Life in Stasis

I come from the toxic air of FB RP

Welcome, Bato Goji. I hope you find something better here. I can't even imagine the horrors of FB RP.

End + Sleep

As long as Braum/Odran is roughly corpse shaped, I'd say that's an achievable dream.

<Snipped quote by pugbutter>

Sure thing, here's the timeline from my notes (working on a response to your PM now, btw). The calendar is otherwise a normal Earth calendar, Januray through December:

Hider

The Nameless Years
The First Holy War occurs.
Goblins arrive from across the Evening Sands.
Nephilim make first contact with humans.
The dragon Fiernas Fin-Harvey raises south Sinderband from out of the earth and enchants the land with unnatural heat.

0 SR: The First Sleep 0 FS to 921 FS (The first efernight, known as the brujanoche, occurred from 0 to 6 FS, while the second occurred from 915 to 421 FS)
413 FS: The Fall

921 SR: The Years of the Boats 0 YB to 264 YB
0 YB: The port town of Skyra is founded on what will one day become Castle Inger Biot.

1185 SR: The Age of Fables 0 AF to 820 AF
540 AF to 587 AF: The Second Holy War

2005 SR: The Age of the Queens 0 AP to 204 AP (Ended with the death of Cleopatra, greatest and second eldest of the Nine Sisters)
52 AP: Julieta is killed by Desdemona
93 AP: Ophelia commits suicide.
110 AP: Inger conquers the Dolwarden and most of north Primaveira

2209 SR: The Age of Silence 0 AS to 327
20 AS to 23 AS: The third efernight. During this period, Quishan loses control of Primaveira.

2536 SR: The Age of Iron – 0 AI to 220 AI
120 AI: Castle Viola is retrofitted with the world’s first electric tram system.

2756 SR: The Magicuenta – 0 MA to 200 MA (Ended with the fall of King Medraut and the destruction of the Great Tower of Titania)
143 MA: Andrea Rubicundior flees to Andrea’s Fault, and the Fault is cursed by Medraut.

2956 SR: The Age of the Vanities – 0 AV to 329 AV
0 AV: The city-states of Vence unify.
258: The Vence regency is established, ending Vencish democracy.
290-329: Vence cuts off trade ties with other nations, and ultimately dissolves.

3285 SR: The Hunter’s Moon – 0 HM to 100 HM (Only Lasted One Hundred Years)
0 HM to 8 HM: The fourth efernight. The Wild Hunt begins.

3385 SR: The Age of the Widow 0 AW to 372 AW (Ongoing)

3757 SR (372 AW): Present day. 3757 is counting off based on the Sleeper’s Reckoning (SR), year 0 of the First Sleep.

@Oddsbod

Oh, on this: Was there really a year that was 0AW? It didn't start at year 1AW?

End + Sleep

Ha, a quartet of throwing daggers on a bard. That's clever.

I really like the character ideas for this RP. They're really quite diverse. I'm really looking forward to how they interact.

Edit: Really!

End + Sleep: A High Fantasy Adventure in Cursed Land

I just want to make sure, because this went from being so active to so dead so quickly: did I miss the posting of the OOC or something?

@Force and Fury

roleplayerguild.com/topics/164177-end…

Don't worry, Oddsbod missed a handful of names to ping, not just yours.

End + Sleep

Hedgewizard Lev

Levranelle Reverante

Portait

Artist:omupied.deviantart.com

"The dead bless us with their wisdom, the living curse us with their ignorance."

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23 | Human | Mage-Eyes

P E R S O N A L I T Y

❖ [Eccentric]
❖ [Headstrong]
❖ [Wise]
❖ [Empathetic]
❖ [Teasing]

Levranelle has always been one to boggle the mind. His constant blabbering of seeming jibberish is enough to unnerve most, if not that then the piercing gaze of his will. He'll often go on and on about his pet cat Snuffles, and seems to obsess over his livelihood. He gets rather upset if you talk down to him or his cat, and will often retaliate with a sharp tongue and a swift kick to the groin. Almost seemingly to top it off, he insists he sees the souls of the dead, and can often times be found talking to the open air with vivid language explaining things to said souls. Many deem him to be insane, but others believe this probably isn't the case.

A P P E A R A N C E

Peel back the hood and find him when he's scantily clothed and most free, Levranelle is a rather androgynous character, his dark brown, silky, long hair making it easy to mistake him as a woman from behind, and the odd youthfulness of his face making the puzzle of his gender even harder, if not for his obvious lack of breasts and feminine curves. He has few to no lines on his brow depending on his expression, and no obvious blemishes on his face. Every feature of his is somewhat elegant, from his thin brows to a full, set of impossibly pink, lips. Most notably, his eyes are piercing and yellow, in the darkness they seem rather normal if not for the color, but in the light the pupils contract into a thin line much like a cat and give away his magical nature.

Lev is rather lithe, but does not immediately seem to have much muscle. It has lead to him seeming far younger than he actually is, travellers often mistaking him for someone's errand boy. He is not of a tall stature either, evening out at about 5'6". He often wears a loose fitting shirt with a rather low neckline, and pants that flow loosely over his legs. When out and about he covers himself with a long purple scarf, made of a thin material, that he can use as a hood.

H I S T O R Y

Levranelle entered the world in tragic circumstances. His father had died while "peace-keeping" with the Army of Heroes, leaving his mother to suffer the pregnancy herself. Lev was born breech, and the battle to get him out of the womb left his mother on her deathbed. Under the fool moon, his mother cradled him in her dying breaths, and whispered into the night that one day Lev would grow up to be a man with gentle hands and a heart so pure the Promised Words would one day speak of his own soul to conjure hope in the darkness. Inspired by her daughter's words, Lev's grandmother Agatha vowed to raise him according to her daughter's last reverie.

It was to be difficult, however, as Levranelle was a handful for his grandmother. He would constantly get lost in his own imagination and wander away from their cottage outside the village. She knew he would get himself lost one day, so she emplored the town for a pet for her grandson. Enter Snuffles, the long time best friend of Lev. Snuffles von Leoparte kept Lev's attention constantly, and kept Lev around the cottage long enough for him to pay attention to his grandmother's work.

Agatha was the town's healer, a hedgewitch whom healed with potions and words of power. She was like a grandmother to much of the town of Alonso, kind and gentle, and always there to offer a wise word and a kind touch. As he grew older, Lev was fascinated by the respect she garnered, and when a day came and past where she healed Snuffles of an illness, Levranelle decided for himself that he would learn from her.

On her eventual deathbed, Agatha reminisced of her life alongside Lev and Snuffles and a few of the women from the village. She told Levranelle of his mother's wishes for him, and told him that no matter what he should always try and bring hope to their town. She emplored him to take over in her stead. As her final act as his grandmother, Agatha cast a spell on Snuffles, binding his life to Lev so they would never part, and ensure her grandson was never alone.

Days after her funeral, the grief-stricken Lev began to see her ghost, unspeaking but always nearby, approving and disapproving, always just barely out of vision. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Or was that really her? Unwilling to find out he accepted these visions of her. Overtime it was not just her spectre he'd see dancing right outside his vision, he'd see ghosts of his ancestors, of men and women in town he had witnessed die.

Years later, now firmly the new healer of the community, Lev claims he converses with the ghosts regularly, and that some of them guide him to new revelations of the world, and warn him of the dangers they once faced. If ever a newcomer comes to town and needs his servives, he often lets them know that the dead see all, and that it's unwise to cause a disturbance in his town.

I N V E N T O R Y

❖ [A ceremonial blade of a dark colored steel]
❖ [A large over-the-shoulder bag used for carrying an assortment of potions and other things]
❖ [A smaller bag used for coin]
❖ [Dried meat-treats for Snuffles to keep him sated]
❖ [6-7 Potions used to treat flesh wounds, and a few others he claims help grow hair or make the skin look youthful]

O T H E R

Unlike the rest of our "heroes" Levranelle has spent his entire life up until now in Alonso. He lives in his grandmother's cottage a good walk just outside the village and has a store of supplies the party can pull from before they begin their journey.

@FrozenEcstasy

Ah, hey cool I know that artist. I once commissioned omupied for a portrait of my friend's character, which is still on her devArt page.

Also interesting that he's already a permanent resident of Alonso. It might be worth noting that Ansi is a recent member of Alonso's militia/town guard (which is presumably tiny). It's worth noting to me, at least, that barring any character changes, my character would certainly be aware of yours already.

End + Sleep

Ansi Envolier

Concept

Art by airuko on deviantART

"Take the sturgeon. Yesterday he was his own fish; today he's my dinner. His life was cheap, and his death was nothing to me. The efertide feels the same about you and I."

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27 | Carnelian | No Mage-Eyes

P E R S O N A L I T Y

❖ Reserved
❖ Cynical
❖ Pragmatic
❖ Highly principled
❖ Begrudgingly good-natured

Over the years, Ansi has accumulated a grim understanding of the merciless world in which he lives. Virtue or iniquity, the efertide devours it all. The constant nearness of death has driven the remaining pockets of civilization into a frantic sort of apathy. Every last man for himself.

That being said, Ansi does reluctantly hold that if there can only be one last honest and unselfish soul left in this bleak existence, then it may as well be him. He may not make friends easily, it seems folly to try when anyone you know may be gone tomorrow, but he admits that life without compassion isn’t a life worth living.

A P P E A R A N C E

In the sunlight, Ansi’s black carapace boasts an iridescent, bluish sheen, though it’s rare to see him out before sunset at all. He drapes himself in a drab, hooded cloak, relegating all expression to the occasional smile on his pale, unnervingly inhuman lips. Otherwise he’s usually seen in faded, leathery hued linens, with his bow on his back and a quiver of arrows on his belt. He forgoes light armors, relying on his natural chitinous plating to help deflect harm if he gets into a scrap.

Ansi is a tall fellow, just about six feet, and agilely built with long, three-jointed limbs and a deliberate, spidery gait. The Carnelian possesses an smooth, unnerving grace, natural to his kind. The sort that makes his allies glad to be his allies. Despite his arguably forbidding presence, his voice is perpetually young and airy, if often dry.

H I S T O R Y

It’s been nearly six years since Ansi’s release from a prison in Ingen Biot, where he spent a year of his life serving for a count of brigandry. In that time, he’s put as much distance between himself and that harbor city as he has been able to manage. And there hasn’t been a moment since when he hasn’t appreciated the clean air of an open sky or the smell of a cold river.

In the past half-decade, Ansi has lived a transient existence rebuilding his life. Upon arrival in a new settlement, he offers his skills to the nightwatch in return for an agreeable wage or room and board. Length of limb and his natural dexterity aid his marksmanship by affording him high perches in trees or atop architecture. When time comes to move on, whether it’s after days or years, he hires himself out to a traveling caravan seeking guards, one that doesn’t seem especially doomed (or sometimes, ones that do). The journey is then spent atop a swaying wagon, chatting if the conversation’s good, or simply staying alert to fend off threats.

Though an adept marksman in present day, Ansi did not study under a master or receive any formal military training. Rather, he got his start as a bowfisher in the small Quishan village of Kilhorn, just north of the Autumn Hills. Though the village received occasional aid from King Masbeth, he was one of many siblings in a household that was far from well-to-do, so he fished from the river mainly to keep his family from going hungry.

In those days, he resented all the young Carnelian men who left home to chase life on the water as sailors, or to work at the drydocks in larger cities. If nothing had ever changed, he might have been a simple fisherman for the rest of his life. The gift of a pristine, well-tuned crossbow from his sister was the highlight of a decade.

As he grew, some of his siblings went off after their own pursuits. Two never reached adulthood. His parents died. Gradually he began to lose touch with all the things that made Kilhorn special to him. Ultimately, to the dismay of his former self, all it took to draw a young Ansi away from the only life he’d ever known was an errant infatuation that ended in disappointment and left him in an unfamiliar city.

Circumstances and misplaced self confidence would change his trade from bowfisher to marksman. This eventually landed him in prison, where he found little else to do but sit and regret his choices. Surprisingly, it only afterward that he discovered the cheapness of life. In his travels, he came to know messengers and traders who vanished in the night, never to be heard from again. Witnessed once thriving villages, where he’d restocked or once been employed, become deserted and empty.

He hasn’t even been back to Kilhorn since he left almost ten years ago. Most likely he’s afraid of what he might find.

Or what he won’t.

I N V E N T O R Y

❖ Bow
❖ Rusted crossbow (still line-rigged and used for fishing)
❖ Belt-mounted quiver
❖ Arrows and specialized bolts
❖ Simple knife
❖ Antique Nephilim harquebus

O T H E R

Although Ansi just came into possession with his latest love, a Nephilim-built harquebus, he hasn’t had much chance to practice with it. Ammunition and black powder are hard to come by. And besides, the thing is blooming loud.

Ansi is also also accompanied by a young but steadfast gelding named King, which he acquired two towns ago.

Most recently, and for roughly over a week now, Ansi has found himself employed in Alonso's local militia. He has been there long enough to rest and recover, so he plans to head out again whenever a sound opportunity presents itself.

End + Sleep

:)

End + Sleep

Hey, hey. I eat, breathe, and shed my carapace just like anyone else. Let's tone it down on the racism.

End + Sleep

Either that or they just glow through the chitin, potently evil and mysterious.

End + Sleep

@Oddsbod Informed me that carnelians don't have visible eyes, as they're also covered in chitin. Presuming their vision is fine, it kind of gives them a cool "helmet" appeal, at least in my opinion. Also, no hair.