Avatar of Sofaking Fancy
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    1. Sofaking Fancy 7 yrs ago
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7 yrs ago
Phone tells me a joke: "Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana." I think I've been lied to about who is my real dad.
4 likes
7 yrs ago
That awkward moment when you're playing Monster Hunter World, and you know that young you would have been sexually awoken by that Field Captain.
3 likes
7 yrs ago
That awkward moment when you need a young person to explain a meme to you, and all you can do is shake your walker at them and scream "get off my lawn and stop explaining the I-TER-NETS to me!"
4 likes
7 yrs ago
When you screw up a word so bad that even spell check is like: "I got nothing for yah, bro."
2 likes

Bio

Hoot, hoot...
*coughs*
People words. People words. I'm definitely a person.

A person who roleplays bad boys with hearts made of cookie.
I also enjoy flying at night breathing.

Thank.

Most Recent Posts





Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 34
Profile: Soldier
DOB: 2151 CE
Homeworld: Earth


Appearance:
Clyff is built like a brick shithouse and probably just about as attractive. He’s a tall man, but not overly so, standing above six foot. But that’s not the physical attribute that would make him stand out in a crowd. He’s broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, with muscular arms and a stout middle. It’s more than apparent that he doesn’t keep to military routine as tight as others would have. Drinking and genetics have led him to being stockier and paunchier than his other teammates. Or at least that is what he tells himself, it’s definitely genetics. Genetics that have been tampered with by the Alliance. His natural affinity to gain mass easier left him a mixture of muscle and girth.

He has red hair--naturally a ginger--that is cut short on the sides and longer on the top. He styles it because he only has to run his hands through it in the morning. Pale green eyes sit underneath a strong brow, but the more eye-catching attribute is his nose. It probably, at one point time, wouldn’t be so prominent, but it’s been broken so many times that scarring, on the skin and into the cartilage, is more than evident. Strong jaw, usually peppered with a five o’clock shadow that doesn’t seem to go away or get any longer, compliment his handsome lips. They’re usually drawn into a shit-eating grin. He has another scar across them, and a piece of his right ear is missing. There’s a couple of staples in the earlobe.

His attire is that of the Andromeda Initiative Military uniform when he’s on duty. He usually leaves the collar unbuttoned, only to frantically snap it into place when he needs to. It is obvious, considering the way he stands and the grimace on his face, he’d rather be dressed in anything else. Hell, he’d probably be more comfortable in the buff or wearing an asari dress. On off days, he’s fond of t-shirts, loose-fitting pants, combat boots, and usually some tasteless button-up with said buttons unbuttoned.

Background:
Clyfford Ward was an accident between Ciara Brennan, a first-generation Irish American, and a man that Clyff would only ever know as ”your father” said will all the aggression and disdain two words could muster. He was the product of a night of drunken awkwardness between Ciara and a man that she met at the bar. She’d been celebrating because her architecture firm had landed a large deal, and she was to head it. Surprisingly, Clyff’s father did stick around for awhile. Ciara was thankful, but only for a short time. The night of Clyff’s birth, the man stumbled into the operating room drunk and disorderly. A brief argument ignited about the spelling of Clyff’s name. What was supposed to be Clifford ended up as Clyff.

They formed a nuclear family for a short period of time before everything became as nuclear as one might imagine. One evening, when Clyff was about three, he suddenly had half-twin-sisters that were about the same age him. On that night, their family grew and shrunk like the ebb of a wave. If Clyff ever asked about his father, his mother stared long into her son’s eyes and told him that he currently lived under the bridge, wrapped in a tarp. She never let him verify that.

Clyff knew very little about the discovery of alien ruins or a Mass Relay, as he was young and all these things compiled before and after his birth. He may have been told about it, but he never remembered it. So, when he was six, the idea of aliens--far beyond the human’s comfortable space--became something he could easily accept as the norm. He still remembers snippets of news reports, and the words “First Contact War.” They became the event that his life anchored on.

Sometime after that, his mother remarried. Nelson Ward was a very good man. He was an officer in the military, and while he would disappear for long stints, the warmth he emanated when he was home would make it feel like he never left. Nelson Ward adopted Clyff and his half-twin-sisters Rebecca and Anna. His mother would have three more children with Nelson. Those children would never be as tight as him and Anna and Rebecca were. Still, James, Kyle, and Ryan were family. And like any family with a male-heavy population, they fought. Clyff would always win. It was an odd thing he was proud about.

Clyff was not the best student, but he did excel in sports and math. The latter being a surprise to his Algebra teacher when he misspelled “algerbra” but managed to get the bonus question right that she usually asked her older students to handle. He was pushed to apply for some scholarships regarding his talent in advanced math, but he enlisted in the Alliance--like Nelson Ward, a man he truly came to respect.

In 2169 he joined the Alliance. He wasn’t a prodigy, and he, unfortunately, was reprimanded more than his fair share. While Clyff didn’t have a horrible childhood, he was quite the spitfire--a trait his mother assured him that came from his biological father, even if she could hold grudges for a small eternity. Clyff didn’t excel enough for someone to consider raising his rank and recommending him to special programs, but he was trained in demolitions and breaching. A man that enjoyed running into situations and tearing things up--in a way that sometimes spurted a wild laugh--was a certain niche that needed to be filled.

Clyff’s training had him handle riot and hostage situations where he had to get in, suppress hostiles, save people, and get out with them unharmed. By no means a negotiator, he became talented at handling demolitions learning where weak points were in buildings, vehicles, ships, and other structures. This was especially helpful considering how volatile the galaxy was. When a lot of the aliens looked at humans, they saw the aggressors. They didn’t see those that were thrust accidentally into the theater of battle. So, as such, he figured he had to return that aggression. That only reaffirmed his mindset when the Skyllian Blitz happened. He heard about it, far away and not able to be deployed to help due to the situation.

Eventually, in 2177, he was promoted to Service Chief and given his own squad. There Clyff and his team showed up anywhere that needed help. One of his teammates was adamant about code names. So, they all participated in giving them to each other. Clyff received "Red Dog" as his. He agreed to it. Red was the color anger, and dogs were very loyal creatures. He never got the joke.

Shortly thereafter, he ended up in the Citadel, during leave. Rebecca and Anna had shown up to not only see their big brother, by a few months, but they’d also been chosen to study abroad by a corporation--one that Clyff didn’t pay attention to the name of--to learn more about alien culture and technology. So, he ferried them around. One night they ended up at a club. His sisters, being wide-eyed and excited about the experience, drummed up a conversation with a Blue Sun mercenary, unknowingly. Clyff was not paying attention, having run into an old friend from boot camp. Things turned quite hostile with the mercenary, as his advances were rebuffed by the sisters. That led to him trying to pressure them. Clyff butted in immediately. Not really a man for words, he punched the mercenary. That caused half of the club to stand up. Drunk, and very disorderly, he challenged them all to a fight. It was fair to say, for all the training and pent-up anger he had, he ended up in the infirmary.

It was there that he met Isabella Espinoza. She was a doctor tending to him. He’d had his arm broken, his nose broken, and gotten a rather nasty concussion. She berated him, saying that he could have lost his life. High on pain medication, he just winked at her--with both eyes--and said that he was more man than anyone could handle. Isabella rolled her eyes. She informed him had it not been for his friend, who was a high-ranking Alliance officer, he’d probably be dead. As time went on, and he was on less and less pain medication, Clyff managed to reign in his hair-trigger gruffness and became somewhat romantic.

Maybe Isabella enjoyed them somewhat handsome and dumb, or maybe he was actually quite dashing. The story changed with the person telling it. They ended up married within a year, a child on the way. It might have been a shotgun wedding, but it was nothing like his father. Clyff truly cared for his wife and child--Sofía Ward. Still, being in enlisted in the Alliance, he wasn’t always around for his family.

In 2178, he participated in the Alliance’s retaliation again the batarians on the Torfan moon. Considering the massive underground structure, knowledge of breaching and proper demolitions were helpful. It was a bloody, nasty battle, and he lost a few of his squad. Something that he'd remember on quiet days or in his sleep. He also ended up being caught up in an explosion that forced him and his team to withdraw. To this day, his ear still hasn’t managed to heal and he suffers from brief moments of tinnitus. He was more fortunate than many. That gave him a promotion to Gunnery Chief.

In 2182, Isabella Espinoza-Ward died. Stabbed to death by a patient she was attempting to sedate. The species and the makeup of the perpetrator was never given to him, but he was assured that it was not a human. Clyff was pulled back to the Citadel almost immediately. He was given a formal position there to take care of his daughter. It was mostly sitting at a desk or instructing various Alliance factions. It was boring. Still, it is what he and his daughter needed.

In 2183, the Citadel was attacked. Clyff and Sofía managed to find shelter and survive, but among all the turmoil and death--an ultimatum was made in Clyff’s head. He was tired of this.

So, in 2184 he signed up for the Andromeda Initiative. His experience, rank, and specializations were reviewed. Given his impeccable, though not entirely agreeable, service in the Alliance military, he was given a place on the Nexus ship. His daughter was also allowed admission, though she was placed on the human ark. Assured there would be a brief gap between their awakening from cyro, Clyff agreed. Anything would be better than this galaxy. He had to protect his daughter at all costs. It might be hard, but at least it would be away from the political conflict of the Milky Way. He said goodbye to his mother, step-father, and his siblings. Sofía's grandparents were no longer in the picture. So, he didn't have anyone else contesting his decision. Unfortunately, Isabella had been disavowed by them due to her beliefs. Clyff never knew if it was due to religion, medicine, sexuality, or otherwise. He just knew that. Sofía was fine with the cryo. She was actually elated to see the future. Clyff was scared, but he also knew that chances of survival were better.

When he was awoken to deal with Sloane Kelly and the others that rebelled, he heard that the human ark hadn't made it yet. Every day he thought about Sofía, and every day he rubbed the old-fashion, Earth locket she had given him. It had a picture of his daughter and his late wife in it. When the Hyperion Ark with humans showed up, Clyff became elated. That was quickly snuffed out, though, as the insufficient support systems of the Nexus meant his daughter couldn't be released from cyro.

So, his reasoning for joining APEX was simple, to help stabilize enough living areas so the entirety of Hyperion can be unfrozen, and so he could see his daughter again.

Personality:
Clyff is about as agreeable as sandpaper across the skin. He’s the sort that acts impulsively first and then tries to soak up the repercussions later. Blunt, honest, and to the point--he’s never one to mince words. While many might appreciate honesty, it is the sort that is given with a shot of vinegar. He doesn’t try to play to people’s needs or emotions.

Still, he sometimes channels his father and can be a bit of a swarthy braggart. This is usually greeted with eye-rolling or gagging noises. Some people might find him charismatic, but honestly only due to the fact that his hard-headed idiocy leaks through the cracks with his dumb lines and a sly smile. And also because his positive personality traits are worth hanging around for.

Clyff will stand between those that he cares about and danger any day of the week. He’ll throw himself into battle, and beat the ever-living-shit out of anyone that bad mouths someone he cares about. He’ll also show up for your drunk, depressed call. He might call you an idiot, but he’ll make sure you’ll to head to bed with a better opinion of yourself. He’s also that guy you see at parties that bring their own fifth and finishes it in a night, not dying from it.

He’s the worst sort of person if you don’t know him, but he can be a genuine friend.

As a marine, he’s quick to throw himself into the fray. He’ll lead the marching order to protect others. His answer to most things is a gun, but only if they deserve it. If you point a gun at him, he’ll do the same to you. He loves explosions probably a bit too much, but he isn’t overly crazy with them. Mildly crazy--maybe. He wants to get in, do his job, and get out.

If he's underneath the command of someone, he's very verbose about what is going on. Still, he has enough military training to know when to shut up and go.

Reason for being awoken from Cryo (Specific jobs, skills, and Initiative Application):
Considering that one of Clyff’s major skills is riot suppression, he was brought in when the aggressions escalated, and Sloane Kelly led a team against the Nexus hierarchy.

Equipment:
Armor:
Jormangund Technology Heavy Hazard Armor


Weapon:
M-22 Eviscerator


M-15 Vindicator


Grenade


Powers:
    Fortification
    Proximity Grenade
    Incendiary Ammo
    Carnage
    Adrenaline Rush
    Concussive Shot

Font Colour: Marigold-ish; #B77600



Name: Benjamin Obadiah Babbage
Title: Professor
Moniker: Inquisitive Researcher
Age: 32
Race: Human

Appearance:

Professor Benjamin Babbage is as stuffy as his name would imply. Of average height, the professor doesn’t cut a striking silhouette among his peers and colleagues. He does sport a rather dashing mustache that is tended to with the utmost care and consideration. His black hair is a bit shaggy but above the collar, parted on the side and paired with short sideburns—a bit of a departure from what is considered stylish, but, as many speculate, is due to the considerable effort he puts into his mustache. He might be silvering on the sides, rather young for it actually, but the temples of his glasses and tendency for hats makes it hard to tell. The professor has dim gray eyes and a noble nose, meaning that it’s a prominent feature on his face.

He dresses well, and while it is mostly utilitarian he does enjoy his odd splashes of color. Usually, he adorns himself in a black or gray sack coat, top button fastened while a bright waistcoat—complete with a pocket watch—shows itself. And this choice might come from years of scholarly endeavors where he sat more than he walked. Those choices showing themselves in the roundness of his middle. Though the professor had taken to sports at a younger age, so he’s not entirely without musculature—so says the professor, but we've seen him, and he's failry rotund. From there, his outfit doesn’t take any more consideration to be unique.

The professor enjoys standing with his feet apart and his lips set in an inquisitive twist. He usually is touching whatever he’s researching. But when his hands are by his person, they cross over his broad chest, gently stroke his mustache, or fiddle with his spectacles. In social situations, he talks with his hands if he’s enjoying himself, and if he’s not, he places them on his hips. He has very telling body language.

Primary Attribute: Watchful
Secondary Attribute: Persuasive

Connections:
The Masters: “I wouldn’t be a scholar if I didn’t exhaust all my possible resources, and the Masters are a rare and grand one. I don’t overstay my welcome, neither do I prod where one does not need prodding. But I have spoken in long berths with Mr. Wine and Mr. Pages.”
Bohemians: “They think of themselves as the forward innovators of our time when they’re actually petulant children living off the money of their parents.” He adjusts his bowtie. “Do not give me that look, I’m not being hypocritical. I’ve established my own income, and I’ve actually contributed to society.”
Constables: “If you ask me, they could do a better job of keeping the urchins from swarming me like the dirty pestilence they are. But I have no qualm with them.”
Criminals: “I am a man of importance and intellect. I gather my information from reputable sources.”
Hell: “I may have gotten drunk a few times and gladly tittered along with them, but I don’t deal much with Devils. I like my soul where it is.” He pauses and strokes his mustache. “Wherever that is.”
Revolutionaries: “A group of unorganized heathen gyrating in agonizing ineptitude. The Masters are an infinite fount of information. Would you so readily scrape away knowledge and wisdom?”
Rubbery Men: Benjamin considers it for a moment but doesn’t say anything. When asked about it again, he shrugs. “I have no quarrel with them. Though, from a scholar’s standpoint, I have so many questions. Unfortunately, they don’t have the means to answer.”
High Society: “I was born into low nobility. While I tend just fine in Society, High Society is not somewhere I shine from a noble’s standpoint. Though, I have been called to many intellectual parlors to discuss the Fourth City as a professor.” He looks proud and gives a sly smirk.
Church: “My eldest brother is a clergyman, and I attend regular service.” Benjamin looks like he has something else to say about the subject, but he remains quiet.
Docks: “I’ve taken a few trips across the zee for research purposes. That being said, I do not have a jovial rapport with the docks men and zailors.”
The Great Game: “I do not participate or have interest in the Great Game. But I’m not so daft as to not know that I’ve not been silently maneuvered within it.”
Tomb Colonies: Benjamin leans back, apparently having many a tale to regale about them. Unfortunately, he’s been asked to condense it. “I’ve used them as many a source in my research. They’re wise, intelligent, and a great resource. I respect them, and I don’t quite understand the vitriol set against them. Then again, if we based our interest and fondness upon appearances, I’m afraid we’d be led by daft lunatics.”
Urchins: “They’ve stolen my pocket watch five times. Jokes on them, after the second one was fenced, I’ve only purchased ones that are barely worth a penny.”

Background:
Benjamin Babbage was a child born with an unfortunate alliteration, that polite society nodded and accepted, and everyone else—with a thinking head on their shoulders—snorted at. He was born into nobility, but nothing of note. His family the social equivalent of that cousin you know nothing about, and so you buy gloves for them on their birthday. So, as such, his family does not just get by on being noble, they have careers and positions within society. Though, these positions are ones of clout. Many of the Babbages have taken to be clergymen. Benjamin’s eldest brother among them. Benjamin, on the other hand, was gifted with a great and grand need to be smarter than everyone else.

As such his fascination for the Fourth City, and not moving for long periods of time, bloomed at a young age, leading him to attend University—Summerset College of course, as he is not learning alongside upstarts and radicals. He’s participated in numerous archeological digs, but only ever funded three as his pockets are not infinite and sometimes half full of candies. From that he produced fine literature about the architecture and layout of the city, and from conversations with Tomb Colonists and zailors that have seen Khanate, he also wrote of their culture. Those immense books, possibly too dense to be door stops as one would never get their door closed again, never brought up anything groundbreaking but they did become a resource for many researchers to cite. And if one stacked the volumes up chronologically, they’d have a nice footrest. Though, the one thing they do offer is intricate drawings of places, things, and people. Benjamin, in another life, would have made quite the artist. In this one, he’s a stuffy intellectual that teaches and sometimes gets charcoal on his favorite white waistcoat.

As someone who usually tosses letters for various noble galas, Benjamin paused at one. He opened it up only to discover he’d been invited to a masquerade ball. With his parents leaning on him harder for marriage, as his brother wasn’t about to take up a wife and a family name, he accepted. Anything to get them be silent. Knowledge was his only lover, a thought he had in quiet and chuckled about.

the GM needs to be a strong authority. I'd hardly call it needy. if the GM let's people walk all over them then everything falls apart

Don't worry. I'm a fair GM. I'll crack down when need to, and I'll be open any other time to suggestions and interest. I run a DnD podcast where I have to herd cats HARD. Just know you can come to me with ideas! But I will never hurt the plot of the RP. Though, honestly, I'm always thinking of things for the RP.

On an entirely different note, where my ghouls at? I'm missing my melty-faced kiddos. :D


Name

Adra SonSauhl

Age

30

Gender

Female

Race

Orc

Appearance

At immediate glance one would know that she is an orc, there is nothing in her visage that hides it. Her green skin, hiding dark teals in the right light, her feral nose, and long tusks rising up from full lips were indications of her heritage. Her eyes, a deep lavender in color, were a bit more dainty but she usually narrowed them and quirked a black brow. Her features were strong but not unpleasing. Her pointed ears contained various pieces of metal jewelry that she created and worked into them. Currently, her long black hair is pulled away from her face and plaited, interwoven pieces of jewelry and metal accenting it. If one knew of orcish traditions, they'd know that was the hairstyle of one in mourning.

Her build may not be the tallest, but what she doesn't have in height, she has in stature. She's a statuesque woman with thick chorded muscles that shine through even in her bulky plate armor. Still, her feminine curves are not swallowed up by her musculature, if anything they're more accented because of it. Her armor is of an older orcish design, painted a rose color and with numerous scratches and gouges throughout. The metal collar is high and has well-taken-care-of fur around its top, coming right underneath Adra's jaw. She wears a shield on her back that is a mixture of a dulled silver and a soft gold. The design is interesting and aesthetically pleasing. If anyone knew of orcish customs, they'd know that was two family symbols interwoven--it was a marriage symbol. Her warhammer rests on her back holster. It's massive and made of a thick silver-ish metal. There are numerous, decorative filagrees across it, but one end has a square block of pure metal, the downswing on it unstoppable. And the pommel is a sharp, twisted blade.

On Adra's hip is a small blade, and treated leather pouch that holds a book, a quill, and ink. It is so she can document her journey. She shouldn't be a scholar without it. One might note that the bookmark is a thin silver chain with a well-worn ring looped through it.

Personality

Adra can be summarized as independent, fierce, and regal--with a tinge of loudness to throw those descriptors off kilter. She is happiest when she is moving, and the world around her is as it should be. This might ordain her a bit of a control freak, but it’s a little different than that. She’s content to clean messes, no matter how they come, but she refuses to sit idly by and watch them pile up.While knowledge and instruction are very important to her, being told what to do chafes her in the worst of ways.

The orc is intellectual. She doesn’t speak barbarically, especially considering that her race is far removed from those times, and she doesn’t wield her physical mass in conversation. She’s more than content to break one down with words. Though, no one should say she doesn’t enjoy a good ole fashion beating.

Adra can be sweet, but it isn’t as accessible as it once was. Her heart is very buried, and if one starts digging, they’ll reach a part of her that is very new and very bitter.

Background

To hear tell of it, Adra’s parents loathed each other. In public forums, the marketplace, or even a street corner their words would be bolstered by vitriol and accusation. For many years, and well into her adulthood, Adra would hear of her parents' distaste for one another--yet she knew that not to be true. They loved each other very deeply and very differently. They were competitive, constantly striving to do better than the other and as such, they grew as intellectuals and sometimes unfortunate thrill seekers.

Adra’s childhood was peppered with mild bits of insanity. Her mother was a folk hero, of sorts. She’d traveled, she’d fought, she’d learned, and she’d hauled home a fair share of interesting trinkets. Her father was quite the opposite. He tended to the household, and he crafted. Adra still remembers him discussing how one can find the beauty in anything. The man had a skill with metal, maybe not as a weaponsmith, but he’d create things that were fascinating and useful. Eventually, he’d be enlisted along with a blacksmith to take to weapons, as there was a sweep of interest in orcish design. So, between the two, Adra never wanted for much, but she never knew wealth and privilege.

As she grew older, her father would teach her to read, write, to research, and inevitably to craft. Adra took a far more intense interest in weaponsmithing and armor working than her father would have liked, but she was his only child and as such allowed her to pursue interests. At least she had interests, he mused. Times, when her mother would come home, would be erratic for the family. At first, Adra would just squirrel away and read, but as she became older she actually tried to broker peace between her parents. It sometimes worked and it sometimes didn’t. Though no matter the calm or chaos in her household, when her mother returned she’d teach her daughter how to fight. She viewed it as a necessity if Adra was to grow up among other orcs, some taking to the old ways. Yet, Adra didn’t care for the wonton way that orcs enjoyed throwing themselves into fights. She wanted structure, but a structure that would allow for her strength to shine through. There had to be something--

One day, she was in the commons working on her stance with a practice dummy, an orc slightly older than herself sidled up next to her and offered to help. She shot him a look before grabbing his arm and giving it a firm twist--nothing broke, but he did offer a quick apology. She admitted to needing help, but she was far from any damsel that needed to be coached like a child. He agreed, backing away and babying his arm. Yet he didn’t leave, instead he instructed her from afar, adding a ‘m’lady’ to the end of every sentence. Adra would hide her smile at this, and he’d try not to laugh at how silly this entire situation was. His name was Garthan, and he’d be Adra’s greatest strength and greatest weakness.

A few years later, Adra was to be wed. Not one to babble excessively and flit around, she actually buried herself in the creation of a shield to mark their two families coming together. Her father would hide away, tending to a weapon which she would wield much later. Garthan would be content to sit in the corner as Adra’s family took the lead on the entire preparation. Once again, standing away and only giving advice when prompted. He was never really heeded, but that’s what he loved about her. She was her own person. They were wed a day before Garthan headed out to fight with the Scorned. They needed the best, and he was among the top ranking orc warriors. Adra might have also had that position if she'd ever pledged herself to the art of war.

Adra had never suffered. She’d always worked hard and achieved. So, the day that the Sorned pulled her husband away was the day that she felt she had to work harder. He’d return, she’d think. And she would have achieved so much by then. She’d be an accomplished warrior and a scholar. They’d already be writing books about her, building monuments, and she’d have to shoo away swooning orcs. It was a wonderful fantasy, and she worked so hard to achieve it.

Time passed and in the pit of her stomach, she knew the truth. It would come to her on a rainy day. There were no happy endings in war--she should have known that. She’d read so much, much more than orcs usually did. Yet, a broken, bloodied sword laid at her doorstep felt like a reality she wasn’t prepared to handle. And, honestly, she didn’t.

Shrugging on her mother’s old, rose-colored armor, the shield that Adra had constructed, and the warhammer her father had forged for her wedding day--Adra left. She’d heard tell of the Emperor needing adventurers to head to the Ebony Mountain. She’d go there. She’d cut a path so straight and clean, people would sing songs about it.

Combat Abilities

Orc Strength
Adra is naturally strong, her bloodline insisting upon it. Yet, the years she spent with Garthan and the subsequent ones without him led her to build it up. This is both in resilience and in sheer attacking power. Her crafting skills have also given her a heads up on lifting, pulling, and pushing. As such, she may be slower than other races, but all she needs is to get a hit in.

Battlemaster
Years of training have left her with a variety of stances in which she can use to push herself forward, pull herself back, shield her allies, or be that immovable object between a foe and their goal. She knows numerous stances, and she picks up new ones when she fights her opponents. And if the stance is known to her, she can fathom how her opponent will attack and the best way to parry it. She also has two primary fighting stances: one with her shield, and holding her warhammer in a choke, wielding it as if it was a normal sized one, and the other is shrugging off her shield and gripping the warhammer low, allowing for devastating and ranged swings.

Craftsman
Adra didn’t sit around in her adulthood, just learning at whimsy and practicing whenever she felt like that. She worked alongside her father in his workshop. She enjoys function over form and avoids emblazoning gems or stones into her work, but she will inlay some filigree that could also serve as a cutting edge.


Artifact of Dramoria

ARTIFACT


Motive

Altruism, she’ll say. She isn’t the sort to let the world end around her as she sits and twiddles her thumbs. Partially, it’s for glory. She did grow up in the shadow of her fame-seeking mother. Secretly, it’s for revenge, or it’s suicide. It is hard to tell.



I do hope I am not too late to this party. I just now saw this RP, for some reason, and I'm very interested! Also, let's not discuss the rabbit hole that is finding orc pictures that aren't: a) very barbaric/tribal b) cartoonish c) overly sexualized. Oye. Me and tumblr... never again.
Added a second paragraph to appearance, describes a bit more about how he moves and such. Do I need to go into more detail?

Fixed the tenses in my writing prompt a bit, too. Sorry about that, I'm just used to a different way of speaking.


I've fixed the weaknesses, personality description, and added interaction as suggested. If there is still anything that needs tweaking, please tell me so i could fix it.


Thanks! I hate to seem so needy. :c I'm just trying to make sure everything is uniform and I have a clear idea of who is like what and what is going on. This is because I take character arcs very seriously, and I want to be inclusive of your characters and not misinterpret anything that might make it an awkward/shitty experience. It has happened before--to a GM friend of mine--and I want to avoid that experience if at all possible.

Also, I'll give this a look over when I do another round of CS checking (and by the looks of it, I may not have anymore) and I may do a preliminary acceptance. I mean, honestly, I wouldn't kick any of these CSes out of bed for eating crackers.
Benjamin had done it—knowingly. He’d probably burned bridges he wasn’t even aware existed. This was why he rarely ever participated in circles outside what he was familiar with. Library, university, and the occasional salon where intellectual conversations seemed to be more fashionable than the clothes on their body. He knew he should have just stayed home and buried himself in books—now he wished that would happen quite literally.

A gentleman seemed as if he’d been wounded to the very core of his soul as he backed away from the loosened circle that surrounded the professor. Benjamin didn’t quite know who the fellow was, but that probably had less to do with his vision and the masks and more to do with the fact that he never sought to know other people of import in Fallen London. Assured that the shunning would happen in the same coy way these people conducted themselves, Benjamin smoothed down the length of his coat in hopes of seeming to own his rudeness. That being said he was quite nonplussed. It was just like those dreams that he’d have at night where he would show up to a lecture in the buff. And then there was one time it had actually happened—he’d been young and a student and boyish dares were the only way to earn clout. Now he’d never dream of it.

The lady he had been speaking to previously began to laugh. Snide chortles were a thing of society, were they not? Yet, this began to escalate. Her laughter struck out like loud, indelicate chimes. Benjamin could feel the circle become more nervous and judgmental. He had the exact opposite reaction, he smirked. Maybe this entire ordeal wasn’t so bad, after all. It’d been a long time since he’d made someone laugh, and even longer since it had been a lady.

Another voice entered the conversation and, like a hand of a gentle matron, smoothed the fur of the bristled cat. Honestly, Benjamin didn’t know how certain people of renowned, especially not the Masters, acted in situations like these. He knew them from brief interactions at the Bazaar or from stories. Maybe his parents were right, perhaps he’d spent far too long befriending stuffy intellectuals and pages on a book and not enough with other people—any other people, really.

With the man’s declaration, people went back to their previous conversations and the noose of bodies loosened and allowed Benjamin to breathe. He thought of removing himself as well. There were bound to be unoccupied dark corners for him to silently melt into. Actually. This was the Neath, so perhaps not. He’d already made a fool of himself in this singular spot in the party, he best not spread it around like an unwanted infection. He tilted his head towards the lady as she began to speak, realizing that he hadn’t truly looked away. His focus had just shifted slightly. Her words died away, and immediately her gaze drifted elsewhere. He followed it.

Oh good, more blobby shapes. Assured that his spectacles wouldn’t give him entirely away, he fished them out of his pocket and held the lenses near to his eyes. Two hooded figures entered the room about that time. They drew attention to themselves, but while one tended to it, another did not. He had to assume the former was Wines. So, he had been correct. Now is not the time to be smug, he thought, noting the enforcement.

“I promise,” he said to the laughing lady, “I do not have the power to make my words real. Though, there looks to be more than one that I accounted for. Shame I’m not better at—” he almost said something telling of himself. Not that it really mattered. He’s said many things telling of himself. So, who cared. “Knowing who people are or attending parties in general.” He pocketed his spectacles. “So, if I may be so bold. What does this foretell? And—“ not breaking cadence, “do you have a name in which I may address you this evening? You may call me Arthur if you wish. I’ve always been fond of taking swords from beautiful women in lakes.” He smirked. “Metaphorically.” He probably should learn the art of a compliment.

@Hekazu
i also re-read the rules and did as you asked. i haven't seen anything like that before, but that's a good idea. to make sure people read the rules instead of just skim, like, uh, i did.

Yeah. I just wanted to make sure that THAT rule was read in particular, since it is the one that would offend/anger the most people. I used to be on Gaia, and they'd pull that shit A LOT. I just got used to it being a thing, and I get surprised when it's not a thing.

@Sofaking FancyDoes that make sense?

Yep. I was just verifying that I read that correctly. That's fine, a database is a-okay.

I haven't formerly announced my interest, but, I've been steadily working behind the scenes on my character.
So, ya' know. There's that.

Also, I read something about posting turns, the whole three day bit, so we're going to go within structured rounds? Asking for my own scheduling sake.

i. e. // you, me, and then whoever. Repeat in that order.

Alright! No rush. As it is stated in the 0 post, you have until this weekend. And it is solely for the reason of making sure that people can join whenever they see the RP or take their time in making a CS since I probably did make it overly complicated.

And yes, it should be structured rounds, usually. I'll probably end up dividing the cast between a couple of different missions so that there isn't a massive grouping of people doing one thing. Also, to more readily utilize different characters' skill sets. Parts of the RP that are downtime might be more relaxed as there might just be two or three people in a conversation. So, I leave it up to the player's discretion. But, you shouldn't worry about being gone most of the day and there are a million posts. That stuff kills me too. Because I can't access the site most of the day because of work. So, there has to be some order.

Glad to have your interest!
can i move Sylvia to the characters tab since i re-read the rules super close?


I'm not accepting anyone pre the close date. So, I would hold off on that. That being said, if I'm rather positive about your character, I am sure to let them join. But I want to wait until the end of the acceptance to make sure I have all the characters I need.

So please wait until I give the heads up.
Just letting you guys know. These CSes are GREAT. I am not frowning on anyone. I just need certain elements tightened up due to plot reasons. Those that have applied are awesome! I just need to make sure everything is exact for the story.
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