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6 yrs ago
Current I love sixteen hour flights
7 yrs ago
Birthday, officially twenty years old today! yikes
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8 yrs ago
Happy Holidays, everyone! Enjoy the time with your families, and stay safe on your travels!
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8 yrs ago
It's my birthday! Another year towards twenty, woooooo
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9 yrs ago
For whoever comes to read this, continue being awesome. I'm rooting for you.
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Wait is it at all possible for me to finish my second char? I'm sorry, I've been super busy all day. I'll get her done tonight. I promise.


Oh, of course it's fine. We meant new characters for new applicants! Go right ahead! :o
Okay, scratch the reply. I'll do that tomorrow.

Ambra and I finished looking at the new characters. It'll go up soon. (Actually, it's above. I got ninja posted darn)

With these final characters, we're officially closing off the roleplay from new applicants until some blood is shed.
Woo. Much needed weekend + Memorial Day off.

I'll reply and look at stuff sometime tonight.
Sigurd Lear


The young man was astonished by how much the Windkeep had changed since his last visitation. Sigurd Lear, like his family, seldom left their home in the North, and so when House Lear accepted an invitation to an event of sorts that was outside of their natural boundaries, it was taken seriously by the other regions. He had been thirteen years of age when he rode for the Windkeep with his own convoy, a longtime tradition in a Lear boy's path in coming of age.

His horse whined as it scuttled alongside his father, at the head of their party. Sigurd kept to himself, casting a sideways glance as they rode into the capital of Estiala. As with the Southern major house, they were met with the adoration of the Western natives, who had filed themselves in long pockets of population to lay eyes upon House Lear.

He was relatively undisturbed by the length of their trip, to which Joane and Isla seemed to dislike very much greatly. As Northmen and the paragons of their region, it was in their blood to remain robust and stout; at least, for Sigurd, that was how the young man had to present himself, as his father stressed. There would be no qualms for complaining when the winds of winter would come.

Sigurd set his shoulders straight, his eyes remaining to the side. "The King cordially invited us to attend his festival, he reminded Joane as she addressed their father. "A gathering of the three regions has not occurred for over fifty years. It is the greatest honor for the Northmen."

When the faces of the common folk were replaced by ones of familiarity, more or less, House Lear and its bannermen found themselves at the Windkeep in its palatial greatness. Attended by the servants and squires of House Rathmore, they were relieved of their horses, advising Ulfar Lear and the Northern lords to make haste for the tournament grounds where King Soren Rathmore awaited their arrival.

While Isla and Joane sat themselves at a bench to recuperate themselves from the fortnight of travel, Sigurd kept to his father's side, his face almost one of sadness. As much as the festival of the three regions was meant to be a week of refreshment and celebration, the boy knew of the capital's despair.

The only heir to the King, Archer Rathmore, had been the first of the crown's three children to survive a series of deadly illness, and now at the age of nine, Archer Rathmore was on the brink of suffering from his siblings' same fate. It made Sigurd think, of how many years in his youth had been claimed by the pox, but for the King of such old age to have no true heirs, no true son or daughter to hold?





Rufus Santer


As a young man of self-proclaimed above-average intelligence, Rufus sighed once in relief as he had finally triumphed over the she-devils of the brothel in their desire to keep him within their establishment, in their company. He found himself tumbling along the stairwell, clumsily ensuring that his sword would not fall from his hip and lead the squire to a tale for the crown's jester.

When Rufus stumbled out of the scandalous establishment, he was quick to close the door behind him as he threw a hand down the top of his head, keeping his shaggy brown hair from ruffling any further. One of the whores gestured from the window above while he scratched his backside, letting out a stretch for the glory of the gods.

In the midst of his yawn, Rufus found an older man showing a respectful gesture towards the wall, seeing as it was towards Jaelyn Ralei. "Oh," the squire looked between the two of them, trotting towards his princess. He proceeded to scratch the side of his face, smiling. "Lady Lyn, may I ask why you are not with Lord Ralei?"




Name:
Sigurd Lear

Age:
Eighteen-years of age.

Titles:
Heir Apparent

Origin:
Myrr Keep, the North

Allegiance:
House Lear



Personality:
An unwavering soul as stagnant as the snowy lands of the North, Sigurd dons the quiet strength within the words of House Lear. Unlike his siblings, the young man is a shy away from other people, preferring moments of solitude or among his family over the trivial matters of Estiala. He holds strict adherence to the laws of the Northmen, as his father did and his ancestors before him.

Sincere, genuine, and just, these qualities often betray Sigurd's stark and serious tendencies. The pressure of his birthright to, one day, inherit Penkarth and lead House Lear into the future does not bother the young man, as the sole son had been brought up and prepared for his whole life. To become the paragon of the North is his duty, and to tease his sisters, his family to protect.

Background:
As a young child, Sigurd Lear often pondered upon the lives of the common folk in the West and the South, and how they were treated differently based on their wealth, compared to the North. He was a very attentive boy, often listening to the many illustrious stories that the crows of House Lear would tell him about the fallen Eastern Kingdom. In addition, he was a frail and weak child, once causing an overnight uproar within Penkarth when it was discovered that the only son of Ulfar Lear, only seven years old, was afflicted with the pox.

Fortunately, the gods heard the many prayers of the family and bannerman, and Sigurd survived. His weakened state remained for several years afterwards, and throughout this time, even his sisters could best him in a spar with swords. Instead, he stuck to the confide of books, becoming very studious at the young age under his mother's care.

On Sigurd's ninth birthday, the damage to his body had dissipated, and the boy found the ability to walk normally without the support of his family members. To this day, the young man believes this to be the only time where he witnessed his father shed tears. Sigurd immediately began the process of grooming himself to become the Lord of Penkarth, and armed with a developing sword hand as well as a mind of erudite intellect, a bright future was prophesied for him.

These days, Sigurd remains very well intrigued with the lost chapters of the world. The years were kind, as the boy had become strong in body and soul; with his capabilities tempered and his relationship to his family unmatched, Sigurd is all but the leader that the North will come to receive.
Hi! I'm sorry for disappearing from the OOC, everyone. I had to finalize some plans to attend a convention, settling badge purchases and hotel reservations. rip wallet

I usually communicate through Ambra when she posts, though, so I've been paying attention to stuff. I'll be finishing Sigurd Lear today, then get an IC post up. Oh, and I'll also look at the new character, afterwards.
I still waiting for Isla to even exist


I think it's fine to post as Isla. I don't think we have any extraordinary ideas that we need to discuss, and with the clarification of her family, I'll accept her (just post your character in the tab + make sure to update it accordingly once the Lady of Lear is up and stuff!).
@smarty0114
@Ellion
@Hippocamp
@POOHEAD189
@HushedWhispers
@RainDash

Let's get some posts up, you peasants! :D
Hey, we're going over the characters now. It'll be done within the next half hour!
I'm really liking everyone's characters. Seems it was worth the patience to cast such good writers. :)
Soren Rathmore


It had been a very long time since the last gathering of the major Houses. With the North still a ways from the Windkeep, the South wasted no time in flaunting their attendance among the city that spectated. The tournament was one of fun and jest, but also of great importance; glory was to be won, as many knights from the three regions, whether their fealty was sworn to a lord or a sword seeking vows to take, had come to demonstrate the greatness of their regions.

As the King of Estiala, Soren Rathmore reminisced of his youth as a hand felt his clean-shaven chin. He had come to witness the great knights many times, and such a festival of prosperity was a ray of solace in the times of grief. The sixty-eight year old watched as the squires saw to fitting their knights with their attire, smiling as he turned to his wife.

"Your Grace," one of his attendants hovered along his side. "Lord Lear has arrived."





Rufus Santer


Rufus Santer had been up to no good. While his liege had obliged the young man that it was no issue to roam the city of the Windkeep as they awaited for the arrival of the Northerners, the squire found himself having too much fun, as the Raleis frequently told him.

Cursing as he rushed to bring his clothing back to his rightful body, Rufus kept his eyes on his reflection, paying no heed to the other pair of eyes that fit the woman's devious smirk.

"Where must you go?" she called out to him, her fingers twining along several locks of her dark hair. Rufus clicked his tongue a few times, continuing to clothe himself in a hurry as the naked woman watched him.

"To the tourney," Rufus replied as he slipped his pair of boots tight against his feet, making sure that he was as presentable as when House Ralei arrived. "It's almost time."

The woman sighed apathetically, rolling to her back. "So soon?"

As Rufus finished grooming himself, the male dug into his pocket and flicked a single silver towards the bed, grinning. "A squire mustn't be late to attend his knight."
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