Gnome Johnson

Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

Aw shucks, poor little guy never seems to catch a break. And I did! I also have a character in the works for that.

Thank you for the quick reply :D

Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

Hey! So I'm in the middle of writing up a character sheet and hopefully joining you all in the RP, but I had a quick question for @MrDidact. In the show, Rickon Stark is super dead. However, in the books he has escaped to the island of Skagos. What would be the ruling on his status of life/death in this RP?

A Song of Ice and Fire: The Lives of Four Kings

@agentmanateeTotally fine! These things happen. Besides, I had fun making Myraq. I'm sure I'll find another RP to use him in.

A Song of Ice and Fire: The Lives of Four Kings

Alright, here's my submission for the RP. Let me know what you think/if there need to be any changes!

Myraq

Myraq

_{[ ⚔ ]House Name}

---

House Webber

_{[ ⚔ ]Age}

---

23

_{[ ⚔ ]Aliases}

---

The Red Dancer

_{[ ⚔ ]Reputation}

---

Personality: Myraq is defined by both his time in chains and the breaking of those bonds. Trained from a young age to serve, Myraq has learned that being quiet and observant yields more advantages than loud disagreement. He is polite, courteous, and well-spoken when he wishes to be. No stranger to courtly etiquette, the youth understands the necessity of biting one’s tongue and knowing one’s place. That being said, as a freed slave, Myraq has found he intensely values his agency. He cannot stand the idea of being held in chains again, and he would rather die than feel iron being clamped down on his unwilling skin. As a result of his time as a bedslave, Myraq has difficulty forming meaningful relationships with people. It is evident that he keeps thick, social walls between himself and others, and it would have to take a truly special kind of person to have Myraq open up.

Beliefs: Myraq does not put much faith in the gods, be they old or new. He has trouble counseling the idea of an all-powerful being or beings that could allow such horrors like slavery to exist in the world. If there are gods, Myraq believes they don’t care much for people.

Motivations: Myraq is motivated by a need to free his mother from slavery in Yunkai. After the events of his escape, he is unaware of what his mother’s fate is, but he can only hope she found some way to escape from the Wise Masters’ grasp. He wishes to eventually return to Yunkai to discover what happened to his mother, but he knows that if he does he will both need wealth and power to fight against the Wise Masters’ of Yunkai.

Skills: Trained as a bedslave in Yunkai, Myraq has been trained in the way of the seven sighs and the sixteen seats of pleasure. His an exceptional lover, though the activity does not bring him much joy anymore. Tutored for years in the various stylings of dance from both Westeros and Essos, Myraq’s true calling lies in those artistic movements. He has become extremely athletic and acrobatic from this training, facts which he has found lend themselves easily to the battlefield. Myraq has a good talent with a blade, his favored weapon being an Arakh, but he has much to learn in regards to technique. He is able to read, write, and speak in several languages; including High Valyrian, Westerosi, and Trade Talk.

Others Perception: The lower classes of Westeros might perceive Myraq as a foreign fop only interested in easy money, too good to spare a word for natives like them. Warriors might see Myraq as a strange fool, fighting in light armor and with a strange weapon when the norm is too surround oneself in plate and battle with the biggest sword one can find. The nobility of Westeros might perceive Myraq as an exotic entertainment, well-spoken and easy to look at. They might applaud his manners and knowledge of court and dance, but might just as easily see him as a foreign threat attempting to steal away their women (or men).

_{[ ⚔ ]Appearance}

---

Standing at 5’7” and weighing in at 150 lbs. of compact muscle, Myraq does not strike a particularly intimidating figure. Bearing elegant and angular facial features, there is no denying that he is a comely man. Dark skin and curly black hair, with the beginnings of a roguish beard outlining his jaw, Myraq appears as an exotic beauty to the people of the Seven Kingdoms. Three facial tattoos make striking appearance on his face, all marks of his former master Rhozar zo Varnaz.

Myraq has two style of dressing, work and court. For court, Myraq will wear a fine purple coat trimmed with gold fringe on the edges. Coupled with a light teal scarf, a brilliant orange sash, a pale white dress shirt, and white trousers, the Yunkai native only emphasizes his exotic origin. For work, however, Myraq dresses much more pragmatically. He wears a light leather armor with a leather coat, thick enough to stop an arrow at the right angle but light enough to allow him freedom of movement. Myraq will usually wield an arakh in combat, but he keeps a dagger tucked into his belt incase he finds himself unarmed.

_{[ ⚔ ]History}

---

Born into chains in the slave city of Yunkai, Myraq learned from an early age that his body was never to be his own. His mother a bedslave in a rich household, the boy had a better life than most slaves. His was taught to speak in a number of dialects, proper social etiquette, and at the age of thirteen, the way of the seven sighs and the sixteen seats of pleasure so to better serve his master’s, Rhozhar zo Varnaz, guests. Myraq lived his shackled to the whims of his owner, knowing that each day he would have to pleasure all the great and many perversions of the Wise Masters of Yunkai. There were only two things which kept Myraq from taking his own life in those times, his mother and his dancing. Initially tutored so to better provide entertain Rhozhar’s guests, Myraq found salvation in those artful movements. The subtle shifts to rhythms, leading his partner through music and rhythm alike, it was only in those moments that Myraq in control of his body.

As he entered into adulthood, so too did his renown as a skilled dancer and bedslave. He grew to be Rhozhar’s most prized possession, and men and women would come from across Essos came to spend a night with Myraq. And though his chains were gilded with gold and finery, though he was showered with praise and held above the other slaves, Myraq never forgot that his body was not his own. That his life were defined by the chains which linked around his feet and the gilded cage in which he lived. He never forgot that it would take the slightest provocation to end his life or the life of his mother. So, Myraq learned to wait and listen. He learned that if he wanted to break free, he would need to find the most opportune moment, the perfect beat, and then pounce. He waited and planned for two years, until finally, at the age of 22, he saw his moment.

A smuggler from Westeros came to curry favor with Rhozhar zo Varnaz. She was a hard sort, and though young, her eyes carried an age that men twice her senior could not match. It was through her that Myraq saw an opportunity. For two years, he had been amassing a good amount of wealth. He was not allowed to earn a wage under Rhozar, but his fingers were lithe, and people’s pockets tended to be loose on the dancefloor or in the bedroom. For two years, he snuck meager amounts of gold patrons, always only taking enough not to be noticed or earn a unappealing reputation. As attempts at negotiations, and tempers, rose in his master’s hall, Myraq took a chance he knew he would never had again. He approached the smuggler, offering all the gold he had for he and his mother’s safe passage. The smuggler would only take him, afraid that the old woman would die trying to escape form Rhozhar’s chains. After his mother’s insistence, Myraq accepted the smuggler’s terms. If he found a way to slip away from his chains, than the smuggler would take him as far as from Yunkai as she could muster.

There were only two times that Myraq was not physically chained; when he was dancing or ‘servicing’ Rhozhar’s guests. The smuggler waiting in port and there being no more guests, Myraq would only have one chance to break free from his bindings. So he suggested to his master that they dance together, as in all the years that Myraq had been linked to his master they had never once danced together. His master was resistant at first, but after Myraq suggested, knowing Rhozhar’s flexible tastes, that they partake in the slave’s other specialty after they danced, his master readily accepted. Rhozhar had already sampled Myraq’s services, but the slave had never offered his services willingly, and the master was excited at the prospect. He gathered an audience of two fellow slavers, as if to show off how willing Myraq appeared to be, and began to dance with him. They moved elegantly across the floor, flowing like water and adapting to the music’s changing rhythm. Myraq led his master through many styles, all done with a certain sense of intimacy. They were beautiful together, like a painting on the move. Even as a red line spring to life on Rhozhar’s throat, they were beautiful. His body crumpled, face frozen in shock as blood fell like rubies from the tip of Myraq’s knife. The other masters exploded into action, but they were too slow to keep up with the youth’s movements. To Myraq, it was all still dancing. Dodging their grabs, evading the guards, and turning the dagger on them. It was red, bloody dance, but a dance still the same. Two more masters and a guard fell by the time Myraq had found a way to escape dancing room. Quickly and quietly, he had found his way to the smuggler’s dock and slipped aboard her outgoing ship. Myraq was free, and finally his body was his own.

As they sailed to Westeros, Myraq trained with the smuggler. A foreign land awaited him, and he would not allow anyone to take his agency away again. He found a fast friend in the smuggler, and an even better teacher. A quick talent for battle, the sailors named him ‘The Red Dancer’ after his lithe movements and his reputation. Battle became another love for the youth, another moment where he felt in complete control of his body, and when they arrived at the port of Coldmoat, Myraq wasted little time in searching for a House to sell his services. Garbed in only what the smuggler gifted him as remembrance of their friendship, he found a retainer in House Webber. They were a small house with large ambition, but their gold was good enough for Myraq. He would need even more than the smuggler was payed if he wished to return to Yunkai. No matter how much gold it took, Myraq knew he would return to Slaver’s Bay one day. He would do whatever it took to see his mother set free. If that meant serving these foreigners and their political games, so be it. No one of his blood would ever remain in chains.

_{[ ⚔ ]Notes}

---

Myraq first choose to use a Arakh as his weapon because the Dothraki were the only people to ever truly frighten the Yunkai. He figured if it scared a Wise Master, it would serve him well in combat.

A Song of Ice and Fire: The Lives of Four Kings

Very much interested! Love me some pre-Robert's Rebellion stuff.

Supers: A Superpower RP

César Ramirez

Name: César Ramirez
Age: 16 (Junior)
Gender: Male
Appearance: (Half Black/Half Hispanic)

Eyes: Hazel
Hair: Brown
Height: 5'10
Weight: 150 lbs

Power: Personal Gravity Manipulation

Personality: César is a noble soul who strives to make the best of whatever situation he’s placed in. He attempts to maintain a positive, focused attitude when given a task to complete, and is genuine sort of guy. Honest, but not brutally so, and hardworking, César is the consummate sum of his mother’s military discipline and his father’s idealistic perceptions.

Likes: Planes, Skydiving, Alternative Music, Honesty, Organization, Working Out, Biking.

Dislikes: Deception, Arrogance, Bullies, Laziness, Prejudice.

History: The Ramirez family has roots in Pavar, with César’s mother coming from the small town, but César does not. His mother an Air Force pilot, César was born and raised a military brat and was used to traveling across the country to whatever military base his family was assigned to. He spent most of his early life in this manner, hooping from one city to the next, never staying still and never really having the chance to make strong friendships with anyone outside of his family. As such, the Ramirez family is a tightknit one, and César would do anything for any member of his blood; be it little sister or great aunt. Fate would have it that his grandfather, a veteran of WWII and a fellow pilot, took severely ill, and, with César’s grandmother dying a few years prior, had no one to take of him. As such, César and the rest of his family moved out to Pavar to take care of their ailing elder for whatever few years he had left.

Awakening: The brisk night air knifed through César’s thin jacket with ease, shocking the sleep from the youth’s weary form as he travelled farther and farther from the warm lights of Parvar. It had been almost a month since his arrival to the tired little town, and still César felt out of place. He understood that he was a new kid in a small town, and that it would take a while for the resident’s to get used to him, but he’d be damned if the residents didn’t make him feel like an alien in his own skin. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to the foreign feeling of a new place, a new home, he’d gotten plenty of experience with that as his family jumped from army base to army base. It was the fact that his family wasn’t likely to leave for a long time, that he would probably spend the good part of a few years with these people. And in his month in Pavar, he had yet to make a single friend.

César always relied on his mother’s propensity to get reassigned rather quickly to excuse his lack of enthusiasm when it came to making friends. He figured that, since he would probably be moving within three months of meeting anyone his own age, that there was no point to getting to know someone on a personal or intimate level. But now, his way out had been eradicated. His escape was hamstrung, and he was anchored to Pavar and its people. He couldn’t even rely on his family for consul or advice, with his mother and father busy with their new jobs and his little sister preoccupied with her upcoming Eighth Grade school year. The entire affair filled César with an uncomfortable frustration, one which buzzed and bite at the back of his mind.

So, César did what he always did when he found himself in a foul mood. He moved as fast as he could in the quickest manner possible away from the issue. At the moment, the issue seemed to be Pavar.

It proved this manner of thinking which lead the youth biking, off-road, in an area he knew little to nothing about. In retrospect, not his brightest moment.

Regardless, César found solace in the rugged and twisting paths which littered the rocky gorge he had stumbled upon. He took his biking slowly at first, not one to abandon all sense in a fit of anger, but his tentative efforts took a more bold approach as he grew in confidence. His troubles seemed to float away and join the speckled night sky as he pedaled through the tumultuous terrain which surrounded him. Any frustrations, any annoyances, any doubts which tore at his conscious mind, all but vanished as the cool night wind rushed against his grinning face. Unfortunately for César, as his elation grew, so too did his concern for his own safety falter and crack. It took but one fateful error to send César tumbling down the sheer cliff which crept at the edge of the rocky terrain. One mistake to change his life forever.
César unleashed a bloodcurdling scream as he rocketed down the edge of the cliff, bike tumbling after him with uproarious discontent. Wind, cold and uncaring, blasted upwards against his face, and the whole of the world seemed to slow down around him as he crashed towards his end. Fear gripped his heart as the ground rushed to meet him, and hot tears streamed across his face as the final thoughts of his family burned bright in his mind. His grandfather’s grim, weathered face. His mother’s rare smiles. His father’s eager, caring eyes. His sister’s echoing laughter, so young and so full of life. He would never get to see her grow old, never meet the man she would marry, never get to reminisce about growing up together or the stupid games they played. He would lose the chance to make those memories with her, with everyone.

“NO!” he screamed, begging for life in a final, defiant plea which echoed across the canyon’s cavernous depths. For once, the world seemed to listen.

His hands crossed over his crying eyes, César waited for the collision that never came. Slowly, he peeled his tear-soaked sleeves away from his eyes, and found himself staring at ground inches away from his face. He was hovering, floating more like, surrounded in an aura of pale white light.

“Holy shit. Holy. Shit.”

In an event that should have resulted in his death, César instead found within himself an ability that humans have sought after since the species first glimpsed birds soar through the air.

César could fly.

Well, float. Flying could come later, because right now, César was just happy to be alive. Scared shitless of what just happened and what he had just done, but happy nonetheless.

Supers: A Superpower RP

Hey, just thought I'd pop in to say hello! Really excited to jump into this story with y'all, and I hope we create some kickass stories together.

Original Superhero Multiverse

The problem with timestamps is that it'll become more difficult for characters to transition between threads. Like, what if a character wants to reference an event that happened in thread 3 while in thread 1, but the timestamps make it so the event is in the character's "future". It really makes things very complicated.

@Hansa

I see your point, but what if you want your character to grow? With liquid time without a dating measure, it gets very hard to keep track of what happened when, so, hypothetically, if I wanted to have a very selfish character slowly became more heroic due to events that occurred in RP, I and the people I was RPing with would have no way of telling what 'version' of the character I was playing with. The selfish bastard or the reluctant hero.

Original Superhero Multiverse

I'm all in favor of liquid time. I've found the system extremely conducive for an RP environment, allowing for a multitude of plots to develop at the same time without the real-time wait for replies. However, if we do use liquid time, I would recommend the use of timestamps to better sort through the threads and give some semblance of chronological order. Timestamps are essentially dating the threads so that both the readers and the RPers can easily see what happens when during in a thread. For example, August 2nd, Morning, 2015.

Original Superhero Multiverse

Definetly looks interesting. Count me in if you've got space.