong I will admit it.
2. Romance and Gore allowed, But keep it in good taste and in site rules
3. Now not all characters will play nice with each other I understand that, but keep the disputes in the RP not in OOC
4. Be civilized and polite please
5. All basic RP rules apply to this roleplay: Power playing, Meta gaming, and others are not allowed.
6. The story isn't exactly set, If you have an idea for a mission feel free to pm me the details and I'll try to work it in.
7. Copy the rules into a Hider in the "other" of your cs so I know you read them.
8. Get into your character's skin become him or her as you are playing have fun and give us insight into their thoughts.
9. Try to keep active, in both the IC and OOC pages please. And even if you don't have anything to say, at least read the OOC
2. Romance and Gore allowed, But keep it in good taste and in site rules
3. Now not all characters will play nice with each other I understand that, but keep the disputes in the RP not in OOC
4. Be civilized and polite please
5. All basic RP rules apply to this roleplay: Power playing, Meta gaming, and others are not allowed.
6. The story isn't exactly set, If you have an idea for a mission feel free to pm me the details and I'll try to work it in.
7. Copy the rules into a Hider in the "other" of your cs so I know you read them.
8. Get into your character's skin become him or her as you are playing have fun and give us insight into their thoughts.
9. Try to keep active, in both the IC and OOC pages please. And even if you don't have anything to say, at least read the OOC