PentagonWhite

Behind the Burning Hills: a Very Cheeki Post-Apocalypse RP IntChk

Zdravstvuyte, fellow Gopnik comrade! I've been needing an excuse to replay S.T.A.L.K.E.R., I will join this game, if there's still room. The current character idea is either 'Old Russian soldier, forced to retire from the army but with expensive children he wants to spoil' or 'Angry Chechen freedom fighter needing a place to stay after losing his wife in Grozny'

[Discontinued]

Viola surveyed the group from a distance, peering through heavy-lidded eyes that spoke of fatigue just as much as her lethargic slouch on the hard stone wall. Tacitus was present, of course, floating as he did in slow and steady arcs around his mistress, an elaborate orbit that took him from her head to her toe and back up again. The coruscating spherical spirit caught the light on his metallic surface and flashed in Viola’s eye, but she was well used to the uncomfortable sensation. It was a motley crew, dangerous enough. Sagant stuck out vividly enough, as did the flamboyant and diminutive guard.

“Do you know her?”

Tacitus’ voice slipped through the silence like a stiletto, reaching only her with its quiet drone. She appreciated her partner matching her fatigue with deference. Aeolia thought before responding, like her father had always taught her.

“…She’s familiar. Ferrari, I think?”

“A relative?”

Aeolia shook her head, a light chuckle scoffing past her lips as she adjusted her heavy lean. “No, no I don’t think so. She’s well dressed for an enlistee, I think she’s been on the bulletins. Upstart hero of the people?”

Tacitus gave no reply. With a preparatory sigh, she hefted herself from the wall and began to make her weary way towards the assembled group. She bore the marks of her all-night work, with a red burn on her left hand and a few specks of ink on her right. Her long hair was more messy than usual, her complexion a shade more pallid, her practical, if unflattering, trousers and shirt in good need of ironing. Her satchel rattled as she walked ever so slightly, the bottles of poultices and concoctions clinking through their cotton padding, the nib of her favorite pen scratching at a metal rod.

She fell into place behind Sagant with a smile, resting a hand on his shoulder to draw attention to herself tacitly. She gave the rest of the party smiles, of course: weak and subtle, but genuine in their intent. White teeth were just barely visible through the gap in cherry lips. She was just in time to hear the grumble of a stomach, the proclamation of preparedness, and a question regarding cards that drew her eyes.

She sent a wink to Corporal Ferrari when she reached the group, and flicked her eyes towards the unruly stomach just to make sure there was no confusion of meaning. She returned her attention to the cards. “Apologies for being late. Aeolia Ferrar, of the University, at your service.” Her soft lilting alto carried clear enough in the emptying environs. “I assume we’re all working together? If so, then I’m glad to make all acquaintances. Especially with a seer: I’ve never had the pleasure of working with someone who could read the Tarot, I can’t wait to see it in action.”

Patting Sagant once more on the shoulder, she took a step to the side, finding her place within the small crowd, and silenced herself as Tacitus’ fist-sized metal ball came to hover just beside her head in a braggadocious whirl.

@CelticSoldier@KoL@Themerlinhawk@Mega Birb

[Discontinued]

Actually, I think I'll wait. It's sort of a clusterfuck right now, I'll wait for KoL to post before I drop Aeolia in there.

[Discontinued]

Post will be coming up today, come hell or high water.

[Discontinued]

Aeolia Ferrar

Aeolia

Name: Aeolia Ferrar
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Race: Elf
Height: 180cm/5’11
Weight: 70kg/154lbs

Appearance: Aeolia’s appearance is wasteful, a disappointment to seemingly everyone besides Aeolia herself. Long blonde hair, straightened and neatly braided for her debut, curls forlornly between her shoulder blades, cut cheaply and poorly maintained. A pristine complexion that earned her compliments in her youth is marred by the pallid hue it has gained after months deep within ancient chambers, surrounded by shuttered windows and old books, and she long since sold her makeup for an experiment which at the time seemed so very promising. Despite protestations, and half-serious offers to send rags and pouches of stamped gold, she wears the finery she is prescribed by her fussing mother: once-crisp white shirts long since in need of ironing drape her slender figure, trousers of fine wool cover her long legs, bearing the specks of old ink and the patterned ghosts of alchemical mishaps. She keeps the sole ball dress she had foisted upon her in good condition, locked out of sight of her narrow, hawkish eyes and their inquisitive, hurried gaze. She walks with a steady pace that is always slightly too fast to be acceptable. She speaks in crisp, richly-accented and clipped words, fluctuating between tacit and lugubrious depending most often on the current state of her dissertation. Her hands are clever and long-fingered, calloused and dexterous, and rarely content themselves with stillness when she is in conversation, either to gesture or fidget. She avoids eye contact not out of nerves but out of skittish distraction, her fascination pulled to the lines of an interesting nose, to the ripples of water, or to the proud cerulean sky and its soaring occupants.

Character Concept: Aeolia is an innovative, if not particularly powerful, Spirit User, and a shining star of the youngest generation of University students, a scholar to the very core in constant need of money to fund her research. She is the scion of the affluent, new-moneyed Ferrarus family, the second daughter of two and the fourth child of four. Her mother was born to failing aristocrats, her father to a jewel trader, and together they raised her with all the advantages wealth and modest status could bring. From an early age, she proved a prodigious student, and was blessed with a Spirit, and her oldest friend, Tacitus. She lacked the charisma and ambition that drew her father’s love to her older brother, or the demure beauty and grace that made her mother dote on her older sister, and so she found patronage in books. She excelled in school, impressed the private tutors she demanded, and exhausted the family library in impressive time. It was only natural for her to continue her education at the University, studying Natural Philosophy and Alchemy alongside her magics. She is the archetypical struggling graduate student, balancing her dwindling allowance from her family with teaching, research, writing and maneuvering within the bureaucracy of the school. She has poured her entire being into the pursuit of knowledge, but in doing so has shuttered herself from the other joys of life, and has resigned herself to the fate of the candle burning at both ends, to be brilliant and poorly-planned. She works fingers to bones to stay afloat in the life she’s chosen, but whispers in the back of her mind, doubts gnawing at her, are making her wonder if her choice couldn’t be improved somewhat.

Combat, Abilities and Skills: Aeolia is not much of a combatant. She’s naturally frail, lacking in much physical constitution, weak and easily startled. She’s never been in a real fight, much to the chagrin of her spirit, Tacitus, and despite his urging has taken few steps to learn how to better protect herself. She took a fencing class when she first came to the university, but had no special talent for it, and so quickly discarded it as a waste of time. With the help of her Spirit, she has a versatile and worthy set of abilities if she ever was to put her life in danger, with Tacitus being a Spirit with an immense and exclusive affinity for metals in general, and Iron in particular.
To Aeolia’s parents, she is defined by what she cannot do. She cannot dance, she cannot sing, she can weave to only the most meager standards. The last time she tried to cook without a recipe she ruined not only the dish but the pot it was cooked in, and she is by no means a great beauty, especially in regards to her womanly assets. She has never had interest in money as an abstract concept, never had the heart for stern negotiation or vicious back-alley deals, never had the charisma to trick or inspire or convince outside the debating hall. She has little patience for politics, and truth be told has very few true friends.
She prides herself on what she can do. She can speak three languages at a conversational level, and read two different kinds of long-dead runic scripts. She can write ten pages of research notes, or a particularly inspiring thesis proposal, in a night, given a hot pot of tea and no distractions. She could navigate an alchemy lab blindfolded and still distill whatever was asked for her. She can treat rheumatism, flux, and a hundred other ailments of the body. She is the authority at the university on the study of explosive reagents and chemical fuels, and has taken work as a teacher, an accountant, an assistant engineer, and, rather bizarrely, on the night before a formal ball she was a crude jeweler for an old acquaintance looking to impress.

Equipment and Inventory: Aeolia goes nowhere without an inkwell, pen, and several pages of cheap paper. Besides that, she travels light. She has good quality, if not always fashionable, clothes for all weather, and she often travels with Iron for Tacitus and a small pocketknife for when she forgets her dormitory key in the library.

Sample Post/Introduction:

Hider

“I swear, Lia, you’ll turn invisible if you stay locked up there forever!”

Sander, dutiful and longsuffering as ever, trailed a stride behind Aeolia despite his impressive size as she rushed from the library to the Masters’ quarters. She clutched reams of parchment and beakers as she rushed through the cloisters of the university, boot heels clicking on the stone. She weaved through the small groups of fellow students, skirting around clusters of gossipers and between those who didn't share her sense of urgency, weaving a sharp and nervous dance towards her destination.

"I'll not tell you again, Sander, I'm too busy, I need this grant or I'll have to-"

She spoke in her usual rushed alto, the wealthy accent losing itself in a sea of similar voices. Sander, with his deep bass, cut her off with a scoff. "Talk to your mother? You're going to ha-"

"Just drop it, boy: she's not stopped moaning about this for weeks. Let her see the end of it, for my sanity." The little ball of coruscating grey metal materialized behind Aeolia's shoulder, the customary form of her Spirit. Tacitus sounded as weary as Sander was exasperated, worn down from another night as Aeolia's sounding board and reluctant rehearsal partner. His deep bass scraping, the sound of a pick on stone or an axe being ground, was more dull than usual.

Aeolia, distracted by the new entrant into the conversation, badly misjudged the gap between two shoulders. The shock made her gasp, and as her hands clutched at the valuable notes and samples she held, she left herself no time to save herself from the hard ground. Sander's arms propped her up, less than gently, and she felt a blush form as she muttered out two different apologies and a gruff 'thanks' to her old friend.

"You know boy, I'm beginning to think you have a point." The spirit faded with its closing remark, and Aeolia heard a chuckle as she sped away, unable to concentrate.

Three hours of impassioned research proposition later, she slid onto a tall bar stool next to the distracted form of her burly friend at the University tavern. Shocked eyes met her elated stare, and her smile infected him. "I don't suppose your shiny new grant has room to pay for drinks?"

They both knew it didn't, but neither found themselves caring

[Discontinued]

@Mega Birb

I look forward to getting them interacting.

@KoL

Despite the evidence to the contrary, I do understand the value of brevity. I've pared it down to be shorter than @Mega Birb's (which surprisingly only meant shaving off about 200 words), I hope that's sufficient. Please, tell me if there is anything I can change to make her fit better or be a better character, I really am sorry for making you waste your time looking over it again.

Take 2

Character Sheet

Name: Aeolia Ferrar
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Race: Elf
Height: 180cm/5’11
Weight: 70kg/154lbs

Appearance: Aeolia’s appearance is wasteful. Long blonde hair, straightened and neatly braided for her debut, curls forlornly between her shoulder blades, cut cheaply and poorly kept. A pristine complexion that earned her compliments in her youth is marred by the pallid hue it has gained after months deep within ancient chambers, surrounded by shuttered windows and old books. Reluctantly, she wears the finery she is prescribed by her mother: once-crisp white shirts long since in need of ironing drape her slender figure, trousers of fine wool cover her long legs, bearing the specks of old ink and the patterned ghosts of alchemical mishaps. She views the world through narrow, hawkish eyes and their inquisitive, hurried gaze. She walks like she speaks: too fast. She uses crisp, richly-accented and clipped words, fluctuating between tacit and lugubrious depending most often on the current state of her dissertation. Her hands are clever and dexterous, and rarely content themselves with stillness when she is in conversation, and the bright cerulean eyes she boasts roam free of their own will.

Character Concept: Aeolia is an innovative, if not particularly powerful, Spirit User, and a shining star of the youngest generation of University students, a scholar to the very core in constant need of money to fund her research. She is the scion of the affluent, new-moneyed Ferrarus family, the fourth child of four. Her mother was born to failing aristocrats, her father to a wealthy jewel trader, and together they raised her with all the advantages wealth and modest status could bring. From an early age, she proved a prodigious student, and was blessed with a Spirit, and her oldest friend, Tacitus. She lacked the charisma and ambition that drew her father’s love to her older brother, or the demure beauty and grace that made her mother dote on her older sister, and so she found patronage in books. She excelled in school, impressed the private tutors she demanded, and exhausted the family library. It was only natural for her to continue her education at the University, studying everything she can find time for. She spends her days balancing the ever-dwindling allowance from her family with teaching, research, writing and insufficient sleep. She has poured her entire being into the pursuit of knowledge, and has resigned herself to the fate of the candle burning at both ends, to be brilliant and poorly-planned. She works fingers to bones to stay afloat in the life she’s chosen, but she has found herself wondering more and more if it is a good one.

Combat, Abilities and Skills: Aeolia is not much of a combatant. She’s naturally frail, lacking in much physical constitution, and as weak as can be expected. She’s never been in a real fight, much to the chagrin of her spirit, Tacitus, and despite his urging has taken few steps to learn how to better protect herself. With the help of her Spirit, she has a versatile and worthy set of magical abilities if she ever was to put her life in danger, with Tacitus being a Spirit with an immense and exclusive affinity for metals in general, and Iron in particular.

To Aeolia’s parents, she is defined by what she cannot do. She cannot dance, she cannot sing, she can weave to only the most meager standards. The last time she tried to cook without a recipe she ruined not only the dish but the pot it was cooked in. She has never had interest in money-making, never had the charisma to trick or inspire or convince outside the debating hall. She has little patience for politics, and truth be told has very few true friends.

She prides herself on what she can do. She can speak three languages at a conversational level, and read two different kinds of long-dead runic scripts. She can write ten pages of research notes, or a particularly inspiring thesis proposal, in a night. She could navigate an alchemy lab blindfolded and still distill whatever was asked for her. She can treat rheumatism, flux, and a hundred other ailments of the body or mind. She is the authority at the university on the study of explosive reagents and chemical fuels, and has taken work as a teacher, an accountant, an assistant engineer, and in one particularly interesting anecdote a diary-thief.

Equipment and Inventory: Aeolia goes nowhere without an inkwell, pen, and several pages of cheap paper. Besides that, she travels light, never bringing more than she thinks she needs.

Sample

Sample Post/Introduction: “I swear, Lia, you’ll turn invisible if you stay locked up there forever!”

Sander, dutiful and longsuffering as ever, trailed a stride behind Aeolia despite his impressive size as she rushed from the library to the Masters’ quarters. She clutched reams of parchment and beakers as she rushed through the cloisters of the university, boot heels clicking on the stone. She weaved through the small groups of fellow students, skirting around clusters of gossipers and between those who didn't share her sense of urgency, weaving a sharp and nervous dance towards her destination.

"I'll not tell you again, Sander, I'm too busy, I need this grant or I'll have to-"

She spoke in her usual rushed alto, the wealthy accent losing itself in a sea of similar voices. Sander, with his deep bass, cut her off with a scoff. "Talk to your mother? You're going to ha-"

"Just drop it, boy: she's not stopped moaning about this for weeks. Let her see the end of it, for my sanity." The little ball of coruscating grey metal materialized behind Aeolia's shoulder, the customary form of her Spirit. Tacitus sounded as weary as Sander was exasperated, worn down from another night as Aeolia's sounding board and reluctant rehearsal partner. His deep bass scraping, the sound of a pick on stone or an axe being ground, was more dull than usual.

Aeolia, distracted by the new entrant into the conversation, badly misjudged the gap between two shoulders. The shock made her gasp, and as her hands clutched at the valuable notes and samples she held, she left herself no time to save herself from the hard ground. Sander's arms propped her up, less than gently, and she felt a blush form as she muttered out two different apologies and a gruff 'thanks' to her old friend.

"You know Sander, I'm beginning to think you have a point." The spirit faded with its closing remark, and Aeolia heard a chuckle as she sped away, unable to concentrate.

Three hours of impassioned research proposition later, she slid onto a tall bar stool next to the distracted form of her burly friend at the University tavern. Shocked eyes met her elated stare, and her smile infected him. "I don't suppose your grant has room to pay for drinks?"

They both knew it didn't, but that didn't stop them.

[Discontinued]

Aeolia Ferrar

Aeolia

Name: Aeolia Ferrar
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Race: Elf
Height: 180cm/5’11
Weight: 70kg/154lbs

Appearance: Aeolia’s appearance is wasteful, a disappointment to seemingly everyone besides Aeolia herself. Long blonde hair, straightened and neatly braided for her debut, curls forlornly between her shoulder blades, cut cheaply and poorly maintained. A pristine complexion that earned her compliments in her youth is marred by the pallid hue it has gained after months deep within ancient chambers, surrounded by shuttered windows and old books, and she long since sold her makeup for an experiment which at the time seemed so very promising. Despite protestations, and half-serious offers to send rags and pouches of stamped gold, she wears the finery she is prescribed by her fussing mother: once-crisp white shirts long since in need of ironing drape her slender figure, trousers of fine wool cover her long legs, bearing the specks of old ink and the patterned ghosts of alchemical mishaps. She keeps the sole ball dress she had foisted upon her in good condition, locked out of sight of her narrow, hawkish eyes and their inquisitive, hurried gaze. She walks with a steady pace that is always slightly too fast to be acceptable. She speaks in crisp, richly-accented and clipped words, fluctuating between tacit and lugubrious depending most often on the current state of her dissertation. Her hands are clever and long-fingered, calloused and dexterous, and rarely content themselves with stillness when she is in conversation, either to gesture or fidget. She avoids eye contact not out of nerves but out of skittish distraction, her fascination pulled to the lines of an interesting nose, to the ripples of water, or to the proud cerulean sky and its soaring occupants.

Character Concept: Aeolia is an innovative, if not particularly powerful, Spirit User, and a shining star of the youngest generation of University students, a scholar to the very core in constant need of money to fund her research. She is the scion of the affluent, new-moneyed Ferrarus family, the second daughter of two and the fourth child of four. Her mother was born to failing aristocrats, her father to a jewel trader, and together they raised her with all the advantages wealth and modest status could bring. From an early age, she proved a prodigious student, and was blessed with a Spirit, and her oldest friend, Tacitus. She lacked the charisma and ambition that drew her father’s love to her older brother, or the demure beauty and grace that made her mother dote on her older sister, and so she found patronage in books. She excelled in school, impressed the private tutors she demanded, and exhausted the family library in impressive time. It was only natural for her to continue her education at the University, studying Natural Philosophy and Alchemy alongside her magics. She is the archetypical struggling graduate student, balancing her dwindling allowance from her family with teaching, research, writing and maneuvering within the bureaucracy of the school. She has poured her entire being into the pursuit of knowledge, but in doing so has shuttered herself from the other joys of life, and has resigned herself to the fate of the candle burning at both ends, to be brilliant and poorly-planned. She works fingers to bones to stay afloat in the life she’s chosen, but whispers in the back of her mind, doubts gnawing at her, are making her wonder if her choice couldn’t be improved somewhat.

Combat, Abilities and Skills: Aeolia is not much of a combatant. She’s naturally frail, lacking in much physical constitution, weak and easily startled. She’s never been in a real fight, much to the chagrin of her spirit, Tacitus, and despite his urging has taken few steps to learn how to better protect herself. She took a fencing class when she first came to the university, but had no special talent for it, and so quickly discarded it as a waste of time. With the help of her Spirit, she has a versatile and worthy set of abilities if she ever was to put her life in danger, with Tacitus being a Spirit with an immense and exclusive affinity for metals in general, and Iron in particular.
To Aeolia’s parents, she is defined by what she cannot do. She cannot dance, she cannot sing, she can weave to only the most meager standards. The last time she tried to cook without a recipe she ruined not only the dish but the pot it was cooked in, and she is by no means a great beauty, especially in regards to her womanly assets. She has never had interest in money as an abstract concept, never had the heart for stern negotiation or vicious back-alley deals, never had the charisma to trick or inspire or convince outside the debating hall. She has little patience for politics, and truth be told has very few true friends.
She prides herself on what she can do. She can speak three languages at a conversational level, and read two different kinds of long-dead runic scripts. She can write ten pages of research notes, or a particularly inspiring thesis proposal, in a night, given a hot pot of tea and no distractions. She could navigate an alchemy lab blindfolded and still distill whatever was asked for her. She can treat rheumatism, flux, and a hundred other ailments of the body. She is the authority at the university on the study of explosive reagents and chemical fuels, and has taken work as a teacher, an accountant, an assistant engineer, and, rather bizarrely, on the night before a formal ball she was a crude jeweler for an old acquaintance looking to impress.

Equipment and Inventory: Aeolia goes nowhere without an inkwell, pen, and several pages of cheap paper. Besides that, she travels light. She has good quality, if not always fashionable, clothes for all weather, and she often travels with Iron for Tacitus and a small pocketknife for when she forgets her dormitory key in the library.

Sample Post/Introduction:

Hider

“I swear, Lia, you’ll turn invisible if you stay locked up there forever!”

Sander, dutiful and longsuffering as ever, trailed a stride behind Aeolia despite his impressive size as she rushed from the library to the Masters’ quarters. She clutched reams of parchment and beakers as she rushed through the cloisters of the university, boot heels clicking on the stone. She weaved through the small groups of fellow students, skirting around clusters of gossipers and between those who didn't share her sense of urgency, weaving a sharp and nervous dance towards her destination.

"I'll not tell you again, Sander, I'm too busy, I need this grant or I'll have to-"

She spoke in her usual rushed alto, the wealthy accent losing itself in a sea of similar voices. Sander, with his deep bass, cut her off with a scoff. "Talk to your mother? You're going to ha-"

"Just drop it, boy: she's not stopped moaning about this for weeks. Let her see the end of it, for my sanity." The little ball of coruscating grey metal materialized behind Aeolia's shoulder, the customary form of her Spirit. Tacitus sounded as weary as Sander was exasperated, worn down from another night as Aeolia's sounding board and reluctant rehearsal partner. His deep bass scraping, the sound of a pick on stone or an axe being ground, was more dull than usual.

Aeolia, distracted by the new entrant into the conversation, badly misjudged the gap between two shoulders. The shock made her gasp, and as her hands clutched at the valuable notes and samples she held, she left herself no time to save herself from the hard ground. Sander's arms propped her up, less than gently, and she felt a blush form as she muttered out two different apologies and a gruff 'thanks' to her old friend.

"You know boy, I'm beginning to think you have a point." The spirit faded with its closing remark, and Aeolia heard a chuckle as she sped away, unable to concentrate.

Three hours of impassioned research proposition later, she slid onto a tall bar stool next to the distracted form of her burly friend at the University tavern. Shocked eyes met her elated stare, and her smile infected him. "I don't suppose your shiny new grant has room to pay for drinks?"

They both knew it didn't, but neither found themselves caring

Apologies for the length, I have to go for a few hours in just a bit and I didn't want to delay in posting it to pare it down. I'll work on shortening it when I get back.

[Discontinued]

@KoL

I won't let you down, boss. Character sheet on the way.

[Discontinued]

Hi! I wish I wasn't so late to the party: is there still room for one more?

A Song of Men and Arms: A Homeric Rp

>The title is an Aeneid reference
>Homeric RP
>REEEEEEEEE

In all seriousness, I'm sad I missed this, good luck!