No offense intended. But there's a sweet spot on the sliding scale of realism, and most of the interest checks I usually see skew too far to the realism end for me.
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8 yrs ago
Can't describe how quickly I go from excited to sad when a mecha premise turns out to be realism wankery.
Nicomede placed his hand over his heart as though skewered at Elwen's remark, though he smiled and chuckled around his glass. Only someone with something to prove couldn't take a joke, especially not one he had invited himself. It was a more comfortable feeling than unmitigated praise too. His face faltered just a moment at Rowan's comment, the barest fraction of a freeze in his smile. But he covered it well, with as much grace as he had been raised.
"Very much to my liking, Sir Rowan. I haven't socialized like this in quite some time. I'm thankful to say I haven't forgotten how. And for such pleasant company. But Sir Rowan," He added gently in a lowered voice. No trace of irritability but no room for debate or discussion in his correction, either. "It's just Nicomede. Sir Nicomede, if you want to be formal. We're all entitled to that. But that surname is not mine."
The group had been pulled in the Knight-Captain and the Princess' wake as if by gravity, gentle in its suggestion but no less inexorable. He was thankful for it. Their course brought them into contact with more knights, some of whom he had not yet had the pleasure of speaking much with. One of them committed... A bit of a faux pas. It might well not have been his first for the night. The sight brought more warmth back into his smile, but with it...
Nicomede frowned slightly. Something had the younger man tense, more than the social obligations of the evening. Not something easily done if he had to guess. Enough to bring a little steel into his bearing, send his eyes to scanning the room casually.
"Quite well, Sir... Segremors, right?" He greeted pleasantly, nodding at the other knight. "How about you?
"Ahhh, but if I feed it I can keep it. There was this raven back home, I would save him a little bread every afternoon..." The northern woman lazily tilted her hand to the 'animal', offering the remainder of the pastry with a friendly smile. She already had breakfast, the snack had been bait for one of her friends as much anything else. Her lilting, accented cadence resumed; "Greediest bird you ever met, but he followed me south until it started to become warm. Who knows? Maybe he will visit me again when I get back."
Tristram was behind her but she didn't really bother to try and face him. She couldn't, after all, there wasn't a face to see. If he wanted to be seen there would be, now wouldn't there? He was fine behind her. Someone else might have wondered if he hadn't slept well but the truth was that he was just... like that. Abrasive. The other person trying to talk to her, though... She pivoted a little to put him more towards the center of her vision and smiled a friendly greeting. This one was about the age of one of her siblings. And about as excitable. Not that she had spoken very much with him, but it was easy to see. She winced a little at the scene playing out by the job board and elected to offer the huge (seriously, how?) Hundi a reassuring pat on the back. The girl wasn't wrong, but she could have been much kinder. He was clearly very young. Youth made for mistakes. It was the natural order of things, there was no need to be quite so rude over so little harm done.
Positive reinforcement was a better teacher than shouting, every time.
"I think that was what Cassie came to talk to me about, Mr. Reinhart. Maybe Tristram, too, come to that. Was it, Tristram?" She inquired, but persevered without really waiting for a response. "I must confess I haven't had a chance to see the board yet, but it sounds like she could use the work. And I could use something to do."
Not warm like a hearth, which promised great heat best enjoyed at a distance. You could choose how much heat you wanted, sit closer or further, put your feet or fingers close enough to warm the extremities. It was warm, dry, and forever spoke of home. Summer in the south was a blanket over all with a wet, heavy grip. It made her feel a little tired honestly. But she'd grown to like its caress, so unlike the frozen bite of her home. There was no fear about what the outside might do if you weren't wary, unless you were worried about getting too hot. She could go out however she wanted. So liberating the first time she experienced it. She had been so excited when someone explained that she had sought the nearby lake, dropped anything she could spare, and dove into the clear water. Sieglinde didn't get out for an hour, simply luxuriating in the cool waters and the hot sun. Absolutely unthinkable if she hadn't seen it herself.
Speaking of excess clothing, one of the guild's younger members was barreling her way.
Such exuberance was exhausting. She had spent most of her morning walking around the city, soaking up the sun and fresh air. Much the same thing she was doing in front of the guild hall, seated on the ground and resting her back lazily on the wall. The sun wasn't quite overhead, giving her just a little longer to bask in the warmth of her goddess' light before it passed its zenith and began to go back down the other way. If she really wanted she could reposition herself to catch its light again then, but that would be inexcusably lazy.
And the truth was that she was bored. Time enough had been spent relaxing, she wanted to work. And no doubt Cassia would have run out of money by now, she could play support. Maybe Tristram, too, if that faceless man could be found.
The dog-eared missile streaked towards and past her, ever further into the left of her vision until he vanished a few degrees off from her nose. A brief listen concluded that no one else was coming just yet, no risk of bumping into anyone, and she gracefully pulled herself to her feet in a single motion. She needed a stretch, just a little, to work the sluggishness back out of her muscles. She could have slept all day in the sun without fuss.
"Thank you, my Goddess." Sigi murmured softly, bowing her head briefly at the sun. A small thing to anyone from Venne, perhaps. That the sun came up, that the day was beautiful. It was summer, what else could it be? But it was so wonderful. To have so long in a day with so much light, she hoped the day never came that it would not fill her with wonder. It cost her nothing to thank Reon for these blessings. But the moment passed, and Sigi lazily wiped dirt from the seat of her navy pants and grasped sun-warmed metal. Her blade enjoyed the light as much as she, old steel kissed by more light in a day than it had seen the year it was forged.
The comfortable weight well in hand by its side handle she wandered inside slowly in the comet's wake. The big Hundi seemed to have made a blunder by the board, she couldn't get near yet, but she didn't mind waiting. Sigi smiled a little. The young man was the only one with a blade nearly as long as her own, that she had seen at least, but it wasn't quite so outsized on him. Weren't Hundi supposed to be small, she wondered not for the first time.
Nevertheless. When the little kerfuffle had been cleared up by the board she could look for work. Maybe by then Cassia would show up, Sigi mused while she withdrew a pastry and munched slowly.
Especially if there was food to beg, borrow or steal a portion of.
The Knight didn't flinch or let his smile waver a degree. Far from fear, a light of... Perhaps challenge flickered behind his eyes. 'Reaper's Bride" wasn't as overwrought a name as some but it was certainly descriptive, and with it carried a reputation that Nicomede would have liked to test. Find out how much of it was reality and how much had been exaggerated in the telling. And of course, whether or not he could beat her. He was pretty sure he knew the answer.
And he saw the line of questioning in her eyes when he introduced himself, his mouth taking on a wry quirk at one side. It was a little odd to omit even the title he was owed, but he was out of practice. 'Nicomede' had been all that needed to be said for so long it was odd to try and introduce himself as 'Sir Nicomede'. At least having no surname at all made connections harder to draw. Any rumination was swiftly interrupted by another arrival, though, and his smile became genuinely wider.
"Gillian," He greeted more warmly, taking the proferred wine glass and laughing at the younger Knight's remark. Almost against his will he puffed up a little to make himself seem even taller, pushing his chest out in an exaggerated pose. Gillian Reynauld was one of the Knights he had already had the chance to meet and get to know, at least a little. The younger man wasn't perfect but he had a decent heart. And with a few more years he would be a truly fearsome opponent, more so if he could ever be cajoled into learning a little more finesse. Strength was all well and good but only most dangerous when used intelligently in conjunction with a good plan. His arms had taken a little getting used to, Nicomede admitted. Not out of any prejudice, or disgust, or anything of the sort. They had just looked a little strange. And they threw off his estimate of where a man Gillian's size could reach in a fight which was actually much more exasperating than anything else. All of it had faded quickly, though, once he properly met the man. "Always a clever strategy to offer drinks when you enter a conversation, young Sir Reynauld, you will always be made to feel more welcome when bearing gifts. Especially in high society."
"I must despair, though," The grin he flashed the younger man over his wine glass just before he took a sip removed any severity that his words might have had at all. "At your clear irreverence for our poor trainees' wellbeing. They had been exercised more than enough before my shirtless visage terrified them. They weren't checking me out, Sir Reynauld, they were horrified. Further punishment had been wholly unnecessary."
"You'll horrify Lady Gela with such pictures. Not to mention that the shirt was half off already, you burned it!"
Moving on, I'd like to make it abundantly clear that the issue here absolutely was one explicitly based in setting continuity. Dark Elves live underground in a Scandinavia-based region of the setting, therefore they are pale.
I absolutely do not want the fear tactics on display here to discourage anyone. If you want to sign up with a dark-skinned character, feel free to. There's plenty of regions that someone with dark skin could have come from, such as the more Middle Eastern-inspired regions to the east. @TheFake's character from a former iteration of another RP in this setting originated from there. Because he asked me about them. Asking me will get you a lot. I want people to ask me about the setting. Dark Elves just aren't dark-skinned. Honestly it kind of came off to me as racist to make "dark elves" have dark skin anyway, it's kind of always bothered me a little.
If you want to make a dark-skinned elf, wood elves are known to develop tans from being the outdoorsy type. Not all of them, but some of them. There's probably naturally dark-skinned elves on another continent or something, but I haven't fleshed that out yet so it went unmentioned.
Part of this is I simply don't know the cultures I'd be using as a basis as well.
Please don't let fear tactics stop you from using your idea. Just ask me about it first before you write up a full bio.
I'll be getting to some backlogged characters soon. Sorry for the delay.
You're fine. I've been keeping out of this to not add any fuel to the fire, but neither you nor @Raineh Daze have behaved anything other than appropriately for the behavior being shown. And not knowing enough about something is a fine reason not to write about it.
Much more happily,
<Snipped quote by HereComesTheSnow>
There's not-vikings there too! Which is hopefully what my character will be once I get some more stuff sorted out with Vita but we'll see how that turns out.
@Rin Rad! Sieglinde's pretty heavily based on Nordic myth, so I was kind of urging my buddy in that direction for her erstwhile locale. We weren't entirely sure (small chance of it being, like, Russia), though, so he kept it vague in the end. Excited to see what you've got in store— everyone loves them some Vikings.
Absolutely awesome. Sieglinde's a Nordic myth gal by design, at least as much as I could figure out how to put in here. I'm excited to see what you come up with. Should've thought to ask specifically about a Nordic equivalent myself.
Here's my CS. Because some of the backstory involves existing lore for the setting, I've already discussed some of it with the GM.
Name: Léon Reverdin
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Rank: 4 of Cups
Appearance:His normal appearance standing at 5'9", is more akin to that of a young Mayonite seminarian or scholar, rather than a hammer-toting cleric. When fully garbed in the attire of a shrine keeper, he seems like a different person.
Personality: Having spent much of his life studying with the Mayonite church, Léon is personally familiar with hardship but not tragedy. He comes off as trusting and idealistic, but is not oblivious to the evils of the world, especially those that it is the duty of the Twin Churches to oppose. He isn't particularly adventurous or bold and perhaps is even a little apprehensive about stepping into caverns and dungeons, but it is Mayon's will, thus it is Léon's duty to carry it out even if it's not what he signed up for.
Brief Backstory:
The keepers of the Shrine of the Pierced Skull are a small group of of Mayonite clerics in Estival who maintain and guard a remote reliquary honoring Saint Elionne, a saint renowned for her deeds of heroism. When the shrine was first built, acquiring a relic to inspire pilgrims proved difficult because all of Elionne's possessions were in the hands of the Iron Roses, the knightly order that she had founded and led. The clerics were unable to convince the Iron Roses to hand anything over, but they managed to obtain what they felt to be a passable substitute- the skull of Volkstraad, the dragon that Saint Elionne had slain, still bearing the piercing from the fatal blow struck by the Starlight Sword. The skull was taken to Estival and placed in the shrine so that pilgrims could look upon the saint's handiwork.
While initially viewed as little more than a consolation prize, the skull became a revered symbol for the shrine and its clerics, and in time they adopted a dragon motif in honor of it. Due to the shrine's remote location and the ever-present threat of thieves, bandits, or anyone with a grudge against Elionne, Mayon, or the Iron Roses, the keepers of the shrine adopted a martial tradition, training rigorously with maces and hammers to ensure the safety of pilgrims, the sanctity of the reliquary, and the security of its relic.
Léon was born to a poor but devout family in Estival. When he was a child, his parents took him on a pilgrimage to the Shrine of the Pierced Skull. He was awed not only by the relic itself, but also by the helmeted, hammer-wielding warrior-clerics who stood vigil over the shrine and its contents, and the image stuck in his head for years. His parents were quite pleased with the though of their son joining the clergy, and worked hard to give him the opportunity to do so. Many of his younger years were spent serving as an acolyte for the church, and when he was old enough, he formally became a cleric novice. During his studies, he specifically requested to be assigned to the shrine that had left such an impression on him, despite it being effectively a backwater assignment with little opportunity for upward mobility in the church. After several more years of scrubbing the shrine floors, rigorous martial training, and theological and magical study, he was ordained and granted the arms and vestments of a shrine keeper.
After a brief period of service, Léon was called to perform an unusual duty- the local Mayonite clergy had asked the shrine to spare someone to assist the Estival Adventurer's Guild and as the most junior keeper, he was picked. His duties were to spread the light of Mayon, lend his skills as a cleric to the adventurers, and in the process search the dark corners of the world for evidence of Elionne or any relics connected to her. It sounded like a bit more excitement than he had expected for his station, but he couldn't let Mayon down, so he set out to join the guild.
Equipment: When adventuring or on duty, Léon wears the protective vestments and helmet of the shrine keepers, and wields a war hammer, their iconic weapon. He also carries a scepter topped with a perched dragon, serving as his spell catalyst, and can double as a light mace in a pinch.
Skills: As a cleric of Mayon, Léon is trained in the use of magic to aid others. He can close wounds, ward allies from various forms of harm, and strengthen them spiritually, mentally, or physically. His skill in this is only enough, however, to be ranked a 4 of Cups. A better fighter than a healer, Léon's forte is his martial skill as a shrine keeper. He is a capable fighter with his warhammer, able to swing the heavy weapon far more adeptly and deftly than his appearance outside of his keeper attire would suggest. He also has a formal education in history and theology pertaining to the Church of Mayon.
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