Goldmarble

Legend of Renalta 2: Reborn

Sarzu said
Giant Undead Golem abomination take two most certainly!I actually have a idea, all we need are the carcasses of 1 bear and 2 sharks!It will be glorious.

Can Rust ride such a monstrosity? This sounds like the most epic of epic plans ever!

Legend of Renalta 2: Reborn

Gala Ball; Rustle
---------------------------------------------------------------

As Kouri's hand gestured in the direction of a far wall of the ballroom, the light generated by Amanda illuminated a figure somewhat surrounded by men and women in elaborate and gaudy clothing, showing off their wealth and nobility with ornamentation. The nobles of a few different locale paused to look at what the light touched, and their eyes widened as what most had assumed to be but an oddly place, grim statue of a skeleton, stirred. Its bones were mottled of aged ivory and stains of brown, a heavy woolen tabard draped over its shoulders; edged in fine leather, a black border around sable, in the center, front and back, a silver shield over a black tree embroidered with care. At it's left waist hung a field ready arming sword, rather than the ornate weapons of decor and office that presided at such an affair; plain brass quillions, a stacked leather grip, and a circular pommel. The scabbard was embellished only by the engraving of the Queen's Blades symbol near the mount.

The skeleton's head pivoted as the people around him stepped back from what they now realized wasn't just a mildly macabre statue that seemed slightly out of place in such an elegant setting. They gave it space once realizing that it was aware, more than a few expressions of unease, or possibly disgust being readable upon their face. Whether it was for his lack of flesh, or his lowly attire, he likely would never know. Not that he was inclined to ask. Instead, Russel turned and started a slow pace around the room, his head slowly pivoting as he took in the sights, and the mingling dignitaries. Himself remaining quiet as he moved, only cracking his jaw to offer an earily toned expression of his desire to move through a cluster of people too wide to circle about.

He walked with his left hand over the mount of his blade's scabbard, keeping the steel under control as he moved with a familiarity that, when he thought about it, made him curious. It was obvious that he was a man of blade, bow and spear when he was flesh and whole, that much was clear. But what position did he hold? He was able to read and write, and knew sword play to a better degree than some, which seemed like he wasn't quite a peasant, nor a member of a part time militia. Even now, these sights, these sounds seemed intangibly familiar. Was he a guard? A member of a city watch? A soldier, a knight or lord? Every time he discovered something that seemed familiar, it sparked more questions, fanning that flame of curiosity that he wanted to solve just who he was, or had been.

Something jostled him, a weight impacting his right leg. Looking down ot of his thoughts, he was greeted with the stare of immense blue eyes of a little girl with deep brown hair. She wore an expensive little cotehardie of violet velvet, adorned with golden buttons down the front, and a pattern picked out in silver and yellow thread of flowers and stars around the collar and sleeves that transitioned to silky lace from just past her shoulders. Her hair was done neatly in braids, netted with laced pearls. She flashed him a smile as two young boys of roughly the same age, caught up to her before she took off again with a quiet shriek of youthful playfulness.

Suddenly his vision blurred, shifting, fading, as colours muted and sounds grew dim and muffled. His view chased a silken train through pale golden light, between canyons of people dressed in particoloured hose and elegant gowns. He jerked slightly as he caught himself, trying to orientate his mind, he scanned around, the faded shadows of the vision had dissolved. Everything was as it was. Confusion set in as he grasped at what that vision meant, A memory?

Overwhelming, the noise of the people around him caught him off guard, it was uncomfortable, hard to think, distracting, jarring his mind as he heard the conversations of hundreds of people crashing into each other, each voice getting mingled with another, words shattering into shards of unintelligible sound. Quietly, he excused himself through the throngs of people, seeking empty air.

Legend of Renalta 2: Reborn

Jack Skellingt....err, Rustle to Amazonia.

It looks like a good place for a nice gentle stroll through the jungle.

Empowered - A Tale of Strength and Weakness in Spamopolis

Dervish said
That exchange between Goldy and myself was great. :D That's pretty much exactly how I'd react in that situation, and I am damn curious what my power is.m!

Keeping me sedated with Whiskey? :P

Empowered - A Tale of Strength and Weakness in Spamopolis

Angry, bitter old bastard.

I'm okay with this.

Lost Flight of Eden [Closed]

Beautiful bird!

I mean, as I said, i was kind of waiting for other people to post, giving a buffer between my first and the next, but....apparently everyone just vanished? Lost interest?

Lost Flight of Eden [Closed]

I'll work on a post when another one is up. Don't like posting so "close" to my last one usually.

Creatures of Gold

Name:

Amber Bergstrom

Age:

32

Occupation:

Marine Engine Mechanic

Family life:

Single, never married. Father deceased. Mother and two brothers unknown status.

Hair:

Dark Brown

Eyes:

Green

Weight:

156 lbs

Blood type:

AB-

Immune:

No

Gear:

Eberlestock Gunslinger pack - On back

• Hennessey Camping hammock (with winter-proofing gear)


• Heavy winter sleeping bag


• Small multifuel stove


• Dried food supplies (Packed in zip lock bags; meat, rice, beans, vegetables, fruit and trailmix)


• Small pot


• Hydration pack


• Water Filtration Kit


• Field rifle cleaning kit


• Spare clothing


• First aid kit


• 50 round box of .30 Carbine soft point ammunition (37 rounds left)


• Camera cleaning kit


• 15" laptop


• Toiletries + Toilet paper


• Fire-starting kit (Ferro-cerium rod, char cloth, box of matches)


• Take-down fishing pole


• Small tackle box


• In the rifle scabbard she carries a M1 Carbine mounted in a choate non-folding stock. The front hand guard replaced with a scout model with an aimpoint mounted. Around the butt of the stock she has a modified Carbine magazine pouch to fit the stock, with a pair of fifteen round magazines stored. One Fifteen round magazine loaded in the rifle.

LowePro Outback 100 - Waist, offset to left, belt and shoulder strap

• Pentax K-3 Camera with 50-135mm lens attached. Two 32gb cards in the camera, two more card pocket one, and a pair of 64gb cards in card pocket two - Main pocket


• Pentax 31mm pancake lens and AF540FGZ II flash - left pocket


• 2x 30 round magazines for Carbine, and a Foursevens Quark flashlight (2x AA batteries) - Right pocket


• 2x spare battery packs, pen and small pad of paper - Lid pocket

32mm Snap-on chrome-steel combination wrench (2.1 lbs, 17" long) - Custom fabbed sheetmetal holster on belt, right side.
Small, folding pair of 8x binoculars - Fabric belt pouch, right side.
Condor Hudson's Bay Knife - Leather sheath, right side

Bio:

Born in Chicago to a mother, Christine, who hailed from a wealthy family from banking, and a father, Gordon, who had worked his way up to the city council from the middle class, the second of three children, her two siblings being brothers, Jake and Daniel. Amber's early years were spent being taken care of by maids and supplementary caregivers as her parents lacked the time to give the children the attention they truly needed. Still, Christine was ecstatic to have a baby girl, and Amber's life started out as if she were a princess, spoiled and surrounded by pink dresses and luxury.

By the time she entered high school though, she had a feeling of being disconnected slightly from the image she portrayed. In the private school, she was popular and well liked, dated two of of the most popular boys. Yet she found herself privately disenchanted with the virulent nature of the act she played. It was to the point where she developed a mild neurosis of trying to scrub the lies and filth from her teeth every night. Even so, she graduated high school with honors, and had scholarships to Ivy League colleges lined up for her. She rebelled and moved out with the help of one of her friends that wasn't part of the circle her mother approved of. They moved north to Wisconsin, and sought work. After a brief stint in a fast food restaurant, and a cell-phone dealership, Amber, an eighteen year old brunette, just 5'7" and weighting 112 pounds, found herself standing before Randy Collins, a 6'2", broad shouldered, barrel chested man with arms thick with corded muscle, and a deep natural tan with obvious tan lines. His pale blonde hair shaved short, and bearing a regular ¼" stubble accentuating his gruff exterior. He wore a simple white sleeveless shirt, and heavy duck-cotton, tan contractor overalls. He was a contractor, running his own construction business, fairly well known for his perfectionism, and honesty. He gave her a chance. While the start of the job was rough, she quickly began to excel, proving to herself more than anything, that she could do it.

She stayed in construction for four years, before deciding to move on to something of a new challenge; after helping to build a new section of a shipyard, she went to a technical school and learned diesel mechanics, her apprenticeship started with a small company, that folded soon after her start, but her boss took her under his wing as he moved to to one of the Great Lakes Shipyards locations, where she has prospered, and grown from a green beginner, to a talented veteran of noted skill.

She also began to find a love of the outdoors whiles she was on her own, rather well reflected in her photographic work, she began by going camping with friends, and then looking for less RV friendly places to get out to. She began hiking, and from there, getting into 4x4 trucks, and off road driving, which she was able to apply some of her skills to, but needed to learn more. She taught herself welding, pipe bending, and how to fabricate things that she needed. Strangely though, the more she got into off road driving, the more she found it to be like the kind of camping she was trying to get away from in the first place; crowded, too many people, too much noise, not enough wilderness. It lead her to sell her tow rig, trailer and Jeep after going on a short “overland” run with some friends she had met at one of the off road meets. It was the outdoor experience she had been wanting from the start.

While her work and social life was going well, her family life was not. Essentially ostracized from her family, her mother wanting to disown her, her brothers refusing to understand her, and a father somewhat distant and ambivalent, she felt rather alone. Still, when her father called her to ask for help, she packed and left. She came to learn that he and her mother had separated, and it wasn't on good terms, Amber's brothers had sided with their mother, but the main problem was that he had just survived a heart attack that had hit when he was climbing stairs at his office, he had fallen and fractured his right arm and leg.

While they didn't exactly get along that well, Gordon agreed that he needed a change of pace, and moved back to Wisconsin to a shock he wasn't prepared for; his little girl had become a hunter, an outdoors enthusiast, a welder, and a diesel engine mechanic living in a quaint little home on a small parcel of sub-divided farm land, so far removed from the three story condo, downtown urban Chicago living she had been raised in. They were at polar opposites in their political ideals, and came to arguments frequently. He hated the fact that she had firearms, was utterly appalled that she had a concealed carry license and carried everyday. The argument took an abrupt turn however, when she revealed the fact that she had fought off two would-be rapists in the past decade, one she she didn't fire on, the other had escaped, wounded, and later arrested by police.

Over the next three years, Gordon and Amber became closer, she finally found a parent, and he finally found out who his daughter really was. He passed away in 2016, from heart failure after the sixth heart attack that year. Neither his ex-wife, nor sons made an appearance for his funeral.

A year later, she found herself wandering, trying to get out of the clutches of the arctic winds and lake-effect snows in a world that now existed after the apocalypse had struck.

Sample:

Flickering orange light radiating from the substantial bonfire in the center of the ring of trucks provided some illumination, but the majority came from the cold white light of battery powered tool-lights; one from the steering shaft, another laying on the ground beside her head as she crawled a little deeper under the Chevy's mud encrusted frame. Darkness had settled in over the farmer's field that was the staging ground for the off-roaders, it was the second night of the Independence Day weekend, and broken rigs were being repaired for a few hours more wheeling in the morning before the camp broke and the good folks headed home.

Mosquitoes and other bugs danced in the shafts of brilliance cut into the darkness by headlights or the soft glow of windows of RVs. A few had pitched tents, and one crazy person had an enclosed hammock strung between the roll cage of their truck, and a stout tree on the edge of the forest. Only one man was quietly passed out near the fire, and everyone cut him slack, as he had spent the day in the blistering heat running up and down the obstacles, passing information to the drivers and spotters, keeping the entire herd of off-road machines neat and organized. Everyone else that could, was busying themselves helping to fix the broken rigs, making food, or preparing something else for midnight.

Amber swatted another mosquito from her nose with a hand stained in brown and black from the grease, oil and mud her hands had been stuffed into since she had pulled back into camp. She had already helped out with a grenaded differential, swapping out the shattered limited slip for some spider gears someone else had in their spares bin, another rig's diesel engine had developed a misfire, and she quickly diagnosed the problem, and sent a runner back to town to pick up a replacement fuel injector while another problem needed help. This one had turned out to be one of the harder things to solve, trying to track down the shot valve in an automatic transmission that was temperamentally refusing to let the thing down shift, but it shifted up fine. The culprit was but a broken spring. A quick replacement, and it was ready to run again. As she finished bolting the oil pan back other to the bottom of the trans, she wiped her brow, already smeared with dirt and grime, from the sweat she was building on this humid and warm summer's eve.

Clambering from under the Chevy, she stretched, as the owner, Angelo expressed his thanks in a way she wished he didn't, “Come on Amber, I gotta repay you somehow, why not with dinner Thursday night?”

“Angie,” She knew he disliked the nickname, but that was all the more reason to use it, “You know exactly why. It ain't happening.” She flashed him a smart ass grin, before straightening her shoulders, stretching out her back to stand up proper, and lifting her head ever so perceptibly as she remembered having to do for her mother, her right hand flashed out, her fingers spread as she touched them to her chest, as elegantly as she could, “Besides,” a voice of Chicago's upper class suddenly sprung forth, eloquent, sophisticated, and dripping with sarcasm, “I have a reputation to maintain of being a cold, heartless, aristocratic princess. Dear me, what would my mother think if I dragged you home? I do say, she might disown me. Again!”

Angelo could only smile and roll his eyes, but a few of the other guys laughed. A light hand rested on her shoulder, and a deep gruff voice came from behind her when she wasn't paying attention, “Excuse me, I think this belongs to you?”

Amber flinched in a start, before she turned around and realized it was Jack. She quickly punched him in the right shoulder with a playful throw, laughing as she swore, “Shit Jackson, you need to tell me your goddamn secret already!” She looked at what he had in his hand, and realized it was the injector for the diesel engine. “Ahh, perfect, can get this in, and dinner should be ready....hopefully. Carlito's on the grill right?”

Jack smirked, a twitch of his bushy beard and the wrinkles of his eyes deepened, he was an older man, a military veteran who had settled down on his family's parcel of land in the middle of Wisconsin. It was his land they were enjoying now, just before he would plow under the fallow grasses and weeds, to prepare planting for leeks.

She smiled and tucked the small box into the front pocket of her filthy jeans, and began moving over to Andy's Merc swapped 4Runner, as she walked she pulled a rag from her left back pocket and wiped off some of the grease and ATF residue from her hands before tucking it back into its hole. Plucking the small box back, she quickly opened it and discarded the cardboard and papers into an orange bag hanging from the bumper of someone's tow-rig. A brief glance over the injector, and she confirmed it was the right one, after all, she'd been working on diesel engines for the past decade now, and the Mercs were fairly common swaps. She'd helped others with a few of them these past couple years as her name got spread around the community. Approaching Andy's truck, she waved, “Got the injector, ready?”

Legend of Renalta 2: Reborn

Biographical Section

Name: Rust, or Russel (Rustle)

History

True name is Gerulf Rask, but forgotten

Age: <1

History

Was born 429 years ago, and was 18 when he was killed on a field of battle

Race: Intelligent Skeleton (Human)
Sex: Male
Appearance:

Somewhat large image

Homeland: Kingdom of Renalta: The Kingdom of Renalta was restored by Queen Kouri ten years ago, prior to this, it was a series of villages and towns that mainly kept to themselves. This Kingdom is perhaps the most idyllic in belief and in practice, with the concerns of the people often directly addressed by the royalty themselves, a great deal of emphasis is placed upon keeping the commoner fed, clothed, and housed, with ample opportunities for work at every corner. Often times the royalty themselves can be seen, sometimes even without bodyguards, walking the streets like any regular commoner. This has earned them the reputation of being both trustworthy and zealously adored by the majority of the people.

The culture of Renalta is openly tolerant, though there is still some underlying dislike of the now banished gods whom punitively destroyed the kingdom one thousand years ago. Their military is zealous and loyal, but untested in real warfare and relatively small in comparison to the other major world powers. Religiously, they tend to scatter across several religions. Racially, they tend to be the most diverse nation, though this sometimes causes friction between two immigrants whose homeland kingdoms are at war.

In general, most of the land is farmland, rolling grassy hills, hamlets, and rivers, with foothills and mountains to the north, and forests to the west and south. East they have a direct border with Liveria, which has little in the way of trade due to the sometimes tense relations between the two kingdoms. Renalta is the only significantly populated city, but it is one of the most populated on the planet, easily spanning several kilometers in every direction and boasting large, open streets for trade with open, welcoming architecture. The recent population explosion from refugees is making even this city however a little crowded.


History:
Pain, light, and sensation jolted him awake. He woke to find himself leaning against the shattered remains of a castle wall, his legs and lower abdomen buried under the soil and roots of the bramble thicket that had tendrils hooked into his eye sockets. Seeing his skeletal arm for the first time as he attempted to scratch the offending vegetation from his face was a violent shock of realization...mixed with abject terror and utter confusion. He didn't know why, but he knew something was wrong. Soon the realization dawned on him however, he didn't understand what was wrong, because he had no basis to comprehend. When he tried to think, understand, or draw on something...his mind give his brief, fleeting flashes of light, colour, abstract shapes that meant nothing. He knew, somehow, they were memories. It was something important. But it was like being trapped within a frosted glass bottle in the middle of a lightning storm while stained glass windows swirled around outside. Nothing make a cohesive form, nothing made a whole. Any time he thought he could focus on a shape, it would simply dissolve from his mind and leave like a dream, slipping through the cracks.

Slowly, he began to dig his way out of the ground, ripping the thick, thorny brambles from his bones, and the scraps of armor that he could not bear to part with. He found the rusted blade underneath himself, and dug it out as well, not understanding why he bothered. Scrambling through brambles and thickets of overgrown wilderness, the skeleton eventually made his way to a trail, and began to follow it. At a steady march for several days, he descended from the mountains, encountering a squad of men and women from Renalta, patrolling their boarder. When they were suitably convinced he was not hostile, after having laid down his broken sword before himself, and taken a knee, they bound him and took him back to their outpost.

On the way, however, they ran across a hamlet in the process of being raided by brigands. In the ensuing chaos, he slipped his bonds, and took up a spear of a fallen farmer. As his fingers clutched the haft, he realized he knew well how to use it. It was not memories, but knowledge, akin to how he could understand and speak, but could not understand the why he knew, nor the how. Yet the weight of the spear felt, familiar. A fragment of memory flashing and fading, as he used the spear in the defense of the farmers, and his own captors. Yet, he found his movements excessive, broad and uncontrolled, like he was stronger than he expected himself to be, or simply weighed less. In the aftermath of the fighting, he had managed to help save one of the Renaltan soldiers, and assisted in the fighting of the fires that had been ignited. Work weary, and having her minor lacerations tended to by the dinner fire, the squad commander called the Skeleton before her, unbound and unguarded as he had been since the cessation of the fighting, "Skeleton. I am puzzled," she drank a draught from her flask, as the medico cleaned one of the larger cuts on on the right flank of her rip cage, "you hold no oath, no loyalty, no bond to us, rather we have given you reason enough to have turned on us once you found yourself free, if not vanish in the chao-" her words ending in a sudden sharp hiss of breath as the medico applied a stinging salve. "Yet you fought by our side, you saved Private Coultrin, and even beyond the call of honour and compassion of these actions, to save homes of those you know not. You've displayed more valour and courage than most of the recruits I have under my command." She shook her head slightly, her dull brown hair sweeping the shoulders of her linen smock, a face of hard lines and stern expression, made grim by the drawn lips in concentrated thought. "By my honour, you will be free if you answer this: Why?"

He hesitated, hollow eye sockets catching the dancing light of the fire, shadows playing across his "face" suit enough to stir the nightmares of children as he stood stock still. His voice came just as the sergeant was about to question him again, his voice quiet, a shallow hiss of unnatural resonance that just seemed to emanate from him as he spoke, "I know not." Pausing, he let the words hang for a moment, trying to piece together the answer himself, his voice came hesitantly, unsure, "I know, nothing of the past. I know nothing of now. Yet, when I cut my bonds free on the fallen edge of a spear, I took the weapon to hand, and felt..." His voice trailed off, this hissing dissipating into silence before he spoke again, "something. It felt, familiar. I saw a flicker of memory. Colour, and...calm, and anxious." Slowly, he drew his right arm to his chin, bracing his bent elbow on his left hand, looking oddly thoughtful, "Hard to express, but the fight felt..." he trailed off again, searching for a word, "comfortable? Routine? Natural? Something akin to this." Slowly he pointed to the commander herself, "Your words, honour, valour, and courage. They play like notes on strings in darkness. They remind me of something I cannot remember. They make me long for something I know not. But I like them. They feel...right."

By the time the squad had arrived back at the outpost, the skeleton had earned a nickname; Rustle, from the odd sounds he made while moving, as his armor continuously shifted on his form. It had also been agreed upon that he would try to join the Queen's Blades.

Motivation: He seeks to understand who he is, why he is, and what he is. Through combat, he finds connections to vague memories. He hopes that by joining the Queen's Blades he will find the opportunities to gain access to fragments, or comprehendable pieces of his mind, through action, honour, valour and courage.

Traits & Equipment

General Traits
--Trait 1. Defender: You could take more hits to the face and become an unrecognizable, horrible mutilated piece of scar tissue on one and a half legs... Or, you’ve mused, you could probably just stop that by holding a shield and your armour correctly. This lets you absorb harder blows with your shield and armour. (Basics of wielding shields and armour (especially heavy armour) effectively.)
--Trait 2. Heavy Hitter: Where some would resort to flailing their arms about in an unsophisticated manner, you’ve decided that if you can hit something hard enough the first time that it stays down, that you can end fights before they can even really begin. Though, you’re still working on that “consistent” part, and not slowing down when you swing harder than usual. In the case of a ranged weapon, it means a larger calibre firearm or larger bow, translating to greater recoil and/or slower fire rate instead. (Basics of doing more damage with each swing.)
--Trait 3. Charger: Something a lot of people don’t seem to realize is that the more muscles you have, the faster you are. Sure, perhaps not dexterous, but certainly faster. While you have only begun to learn the true meaning of land speed and would still be caught and killed by a tiger, you are capable of a short distance charge that can knock opponents down and catch the unwary by surprise. (Basics of dashing quickly and charging into opponents.)
--Trait 4. Protector (Rank 2): Having grown to know your armour like it's a second skin, you've learned the second step to defending yourself in armour: How to lock an enemy down. When an enemy attempts to attack you, there is a solid chance that you will disable or break their weapon, or at the very least disrupt their combo giving you or someone else an opening to attack. (Weapon deflection and combo disruption.)
--Trait 5. Slippery: You are fully aware of what happens if that war hammer the size of a small child hits you square on the chin. You’ve decided to make it a priority to learn how to never let that happen, and while you’re still learning, you understand at least enough to jump back from a blow before it takes off your head. (Basics of dodging and evasion.)

Unique Traits
--Trait 1. Awakened Skeleton: Through means unknown, this skeleton has arisen after centuries of rest, its original soul called back to it. As a skeleton, it has no need to eat, breathe, sleep, or anything else that flesh and blood require. Without the need for external fuel, he cannot tire, or suffer fatigue, nor exhaustion from labour. However he does have a mind that requires rest to process information, but substantially less than normal, around 4 hours. The downfall of course is, he is a skeleton of all 27 lbs, and cannot heal through natural means, requiring magic to repair damage. The slumber of centuries has taken a severe toll on his memories and has, effectively, left him with near total amnesia. He retains skills and abilities, but cannot recall how he knows them, or, that he knows of them in some cases.
--Trait 2. Unburdened Strength: All of the strength with none of the mass. While fresh out of the ground, the Awakened Skeleton is fighting ingrained "muscle memory" of how much strength is needed to perform an action, and the reality that they no longer are limited by the restriction of flesh. Being able to hit harder, and move faster than normal. However, their inexperience leads to some uncoordinated movements. (Minor increase to speed and hitting power. Minor reduction to accuracy.)
--Trait 3. Unburdened Strength (Rank 2): Power is nothing without control. After looking like a newborn deer, all gangly and uncoordinated, he's learned. (Minor increase to speed and hitting power. No negatives)
--Trait 4. Life Leech: With the aid of a Necromancer, he has started to learn how to siphon the life out of other living things.

Equipment List
Nearly complete set of old Gault heavy infantry breastplate armour. Pitted and damaged beyond repair. Held together with scraps of new chain and leather. Hangs very loose. Was at one point, quite ornate. Kept in foot locker.
A large, two handed sword slashing sword. Now broken, cracked, chipped, and heavily pitted from rust. Kept in a simple, tooled leather sheath. Held in reserve in footlocker.

Full suit of modern, conventional splinted mail armor, with helmet. Unconventionally wears a gambeson under his arming doublet, adding additional protection from impacts.
Large Kite shield. Laminated wood, with rawhide covering, and metal reinforcement around its edge.
Spear. Simple seven and a half feet of ash, with a foot long blade of metal socketed to the end.
A light, wood hafted flanged mace, with metal langettes. Carried at his right waist.
Modern, arming sword carried at his left waist.
Yew longbow, carried unstrung, beside his quiver of 28 clothyard shafts. Quiver also contains a set of stones for field sharpening of his weapons, a small flask of poil for protecting his tools, three spare bow strings, and few small tools for disassembling his weapons for care.

Personal Section

Romance: If it makes sense and isn't forced, okay with it.
Does the Kouri Plushie exist?: It should if it doesn't?

Signature: Goldmarble

Creatures of Gold

Biographical Section

Name: Rust, or Russel (Rustle)

History

True name is Gerulf Rask, but forgotten

Age: <1

History

Was born 429 years ago, and was 18 when he was killed on a field of battle

Race: Intelligent Skeleton (Human)
Sex: Male
Appearance:

Somewhat large image

Homeland: Kingdom of Renalta: The Kingdom of Renalta was restored by Queen Kouri ten years ago, prior to this, it was a series of villages and towns that mainly kept to themselves. This Kingdom is perhaps the most idyllic in belief and in practice, with the concerns of the people often directly addressed by the royalty themselves, a great deal of emphasis is placed upon keeping the commoner fed, clothed, and housed, with ample opportunities for work at every corner. Often times the royalty themselves can be seen, sometimes even without bodyguards, walking the streets like any regular commoner. This has earned them the reputation of being both trustworthy and zealously adored by the majority of the people.

The culture of Renalta is openly tolerant, though there is still some underlying dislike of the now banished gods whom punitively destroyed the kingdom one thousand years ago. Their military is zealous and loyal, but untested in real warfare and relatively small in comparison to the other major world powers. Religiously, they tend to scatter across several religions. Racially, they tend to be the most diverse nation, though this sometimes causes friction between two immigrants whose homeland kingdoms are at war.

In general, most of the land is farmland, rolling grassy hills, hamlets, and rivers, with foothills and mountains to the north, and forests to the west and south. East they have a direct border with Liveria, which has little in the way of trade due to the sometimes tense relations between the two kingdoms. Renalta is the only significantly populated city, but it is one of the most populated on the planet, easily spanning several kilometers in every direction and boasting large, open streets for trade with open, welcoming architecture. The recent population explosion from refugees is making even this city however a little crowded.


History:
Pain, light, and sensation jolted him awake. He woke to find himself leaning against the shattered remains of a castle wall, his legs and lower abdomen buried under the soil and roots of the bramble thicket that had tendrils hooked into his eye sockets. Seeing his skeletal arm for the first time as he attempted to scratch the offending vegetation from his face was a violent shock of realization...mixed with abject terror and utter confusion. He didn't know why, but he knew something was wrong. Soon the realization dawned on him however, he didn't understand what was wrong, because he had no basis to comprehend. When he tried to think, understand, or draw on something...his mind give his brief, fleeting flashes of light, colour, abstract shapes that meant nothing. He knew, somehow, they were memories. It was something important. But it was like being trapped within a frosted glass bottle in the middle of a lightning storm while stained glass windows swirled around outside. Nothing make a cohesive form, nothing made a whole. Any time he thought he could focus on a shape, it would simply dissolve from his mind and leave like a dream, slipping through the cracks.

Slowly, he began to dig his way out of the ground, ripping the thick, thorny brambles from his bones, and the scraps of armor that he could not bear to part with. He found the rusted blade underneath himself, and dug it out as well, not understanding why he bothered. Scrambling through brambles and thickets of overgrown wilderness, the skeleton eventually made his way to a trail, and began to follow it. At a steady march for several days, he descended from the mountains, encountering a squad of men and women from Renalta, patrolling their boarder. When they were suitably convinced he was not hostile, after having laid down his broken sword before himself, and taken a knee, they bound him and took him back to their outpost.

On the way, however, they ran across a hamlet in the process of being raided by brigands. In the ensuing chaos, he slipped his bonds, and took up a spear of a fallen farmer. As his fingers clutched the haft, he realized he knew well how to use it. It was not memories, but knowledge, akin to how he could understand and speak, but could not understand the why he knew, nor the how. Yet the weight of the spear felt, familiar. A fragment of memory flashing and fading, as he used the spear in the defense of the farmers, and his own captors. Yet, he found his movements excessive, broad and uncontrolled, like he was stronger than he expected himself to be, or simply weighed less. In the aftermath of the fighting, he had managed to help save one of the Renaltan soldiers, and assisted in the fighting of the fires that had been ignited. Work weary, and having her minor lacerations tended to by the dinner fire, the squad commander called the Skeleton before her, unbound and unguarded as he had been since the cessation of the fighting, "Skeleton. I am puzzled," she drank a draught from her flask, as the medico cleaned one of the larger cuts on on the right flank of her rip cage, "you hold no oath, no loyalty, no bond to us, rather we have given you reason enough to have turned on us once you found yourself free, if not vanish in the chao-" her words ending in a sudden sharp hiss of breath as the medico applied a stinging salve. "Yet you fought by our side, you saved Private Coultrin, and even beyond the call of honour and compassion of these actions, to save homes of those you know not. You've displayed more valour and courage than most of the recruits I have under my command." She shook her head slightly, her dull brown hair sweeping the shoulders of her linen smock, a face of hard lines and stern expression, made grim by the drawn lips in concentrated thought. "By my honour, you will be free if you answer this: Why?"

He hesitated, hollow eye sockets catching the dancing light of the fire, shadows playing across his "face" suit enough to stir the nightmares of children as he stood stock still. His voice came just as the sergeant was about to question him again, his voice quiet, a shallow hiss of unnatural resonance that just seemed to emanate from him as he spoke, "I know not." Pausing, he let the words hang for a moment, trying to piece together the answer himself, his voice came hesitantly, unsure, "I know, nothing of the past. I know nothing of now. Yet, when I cut my bonds free on the fallen edge of a spear, I took the weapon to hand, and felt..." His voice trailed off, this hissing dissipating into silence before he spoke again, "something. It felt, familiar. I saw a flicker of memory. Colour, and...calm, and anxious." Slowly, he drew his right arm to his chin, bracing his bent elbow on his left hand, looking oddly thoughtful, "Hard to express, but the fight felt..." he trailed off again, searching for a word, "comfortable? Routine? Natural? Something akin to this." Slowly he pointed to the commander herself, "Your words, honour, valour, and courage. They play like notes on strings in darkness. They remind me of something I cannot remember. They make me long for something I know not. But I like them. They feel...right."

By the time the squad had arrived back at the outpost, the skeleton had earned a nickname; Rustle, from the odd sounds he made while moving, as his armor continuously shifted on his form. It had also been agreed upon that he would try to join the Queen's Blades.

Motivation: He seeks to understand who he is, why he is, and what he is. Through combat, he finds connections to vague memories. He hopes that by joining the Queen's Blades he will find the opportunities to gain access to fragments, or comprehendable pieces of his mind, through action, honour, valour and courage.

Traits & Equipment

General Traits
--Trait 1. Defender: You could take more hits to the face and become an unrecognizable, horrible mutilated piece of scar tissue on one and a half legs... Or, you’ve mused, you could probably just stop that by holding a shield and your armour correctly. This lets you absorb harder blows with your shield and armour. (Basics of wielding shields and armour (especially heavy armour) effectively.)
--Trait 2. Heavy Hitter: Where some would resort to flailing their arms about in an unsophisticated manner, you’ve decided that if you can hit something hard enough the first time that it stays down, that you can end fights before they can even really begin. Though, you’re still working on that “consistent” part, and not slowing down when you swing harder than usual. In the case of a ranged weapon, it means a larger calibre firearm or larger bow, translating to greater recoil and/or slower fire rate instead. (Basics of doing more damage with each swing.)
--Trait 3. Charger: Something a lot of people don’t seem to realize is that the more muscles you have, the faster you are. Sure, perhaps not dexterous, but certainly faster. While you have only begun to learn the true meaning of land speed and would still be caught and killed by a tiger, you are capable of a short distance charge that can knock opponents down and catch the unwary by surprise. (Basics of dashing quickly and charging into opponents.)

Unique Traits
--Trait 1. Awakened Skeleton: Through means unknown, this skeleton has arisen after centuries of rest, its original soul called back to it. As a skeleton, it has no need to eat, breathe, sleep, or anything else that flesh and blood require. Without the need for external fuel, he cannot tire, or suffer fatigue, nor exhaustion from labour. However he does have a mind that requires rest to process information, but substantially less than normal, around 4 hours. The downfall of course is, he is a skeleton of all 27 lbs, and cannot heal through natural means, requiring magic to repair damage. The slumber of centuries has taken a severe toll on his memories and has, effectively, left him with near total amnesia. He retains skills and abilities, but cannot recall how he knows them, or, that he knows of them in some cases.
--Trait 2. Unburdened Strength: All of the strength with none of the mass. While fresh out of the ground, the Awakened Skeleton is fighting ingrained "muscle memory" of how much strength is needed to perform an action, and the reality that they no longer are limited by the restriction of flesh. Being able to hit harder, and move faster than normal. However, their inexperience leads to some incoordination.

Equipment List
Nearly complete set of old Gault heavy infantry breastplate armour. Pitted and damaged beyond repair. Held together with scraps of new chain and leather. Hangs very loose. Was at one point, quite ornate.
A large, two handed sword slashing sword. Now broken, cracked, chipped, and heavily pitted from rust. Kept in a simple, tooled leather sheath.
A light, wood hafted flanged mace, with metal langettes. Carried at his waist.
Simple wooden shield
Spear

Personal Section

Romance: If it makes sense and isn't forced, okay with it.
Does the Kouri Plushie exist?: It should if it doesn't?

Signature: Goldmarble