Mangrale

Roleplay Formation Question(s)

Haven't dabbled in RF since the early games that have all but faded from my memory by now. I actually might be interested in joining should you reach that point. Either way, good luck.

Neo Sorairo

Well it felt like a long shot to begin with. I know when I'm licked. Playing catch-up in an RP of this scale is one thing, but what I'm hashing out isn't clicking with me, too much on my end is getting in the way and I don't want to have to hold a whole team back. I'm gonna have to bow out of this. It's a really neat concept though. Good luck everyone. :)

Neo Sorairo

I'll see what I could do. Third time's the charm then. (;-;)

Neo Sorairo

I suppose I could switch over to gunner as well. But do you think we're set as far as native Japanese?

Neo Sorairo

I had a change of character idea a few days ago, but while I'm still going for a striker, I am leaning towards someone of Japanese heritage, though they may not have grown up strictly within the region the RP takes place.

Neo Sorairo

@Saltwater Thief Alright. Since my post I've been deciding between a striker and a gunner. May yet go with both if the character limit rises.

Edit: Didn't want to make a whole new post, but I did want to stop by and say I've decided on a striker. I'll probably have something tomorrow.

Neo Sorairo

I could be interested in this. But I'm curious as to what class everyone is considering before I commit to an idea or two.

At any rate, I suppose I might settle on an idea starting tomorrow.

Fire Emblem: Conflict

Mirza

---

There was a pleasant predictability that came with hunting wild game, that consensus reoccurring even after similar excursions under duly tangible stakes commonly spurred the rogue to muse as regards the hearsay of the pastime attaining to the level of sport among certain circles of nobility. Justifiably enough, the reasonably consistent state of his circumstances had largely led to a lack of detailed cognition of the affairs belonging to members of higher stations, people who have reached a state where survival itself is a trifle and diversion is an event all its own. One imagines they might have weighty responsibilities just like anyone else and the amusement, however peculiar, may go a long way towards enrichment in the face of life's uncertainties.

He did have to admit, after a particularly stiff breeze rushed passed his hair and his resulting annoyance over his situation led his gaze to wander across the setting, from the late morning radiance that sparsely fell through the highest forest canopy and to a nearby crystalline stream set in a nigh timelessly verdant backdrop, that perhaps here lied a natural beauty that in some ways might make for an experience that can be appreciated regardless of one's position along the scale of affluence.

The branch crackled minutely in complaint underneath his boots, a shock that forced him to refocus and curse his luck that the five hundred pound wild bear showed itself just after he had successfully pinned an arrow to the side of a young doe's neck a few inches from the shoulder. The would-be prey frantically darted off. Securing it should have only been a matter of tracking it down and dispatching it when it's weak. Instead the chase was interrupted by the altogether more ferocious predator, Mirza breaking away from the chase and scrambling his way up the first large tree he could find. There were certain measures in mind in the event of the beguilingly fluffy monster tailing him, but his luck wasn't that terrible as it turned out and after waiting for a generous amount of time with no bear in sight, he dropped down to the forest floor, miffed and finding the scenery to be of lacking consolation in light of his gnawing hunger.

But whereas the sense of adventure was enough to satiate the thrill-mongering wealthy, Mirza wasn't giving up until he had something to show for his efforts, though preferably something better than the prolific dark berries which he suspected were poisonous. In the end he returned to camp with two skinned rabbits, a very embellished story and a small bagful of tart but not untasty berries. At one of the campfires, the "hunter" could be found sluggishly preparing a pot of stew, enough to easily last him the whole day with some left over. He hadn't the slightest clue where the deer he shot had ended up, his thoughts dwelling upon its enigmatic fate.

Fire Emblem: Conflict

After a bit of thought, I'd like to do a slight edit to my post near the end, particularly the "two years ago" line. I believe that "one year ago" might fit better in my head.

Fire Emblem: Conflict

Mirza

---

Bow string tied between two grounded stakes at the entrance of his tent and his blade by his sleeping bag weren't enough to ensure the best night's sleep, yet Mirza wrestled with whether or not a more elaborate trap or snare would have made the difference. While taking down his makeshift attempt at insurance that morning, he had to admit to himself that he probably wasn't as concerned with security as he could have been. For instance, he actually slept inside said sleeping bag instead of making a decoy out of it, wanting at least some reprieve from the freezing coastal winds that only had a mildly harder time of piercing through his tent than it did any exposed part of him. So in facing the first full breeze out in the open, the quint essential misfit of this band had dawned his black cloak, his arms grasping its ends closed over the warmest materials he had on hand.

The chill that nipped at his face had forced him to his feet sooner than he'd like, well before Nuniel's emissaries would meet with the Captain and Lieutenant, a conference that he had no misgivings in not attending. If anyone actually wanted him to be present, he highly doubted it'd be for his strategic insight. War wasn't normally his business, let alone his area of expertise. If anything, the more time he spends around soldiers, the more likely one of them is to start getting nostalgic, or perhaps feel the urge to show him the tallies they've carved onto their equipment, if he's lucky.

Instead, Mirza departed from the camp to make himself useful, going about his routine and essentially seeing to his final preparations. Truthfully, he really wanted to visit Flemont before the incursion began, but was in no position to make the journey on foot by himself. The port will be largely remembered as a major intersection of trade in the region, an excellent place to come across all manner of things, likely even two years into Nuniel's encroachment. Only one way to know for sure, as far as he was concerned.

As a start to generally wake himself up he'd head for a mildly wooded area and spend around two hours in total to help replenish the camp's reserve of fire wood, mostly relegating himself to collecting all the suitable fallen branches and any other potential kindling he could carry. Given that he only had to account for a camp of a little more than a dozen individuals for perhaps that night alone, felling an entire tree didn't really feel necessary, not that he was at all eager to handle the task himself anyway.

He made two runs like this, but before returning from his second trip, he'd take the opportunity to brush up on his swordplay and throwing accuracy, honing his form, the motions that had seen him through many of his scuffles as of late before continuously embedding his throwing daggers into a large tree from ten to fourteen feet away. With a fair amount of tentative concentration, he managed to get the second and third blade to land less than an inch from the first one. The fourth one however spun off-center and smacked against the hilt of the second, sending both tumbling to the ground. Mirza still had his arm raised from the throw, his fingers slowly curling back into a fist that trembled and bobbed slightly under his tense breathing. Swallowing as he lowered his arm, he'd walk over to the tree and collect his knives, not a second thought given before he took up the last of the wood he'd gathered and carried on back to the camp.

The meeting was well underway by the time the Zuiterran mercenary sought to occupy himself with another task, taking up a hunting bow from one of the racks and a quiver of arrows. The company wasn't in dire want of food as far as he knew, but hunting on his own behalf meant he wouldn't be a burden on the company, something he touted while negotiating for his life a little more than a year ago. And if he came back with more food than he could eat himself then all the better for him. The thief hadn't seen to his tent since he'd risen, but decided that one final meal before his debut into his first theater of war would be more important than sorting his equipment. He could use the distraction.