HeySeuss

Sum up your week in roleplaying in just 3 words

Mushrooms.

Muse returns!

The Guardians of Dara

Lemme work on the next step here -- I want to make sure we just have our lore and character stuff worked out in how we categorize and add new items to existing pages figured out, which isn't a huge deal.

I intend to do as little organizing as possible there, just enough to let you have a brain fart and spit it out fast while the magic's there. :)

The Guardians of Dara

As a followup, I am seeking maybe two other collaborators that want to take on multiple characters and can help make this dynamic, but I also definitely want to make sure we're brainstorming together. More than three or four players, and suddenly we're waiting on a million people to post. I want to keep this RP going. Maybe we will open up the roster later, but hey I want to actually get it running.

Beyond that, lore creation and character creation processes will be streamlined so we can add characters and items of setting info/lore to account for growth needs in the plots and to develop the lore with the story.

I hope that makes sense, I'm seeking colleagues.

The Guardians of Dara

TL;DR Summary:

• Theme is similar to the work of Robert Howard.
• Fantasy; we start with low fantasy but are coming into an awakening of high fantasy elements and beings. The legends return.
• Dark Ages tech level seems perfect for this setting, incidentally.
• The Guardians of Dara, the ruling body of the city have been slain in horrific fashion and it is up to the successors of the Guardians not only to steady the city in these tough times, but find out how their predecessors were slain.
• The new Guardians are the characters; veteran adventurers that rode together at one point to bring down King Pykas of Selander and his minion, the sorcerer Cyrabassis, while still young.
• They faced magical beasts that were the stuff of tales, but people took it for the boasting of drunks and the characters stopped discussing this brief brush with magic.
• The characters have since retired from adventuring. As heroes in Dara they were offered all sorts of opportunities -- in each person's own way they've managed to be successful, though in some very different fields.
• On the other hand, they have different viewpoints, interests and belief. The characters should disagree on some things, perhaps fundamentally. Some in the group are allies and others are enemies. This is meant to promote a degree of strife between characters, and hard decision making.
• I am allowing different races, but the differences are cultural; everyone's lost the magic -- it's the stuff of myth and superstition. These races have the same lifespan as humanity, but different cultural beliefs and practices, and obviously different physical characteristics, but they too do not have magic. Let's also say that interbreeding is absolutely possible, and some really interesting stuff can happen there. It's also worth noting that abilities and powers are latent in various bloodlines, some of them mythical beings that no longer exist. But it's unlikely that any but a very few odd ducks really remember all that lore.
• Just a note, let's avoid modern naming conventions in favor of working with syllables and sounds to create something that sounds different. No Devons, Chrises or Bobs. :)

In Character Info:

Dara is an ancient city, one that has fallen on hard times and has survived much. The re-establishment of trade routes and an influx of foreigners has given the city a new vitality in these times, and it is seeing a turnaround in her fortunes.

Twenty years ago, a band of young, green adventurers were swept up in Dara's finest hour, a defense against the legions of King Pykas of Selander, who threatened to take the entire region by force in an ambitious effort to forge a huge kingdom out of a gaggle of dusty, ancient city states on the continent of Aluth.

He was assisted in this endeavor by an advisor by the name of Cyrabassis, an attainted and disavowed priest of Hazathalra whose dark reputation for ritual and sorcery was known far and wide. Many victories were attributed to his dark arts, though most would say that such things were coincidental -- fortuitous weather, people falling asleep. These were explainable, to a point. In the end, it was the characters that brought Cyrabassis low -- they raided into his lair, the catacombs beneath ancient ruins, and brought him out in chains, gagged and blinded, battered, bloodied and shaking from the things they saw despite their victory. King Pykas, also involved in the fell ritual the characters disrupted, was slain, as were things that were only in the realm of legend. To ensure the secrets of the place, known as Melazus, stayed buried, they flooded the place with water diverted from the River Dara and caused it to be buried in mud and muck forevermore.

Cyrabassis disappeared years ago from his captivity, and had not been heard from since. In that time, the characters somewhat forgot what they saw, rationalized it away or just simply stopped talking about it rather than face the ridicule and the skepticism as they went about their subsequent business, establishing themselves in positions of wealth, power and influence within Dara.

Dara has since flourished -- others have come to the place, like the characters, to make their fortunes in the dusty hinterlands, this forgotten and ancient land that still serves as a crossroad of spice and other trade goods. The region is tumultuous -- it wasn't at peace before Pykas tried to conquer it and it hasn't been since Pykas died, but Dara is confident once more, as it recaptures its old, dimly remembered glory and rebuilds itself into something better.

Despite these good times, there are rumors from the North of shadows and flame, of things the grandmothers told their children, or which drunkards boasted of in the wineshops; handsigns are made to ward them off, but they have never been seen -- everyone knows it is merely imagination, and these things can't possibly be true. The stories are fragmentary and varied.

Then the Guardians are slain in council by something, their bodies strewn apart in their chambers in a monstrous fashion, rent into fleshy shreds.

New Guardians are chosen -- in their fear, and reflecting the esteem they hold the outlanders that came to help bring in a new age in Dara, they choose the heroes that saved the city in its last hour of need. This diverse group, all living within the city, but who have gone their own ways and sometimes have found each other at odds now must come together and not only steady Dara in her time of need, but also, they must face the past.

Because they had seen the sort of monster that could do this before. In Melazus.

Out of Character Info:

The characters are older, retired adventurers, long since gone their own ways in retirement or independent business. They are influential people in various ways, be it wealth or position or a combination of the two. They can hold posts in the city, such as high priest of a given temple or as a commander of a group of the guards (Not all of 'em. :)) or as the head of a guild (thieves?) or trading house. There are a lot of options.

There is no -obvious- magic -- as indicated, it is a shocking and legendary thing, and these characters were scarred by what they saw. Deities do -not- generally answer calls (though they can, since there is magic in this setting) in a public fashion, though a character may hear from one once in a decade if they are a devoted servant.

Or perhaps I should say that there is no magic yet. You should absolutely reserve potential for it in your characters if you want, and not rule out the supernatural, but they are coming to it as neophyes. A mystic character with a hint of the mystery of magic to them, perhaps enshrouded in ritual and passed down superstition from their culture/family is acceptable, like a palm reader or someone with a tarot deck -- it works, but it can be explained away. No fireballs.

I am allowing races; elves, dwarves and so forth, but their lifespans are human and their magic is a little remembered dream of the dawn times, not their day to day dealings. They venerate the things they venerate as a source of cultural pride, but they are not magically adept. There are orcs, of course, what would we do without 'em, and goblinoid races, but they are in the same state, though they are in the same boat-- the gods only whisper in the ears of their few chosen, but the power is a well run dry.

Of course, as I indicated, the RP is about what happens when that power once again flows, when the well can be drawn from again. But the theme I want to convey is the shock of the characters as they face the legendary spring into form.

I know this mirrors George R.R. Martin in a sense, but this stuff stems from the works of other authors that are colleagues, like Robert Jordan, or authors that predate him like Robert Howard or H.P. Lovecraft.

The region of the setting of Dara, the continent of Aluth, is a drier/more arid sort of place. Think Israel and Lebanon, or perhaps Armenia and Iran -- these places have their lush spots of green, and Dara is also such a place, sitting on the banks of the River Dara, which it is named for. But there are other parts that are rocky and hilly badlands, desert wadis and dry places in general. It is a region of city states and trade wars and fights over commerce, an exciting and sometimes amoral place of danger and mystery.

The characters, of course, ought to be foreigners of various sorts -- and not only that, they should definitely -not- agree on how things are done. Some love each other, others loathe each other, but they are, for better or for worse, the Guardians of Dara.

Setting Info

Dara

I need to work on mapping, but I am also a crap artist, so yeah, we might not be going there.

Geography of Dara:

- City Walls – There are multiple sets of walls, the outermost long since having been left to its own devices, as it was too large to easily maintain. Smaller walls inside the city are maintained in varying degrees. The Guardians began work after the fall of Pykas, and yet it goes slowly. The breaches in the wall mean that people can get in and out of the city easily, but merchants and their wagons tend to simply use the roads, which are accessed by the gates.

- Nyati District – The city center, it is a place of well-maintained boulevards, trees, predominantly date palms, and palatial homes. Besides the homes of Dara's wealthy, predominantly the Purebloods, is the Hall of Guardians and the Khavi Barracks, which house Dara's urban watch. The Nyati district sits between the Unah and Zalot districts, on the central northern part of the city. It is entered through the Sword Gate, which feeds into the Gold Roads.

- The Gold Roads – The road leading north is known as the Barbarian Road, the road East known as the Trail of Dust and the road leading east as the Green Path. Each tends to be known as the Gold Road in its given direction, but the Darans know the roads by different names to keep them straight.

- Zalot District – The mercantile district, the markets where things are sold and bought, including men at arms. It includes a number of inns for those that find the Unah district to be unpleasant. It abuts the Shava district and becomes more shabby the closer one comes to Shava. Zalot is east of Shava and Nyati and Udrau, and is the largest district of the city. It contains a large number of docks on the River Dara itself, though one can access the Gold Roads.

- The River Dara – Snakes northeast into the dawn, its source said to be quite far away. It is known as the lifegiver in Dara. Dara itself is dry land, long ago drained, though the lands on the bank of the River Dara are marshes that contain a number of different animals including snakes and lizard-lions, though the snakes were not native, but a curse inflicted upon them by some angry god. The river empties into the Sunil Sea, though the city sits somewhat inland from the sea itself.

- Unah District – Known also as the Candlelight District, Winesinks, brothels, gambling of varying quality. The quality of all these varies. The ones closer to the Nyati District, to the east, are of high quality, whereas the ones that are closer to the Shava district, to the south, tend to be more ragged and of lower quality. One of the pecularities of the district is that one cannot go about it armed, but must give up their weapons to stations manned by private guards hired by the district's governing guilds, who prefer that the alcohol (or more potent and strange things), sex and gambling not be mixed with deadly violence.

- Shava District – A district that encompasses residences for the tradesmen and the laborers. In some reaches, it is most certainly a slum, though certain parts are abandoned and in ruins, reflecting, perhaps, Dara's decline in fortunes over the centuries. Parts of the Shava are orderly, but other parts run wild with gangs, particularly in the parts that have been abandoned by more reputable inhabitants. The Shava is one of the oldest districts, besides Udrau and Nyati, and has many tunnels beneath it in the catacombs.

- Udrau District – The Temple of Udrau, known as the Great House of Silence, is a gold domed complex, half in ruins itself, that sits atop the flat top of the large hill that marks the Udrau district, which is given largely to ruins of temples past. For centuries, only the faith of Udrau has remained, since the time when the Gods withdrew their presence during what was called the Extinction of Faith. Support for Udrau's temple as a matter of quaint local custom has sustained the Great Temple, though it is in a large degree of disrepute. Then again, ceremonies are still held here, and local festivals as well, so the district is kept up to some degree, though much of it is overgrown; what once were well-tended gardens has turned into a meadow green for children to play in and others to picnic.

- Yamiss District – The Yamiss district is the city's graveyards, built up more than a thousand years of existence in Dara, and is of interest to scholars in that it represents a number of different customs by different cultures from which its people have sprung from. A variety of monuments, from simple rune carved stone to shaped obelisks, pyramids, statues, Dwarven mausoleums and Elven rememberance gardens can all be found in the Yamiss. It is also a popular place for wise women to peddle herbs where they would be hassled in the Zalot district, and for other quiet business deals to be undertaken, of the less than respectable variety. Curses can be bought and sold and other mystic trinkets are for sale for those that indulge in such superstitions. The Yamiss district lies near where the River Dara empties into the Sea of Sunil, to the south of the city proper.

Culture of Dara:

While Dara is essentially an open and free city, ruled by a form of a Republican government, it is nonetheless a place with social distinctions and cultural practices that distinguish the native from the outsider. Some within Daran society take great pride in their 'tolerance' of immigrants and their practices, but subtly prefer their own to outsiders and work means of discrimination. There has always been something of a nativist movement among what accounts for Dara's nobility, the Purebloods, families that descend from the House of Isran and other royal dynasties. Though they no longer rule on blood alone, the Purebloods exercise considerable influence in the city by way of their wealth and the ability and leisure to take positions in the city's government, which often are not well-compensated but absolutely influential and therefore more difficult for the non-wealthy to obtain. Most of the Purebloods retain lands outside of Dara or businesses that otherwise allow them the income to take such positions.

The Priesthood of Udrau is one such example – though it is open to anyone, it is the bequest of the Purebloods that allow the Udrau priesthood to maintain themselves, even if the House of Silence, so called because the Gods no longer answer as they were said to in the past, is half a ruin. While they collect income from pilgrims and services, the primary means of support are the bequests of the Pureblood in return for accepting the landless sons of their houses.

It should be noted that while Darans tend to take intermarriage and interbreeding calmly, it's considered scandalous in Pureblood circles. There is, to say the least, quite a bit of strife between common Darans and the Purebloods, with Guardians kept squarely in the middle between both clamoring factions.

The rest of Daran culture is considerably more egalitarian, though urban laborers are not always happy to see new groups of immigrants come in large numbers and try to undercut them, and as such have created guilds that try their best to monopolize the various trades within the city, though they offer fairly generous terms to entice new immigrants to join rather than compete. However, betimes, the competition can get bloody and dangerous, particularly if nonhumans decide as a group to compete and undercut the rates of the guilds, though few native Darans will pay the lesser rate for fear of the social stigma attached to such and the threat of disruption of their business if word gets out. As such, while immigrants, even nonhumans are welcome, they are strongly discouraged from undercutting the guild-established minimum rates, but otherwise generally free to ply their trades without interference. Some guilds have allowed nonhumans, others refuse, setting up unrest between workers and guilds at any given time. In the last couple decades, the Guilds have been slowly losing this debate as they do not necessarily control the teaching of the skills they claim to monopolize -- exemptions for cultural practices have been made to allow nonhumans to practice 'cultural arts' which means that, for example, dwarven gemcutters get to tell the Guild to 'piss off.' (which a dwarf will do.)

Slavery does not exist in Dara, something that Prince Isran outlawed when he overthrew his father, King Hrod, and dissolved the monarchy. However, indentured service, a contractual agreement of servitiude in return for pay or debt remission, is a common substitute for such, though Dara is sensitive to the complexities of the situation – the indentured must be given room and board, and the Guilds require sale of service to conform to their rates, lest they send members to disrupt the trade. Indenture is not merely for the unskilled or poor to get out of debt, but may represent service in return for training, such as in a mercenary company, or as the apprentice in a skilled trade. Indenture is found in almost all the trades, and there is a brisk business within Dara for the buying and selling of debt and the brokering of skilled indentured servants to the right buyers, in return for a finder's fee.

Daran religion, specifically the worship of Udrau, is a universalist faith that claims to encompass all other religions as facets of Udrau; other worship is tolerated as such, though there are some religious beliefs that take this as an offensive heresy. But then, the Daran sense of paternal superiority towards others kicks in; they are, after all, unsophisticated rubes by the lights of Darans, who consider themselves a proud, ancient and civilized culture.

The universalist religion of Dara and its tolerance of differing cultures and religious beliefs feeds into its policies towards immigrants; Dara calls itself the All-Home, with good reason. Within, a multitude of fashions and modes of dress can be found from barbaric fur and leather to loose silken robes obtained through trade (and highly prized by the womenfolk) though the standard Daran garb that gets adopted after a time tends to run towards simple tunics or frocks; notably both sexes favor the djellaba, introduced a couple centuries ago; a long, loose fitting hooded robe that fits over the head. Wealthier Darans go for embroidery and intricate patterns on theirs, along with lighter cloths, whereas the poor make do with the simple garment. In any case, even those that come from other places often adapt to the Daran mode of dress in preferring simplicity and lightness in their choice of fashion.

Government of Dara:

The governing council of Dara are the Guardians – they are a council that is able to make laws and issue edicts and judge cases. In theory, their rule is absolute, but checked by the degree of light security that surrounds their person. They are, in a sense, able to protect themselves, but the Hall of the Guardians is lightly held and only there can they conduct the votes and make their business official. The Hall of Guardians, as a large chamber with little provisions for more than a small guard of Lictors, primarily Pureblood youth clad in green tunics that serve as heralds for the Guardians, carrying messages and announcing their formal presence to establishments and homes, is vulnerable, and since tradition requires the personal presence of Guardians for any business to be done, it is entirely possible for unpopular guardians to be assassinated in the Hall or laid siege to in their homes. This popular check on their absolute authority, as a Guardian rules until resignation or death, has kept the Guardians from becoming overly tyrannical, though it allows them a wide degree of theoretical power, if they can but figure out a means to keep the masses from becoming disaffected in the process.

Guardians are chosen generally by popular acclaim and augury by the priests of Udrau, though the process has evolved and devolved over the century. Unpopular but capable figures have been chosen for Guardianship, but checked by others who had the popularity of the people. In times past, would be conquerors or their subordinates, satraps and governors sent to assume control over Dara have been subverted by the allure of the mantle of Guardian, and from this practice has come the tradition of allowing foreigners of no great heritage or prominent tradesmen of humble birth to become Guardians alongside pureblood Darans whose families reach back thousands of years. Votes to enact or repeal edicts are simple majority, but require the presence of all living guardians, but for those that are on official duties that take them outside the city, such as assuming leadership of Dara's forces or on a diplomatic mission. But even those Guardians, upon returning, can call a vote to overturn a decree made in their absence.

History of Dara:

Dara always had Guardians, but at times they were advisors to a still greater ruler, and at other times they were the governing body of the city. Dara itself has a long history of expansion and contraction, from the times of legend when the gods spoke to men and there was magic in the world, down until recently.

The last king of Dara, besides the Usurper Pykas, was Hrod II, who went mad in a quest to make the gods listen to him. He sacrificed and sacrificed, though as the sacrifices became human and bloody, so that the Great House of Silence ran red with blood down its steps. Hrod was intent on finding the key that would fit the lock, or so he thought, and cared little for who went under his knife, as an ever-dizzying array of would be sorcerers and priests advised him to try different types of sacrifices – often they themselves were punished for failure by their sacrifice. Dara was bled dry to buy ever more slaves for the sacrificial altar, and when the slaves were used up, he moved onto relatives.

His son, Isran, led a revolt against his father, when his mother and his sister went under the knife. When his father's head finally rolled down the steps of the temple, he declared that there would never be slaves in Dara again, that the king's castle was profaned by the blood of so many and must be destroyed, and that there would be no more Kings of Dara. Then, rather then bear the burden of his guilt, he plunged his knife into his own breast.

Dara's Guardians became the leaders of the city-state, chosen by a variety of means that generally came down to the basic system of the people submitting names to the Priests of Udrau and the priests choosing by augury, though the augury was often a matter of sufficient bribery if the priesthood was particularly corruptible.

At various times, Dara was under the threat of conquest and occupation by foreign powers, for it was a faded glory of a power, sometimes militarily weak, but always with the trade flowing through her hands. At times, Daran policy was to act aggressively against competitors for trade with tariffs or even raiding against their routes. Neighbors of Dara, seeing the strategic value of its position on the Sunil Sea and the Gold Roads as being a vital trade, often looked upon Dara as a prize to be taken with sufficient forces.

Twenty-two years ago, King Pykas of Selander, a powerful city state situated north of Dara, invaded Dara successfully, scattering an army of hastily raised local levies with ease, and then set himself up in Dara as a ruler over a large portion of the local region, using Dara as his seat. Despite the thorough defeat of Dara in the field, the people of Dara were not happy with the brutal rule of Pykas. Pureblood families were forced to send some of their women to marry Pykas' officers and other outrages resulted in a continual resistance of his rule and murder of his troops in the streets. As the reprisals grew more brutal, more people joined the fight against Pykas until he was driven from the city and into the citadel of Melazus, to the North of the city, where he made common accord with one Cyrabassis, a supposed sorcerer with a fearful reputation. A group of young heroes went in to fight Pykas and Cyrabassis – they came out changed.

After the defeat of Pykas, the hegemony of Selander was broken up as Pykas' generals decided to go into business for themselves and fought wars over who would inherit all-- which was a useful state of affairs that Dara benefitted from. Cyrabassis was taken into custody by the Guardians but mysteriously escaped. Meanwhile, the Guardians ruled Dara once more, and Dara seemed poised to flourish, which it did in the twenty years since the defeat of Pykas.

Foreign Legion - The First Contact

On hold. Need to fix a couple things.

SPIRITUM

"Place looks swell, definitely a destination adventure, if you like being hunted by cannibals."

Tony knew how to make friends. But he also had to buy beer to keep the cooler up. It was 'his' turn.

Wearing a long-sleeved base layer, a pair of faded out jeans and a pair of workboots, he didn't really, couldn't really, blend in around here, not with that sign that said 'OUT OF TOWNER' floating over his head for every provincial jackass to see. The accent was different out here -- this was an arid desert type spot and Tony was from the real rednecky fuckoff alpine parts of Rassvet, but that didn't mean the hinterlanders all got along.

In any case, Tony wasn't one to wait around for Gerard or Justice to tell him how do things, so he decided to mosey on his own toward a general store of some sort, one with 'BIER!' in neon lights in the window. More like, "B ER" but that was fine, he broke the code. The place had the same look as the sticky-floors motel they'd parked in -- window mounted AC that indicated a lack of central air, and a slightly yellowish film on the walls that came from generational, family-wide cigarette smoking habits. He could absolutely smell the fuckin' patina.

The crazy part was that the girl behind the counter seemed like she'd be nice to talk to except for the frown and the obvious wrinkling of the nose -- it wasn't like he actually stank either. Seeing as there were other dudes and they were watching Tony like roosters defending their hens, he kind of figured that these folks were all in a social circle together. Like school, but with less live ammo and being assigned a squad. But he knew a social unit when he saw one.

The problem was, there was no way to intimate to them that they should find someone else to fuck with. He didn't, as a policy, wear branded 'WARDEN' shit that screamed 'CITADEL!" out because it was the best way to avoid the inevitable press of schlubby adults ready to thank him for compulsory service. He just didn't like the attention.

In any case, keeping his head on a swivel while trying to stay casual, Tony eased past racks of rural corner store wares with copious spacing between the items, indicating a low inventory and tough times to go with the extremely high prices, toward the comforting neon light and electric hum of a refrigeration unit. Behind that finger-printed glass on rust-flecked metal shelves lay what he was looking for -- four packs, six packs, big bottles of farmer-style beer with corks, thirty packs of canned stuff. He grabbed a couple bags of pretzels and even something spicy and cheesy in a jar to dip them in, as an afterthought. He didn't look too closely at the expiration dates, but he already knew that those were cordially ignored in wartime anyway.

He made a selection, some cheap canned piss in a twenty four pack because he wasn't made of money, and headed toward the counter, only to get the girl's roll of the eyes as a customer had the temerity to interrupt the giggling and flirting. Tony was doing his best here, not to overly notice the one other girl that seemed to be taken with one of the guys, and like four other dudes that looked like varying degrees of potential trouble, going by the set of their mouths and the way they watched as if annoyed to be interrupted.

He kept it to business, "G'tag," and a performative, perfunctory smile that indicated no interest in long speeches. He even had his wallet out, indicating 'tick-tock'.

"Gonna need ID for that," came a sullen response that seemed to work its way past compressed lips.

"Yeah, sure." Tony told her as he placed the items on the counter and fished into the wallet for his ID, which regrettably did have not only his name and information, but also his service designation and rank. He handed it over after a moment of hesitation.

He didn't like the vibe with the dudes, but until one said something, he was just gonna get this cashout done.

It took a moment for her to run all the numbers, but she came out with the cost and it was amazing to Tony that she managed to keep a straight face when she said, "60 gils."

Tony burst out laughing, and that's when he knew he'd fucked up. One crack in the facade, just his luck.

"Something fuckin' funny there, stranger?" inquired a voice a little too close behind him for comfort. Local, and he knew which one was doing the talking -- the big number that had been the primary means of entertainment for the lady of the register, clearly a man about town given his height, shoulders and the look of someone used to fucking with people and getting away with it.

Tony, calmly, reached for one of the cans while handing the money over to the young woman, his face again straight. It didn't matter, he could just tell this was gonna go a certain way. He could respect bored, pissed and looking for adventure, but not when he was the adventure.

SPIRITUM

Tony wasn't precisely a prince, and the truck wasn't precisely a chariot, but he was certainly at his ease, up there in the passenger seat with a distinct air of ownership over the seat conveyed by his body language -- a loose posture, indolent and perhaps a tad insolent. Out in this part of Rassvet, he was down to a long-sleeved shirt, no collar, and a pair of jeans and workboots, looking mostly like a boondocker and a hinterlander, someone here to dig the post holes at the direction of bigger brains.

He kept one ear on the radio, but most of his focus was on a couple of small devices in a tray on his lap that he was messing with -- mostly by furrowing his brow and concentrating. Occasionally, a huff of breath out of frustration or a grunt of satisfaction came out of him, but it was worth noting that Tony had little to say to the gallery in the back.

Ever since the accident, about four years ago, Tony would slip into these moods as a defensive mechanism from boredom, a hyperfocus that allowed him to come out of that affair with less control or ability in Mist, but also a change in mentality and a certain degree of learned indifference to the things that other people puckered themselves over. Moody, sometimes remote and not necessarily communicative about what actually grinds him, Tony adopted a certain solitude even in a crowd, though if talked to about serious things like that, he'd inevitably fob it off with a joke. The concentration was evident, but practiced. Tony's Mist-use was unremarkable in a system that looked at raw power, but it was developing the sort of fine tuned control that allowed for a whole new system of options to occur.

But in a way, it was an improvement over the old Tony, who would bounce around in a situation like this, loudly and obviously unwilling to sit around when he could be doing pullups or something. This Tony was practicing with the Mist, doing 'reps' with the power to admittedly small parts and bits of wire, without an explanation as to his goal here.

So it might have been a surprise when he piped up on the Princess, "Might be worth offing her, but there might be things that make it more trouble than its worth, seeing as she's youngest. Killing one ups the security around the others. If she's being positioned to take the throne and she's smarter than the other chinless, jug-eared inbred sociopaths in charge, and knocking her off allows an idiot to inherit, it might be worth it or it might really backfire because stupidity in power is dynamic and volatile." he added, in a very bored sort of tone. It was typical Tony -- a skeptic's eye and a somewhat nonchalant delivery, but that goblin's brain of his churned around the concept and spat out the analysis. Mostly, Tony just liked committing lèse-majesté against the Vangar royal family. Funny enough, the Vangars invented that term.

He took the moment of situational awareness to look along the unrelieved vista of wadis and segarro scrub and other semi-arid flora, fauna and land features, matching it up against a map on the dash and checking time. It was so far away from the rest of the world that it almost felt like a moment of respite, of sand and wind and sunshine, of open terrain, the dun splashed with the vibrant sage green, all flashing past the truck as it barreled through the desert road. It let one pretend that this was all there was to it, at least for a time.

"It's nice to imagine a world without the fuckers, to be honest," Tony added, without specifying which fuckers, but it was probably aristocrats and the system alike. Tony harbored a casual disregard, but there was something deadly serious beneath the casualness. He was known for not particularly liking aristocracy, even if he, paradoxically, knew a few personally and somewhat liked them. But he was strange, off-putting and intense, and it was safe to say he didn't exactly have a pick of friends anyway. But Barghest, at least, at the very end now, was something similar to that. The strange thing about Tony was his bloody-minded fatalism and skepticism. He took a dark, bleak look at the world and seemed to draw an incongruous strength from its ambiguities, a carefully honed sense of grievance. Some got institutionalized and were already missing the Citadel, but Tony was breathing free air for the first and last time in ten years and he managed to make it while not turning into one of their little disciplined toy soldiers.

Ban the User Above You

Banned cause some asshole in charge said so. :)

SPIRITUM

Everyone should go ahead and start deciding what sort of relationships they want to have with each other while we're waiting for the last few of us to join. I guess that also begs the question, do people want to keep OOC chatter to this OOC thread, or should I boot up yet another discord channel and clog up everybody's likely already crowded discords?

@vietmyke

Fine with a discord. Also, already explained Tony's approach to at least one issue:

The Pool Tournament, SAS style

SPIRITUM

Tony Wenger

_{W A R D E N}

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_{Shitty AI art. It is what it is.}

ANTONIO WENGER
20 | 6'2" | WARDEN CLASS 3rd

_{A P P E R A N C E}

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6'2 and with an athlete's build, dark-blonde hair and a slight madman's grin, Tony definitely cuts a figure but typically, if given the excuse, will take himself as far out of uniform as possible. In this capacity, anywhere outside of the citadel, he tends to adopt a hick's sensibility in fashion with lots of simple outdoor work clothing.

_{P E R S O N A L I T Y}

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Tony, always Tony and never Antonio, has always been a troublemaker in the academy -- he was one of those that did not like being ripped away from family and sent to a military school at the tender age of 10. Left alone and bored, he will figure out ways to create a problem and has never been one to take caution into account. Nonetheless, he had a powerful connection with the mist and was being nursed along for his potential with the expectation that he'd 'straighten out.'

That was before a training accident and traumatic brain injury that left him with a physical scar, some psychological ones that have to do with his loss of ability with Mist. Since then, he's spent a lot of time trying to recover his abilities with the Mist and stay in WARDEN training.

Beyond relearning to use Mist, side effects after the injury include the occasional outburst out of nowhere or the occasional need for some sort of anesthetic for a whanging migraine or other neurological effect of the injury. Despite the erratic behavior at times, he's known in the Citadel as a guy to have 'on' the 'team' because he's good in a fight, be it a unit training exercise or brawl. On the other hand, Tony has made a game out of malicious compliance, passive aggressiveness (beats the other kind, but still) and sarcasm, such as when he will assume the role of the World's Worst Manservant on a fieldex where a fool is leading or in a social context when someone obnoxious is talking to him and it's not quite 'hand grenade trick' territory. The term, "Mutinous sheepfucker" has been used in reference to Tony, something that he finds absolutely hilarious when someone actually dares to say it to his face.

Tony's attitude toward authority and authority figures is skeptical, to say the least. Given his druthers, he'd be working in his Uncle Rudy's garage, and if not for the ability to use Mist, that's where he'd be. He doesn't forget it and has a casual disdain for the more rigid types that he runs into -- in Tony's mind, you don't get anywhere playing by the rules, but you can get creative and reinvent the game.

_{B A C K G R O U N D}

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Tony's family have always been hinterland mountain sheep farmers and yeomen in Rassvet, unremarkable except in that they endure, much like the common clay of the land and his father Hugo managed to make a living for himself and his family in cheese production and organizing the local cheese producers into a cooperative that then marketed itself. As a result, Vindish Blue is one of the most sought after cheeses, internationally, with a trademark on the brand and traditional recipes are guarded jealously. Subsequent ventures into cooperative farming yielded success in mushroom farming and even some distilling. Tony's childhood, prior to assessment, was absolutely one of bumming around the countryside, playing in farms, fields and forests. It was a bucolic sort of existence in a prosperous rural hinterland of Rassvet.

Tony, however, was assessed early and bundled into WARDEN training with an eye toward his potential. He had a strong connection with the Mist and was a physical specimen, a combination that was eyed as intriguing and aimed for great things, and was proving to be an intuitive learner.

Regrettably, he suffered a particularly debilitating training injury at about age 15 that resulted in neurological damage. While Tony came back physically, his use of Mist changed entirely and he lost at least a couple of years of knowledge and training. He managed to 'limp' through the rest of WARDEN training where he excelled physically but encountered blocks in his ability to use Mist.

His grades and assessments all suffered in the course of the affair -- he became more erratic though his work was quality, his focus and mood were all over the place. He had a considerable struggle to get himself back into the mental and physical shape to continue and he had to do whatever it took to make the instructors not write him off. Something kept him hanging on grimly -- his family was among those caught in the Vangar occupation that happened at the beginning of the conflict. His disciplinary record also shows some erratic moments; strange moods that are usually co-morbid with a terrible migraine, one of the aftereffects of his neurological damage. Always boisterous and loud, he subsequent obtained a reputation as a bit of a brawler, willing to get into a scrap. What ends with a night in a holding tank in civilization is considered fair dinkum in the field where 'antics' are called 'tactics.'

Tony is a natural at the Vanguard role, but also continued as a 'self-study' during those times when trying to rehab from his injuries which included motor-skill oriented athletic pursuits, like Parkour. Given lots of extra time to convalesce from his injuries, he actually spent time in the books and trying to regain his abilities with Mist, which included all kinds of meditative therapy and participating in scientific experiments with Mist that are routinely conducted at the Citadel anyway. The gain in skills, experience and concentration allowed him to reconnect to the mist, but it's different now. Still, it's there and that what matters is that he managed to squeak by the minimum requirement -- well past, physically, marginally on Mist capabilities.

It's been more than a year since his last brawl with other students and he spent a month in confinement, bread and water while the other guy spent three in a cast for his monteggia fracture -- to be fair, the idiot was trying to choke Tony out to prove some point, and Tony just 'surged,' hard.

While it was understandable that he'd do whatever it took in that situation, the incident hangs over him because that guy, Carl Schneider, was the top vanguard in the senior class and taking him out sort of put the final nail on the coffin in the eyes of the Citadel. It is safe to say that Tony was once a star student and then became essentially a failure of his potential in the eyes of the Citadel.

He's bound for Task Force 254, a unit being formed for the express purpose of moving behind Vangar lines in the long term to provide technical military assistance, leadership, intelligence, organization and direct action capabilities for guerrillas behind the lines...and part of those lines are home territory for him - he knows the people, he knows the terrain. While behind the lines stuff is often class 1 or class 2 work, they're stretched and the idea is to create a force multiplier out of Wardens that don't fit in but can still contribute. He's expected to be good in that sort of role, but that is a future with a very short expiration date if things go wrong.

The thing is, Tony was expected not to survive his injuries, was not expected to recover enough to graduate and not expected to be able to do a number of things, but there's something there that does not quit.

_{C O M B A T}

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Combat Class: Vanguard-ish, but very Guerrilla and ambush-oriented.

Combat Style:
Tony's combat style is roughly that of a Vanguard, but he goes lightly on armor and, if given the opportunity, carries plenty of explosives -- which he has a taste for, improvised or otherwise. As classmates in unit exercises can attest, Tony's rigged tripwires onto CS gas canisters and smoke grenades and otherwise has figured out how to build explosive devices with the focus of a teenager given free reign to learn to blow shit up. He's started to use the Mist to create triggers for these booby traps, and camouflaging them with same as a nasty surprise. It is not Tony's way to fight fair, but to find every seam, every fold in the ground, every way he can manage to approach an enemy unseen and take them down before they're even aware.

His melee weapon of choice is either a hammer or axe with a big spiky head, plenty of hooks and an extra long prybar handle. His ancestors were mountain yeomen with halberds, and the choice is actually surprising traditional...except he uses it to rip out windows and doors and to pummel or pry what can be in order to create tactical advantage in addition to hooking people by their armor and pulling them or tripping them with the hooks on and flanges on his weapon.

He's had, like any Warden, extensive familiarization with a lot of different weapon types, but has most experience with the standard issue carbine, but also kind of tends to be the guy that gets saddled with grenade launchers or squad automatics/machineguns because he's big and strong. He's developed a degree of affinity for hipshooting, point shooting, snapshooting and dynamic shooting applications in general. His transitions between weapons, his reloads, draws, and weapon malfunction drills, his transitioning from position to position and his movement in general are one of the bright spots in his student records.

Tony's Mist use has changed. Whatever his neurological damage is, and he is healing, it forced him to relearn things with less native capability than before. It's made him think about and ponder the Mist, and it's allowed him to start creating relationships between particulate matter where none existed before. For example, an attractive relationship between bullet and target, which is one of his most basic ones. Another trick he's learned is the manipulation of light, which came about in a field exercise where a scope took damage and Tony, in frustration, ripped the thing off and used Mist to create a focused optic effect with iron sights that replicated the scope's effects. He can dampen the sound of a weapon or himself in small ways. He has to keep practicing, and is behind his classmates, but the things he has worked on since his injury are smaller but more creative in nature, complex and efficient in their use of Mist. He might not be the powerhouse Silje is, but far less likely to burn from mist. It might well be a mental block from the trauma of his injury, it wasn't like Tony was very cooperative when the headshrinkers and scientists tried to figure out what was 'wrong' with him.

This is all private work he's done with the mist during his 'self study' period, which also includes the integration of mist and tech through these entangling effects, rather than the more common use that Vangar has of simply using Etherium to fuel these things. The Citadel may not be entirely wise to what Tony's been cooking.

_{R E L A T I O N S H I P S}

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Gerard - Tony is well known for 'not giving a shit' and will happily skewer people trying to ingratiate themselves to Gerard. The game has gotten to the point where Tony's even played games with frag grenades converted into smokers and similar sophomoric pranks. But nothing stops a bro's business guy pitch cold like thinking a grenade just landed on the table. The relationship started with contempt and never really lost that tone, whatever it has since turned into these days.

Kalina - Kalina's always been a cipher to Tony and Tony is not necessarily a deep conversation person. There is perhaps a bit of understanding, because the Citadel has way too many muckety-mucks with names who have less connection. Tony's headed back home to be a guerrilla, Kalina doesn't even get that luxury. He sees her father's people and he sees what can happen to his own people, and they're out there without him. He's trying to decipher that trick with the ammunition, with an eye to eventually understand how to infuse more than one effect.

Lance - Tony's been in some of the same sickbays as Lance, enough to find that the dude's approach to authority and duty is just a tad over the top for him. The joke is, of course, that Tony was, a lot like Lance, the last guy to be picked for a while and he can respect the grit that comes with being that guy if you are going to continue rather than pack up and leave.

Justice - In many ways, Tony feels his experience at the Citadel is an inverse of Justice's but the same trajectory - used up and spit out by the system. But some things are to be shared, but disaffection with national myths and bullshit military bureaucracy isn't one.

Silje - Silje is interesting, she is unusual and she is absolutely going to melt down at some point and probably kill everything around her. Tony knows one thing - he's gonna run when she shows signs of cracking and going critical. Until then, fun times.

Levy - While they are at, first glance, a mismatch, the truth is that Tony is happy enough to work with Levy, who is known for his underhanded ways which are, objectively, very useful in a tight situation and the fact that the man is useful in a number of less than lethal situations, such as the acquisition and concealment of contraband. Balance that with his disdain of aristocracy as an institution, which sometimes competes in his brain against knowing a few of the toff types and generally being alright with them in some sense. In any case, it's a strange sort of relationship, but Tony seems to get good ideas off the guy as well as a taste of the dopamine he often craves. In a sense, the injury saved him from being overly involved in the antics at the Citadel, but not for a lack of desire.

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