Fat Boy Kyle

Plague of the North

“We will provide as much food and water as the group can carry, but after a certain point we’ll have to rely on scavenging and hunting. Horses will also be provided if you do not have your own, but the ones in the stable aren’t exactly the best bred. As for money in advance, that very much depends on our sponsor who, as of yet, has not arrived. All I can promise in terms of money is that King Barius will heavily reward you if we are successful.” Replied Sir Chester, who was trying his best to keep his professional and stoic demeanour in front of the dark haired vixen. At the mention of the sponsor, Buxton found herself scan the room for any sign of Orwen but instead was only able to spot a couple more people enter through the front door.

Chester was too busy talking with Karen (and by extension, too focused on not drooling) to notice the man with the giant sword approach the table. Buxton on the other hand had trained her dark walnut eyes on the newcomer since the moment he appeared in the doorway. Like with the previous guest, she did not bother to sit up and instead kept her leather boots crossed comfortably on the rough wood table. She raised a curious eyebrow as the man got closer, noticing the strange dots on his head and the cattle-like ring on his nose. As the foolish man drew his sword Buxton felt her heart skip a beat and her fingers involuntarily spun the dagger for a better grip. She was no assassin, but she doubted she would miss a throw from that close. By this point even Chester noticed and he quickly half-drew his sword, ready to jump up and fight in the blink of a second. However when the man dropped to a kneel the tension faded enough for Buxton to let out a big exhale and a silent smirk.

“I, Gawain Rochilde, Wonderman of Vahili, hereby pledge my life and soul to the Consano to avenge my fallen father, fallen mother and.. presumably plague-gripped sister, may the old gods and God of Light, whichever is true, save their souls. My sword is yours, lady Buxton, sir Chester.”

It was a rather dramatic oath, one which was certainly not needed. Chester’s face seemed to show a mixture of anger and sheer bewilderment. He went to scold the man for being suicidal enough to draw his blade on them, but then ‘Gawain’ stood and carried on his rambling. “I’ll let you deal with this guy…” whispered Buxton under her breathe as she stood and begun to stretch. She probably whispered loud enough for all four people around the table to hear, but it didn’t stop Gawain from finishing his story.

“A dull sword is fine… A dull sword can become as sharp as razor if taken care of properly.” She stated. “His physique isn’t bad, with some proper training he should be able to hold his ground.” Karen added with a confident nod. “Hmm it seems all of us applicants arrived at the same time.”

“It would appear so.” Responded Chester, who was now hoping the others wouldn’t try the same sort of theatrics. He looked over to the other men near the bar and scowled, a small heat rising in his neck due to his annoyance at their obliviousness – someone just drew a sword at their superior officers and they were just sat there drinking merrily away. Turning his attention back to Gewain, Chester sheathed his sword and waved for Gewain to put his own down. “Firstly recruit: if you draw your sword on me again you will find it lodged in a very tight itchy sheathe.” He said in very flat matter-of-fact way, “As long as you can swing that thing at whatever monstrosities we come across, and as long as you show us trust and loyalty, you’re accepted. Besides, I’m sure the men will appreciate a priest when things get rough.”

Whilst Chester was dealing with Gewain, Buxton found herself following Karen over to the door, interested to see what she had found. She kept a few steps back, acutely aware that her own footsteps lacked the grace and lightness needed to keep silent on the old wooden boards. As she passed the young pale women she too gave a smile and lifted a single finger, a gesture that she hoped would indicate that the lass should wait a minute. ‘Probably not here to join’ thought Buxton, noting how skinny she was and how finely dressed the girl was in her thick wool and leather. Of course fine clothing was no true indicator of profession, as her own attire proved, but this girl didn’t strike her as a fighter. Brushing her thoughts of the girl aside, she refocused on the door where Karen was then exposing a short man.

“So… what do we have here? A rather big rat or did you per chance drop coin and now are searching for it?” Karen asked.

“I don’t think rats smell that bad,” Buxton interjected as she lent against the doorway.

Plague of the North

It's fine, your's is better anyway :P

Plague of the North

You know what this roleplay needs?

An super awesome banner to show off!

Even if the banner isn't the best and took around fifteen minutes to make, it's still a cool banner to show off!

@Rare

I thought the banner I made was pretty awesome too

Plague of the North

Remember, this is a work in progress. So, I don't have much here, but I am still working on it.

Mathis Azaïs

Character Theme – Let's Explore – Rachel Wilson
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Mathis stands at an average height of 1.8034m (5ft 11in) and weights around 200 pounds. His body isn't overly muscled, but it isn't fat as well. However, he has some fat, so he could be warm during the harsh winters in the Far North. The long and loose darken hair is tied, because it would most likely get caught in branches or get grabbed by bandits. His face makes him look older, but that's just for all of the stress that he kept to himself ever since he left the Kingdom of Dawn

The clothes are just something that Mathis brought at Southarbor when he first set foot at Vasili. Since the day he got them, he has added in a couple pockets and kept it clear. His armor is just made out of hardened leather, so he could move around while he is firing his bow. He also tied some leather around his legs to put his dagger in, it's a lot easier to pull it out when he needs it. They don't look 'wealthy' and the colors are mostly dark, but Mathis doesn't care how 'good' his clothes looks.
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【Full Name】
Mathis Azaïs

【Alias】
Mathis

【Gender】
Male

【Age】
Twenty-Nine

【Sexuality】
Questioning

【Birth Place】
Dawngaurd

【Nation/Allegiance】
Kingdom of Dawn

【Profession】
Explorer

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【Personality】
Mathis is loyal and honest with people that he cares for; however, he isn't a person to trust. He doesn't flirt as much as the common man does and he isn't such on what gender he likes. Since he has spent time exploring the Far North, he has become more curious and risk-taking of things. Like, go to a tribe's camp and write down stuff on how they made their homes. And he is optimistic to the bad side of things.

Because of his times away from civilization, he doesn't know how to socialize with people that well. Of course, he has the manners and he does talk to people; but, he isn't emotionally with people at all. Especially with the wealthy or most people who were born in Vasili, those kind of people Mathis hates. However, he doesn't state that when he meets them. His hate could be just anger over the fact that Vasili tried to invade his home country.

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【History】
The only person that Mathis loved more was his mother and brother. His mother supported his dreams of becoming an explorer and brother told him that he would still love him 'no matter what happens'. School was his second home as he spent time studying the history of The Northern Lands and the world. And at the age of fifteen, he was for such that he wanted to become an explorer. His father didn't like that and told him that goal was 'so stupid that he should just become a farmer'.

His mother and brother were supportive of his dream and soon he was going to explore Far North. He spent years getting ready for the expedition to the uncharted lands. Mathis trained on the bow and arrow and learned how to survive out there. He also learned how to use a dagger by his brother, just in case he didn't have any arrows left. Funding the expedition was the easy part, because his charm and determination got him the funds needed.

At the age of twenty-six, Mathis was ready to leave his family and nation behind. With the war between Dawn and Vasili going on, he had to leave quickly before Vasili launch another invasion. He said his goodbyes to his family and left Dawngaurd.

He boarded a trading ship going to Southarbour and prayed that the ship wasn't attacked. Thankfully, he got off the ship at Southarbour and soon hired guards to escort Mathis to Fort Cain. The ride from Southarbour to Fort Cain took a long time; however, he decided to stop at Boulder Tower. The guards didn't agree with his decision, but they went anyway. He documented the whole area and it's people before racing away the area as the people threw rocks at them.

He then spent two years of his life documenting the area around Fort Cain and other parts of the Far North. He published his first book, Beyond Fort Cain. It was an interesting book about the tribes of the Far North and the areas beyond the control of Vasili. Mathis' book was mentioned all over The Northern Lands at schools and scholars debated about the book. It kept Mathis exploring the Far North and the tribes for many months until the plague surfaced.

While traveling back to Fort Cain, Mathis and the guards were riding their horses. The peaceful ride soon turned deadly as a man came out of the woods and attacked one of the guards. The man managed to bite into the guard's neck and he was running towards another guard. However, he was put down by Mathis' arrow and dropped dead below the guard's feet. They raced towards the wounded guard and carried him back to the Fort. The fort was the best option, because they were away from any nearby villages and even the tribes didn't have the proper medical equipment. Thirty minutes of carrying the man on horseback later, they got to the fort. By that time, his skin and blood soon became darken and he was immediately sent to the nurses and doctors for help.

Mathis and the others were told to wait until the wound was treated. And they went out of the room and waited outside. They heard mentions of the plague from people at Rundorm; but, they didn't care much about it as the plague was away from them. As they were talking to the fort's guard about what happened, they heard screaming coming from the room and sounds of horror. The fort's guard ran towards the room and saw the wounded guard chewing on a doctor's left arm.

Outside the fort, the infected were running to the fort and they were near the fort's wall in a couple minutes. The people were starting to panic over as the plague was invading the fort. The guards defended Mathis against the infected, which gave him to get his horse and race away from the fort. Of course, he knew that they were going to die and he thanked them for helping him the last time.

He raced away from the fort as the infected soon claimed Fort Cain, Mathis knew that he needed to get to the nearest town and report about it as soon as he could. So, he rode to Boulder Town and rested there for a couple days. He helped the people pack their belongings and rode with them to Titus. He stayed there only for a couple and then went to Minorhold to get on a ship, that was going to the Kingdom of Dawn.

However, he learned that his home country was shooting down any ships trying to cross the channel. Mathis couldn't believe it and now he didn't know what to do. He decided to go to the Crossroads and then to the capital, Sovereign. At the capital, he would hide there until the plague was under control and go back to his home.

Mathis needed to find a way out of this hell hole and this plan was the best one.

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【Skills and Abilities】
Because of his profession, he's better educated than most people in the Northern Lands. Mathis knows how to read and make maps, in fact, he has some made of the local tribes' villages. With the maps and other information, he knows more of the Far Norths than anyone else. Well, he doesn't know beyond the village of Rundorm and he barely knows the Grey Islands.

And his charismatic and persuasion has improved, due to his time in the Far North and with the tribes. They are useful for getting out of sticky situations or just getting something for someone. Other than those skills, he knows how to aim and fire a bow and he also knows how to stab someone with a dagger. And he knows about the history and the politics of the two countries.

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【Weapons/Tools and Magic】
Weapons/Tools
He has a bow and arrows that he uses for defensive. And he also has a dagger that he uses if he runs out of arrows.

Magical Spells
Mathis doesn't have magical spells to cast or anything that's magical.

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(I don't love your milkshakes. Also, my GMT is -7 (-8 if it isn't daylight saving time))

@Rare

Accepted! Please add to the list and begin posting :D

Plague of the North

Drusus

Character Theme – Four Remedies for Five Sick Dukes
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Drusus is a man of slightly above average height, at least relative to his fellow citizens of Florine. He's somewhat wiry, with a frame that's thinner than it ought to be, but he's by no means malnourished. His skin, though swarthy by Vasili standards, lacks the bronzing finish of years under the sun, which can be attributed to his previously cloistered lifestyle. His eyes and his his hair are both dark brown, and he keeps his face cleanly shaven and his hair cut short. His features are characteristically Florine, with almost almond-shaped eyes, an aquiline nose, and thin, drawn lips. He dresses well, but the garb he affords himself is perpetually shrouded by an olive and gold filligree cloak, the signature garb of the modern Synod.

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【Full Name】
Mauro Nicodemo

【Alias】
Drusus, Academia Erudite

【Gender】
Male

【Age】
33

【Sexuality】
Bisexual

【Birth Place】
Calraddi, The City of Martyrs

【Nation/Allegiance】
The Kingdom of Florine, The Florine Academia Synod

【Profession】
Sorcerer, Academia Agent

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【Personality】
To be raised by the Synod, to be discovered in one's youth by the shadowy fraternity, is to be committed entirely to the so-called 'virtues' that they have lived under for a hundred generations. Drusus, just as those before him, was indoctrinated, broken and built back up into a person very different from the one he arrived as, so full of fear and anger. He was taught from the very beginning to value secrecy and skepticism, to acknowledge that the world, at best, didn't trust the power he was capable of wielding and, at worst, hated him for it. He was taught not to reciprocate this fear or hatred, but to accept it and, when appropriate, use it to his advantage. To be relegated to the shadows, to be ostracized, had advantages all its own or so he was taught.

It wouldn't be fair to him to say that he became cold under the tutelage of Florine's grandmasters, but he did grow reserved. He took the lessons of those who came before him and applied them, and the passionate young man they took in became quiet. What had first resembled paranoia to him steadily began to make more sense as he delved deeper into the mysteries of magic and the ancient society that had endured thousands of years through highs and lows. He naturally grew into the shape his tutors intended for him, he detached himself from the strong opinions he once held dear and embraced the borderline sociopathic pragmatism that the double-faced sorcerers of Florine devoted themselves wholly to.

He had to play the part of a coolly professional civil servant, dance to the sordid tune of Florine politics as nought but a servant. There was no way around this, and so he grew good at saying what others wanted to hear. Upon full induction into the Synod as a true Erudite he pursued work under the State's elite and ingratiated himself to many of them. They saw a hard worker, a professional whose supernatural skills were at their disposal, entirely divorced of their sinister connotations.

There was always ambition to the Academia Synod however, there were always shadowy agendas at work just under the surface. They had managed to put on a good face for so long, to be regarded as at least somewhat trustworthy by those that held their leash, but in truth they shared the same intentions as their more anarchic kin across the borders and across the sea. Their knowledge must be preserved. Their power must be preserved. Their survival must be ensured. Drusus was no different, and was driven by his own ambitions just as much by the ambitions of his superiors.

Unscrupulous as he might be, he took particular pleasure in the company of others and especially in the exchange of knowledge and ideas. He was deprived of it for over a decade. Those he had associated with in his time as an apprentice had made contact with those of the outside world absolutely refreshing to him, because just as there was so much to glean from the libraries and the debate and discourse of the Academia Synod there was even more to learn from the people of Florine and beyond, even if they were wrong.

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【History】
Mauro Nicodemo is a secret name. The name of a boy who died far too young. It was a name given to the oldest child of Marian Nicodemo, who was a junior merchant in service of one of Florine's most powerful guilds, an institution that had made a fortune for itself and its members through the creation of war materiel and glass. They were based in Calraddi, which was more colloquially known as the 'City of Martyrs' for the body count the municipal authorities of old racked up during the birth of the Church of Light.

Marian was by all accounts a decent father, but also one whose work took him to the far corners of the known world. He carried out the movement of goods, the guilds funded him and those like him, the young ambitious merchants, the nouveau riche, and provided them an opportunity to prove themselves on the more hazardous end of Florine business. He afforded his family a fine house on Calraddi's perfumed canals and afforded them a life without want, and so while he was gone more often than he was home there was a sense that he did care.

Marian's wife - Mauro's mother - was the heiress to the fortune of a sonless provincial magistrate, and had made quite a name for herself in the circles of the Florine affluent as a poet and ideologue. Where Mauro's father's influence was felt through the coin that funneled back to them by way of the guilds, Mauro's mother - Alisanne - made hers known in the active raising of the children. She afforded them the greatest classical tutors of Florine and immersed them in the ancient Florine philsophical and mathematical schools of thought.

Mauro Nicodemo took to his studies well, but he was always a restless boy, and more disposed to mischief on the town than he was to listening to the graybearded academics whom his mother had contracted. That's not to say he was rebellious, but his spirit, as it were, always sought to propel him beyond the impromptu classroom of his mother's solar. The workings of the city - the condottiere and the officials both - always fascinated him. He could imagine himself as a gallant mercenary. As a prominent statesman. Perhaps both? He had no mind for poetry or sculpture or painting as he found, and as his mother was most dismayed to find.

People were always of more interest to him. The interests of people, their interactions, what made them all 'tick' and would make one do one thing and another do another thing. He developed a knack for lying and for speechcraft, and would often put such skills to use for petty things, like getting out of trouble with his caretakers or his mother. For wheedling this or that out of the people of Calraddi. Sympathetic bakers or fishmongers or the like would often find themselves giving him far more than they ought to.

It was a languid childhood, a comfortable one, the sort that so often ultimately creates spoiled and viperous adults. By all rights Mauro could have become the next cutthroat senator of provincial Calraddi. He could have taken bribes and kept assassins on retainer and lived in opulence that even his well-off parents could not have imagined. But it was not so. Just weeks after his sixteenth birthday a cabal of well-dressed, but heavily shrouded men arrived at the Nicodemo estate along with a number of condottiere, and they asked for Mauro and his mother by name.

The leader of the party of five quite casually explained that by means of divination they had determined that the young Mauro was cursed with the power of sorcery. Now, were it not for the armed escort and the olive and gold filligree cloaks the two of them would perhaps be skeptical. They wanted to be skeptical. To be cursed in Florine was to be spirited away in the night or killed. The gravity of the situation was lost on no one in that room. The wizards and their attendant soldiers presented Mauro a choice: he would go with them and his supposed curse would be confirmed and studied in greater detail, or they would take him by force and, failing that, end his life and the danger he posed to society.

He said his tearful goodbyes, he surrendered himself to the party that had come to collect him. Then a lump of tumorous hatred began to grow in his heart. His freedom had been taken from him. This singular thought possessed him as they led him, blindfolded, to a carriage which rolled off across the city, first through familiar streets and then further onwards to unfamiliar ones. His creature comforts were gone. His lessons were done. The young, foolish infatuation with the neighbor girl was done. In one afternoon he had gone from prince to slave.

He was taken from the carriage and escorted, still blindfolded, to a gondola, and from there poled down a maze of eerie, quiet canals. And then there came the telltale acoustics of a canal tunnel. One that did not end. And then the gondola was moored and he was pulled bodily from it and his blindfold was removed. There he stood on a very spartan dock with the five cloaked men, those he supposed were in fact sorcerers. A great oaken double door stood open to them, and beyond was a corridor lit only by paired candelabras. The acrid stench of sandalwood incense wafted from within, replacing the stench of the canals.

Dark chambers and darker hallways. The persistent stink of all varieties of incense burning his nose. The leering, skeletal dead interred in their wizarding cloaks. Propped up, marionette-like skeletons stood transfixed, accusatory or pleading in their artifical stances. The deeper they went into the earth by way of hurried twisting and turning the more interred dead they passed. Now bones lined the walls, bodies were set in vertically stacked loculi graves. It was a catacomb that they walked him through. One that stretched on for miles. A catacomb of dead sorcerers.

Further beyond there came the ascent into old gardens rife with exotic plantlife and sculptures both ancient and grand. Marble. Obsidian. Palms. Jungle flowers. The cool, misted expanse of green gave way to what Mauro could only describe as a villa. A compound, of sorts, perhaps. It was built in the likeness of old pagan Florine temples, with great columns and walls of immaculate white marble. And, for the next fifteen years of his life these grounds, and the buildings that had stood upon them for centuries served as his home. It was an immaculate institution that presided over a largely depopulated district, one that had been abandoned following a ravaging fire.

It was within these walls that he was inducted into the esoteric mysteries of sorcery, and into the ritual-steeped society that had governed Florine's magic-users for innumerable generations. He was taught to control the power that was coaxed from him, and he was also taught the accompanying of truths of 'real philosophy' by those who derided his old teachers as blind. He was made to study the works of Church-shunned hermetics and gnostics by the light of red candles. He was made to wield his power for applications both practical and ritual in his training.

Sorrow and frustration lingered in his heart for a long while, but the nameless apprentice that had once been Mauro Nicodemo took to his studies and his new powers eagerly. He was amongst likeminded peers, all of whom had been separated from their old lives and their old kin in similar fashions. They grew close. A tight knit community of not only scholars, but friends. New family bonds grew out of necessity and shared profession. The 'curse' had driven them close together.

He progressed from the fundamentals of sorcery into more specialized advanced crafts. He embraced his curse and developed more and more control over the powers of illusion and divination, and his studies gravitated back towards more mundane concerns such as politics and the workings of non-magical society. He was to be groomed for work abroad, or so his master explained to him during one lesson involving the extended projection of a false apple onto a table. He would take an active part in the survival of their society, starting with service under the Florine Senate.

And so, just as ritual brought him into the Florine Academia Synod, ritual would also bring him back 'out' of it. He was made into a true sorcerer in his own right and given the chance to be born again with a new name. As was the custom amongst the Synod's membership he elected to take the name of a historic Florine figure of importance, and in Mauro's case he chose the much-beloved orator Drusus, who was struck down for defying a tyrant who sought to keep his power by military force.

Drusus made a name for himself amongst certain less savory circles of Florine society, as much for frustrating ambitions as fulfilling them. He switched sides as often as he formed coalitions. He employed sorcery as much as he employed trickery and social engineering. He was for the most part regarded as an asset by members of the Senate, but he was also regarded as somewhat untrustworthy. He was a man with his own ambitions, with a certain zealous drive that propelled him, and a wizard with ambitions and drive was something to be worried about. He had on more than one occasion had to deal with nameless, faceless catspaws as well as pressure from the Church and the Florine State Gendarmerie.

The Academia Synod's gaze turned north independent of the eternally bickering Senate's. Vasili's war with Dawn was already a fact of life, and indeed it was a beneficial one for the neutral Florine. The traders were pleased enough with the status quo, and so the Senate and the condottiere remained uninvolved in the conflict. The Synod was more concerned with the balance of power - and by extension the plague - than with war profiteering and the guilds.

Ultimately, out of all of the debate on the opportunities presented by the plague and the war came a singular decision. The plague must be understood and it must be stopped. Drusus was selected from the ranks of sorcerers as an ideal candidate and given an appropriate cover to travel north, under the patronage of a Florine senator who had business and political relationships in The Crossroads. And so he went north promptly as could be, far from his old stomping grounds of cutthroat Florine politics.

Drusus set his own machinations into motion, now far away from the watchful gaze of the Synod and Senate both. He had a plan that would completely shatter both organizations' expectations of what he could accomplish. He studied the Consano through personal contacts and magical divination. A small collection of individuals, but one populated by big names, a group with just the sort of potential combination of talent and naivety to help him pursue his own goals.

The Plague would be stopped. He committed himself to this. But he also committed himself to so much more.

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【Skills and Abilities】
Drusus is, first and foremost, trained extensively in the magical arts and had the advantage of learning in a professional institution. He was not impeded by the pitfalls of self-education and as such has a considerable length and breadth of magical power that he can reliably call upon. He has a particular penchant for more subtle invocations, such as those involving illusion or divination.

Secondly, Drusus is a learned man, by virtue of the traditional elite Florine education and the less conventional lore he delved into in his time as an apprentice in the Florine Academia Synod. He is particularly well versed in the more scholarly aspects of sorcery, alchemy, and spirituality. He's also trained in the finer points of the law, mathematics, and philosophy.

In his service with the Senate he picked up on a number of more rake-ish talents such as the ability to use lockpicks and make use of conventional sleight of hand.

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【Weapons/Tools and Magic】
Weapons/Tools
Drusus travels light. He'll typically carry only his most essential reagents for spellcraft, such as hagstooth and scalpbrine, and will make use of a variety of pouches and pockets to store them away. He also tends to keep a pair of spellbooks on his person, both bound with black leather and stamped with the sigil of the Florine Senate. The spellbooks aren't strictly necessary for spellcasting, but they do streamline the process of invocation. They function of a focusing tool first and reference material second.

Drusus also carries a proper channeling focus at all times, and depending on the circumstances he'll carry either a scepter or a proper stave. The scepter is a heavy copper implement that's approximately two feet in length that features acid-etched scripts and patterns. The stave is around six feet in length and is carved of dark ash heartwood. A heavy globe of copper is set at its top. These two implements are intended as a means of focusing his power, and they are absolutely necessary for any spellwork beyond the most basic cantrips.

He'll also tend to bring along some basic components for alchemical works, such as for common poultices and remedies. He's a layman at best with them, but it helps to be prepared, or so he reminds himself. And, for the purpose of being prepared he also keeps a knife spirited away in one boot and a set of lockpick's tools in the other.

Magical Spells
The Florine Academia Synod pursues sorcery in a very methodical fashion, breaking down each invocation into its component parts in order to make the learning and casting into a more formulaic, streamlined process. Each invocation is, at least on paper, divided into several 'Truths', which are treated as components. For example, to join the Truths of 'Fire' and 'Projection' would theoretically produce something along the lines of a fireball. Of course this is all magical theory, and many of the Synod's best and brightest are more spontaneous than the Truth system would imply. The mental and physical strain of using Truths increases exponentially with each addition.

Drusus repetoire is as follows, in no particular order:

Projection: To extend one's reach beyond one's mortal coil. At its most fundamental form this can allow one to use their five senses as if they were 'projecting' themself.
Expansion: To push with the fundamental power of the Curse. At its most basic this can allow a sorcerer to shove indiscriminately.
Contraction: To gather the power of the Curse around oneself. At its most fundamental it can allow a sorcerer to ward off a foe's strike.
Impulse: To strike with the Curse's primal power. A very basic form of magical power, with some of the basic manifestation of magical power (e.g. telekinetic bolts) falling under this classification.
Shadow: To play with or even create an absence of light, often for the purpose of deception. At its most fundamental form this can allow one to deprive someone of their ability to see in a localized area.
Light: To play with or even create illumination, often for the purpose of deception. At its most basic it can provide illumination in a cave or perhaps dazzle a foe.
Fixate: To use various mediums to locate something or someone. The work of oracles and diviners would fall under this Truth.
Ward: To use magical power in order to link one's senses with a particular area or object. Its disturbance will be known to whoever's maintaining the ward.
The Four Elements: Earth, Wind, Fire, and Air are often employed in conjunction with other Truths with intent destructive or otherwise.
Worm: To interfere in the workings of the mortal mind by means of suggestion or confusion.

@The Captain

Very good CS, very thorough and detailed. I'm tempted to decline you just because you make my CSs look bad! I'd perhaps say that your character seems a lot more powerful than any other character, but to be fair that fits in with the magic lore so I have no problem with that; given the threats we face, it'll be handy to have some powerful mages! I would however like you to expand a bit more on 'Projection' and 'Worm', and include some limitations.

But yeah, once you've done this please add your character to the CS bin and begin posting! Also, what time zone are you?

EDIT: I'll endeavor to get a post up tonight, I'm just a wee bit busy atm

Plague of the North

Still open and yet to start just started! The OOC is mostly discussion about the lore; the results of which have been incorporated into the wiki (second post in the OOC).

(In other words, you don't need to read through the entire OOC before joining)

@Fat Boy Kyle

Plague of the North

Damn it, there's been like 6 posts in the time it took me to respond xD

Plague of the North

How about this: the common tongue as mentioned is.. more or less, the common tongue (haha.)

Then you have upper class speech, which is probably Dawnish. Even Vasili noblemen speak this language because, well, it's prestigious and it reflects well on your status. See it as the Latin or French of Europe. Why Dawnish? Because they seem more noble-like, where as the Vasili mingle with nordic tribes.

Would that make sense? Just an idea that I came up with because, in England they spoke French as well because it was seen as a better, more noble language. It makes sense for us to have a similar situation.

@Partisan

It's certainly a good idea, but I think it would be easier to say that the majority of people in Vasili speak more or less the same language. Also Vasili certainly doesn't see any aspects of Dawn (save for technology) as better, and is one of the reasons why they are invading them; because of this it would be strange for the upper class to think of the Dawnish language as better. However it would certainly make sense for Dawnish people to think that Vasili were more lower-class because, as you pointed out, they mingle with tribes.

Besides that, you have tribal speech, which is subdivided into.. over a hundred different dialects as each tribe speaks it's own dialect, and has certain words that the other tribes only know if they've met this tribe in a friendly manner.

Further south you have many more languages, mainly used in trading, where they speak a mangled version of the common tongue, mixed with some of their native language. Of course, this goes paired with lots of hand gestures which, over the years have also formed 'words' so you can use your hands to say words. For instance, if I wave at you and then pinch my nose, that means 'I want to buy sugar from you' for example. That's a dumb example, but it gets my point across.

@Partisan

Divided tribal speech certainly makes sense too, but there's probably not quite as many as a hundred. In the charted lands I can't see there being more than a dozen different tribal tongues, just because there's not many tribes as there once was.

I like the idea about the south languages too so we'll roll with it, but I'd still like to say that the far south speak lingua. Until we start expanding the wider world we don't really need to worry too much about languages as it can start to complicate things.

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The currency in many Kingdoms is gold (and silver and bronze), with the state imposing their own seals upon their countries currency. For example in Vasili you will find gold peices with the House of Vasili crest.

10 bronze coins = 1 silver coin.
10 silver coins = 1 gold coin.

A loaf of fresh bread will probably cost you about 5/6 bronze coins. A poor quality sword will cost around 15-20 gold pieces. A decent sword can cost in excess of 50 gold pieces. A full set of plate armour will cost you over 200 gold pieces. As a rough guide. Most people are willing to trade in items and favours as much as they are gold.

Plague of the North

I was planning on writing tonight(AKA now at least for me), but I'm not feeling too great atm. So it will have to wait till tomorrow. Sorry about that ><

@rivaan

No worries, but

Plague of the North

@Denalz Most tribes speak variants of the 'STANDARDISED UNNAMED LANGUAGE', but some to the much farther north might speak completely different languages. Dawn too speaks its own variant of the STANDARDISED UNNAMED LANGUAGE. The only other language I can make up off the top of my head is 'lingua', which is spoken in many countries to the far south and is the language used in the original versions of the The Word of Light.

Feel free to make up a name for that language, and make up some other ones :P