Solace

Jaysong | Medieval Fantasy [18+]

Ecros was one hell of a shithole.

Cleon Knight figured that only criminals and desperately stupid people came to live in the lawless den. If the man had known that some orc would be trying to give him a not-so-friendly hug, he would have stopped himself from bombarding the place two years ago. Since when did he suddenly become the most suspicious person in the entire continent? Even the most hated species was itching to throw a fist at him.

He did not have the patience to prolong the scene that the orc was creating. While Cleon did continue to try and ignore it, the slobber splattering across his face and the smell of desperate living did make it considerably difficult. Here he was, trying to have a few drinks, thinking about staying for the day and hitting the road the next day. All of a sudden, travelling in the middle of a scorching desert sounded like a party invitation.

Cleon sighed. Everything and his substantial lack of booze was pissing him off. His hand dropped the glass to the table that he was sitting before, taking a breath. He did not bat an eye towards the orc as his fingers swept to the side and drew the flintlock pistol from his holster, not even moving from his seat as his problem was solved.

Sure, it was bloody and loud, and cleaning orc remains was not the most exciting job, but Cleon wasn't going to do anything. He just wanted some peace and quiet, and the saloon, for him, was now exactly that. Holstering the smoking weapon, he sighed in relief.

"Another one," Cleon pushed his cup forward, his expression blank while the keeper obliged.

Jaysong | Medieval Fantasy [18+]

Information

Height: 6'0

Hair Color: Dark auburn

Eye Color: Sea green

Complexion: Tan

Body Composition: Lean-muscular

Name:

Cleon Knight

Age:

Twenty-six years old.

Gender:

Male

Race:

Human (Solarian)

Origin:

Mers, Astrax

Profession:

Stone mason (former), Soldier (former), Bounty hunter (current)

Weapon(s):

Cleon keeps a tomahawk among other things attached to his belt, showing proficiency fighting up close with this weapon. He has little to no experience with swords or the conventional weapons of the outside world, as he is a foreigner to the rest of the continent.

In addition to his hatchet, Cleon retains his flintlock pistol issued to him during the Astrax-Estialian Conflict. He is a fairly accurate shooter in the weapon's effective range, and if needed, he is capable of shooting three times every minute. Outside of the wartime period, he does not demonstrate this unnecessary feat any longer, and only resolves to the pistol when completing a job, saving his own life in a pinch, or eliminating an annoyance quickly.

Personality:

Cleon is very much a blunt and direct person, usually speaking without a filter. A vivid dreamer, he enjoys adventure greatly, but would much prefer to settle down and relax for a while. He may be quick to anger at many times, boasting a temper as fast as he can draw his pistol and pull the trigger.

Even then, Cleon enjoys discussion when there is discussion to be held. He is a bit of a wisecrack, but usually tends to know when too much is too much, unless it comes to drinking. The man is prone to periods of isolation, given his lack of knowledge of the world outside his home country, which does push him slightly over the edge faster at times.

If given enough of a chance, Cleon is kind and a true friend, and one may see the cracks and instabilities that trouble the man within his mental fortress.

Biography:

Cleon Knight was the name bestowed upon the infant when he was left as an orphan. Unlike the other boys and girls, he grew up with a fascination for the outside world beyond theirs, admiring the stories of kings and knights, of which he had been named after. Even after he turned eight and he was adopted, he never considered them to be his true family, and often left home to return to his friends at the orphanage.

Cleon was taught how to read and write by his adoptive father, of whom was the only close person to him in the family. As the only person who had truly wanted the boy as a part of their family, his adoptive father often argued with his mother, eventually creating such a rift that she took her two daughters and left them.

He would grow up to be a normal young man, his adoptive father able to send him to school for a better education. Cleon did struggle with his studies, but persevered and decided to follow his adoptive father's steps as a worker for the city.

Several years down the line, Astrax announced that a draft would be held after tensions with Estiala had reached a boiling point. Cleon was selected, sent off to fight a 'war' - he was in numerous battles and fought in Ecros, where the entire region's destruction resulted in a stalemate between Astrax and Estiala.

Afterwards, when Cleon returned home, he was informed that his adoptive father had passed away from illness. He abandoned his former home, wishing to find a new one as he explores the outside world.

Other:

Cleon has a fondness for cats.

Group Fantasy RP

I'm interested! Keeping my eye on this one.

Kingless Symphony: Emissary of Ascension

Okay, another announcement. And sadly, this is the last announcement.

This RP is not going to continue. This is not because of the lack of interest of the RPers, but a multitude of factors melded together into one (people not responding to our inquiries, people beginning to drop out cause they have no motivation, etc). As I'm typing this, I'm not sure how to feel. I'm not certain if I feel frustrated or just plain sad with the situation. It appears that, no matter how much effort @Solace and I put into a RP, it just flops.

And so, I'm not going to keep dragging this along. This RP is now closed. With that, I will withdraw from all group RPs, but will remain active on the site. Perhaps you'll see me roaming about the 1x1 Interest Checks.

Ciao.

Ambra

Separately, I'll write off in a more regulated and articulated response.

So like, yes this sucks because we've been stressing for activity over the last few days. Yeah, it sucks that you guys got some posts up and it finally opens up room for us to move on. And yeah, it sucks that it only just stared and wasn't even beginning to get into anything.

I don't usually organize and coordinate roleplays in an open manner like this one. I've done it very sparingly in the past because I'm prone to being accused of doing too much/putting my own health and mind under huge stress to get things done.

The reasoning why Ambra was always really direct and pushing for activity is because every roleplay that we've done in the past, each and every one of these roleplays that we've worked and written and put our minds under immense pressure to theorize and make, it's failed.

@RainDash knows from another certain roleplay that we did, where we weren't as proactive as we were in ensuring activity, one that we ran for a year and I even wrote music for, had not gotten past the first-second portions of the driven story because we were lenient with people going about their own roleplays instead of our own creation.

@Ambra has responsibilities. I have responsibilities and taxing jobs to complete in my daily life. RPG is far from being our priority in life, obviously. But when you work so hard for something, with so many hopes that it won't falter like a teetering tower of blocks, for that something to finally be the one thing you can be proud of actually being successful with because it's the very thing you love, of course someone like @Ambra will get upset at the fact that something isn't right.

I am, or was, a passionate writer for a lot of times. No need to delve into my history, but this is one of those things that's just become something that isn't motivating to come to, anymore. I love the concepts that I wanted to incorporate, the world I wanted to introduce, the characters that you and I all created and wanted to write for.

Sadly, to cut it short, I'm not motivated to continue this, any longer. It took a long time of thinking, and in the end, to save me the longtime stress of dealing with the time I wasted, we're going to end the roleplay here. There's no animosity intended obviously, Ambra is upset of course but I'm just delivering our will.

Thanks for helping us try to start something like this. I needed the kick of inspiration to create something that I enjoyed for a long time, and for the first week or so, I felt that joy. I don't think I'll be creating any more roleplays, I'm getting way too old and gaining less time due to personal life stuff.

If I'm not around RPG to see you in threads and stuff, good luck writing and I want to say continue being awesome in life. I know it's busy and might be tough but thank you for helping us with the first steps.

Good luck!

Kingless Symphony: Emissary of Ascension

Rufus Santer

Jaelyn seemed to find Rufus a jester of sorts, to which the squire held no protest. The young man looked between the princess and the other male, joined by a younger girl. They had simply watched their exchange, and continued to do so as they observed silently. It unnerved Rufus, slightly.

"He will," the squire nodded, taking a few steps away from Jaelyn. "But the poor man needs coin. What's a knight without armor?"

Rufus had been extremely fortunate to become a vassal to House Ralei, though as with all squires, he had a distinct lack of a salary as an envoy for the House. His tutelage had been enough for him to secure a paying job in the Higher Cities, and slowly, the young man was building up his stash of golden foxes.

Obviously, to Jaelyn, he was only joking. Even if he was not being paid, Rufus was sworn to protect the people of House Ralei; he was no sellsword, bartering his loyalties to the highest bidder. "Let us return to the event before your mother desires my head on a pike."

@Ambra @Wernher

---

---

Sigurd Lear

When his father and mother had disembarked from their horses and finished their discussion, Sigurd was prompted by a maester alongside his family that their attendance was duly necessary, as they were late arrivals. The Northern bannermen dispersed as necessary, while the Lords of each House and their families followed the leading maesters to the tournament grounds.

Sigurd looked to his sisters. "It's time to go," he said, following his parents through the city of the Windkeep. As they weaved around a fountain at the town square, the young man walked on with his hands held together behind his back, feeling him and his family catch the eye of many. They were the Great House of the North, after all; they were easily recognizable, and truthfully, it made him slightly uncomfortable.

After a bit of walking, the scenery and environment changed to that of a large field, on the opposite end of the city. Sigurd was impressed by the gathering of the diverse continent, receiving many cheers as they were granted a clear path to the pavilion. Like most of the architecture, it was gilded and slightly elevated, likely built atop of a hilly portion that the West was known for.

"Ulfar Lear!"

A distinctive voice, authoritative and reminiscent of the North, shook Sigurd from his thoughts as they were stepping into the pavilion. "Your Grace," he uttered instinctively as the King of Estiala rose from his makeshift throne of a chair, and personally greeted his parents. A younger boy sat in the lap of an older woman, presuming them to be the Queen and Prince.

Soren Rathmore had always been a friend to the North, as Sigurd learned of the king's history. The King had been raised under their grandfather, and so, Soren took kindly to the virtues of the North. "Come, Euric!" he motioned a hand towards Lord and Lady Ralei, smiling.

@RainDash @Ellion @Wernher @HushedWhispers @NarcissisticPotato [@any other character in pavilion]

Kingless Symphony: Emissary of Ascension

@HushedWhispers @NarcissisticPotato If it's no problem, can I move Lord/Lady Lear to the pavilion in my reply? I do want to jump ahead, a little bit.

Kingless Symphony: Emissary of Ascension

To be fair, we just need a post from the Lord and/or Lady of Lear. One or the other, we just need to move on. Busy or not, collab or regular posts, we need a post of some capacity. It's been way too long and I want to get things moving before a longer period of inactivity happens.

If there isn't a post tomorrow, I'm going to have to move the story along, since one of our participants is very complacent about the wait. :(

@Ambra I am really interested in the Emissary part of the title? Is that spoilers to ask who the Emissary is? : p IF it is feel free to just write Spoilers or some such I like surprises.

@Hippocamp

I come up with the plots and titles of such. It's kind of a metaphor, but for what, is a mystery. :o

Kingless Symphony: Emissary of Ascension

Rufus Santer

Rufus' admirable smirk defused to one of a weary smile as Jaelyn began to behead him for his scandalous activities within the brothel. The squire had always found no trouble in indulging himself within an ounce of fun, every now and then, especially if it was within the royal capital where the women were desirable. Though, personally, he still preferred the ones from the South, if he had a choice.

"I've no time to myself these days, my lady! Certainly, in your noble heart, must you find the kindness to allow a squire his off-time!" Rufus spoke in an eloquent tone of voice, mirroring the manner of speech prevalent among the highest of nobles. It was an accent that he actually detested for its almost-condescending sound, but one that he had no difficulty rendering.

While Jaelyn kept her sullen expression, the corners of Rufus' lips curled upwards into a wide smile, laughing. "I must apologize to Lady Ralei when we return to the tourney. For a lady of your stature to be seen in this... unlucky location, it reeks of dishonor."

Rufus, like his relationship with the other two siblings, found him a close friend and confidante to Jaelyn, as the page-turned squire had become more of such than a young boy tasked with cleaning their rooms and pouring the wine of House Ralei. Many squires dreamed of knighthood and taking the vows of chivalry to wear like their armor, but Rufus had already accomplished his own dream; the company of friends was all the young man needed.

@Ambra

---

---

Archer Rathmore

Even in his sickness, Archer Rathmore was a restless boy, and longed to see the tales of past tournaments come to life. The nine-year old boy had ventured from the confines of his bedroom in the Windkeep, against his mother's urges to remain in bed. He had grown bored, and the sight from his window was incomparable to actually being there.

Along the streets of the Higher Cities, it was a bit of a bizarre sight to see a member of the Kingsguard wheeling Archer along in a wagon, searching for the tournament grounds. "My lord, hasn't your father ordered-"

"Well, I'm ordering you to take me to my father!" Archer interrupted the knight abruptly in a childish manner, causing the man to sigh and continue with the little lord's command.

His light brown eyes circulated as they stopped at the statue of the Andals, scanning the area of the Houses for his father. When he spotted his father, Archer tapped the knight's gauntlet erratically, pointing towards the pavilion.

Weaving through the crowds of spectators and participants alike, Archer was taken from the wagon and carried into the arms of the Kingsguard, who walked through the tables of each respective House. Stopping near the steps leading to the upper seat where the King sat, the boy waved. "Father!" he called out, catching Soren's attention as a surprised look came about the old man's features.

"Archer?" Soren tilted his head, motioning the boy to come forward. Archer told the Kingsguard to let him down, and when he did, the boy took a few steps up before he fell forward. Another Kingsguard caught the little lord, and helped the boy up to his father.

"Your mother told you to stay in your room," Soren reminded Archer as the boy excitedly placed his hands against his father's lap.

Archer frowned, coughing. "I couldn't miss the tournament of the three regions, father," he explained.

Soren sighed, closing his eyes momentarily before re-opening them to smile down at his son. He affectionately ran a hand along Archer's cheek, tapping his shoulder and pointing to Elizabeth. "Go sit with your mum," he told the boy.

@HushedWhispers @Hippocamp (whoever is at a table at the tournament area like House Ralei)

---

---

Sigurd Lear

Smiling at his sister's response, Sigurd found it difficult to hold to the positive expression for too long. "Of course," he did not look to Ser Wyeth Mallory as the knight went off to the tournament before they would go themselves. The young man took a deep breath as he awaited for his father and mother to finish their business, standing off to the side and observing the Windkeep with admiration.

@RainDash @HushedWhispers @Ellion

Kingless Symphony: Emissary of Ascension

Soren's biography is long. Very long. But not only is he the King, but he is also an oldie; sixty-eight years of age ain't gonna be summarized in three paragraphs. So I split it off into three parts of varying sizes. If you're interested in lore regarding the history of the King, as well as what's going on in the Eastern Region, you can read it if you like. Otherwise, I won't smite you for not doing so. :D

Important things to basically pick up in TL;DR
- Soren has close ties to the North (as a kid, sent to the North under Darion Lear's watch)
- Father (Validus Rathmore, previous king) was pretty insane and an evil ruler
- Ended up overthrowing his father at age of fifteen, three months before he would come of eligibility to rule
- Eastern Region has spooky scary skeletons, zomzoms, wendigos, and white walkers

---

---

Information

Height: 6'1

Hair Color: Black (young), Gray (current)

Eye Color: Brown (right eye), Colorless (left eye)

Complexion: Light

Body Composition: Slightly plump

Scars: Serrated cut from mid-forehead just above the left eye, running down to mid-cheek

Name:

Soren Rathmore

Age:

Sixty-eight years of age.

Titles:

King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Three Regions, Protector of the Realm, Lord of the Windkeep, and Lord Paramount of the West.

Formal address is Soren of the House Rathmore, the first of His name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Three Regions and Protector of the Realm.

Origin:

The Windkeep

Allegiance:

House Rathmore

Family

Validus Rathmore - Father (Deceased)

Lumara Rathmore - Mother (Deceased)

Armin Rathmore - Brother (Younger) (Deceased)

Elizabeth Rathmore - Wife

Soren Rathmore II - Son (Oldest) (Deceased)

Feye Rathmore - Daughter (Deceased)

Archer Rathmore - Son (Youngest)

Alexander Rathmore - Cousin

Personality:

Many stipulate that Soren Rathmore's stout and resilient nature pays homage to his time spent amongst the Northmen in his youth. As one of the few people who lived during the final years of the Eastern Kingdom's existence, his eyes seemingly have a haunted affinity beyond the scar on his face; slightly troubled from those past experiences, he is very reserved and against sharing stories from the times of the fallen kingdom.

In front of this, Soren is by all means a charming and charismatic individual, having always boasted wisdom beyond his years when he was a younger man. He has ruled Estiala just and well, opposite of his father's more treacherous term; he cares for each and every subject he has ever had, and cherishes what remaining family he has left. Soren is duly protective of his last son, Archer, and has fallen upon sadder days with Archer's sickness.

Background:

Childhood

Hidden underneath all of the grief and trepidation that Soren Rathmore has seen and experienced all throughout his sixty-eight years of living, the proud son of Validus and Lumara Rathmore stood at the pedestal of Estiala when the royal crown had produced a strong and healthy heir. Growing up, Soren was spoiled immensely for his status as the heir to the crown when it would come to be his time to rule, and so, he was properly groomed in the ways of House Rathmore.

However, the happy picture was nothing short of temporary. King Validus, who had ruled Estiala for a decade until Soren's birth, had become consumed within the greed that developed with inheriting the seat of the king. Soon, Validus grew to detest his two sons, as their existences were a daily reminder that Validus' rule would someday come to an end, and so, his power would be lost. The king abused his sons in secrecy, and when the council would question the status of the two boys, Validus would send the young Soren and Armin to the colder winds of the North.

Darion Lear, Lord of Penkarth and Lord Paramount of the North, was more than welcomed to receive the sons of House Rathmore. Initially, Soren felt trapped within the foreign borders, and the eight-year old feared the Northmen as much as he feared his father. Though, he found himself absorbed into the culture of the cold region, and while he prodded himself to remain true to the traditions of the Andals, Soren could not help but see the wrongs that King Validus exerted upon their own culture.

For five years, Soren and Armin floated between their birthright in the West and the home of their hearts in the North to visit their mother, finding ounces of a stronger character as they colloquially spent their time among the Northmen. At thirteen, the brothers were ordered to be returned to the possession of House Rathmore, as Queen Lumara had passed away in her sleep.

Young Years

But, Soren resisted his father's abuse, and while King Validus sneered at the boys for betraying the West through their favor of the Northern culture, the King truly had none to blame but himself. Without his wife at his side, King Validus began to grow in madness, his power-hungriness in continual starvation. When Soren turned the age of fifteen, the Master of Whispers revealed to the Rathmore brothers that King Validus had murdered Queen Lumara in her disagreement with his methods of rule.

The West was on the brink of economical collapse as sudden pleas from the Eastern Kingdom went ignored by King Validus. Their relations to the North and South deteriorated as the King looked upon his subjects with a tyrannical ideology. As Soren was nearing the age of sixteen, he was poised to come of age, as it was when he would become suitable for the crown. But, the boy's vengeance for the life of thousands, including his mother, flared uncontrollably.

Three months before his sixteenth name day, Soren Rathmore organized a coup d'état to overthrow his father from furthering the madness that was his rule. With support from the North and the council formerly loyal to Validus, they ousted the madman from his rule in the eye of the general public and denounced his titles. With no hesitation, Validus began to slander the name of House Rathmore, claiming that Soren was no claimant to the throne. Through this, the boy denied his father's allegations, and Soren Rathmore declared himself the new King of Estiala, his first royal decree to sentence his father to death for treason against the realm.

Through this, few considered Soren Rathmore a kinslayer, but in the eyes of the rest, considered him one of heroic qualities. With the royal council working closely under the new patriarch, Soren Rathmore spent the next two years attempting to revitalize the West's destroyed economy. When he finished mending relations with the Southern region, he turned his eyes to the Eastern Kingdom, of whom no word had come from its borders since his father's rule.

Growing worried, King Soren looked upon the Eastern Kingdom's last message, which had been a distress call. He organized an army and led a march to the eastern borders himself, but when they reached the other side of the mountains, no signs of civilization remained. Only a few miles into the east, skeletons both human and wildlife were found, and the castle of an Eastern house, Ogland's Summit, was abandoned. When Soren thought that invaders had come and sacked the Eastern Kingdoms, he was only-half correct; at Ogland's Summit, they were attacked.

But not by humans. Creatures of varying sizes, grotesque corpses reanimated from the rot, things from the tales of horror passed by the campfire. Soren ordered the retreat of his small army, but by the time they were out of the eastern borders, two-thirds of the small army had been eviscerated by the monsters. From that day, Soren ordered the construction of a wall that would span against the borders of the three regions, blocking off every Eastern waypoint.

Current

In the next four to five decades, Soren Rathmore continued to rule the nation where his father failed greatly. He loved his wife with all his heart, even in the discrepancies of their ages; he was a young romantic at heart, regardless. His attempts to father an heir failed when his first son, named after him, came ill and passed away at the age of three. No sooner, his next daughter, Feye, passed away at four years of age from a similar illness.

It was at this time, Soren Rathmore believed that he had been cursed for ordering the execution of his father, and that he had truly been a kinslayer. Though, this was temporarily disproved when his next son, Archer Rathmore, was born healthy and strong. They were happy for the years of his only son's good fortune, but fate was cruel, and intent on claiming another.

Kingless Symphony: Emissary of Ascension

I'll post now since the site is back to normal.

EDIT: Sorry, it's taking awhile. I'm actually also making character sheets for Soren Rathmore.