Ordsmed

The Misfit Crew

It does shape up nicely! Itching to get into the fray. 😇

I Once Belonged to a Fantasy World, But Now I Ended Up in the Real World?

@MagusDream Oh? I did both😂. Ah, that's okay. I like my cs.

I Once Belonged to a Fantasy World, But Now I Ended Up in the Real World?

I’ll take a good night’s sleep to figure out how to write it in the CS.

The Misfit Crew

Great! 🥳 In yer own time. We can be patient a bit more. Well, I can. 😉

The Misfit Crew

I wouldn’t mind starting this thing IC. 😇 The concept of the story can carry additions to the team along the way. What do you think?

I Once Belonged to a Fantasy World, But Now I Ended Up in the Real World?

<Snipped quote by Ordsmed>

Oh, I read it and I found the prospect of having a "humanified" orc walking around, hating the fact that he doesn't look as he did before and hating on Earth just excellent! I really think he'll work fine!

I'd just like for his abilities to be a little more... explained. I know that he's all muscle and brute strength, but I think there's more to an orc than just that so a little more flash would be cool. It's also important to tell that he didn't lose his strength as an orc when arriving on Earth. He's still hella stronger and can send people away with a flick, even if his lifestyle changed from one world to the other.

Oh, and you can just put the two parts you did together in one single CS, if you'd like. But other than the things above, I've no further complaints, and I'm happy to accept Goram to the RP.

@MagusDream

Hmm, I considered his strength. I would like him not to be strong like an Orc all the time. I prefer him to have his inner Orc coming over him. Perhaps an Orc-fog might envelop him, giving the human an faint Orc bulk. It might be tied up with the tattoos on his body, with the shaman blessing which prolongs his life. I like Goram not having control over it.

What do you think?

I Once Belonged to a Fantasy World, But Now I Ended Up in the Real World?

@MagusDream Gods, what a job. Still, making nice progress. ;) DONE!

I Once Belonged to a Fantasy World, But Now I Ended Up in the Real World?

Anima Mundi Character Sheet

Basic Information

Anima Mundi Name: Goram Trollbasher
Earth name: Goran Trutti
Age: 147 years
Race: Orc
Gender: male

Appearance:

Don't be scared...

---

Personal Information

Height: 7'10"
Weight: 408 lbs.
Hair color: silver white
Eye color: steely grey
Skin color: ashen grey

Description:
147 years old?! As you look at the hulking giant, you wouldn’t believe it. Goram Trollbasher looks like a big silverback gorilla in the prime of his life. It took some powerful shamans to keep his body and mind up to speed. Goran has a way of convincing anybody to do his bidding. Usually a menacing growl does the trick. If not, then a solid thump on a skull wipes away any doubts on how wise compliance would be.

Trollbasher is a big hunk of muscle. He easily towers over most creatures on Anima Mundi and Earth. His rugged skin is decorated with faded and new scars and tattoos. All of them testimonials to scuffs, fights and full on battles. One glance at this body and you just know you’re watching a seasoned veteran. You can also see it in the confidence of his stride.

Above sharp tusks - one broken to a jagged dagger - steely eyes survey their surroundings ever ready to react to any threat. Goram’s whole body looks like it is barely holding back the aggressive energy penned up inside. It feels like one false move may cause the Orc to explode into action. And you’d probably be right!

Personality:
Greedy, pompous, cancerous, sweet-tooth. That sums it up nicely.

Likes:
- Females, preferably chubby and soft
- Coins, loads of coins
- Warfare, and the spoils which come from it
- Sweet pastries
- Gambling

Dislikes:
- Music, being tonedeaf
- Flowers
- Back stabbing
- Losing, he’s a very bad sport
- Bees
- Climbing

Fears:
Pah! Goram isn’t afraid of anything!
Except for heights, poverty and bees.

Backstory:
Born to the Orc chieftain of the Trollsheim Orc clan, the Deathwalkers and his proud and greedy partner, Goram's youth was a fine one. When he wanted something, he took it. Nobody dared to deny him his demands, as Brok Bonegnawer's shadow always loomed over the young Orc. Brok didn't want anything to happen to his precious firstborn. Firstly he is the clan leader and secondly Bonegnawer wasn't prepared to face his mate if anything ever happened to their offspring. In his priviliged position as the chieftain in waiting Goram was well dressed, well fed and well trained.

It didn't take him long to grow into an impressive Orc warrior, who didn't need his pa's shadow to keep him safe. Now, if he wanted something he still claimed it. One low growl usually convinced his opponent to back down.

As time passed, and his father and moterh passed, it was only natural that Goram took over the joint. It quickly turned out that the pampering he'd received in his youth, made him ill-prepared for this new leadership role. Okay, he coulf fight. But diplomacy was far beyond him, as was patience, and some other important qualities needed to lead his tribe. After fiver years of leadership his tribe had been dwindled away by too many defeats, malinvestments and general distrust in Trollbasher's abilities. So, the tribe ganged up on him and threw him out. "And never come back!", they yelled.

As a chieftain Goram had receive the blessing of the tribe's shamans. Something his former tribe couldn't rob of him anymore. The Deathwalker shamans had long ago discovered how to prolong life. It took cryptic rites, painful ceremonies and lots of Troll blood and guts to make the magick work. Normal Orcs live to about 50 years old, but with the Deathwalker blessing an Orc can reach up to... well, older. As most Orcs don't die of natural causes the exact prolonged life expectancy of a blessed Orc still is a mysterie. For now, Goram has discovered that reaching the respectable age of 147 - in good health - is a real possibility.

Motivation:
Goram hires himself out as a mercenary to die filthy rich, surrounded by a harem of at least fifty females, who feed him all the sweets and pastries of the world!

How much time on Earth?:
Exactly 153 days, 9 hours, 43 minutes and 34 seconds - and counting.

---

Battle Information

Abilities/Skills:
- Smashing, bashing and other refined fighting styles
- More of that
- And some more of that

Strengths:
- Biceps
- Calves
- Six pack... well Orcish muscles

Weaknesses:
- Anything shiny, sugar sweet or bashing it's eyelashes at him
- Heights
- Bees
- Gambling debts

Weapons and Tools:
- A huge broadsword, razor sharp and heavy as hell
- A good ol' hunting knife
- A solid trollhide shield
- A backpack with the regular stuff

---

Music Themes (Optional)

"I told ya! I frigging HATE music!"

Earth Character Sheet

Basic Information

Name: Goran Trutti
Age: 67 years
Race: kaukasian
Gender: male

Appearance:

Big picture alert

---

Personal Information

Height: 5'7"
Weight: 148 Lbs.
Hair color: silver white
Eye color: steely grey
Skin color: ashen grey

Description:
67 years old? As you look at the slumped down, crooked figure, you can believe it right away. Goram looks like a beat down, old drunk who hates his life. He has discovered that age comes with dilapitadation and degeneracy. His joints ache, his back is weak and his mind wanders.

As Goram scurries about, people tend to tower over him - "Especially those damned younglings!". Nobody is impressed by the grey, bend down man. A couple of weird tattoos could attract attention, but as they're almost faded away that attention wanes quickly. The old man walks around tentative, unsure of himself and his body.

A broken tooth stands out in the man's mouth. It looks festering and painful. The rest of the Goram's face just looks wrinkly and grey. A deep edged road map of a life of hardship. Those steely grey eyes burn with a weird light. Is it despair, self-mockery or madness?

Personality:
Greedy, pompous, cancerous, sweet-tooth. Don't you know: you can change the packaging but the inside still stinks.

Likes:
- I frigging hate Earth! Where's my fit warrior body, where are my stashes of gold and where is the frigging way back?!!

Dislikes:
- Music, being tonedeaf
- Flowers
- Back stabbing
- Losing, he’s a very bad sport
- Bees
- Climbing
- American Idol and other talent shows

Fears:
- Heights
- Poverty
- Aging
- Bees
- Trams
- Elephants

Backstory:
As Goram sat in the run down motel room he thought back on that faithful day. 'How long ago?', he wondered. Sliding his right pants' leg up he counted the marks he made there. One cut for every day in this stinking place. "153...", he concluded. "Has it been so long?" A sigh, sounding much like a bear farthing, exploded from the thin, wrinkly lips.

To Goram his days on Earth had been a living hell. Some Gods-awful magick had ripped him from the battle field at Gore peak. One moment he'd been happily caving an opponents skull in with his sword and the next he stood in an alley in - what he now knew to be - New York city. His sword tore him down and his shield kept him there. All air was smashed out of him. Completey disoriented Gorman tried to get up. He couldn't! 'Hell and bone! What's wrong with me? Am I wounded?' As he started to examine his body, his mind went blank. Stubby little fingers fondled an old corpse. 'What...? Where...where is my body?', Goram's mind reeled in panic. That was a sensation he hadn't had before, ever. "What magick did this!", he roared. Well, an Orc's throat would have made it a roar. What came out was a high shriek.

With an almost manical giggle Goram tried to stand up. Again the weight of his equipment made his legs buckle. Once more het hit the dirt. "KEEP THE FRIGGIN' NOISE DOWN!", someone yelled into the alley, "Some people are trying to sleep here!" Oh, how Goram wanted to smash that skull in, but he just couldn't find the strength to lift his sword. Somehow the thing was as tall as half the length of his body now. Hoping that this all was a terrible dream, the Orc crawled into a musty, old cellar nearby, and fell in a full out coma.

Now, so may days later, Goram knew that he was stranded here. There wasn't much bread in his past profession as a mercenary in this place and time. Not, that he could take it up anyways. He wasn't a strong Orcish brute anymore, he was a sad piece of human debris. Old, worn out and no good for nothing. Somehow he'd miracously scraped together a living. He'd even eaten rats to survive. 'Till this day Goram hadn't come to terms with this new world and his now human body. For a weak old guy there were so many dangers in this world.

---

Music Themes (Optional)

"Was I not clear? I really, really, really, frigging HATE music!"

I Once Belonged to a Fantasy World, But Now I Ended Up in the Real World?

I'll be posting a cs tomorrow. Got ideas that have to crystalize some more.

The Misfit Crew

Thulile SaintMaurice

"Don't. Just don't..."

Name: Thulile SaintMaurice
Age: 17
Gender: female

What Makes You A Misfit?:
Thulile shies away from human company. It makes her uncomfortable and feel unsafe. She also has this weird magical power, which she doesn’t properly control: animal mimicry. It means she can mimic animal attributes. It seems to have a strong and annoying link to her emotions.

Her blushes, in her childhood rarely visible on her dark skin, now pop up in strange colour patterns like a chameleon’s. Uncontrollably, a dainty hand can suddenly changes into a heavy, hairy bear paw. How can Thuly explain that in any plausible and sane way?

Thulile really understands animals. She is a fierce fighter for animal rights. She doesn’t mind breaking rules and limbs to protect animal life.

Appearance:



Height: 5’5”
Weight: 126 lbs.
Eye colour: soapy green
Hair colour: raven

Physique:
Thuly is a pretty petite. Prominent in her heart shaped face are a pair of big, green eyes, which look at you with a fragile gaze of innocence lost. These soapy eyes barely hide the cracks in the soul behind them. Her lips might be full, but her tendency to squeeze them into a tight line makes it super hard to tell.

The girl isn’t tall, but is flat chested and thin, with extraordinary big feet. It makes Thulile look gangly and clumsy. It also ensures she is well grounded and sure footed.

Personality:
Thulile is a timid girl. She openly wears the insecurity of a teenager. Through her past experiences she has learned that trusting people is a liability.
She loves the directness and honesty of animal companionship. Thuly feels calm and balanced out in nature. Crowds, villages and cities creep her out.
Beneath the thin, timid facade sleeps a fierce animal. Push her buttons too hard, or in the wrong order, and Thulile will explode in a terrible rage. In this berserk-like state she is oblivious to danger and only wants to hurt, hurt, hurt.

Skills/Abilities:
Thuly didn’t finish school. She does know how to survive out in the wilds, living from the land. With her talent comes a knack for understanding animals of all sorts and sizes.

Powers/Magic:
Animal mimicry - the power to mimic the attributes of animals.

Backstory:
Thulile hails from Normandy in France. Born into a dirt poor family of sheperds, she was an only child. From an early age on she helped out, caring for the sheep and running wild with the sheep dogs. Although she went to school, she didn’t have a knack for bookworming, as she calls it. Thuly couldn’t ever sit still for school to end.

One dreadful winter, when Thuly was fourteen, her family’s flock was hit by disease. Within a couple of days nearly all sheep succumbed to it. Without any means to provide for his family her dad saw himself backed into a corner. In blind panic he leaped from the nearest cliff to his death.

Fiercely maternal, Thulile’s mother took up the gauntlet from her husband’s spread eagled corpse, to ensure survival for her daughter and herself. Sadly, within weeks her methods got her imprisoned for theft, and armed robbery. Thuly thus found herself parentless within two months of her father’s demise.

From America her uncle, brother to her father, came to her rescue. Or so she thought. He had no warm feelings for her. He did have the hots for her, though. In a cold, clinical way he started to groom her for his twisted, carnal pleasures. The first time he tried to force himself upon young Thulile, she surprised him by lashing out, and breaking his nose. Before he could recover, Maeve had fled the house. This was the first time her power exploded from her. It scared the hell out of her, and she not just fled the scene, but also the shock of her magic.

Without any kin, no friends, no passport, and only a couple of francs to her name Thulile roamed the streets. She managed to put some distance between herself and her cursed uncle by taking refuge in the anonymity the homeless society. There she had to fend for herself. It learned her how to grow and - mostly - control her power.

RP Sample:
“Merde, merde, g’damn!”, Thulile gasped. After the last time she’d vowed to stay calm and not meddle. But the man had asked for it. ‘He was kicking his dog half to death!’, Thuly thought. She couldn’t just stand there and do nothing. Perhaps she would’ve shown some more restraint, if she had known the man was the local deputy, but probably not.

Now she was on the run. She’d sped through the adjacent forrest, hoping to lose the posse which the sheriff had set on her. Well, perhaps Thulile shouldn’t have broken the deputy’s leg. “I at least made my point”, she smirked. “That’ll teach him”.

With the shivering body of the deputy’s dog on her shoulders Thuly ran through the dense undergrowth. Suddenly she stopped in her tracks. The trees were gone. A river of asphalt sliced through the greenery. Surprised, the young girl looked left and right, almost expecting to see a squad car speeding towards her. It wasn’t there. With a sigh of relief, Thulile gathered her wits. ‘What now?’

Faintly a tingle of music tugged at her earlobe. It seemed to come closer. At the same time Thuly heard the faraway screaming of sirens. A sense of urgency, bordering on panic, trampled her heart.

The music - ‘Country’, recognized Thulile - was now clearly audible. The source of it abruptly rounded a curve in the road. It was a beat up pick up truck. As it came nearer Thuly could hear the old thing creak and groan like an old man. Involuntary it reminded her of those two grumpy, old men on the balcony of the Muppet Show. ‘Statler and … what’s his name’, she concluded. A tiny smile curled the corners of her mouth upwards.

As again the peril of her situation invaded her thoughts, Thuly started to wave her hands at the nearing vehicle. “Help me”, she gasped, “please stop!”