spicykvnt

The Elder Scrolls: Night of Pestilence

Joy

Joy

_{31 | ♀ | Honorhall, Riften | Nord/Imperial
^{_______________________________________________}
Barmaid, Bard, Aspiring Novelist
^{_______________________________________________}
Willpower (Major) Personality (Minor)}

_{══════ A P P E A R A N C E ══════}

Joy is of average height - standing at 5'6. Her figure is womanly, soft, and unthreatening and it is clear she has a fondness for food. Somehow, she keeps herself in an enviably svelte shape that has caught the eyes of more than a few men and women. During winter, she has the pale appearance typical of a Nord, her hair falls like fire to her collarbones, in soft curls -- one section happens to be far more unruly and so she often tucks it behind a hairband. Joy does not care too much for over grooming herself, she is not a vain individual, and yet she still radiates an undone kind of beauty, her smile is especially disarming in its sincerity.

If she is fair in winter, her Imperial heritage shows in the summer, the sun drawing out a more olive tone to her skin. Her hair, too, takes on a far more golden lustre in the sunlight.

Perhaps the most standout of her features are her eyes. They carry the colour of a brittle blue sky, and are warm with happiness. She communicates well with expression, not averse to raising a brow to be coquettish, or pulling her full lips downwards into a faux frown to coax a laugh from someone else. When Joy smiles, it is clearly a mischievous one that reflects her mind at work.

Under her clothing, she bares the scars of her trade. An accident with a pan of boiling sugar has left a particularly nasty burn across her ribs, trickling to her hips. It makes her nervous and insecure, to have such a wound; at the same time, it is her secret. She sees it as a stream, and looks at it as her reminder of the current of life. As well as the sugar stream, her hands are peppered with knife cuts - scars from years ago, and always some more recent marks. She is not quite as bothered by these as she is by her disfiguring burn.

_{═══════ P E R S O N A L I T Y ══════}

Joy is at her very essence, a hopeless romantic. She has searched endlessly for requited love, whether that is familial, found in platonic friendship, or romantic love. It is the only thing she has ever felt that her life was truly lacking. A home. She found that, or so she believed, in The Blushing Hawk -- seeing the women she tended to with sisterly affection. During her time there, she saw many of them arrive, work, and then leave eventually, in a manner that was not too dissimilar to her upbringing in Honorhall.

The friendliness they shared ended when they would leave. Despite this, Joy has fond memories of them too - and so is drawn to women as friends quite quickly. The women saw her through her own heartbreaks, and soothed her when she was sad too.

She is naturally charismatic, with a curiosity about everyone and everything. She is the kind of woman who carries you away with her, and makes you feel as if you are the only one who matters to her. It is a byproduct of her living a life where people come and go as freely as they need to. She is poetic in her speech, and even more so in her thought. Observant of the world around her, she sees beauty in everything, even if her life has shown her nothing but ugliness. She has come to expect only short relationships from those she encounters. Her empathic nature lends itself well to finding trust in others quite quickly. They move on, and she stays behind - in the moments she shares with others, she wants to see the world through their eyes.

Having never been adopted by a family, and having been sold to a brothel, her unorthodox upbringing has left her riddled with her own insecurities. She opts to hide this behind her trademark smile - never letting her vulnerability show for fear of judgement. She fears that she will never find stability in her life, with someone, with a family. Like anyone else, Joy is not without the ability to feel deep sadness from time to time too. She grieves for the life she never had, and the mystery of her parentage will always haunt her on some level. Her own insecure questions that she carries in her heart for her mother and father sting her from time to time. It would take someone who knew similar feelings of pain and loss to find them within Joy.

The hardships she has faced have never truly broken her spirit, however, and instead they have only ever made her more adamant to find happiness in dark spaces. She brushes off negativity rather easily, and has an easy way of approaching almost anyone, finding it easy to make a good impression.

A practicing bard and performer of sorts, she adores music and brings a flair of musicality to most of the things that she does - writing songs about her experiences in love, life, and even penning songs about the tales of deeds of those she has met.

Joy is a caretaker to those around her, giving herself almost selflessly to the needs of others, she fills her cup by being a listening ear with a wise and uplifting word to others when they need it, even if they don’t know it.

One would be foolish to pass her off as a simple barmaid spouting loving words. Many have, and many came to regret that. Joy was never formally educated, so she has no real intelligence of the world and it's history - only the stories she hears from others. Her emotional intelligence is much more astute and she is patient. This level of emotional intelligence has afforded her an almost fearless level of grit. She is more bold and daring than her lack of skills should allow her to be, and more outspoken than most too. She speaks for those in need, and is not afraid to speak her mind loud and proud when it comes to matters of morality and justice. She has no fear towards other people, no concept of authority and respecting a view because it has passed through a hierarchy. It is her ability to see the good in people that gives her the confidence to talk openly with anyone, about anything.

_{═══════ H I S T O R Y ══════}

My name is Joy, just Joy.

Nobody knows where or when I was born, only where I was found. I was discovered abandoned in Riften, under the shawls of the first snow of Frostfall. It was the blurred vision of a blushing drunk, and his curiosity that followed that led to my being rescued from a sure death, and soon after that encounter, I was sent to Honorhall Orphanage.

It was a bleak childhood. The Matron of the Orphanage was crueler behind closed doors and I spent most of my time dreaming about my future. I always felt so deeply unsettled, and I was never satisfied with the nonchalance and disregard of who I really was, of who left me, of who my parents were.

My fellow orphans and I would play together with the few toys we had, often we’d fashion dolls and the like from the sticks and stones in the yard and we would play out our lives in those hours of free time. I have never been able to cast a spell, but I like to believe that the other orphans and I created magic by the fireplace from pure imagination.

I watched over the years as one by one they were each adopted and I never saw them again. We had always promised to be friends forever, but once their ‘forever’ was with a family that loved and chose them… My forever with them was extinguished.

At 14, with no hopes of adoption at my age, I was simply sold to a Dunmer Madam named Minasi. I rode with her in the back of a cart from Riften to Windhelm, I was frightened, my life, as miserable as it had been, was changing. I always believed that it was better the misfortune that you know, than the one that you did not. She barely spoke a word, only prodded and poked at me on the ride.

I was soon put to work in her brothel, The Blushing Hawk. I was bought as her maid, since she was frailer in her age now and ailed with a rattling cough. The other women she employed were too busy with duties of a different kind to be of any other use to her. Minasi worked me hard, and over time I learned that this was simply her pride, and her need to run a safe place for the people who stepped in.

She was certainly refined, and the unmistakable matriarch of her establishment, but I could see in the smouldering embers of her eyes that she was wounded in many ways more than her ill health. I theorised that perhaps once upon a time, she had been just a girl here too, how she may have loved and lost, as many of us did. Her temper was coarse, in a way that I could only liken to a saber-cat with a thorn wedged in her paw. She was eager to react to any touch. Her flame had gone out.

After a year or two of that, the last of her kitchen staff left and I was then put to work in there. I’d never even picked up a knife or peeled a potato, but I learned quickly. Before long, I’d moved on from simple stews, to pies, to some rather exquisite desserts. When I wasn’t cooking, I was plucking the strings of a lute that had been left behind by a patron. The very same one I have now. I taught myself to play music, putting myself through the rigorous torture of freezing the tips of my fingers in the snow just so that I could play as cleanly as possible. What else could I do, but give something my all? It was how I showed the dedication to my craft. I still do it to this day. After this, Minasi saw something valuable in me and at the late age of 19 she started teaching me how to read and write.

I struggled with it at first and she would slap the backs of my hands if my penmanship was anything less than perfect. I think for close to a year the skin was red raw -- but I learned. That’s my gift you see, persistence, and the voracious hunger to learn crafts. As she continued to lose her vitality, I became the one holding the establishment together. She was approaching the winter of her life, and I, my spring. I kept the girls and the patrons fed, I sang and played music while they waited, I kept the place clean, mended the sheets, curtains, and clothing.

It had been a slow evening when I came to her in her bed, I could see that the colour from her eyes had drained completely, and there was no longer any light behind them. She was the cruel mother I had never wanted, a far cry from the kind woman in my dreams who nurtured and took care of me, held me, and fed me with warmth. But, however I looked at it, Minasi had raised me, and everything I had, I had her to thank for. There was no love between us, my coming into her life was a transaction, how could there be love?

Minasi had told me once that we lived our lives like a stream, travelling in more or less one direction until we were broken off into something that led us to a new current, a new path...

That change came soon enough after Minasi had passed. Disruption and bloodshed in the city brought tension, strangers, and whispers until finally the sky opened -- blooming like a flower raining fire. The shadows of wings darkened the streets, and the Blushing Hawk was just an obstacle in the path of someone else's terrible conflict. In that instant our lives changed forever, and we were forced to take what we could and flee, or perish. We had that choice, so many of the ones we knew were not given it. They were bones and dust on the ground.

That day, the flow of my life was altered and I was torn from those I had chosen as my family, from the world that I had known for most of my adult life. It wasn’t until the sun came back, that I learned that throughout those definitive years, I had been blind.

All I had seen day after day was The Blushing Hawk. It was so much so, that the only thing that had mattered in my world was that rickety brothel, in the backstreets of grey Windhelm. With only it’s ashes now swept into the air, I was forced to open my eyes and I observed that most people had nothing to do with my world at all. I couldn’t stop thinking about the life I could have led, had fate not carried me on that cart with Minasi from Riften to the doors of the Hawk.

Sometimes the only way to carry ourselves through such tragedy is by believing that our dreams may come true, and our prayers are answered. My only hope now is that one day, in some quiet place, there will be a house on a hill with a candle in the window for me.

Calling me home at last.

_{▼ S K I L L S}
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Speechcraft - Music and Empathy - Expert
► Provisioning - Culinary arts - Expert
► Tailoring - Adept}

_{▼ R E L A T I O N S & A F F I L I A T I O N S}
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Honorhall Orphanage
► The now-destroyed Blushing Hawk
► A number of adventurous men she once called lovers, who are occasionally the subject of her songs.}


_{▼ E Q U I P M E N T}
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Stylish linen rucksack.
► Coin Purse - 47 septims currently.
► Lyre, Lute, Ankle Chimes.
► A brooch in the shape of wings with a blue stone in the centre - the only clue she has to her parentage. She keeps this hidden.
► Sewing and knitting needles, threads.
► A set of 6 chef’s knives, and the tools to keep them sharp and well maintained.
► Tasting spoons seem to litter her pockets.
► Pinches and pouches of salt in various grind sizes, as well as sugars and other herbs - always somewhere on her person to sprinkle into a dish without searching too far.
► Parchments, notebooks, quills, and ink pots -- a supply of everything she needs to continue writing her songs, and more recently, a novel that she is working on drawn from the stories of those she meets..}


_{▼ C L O T H I N G & A R M O U R}
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Casual:Never one for vanity, Joy dresses in simple outfits - usually in shades of light hues, figure hugging feminine clothing that do not necessarily have grandiose embellishments, but little touches here and there in pretty stitching. Practical clothing, that allows her to move freely. She will often be wearing her apron as she gets to work in the kitchens, or to her other barmaid duties.
► Formal:When performing, she dresses slightly more luxuriously - as much as can be allowed. She’ll wear deeper hues, revealing cuts, and often opt to go barefoot, banded chimes adorn her ankles and she will show a lucrative amount of skin to display them.}

The Elder Scrolls: Night of Pestilence

Joy

Joy

_{31 | ♀ | Honorhall, Riften | Nord/Imperial
^{_______________________________________________}
Barmaid, Bard, Aspiring Novelist
^{_______________________________________________}
Willpower (Major) Personality (Minor)}

_{══════ A P P E A R A N C E ══════}

Joy is of average height, and her figure is soft and unthreatening, she has a fondness for food but keeps herself in an enviably svelte shape that has caught the eyes of more than a few men and women. During winter, she has the pale appearance typical of a Nord, her hair falls like fire to her collarbones, in soft curls -- one section happens to be far more unruly and so she often tucks it behind a hairband. Joy does not care too much for over grooming herself, she is not a vain individual, and yet she still radiates an undone kind of beauty, her smile is especially disarming in its sincerity.

If she is fair in winter, her Imperial heritage shows in the summer, the sun drawing out a more olive tone to her skin. Her hair, too, takes on a far more golden lustre in the sunlight.

Perhaps the most standout of her features are her eyes. They carry the colour of a brittle blue sky, and are warm with happiness. She communicates well with expression, not averse to raising a brow to be coquettish, or pulling her full lips downwards into a faux frown to coax a laugh from someone else. When Joy smiles, it is clearly a mischievous one that reflects her mind at work.

Under her clothing, she bares the scars of her trade. An accident with a pan of boiling sugar has left a particularly nasty burn across her ribs, trickling to her hips. It makes her nervous and insecure, to have such a wound; at the same time, it is her secret. She sees it as a stream, and looks at it as her reminder of the current of life. As well as the sugar stream, her hands are peppered with knife cuts - scars from years ago, and always some more recent marks. She is not quite as bothered by these, as she sometimes is about her larger burn.

_{═══════ P E R S O N A L I T Y ══════}

Joy is at her very essence, a hopeless romantic. She has searched endlessly for requited love, whether that is familial, found in platonic friendship, or romantic love. It is the only thing she has ever felt that her life was truly lacking. A home. She is poetic in her speech, and even more so in her thought. Observant of the world around her, she sees beauty in everything, even if her life has shown her nothing but ugliness.

She is naturally charismatic, with a curiosity about everyone and everything. She is the kind of woman who carries you away with her, and makes you feel as if you are the only one who matters to her. It is a byproduct of her living a life where people come and go as freely as they need to. She expects only short relationships from those she encounters. They move on, and she stays behind - in the moments she shares with others, she wants to see the world through their eyes.

The hardships she has faced have never broken her spirit, and instead they have only ever made her more adamant to find happiness in dark spaces, and she always does. She brushes off negativity, and has an easy way of approaching almost anyone, finding it easy to make a good impression. Her empathic nature lends itself well to finding trust in others.

A practicing bard and performer of sorts, she adores music and brings a flair of musicality to most of the things that she does - writing songs about her experiences in love, life, and even penning songs about the tales of deeds of those she has met.

Like anyone else, Joy is not without the ability to feel deep sadness. She grieves for the life she never had, and the mystery of her parentage will always haunt her on some level. Her own insecure questions that she carries in her heart for her mother and father sting her from time to time, but she hides this well. It would take someone who knew similar pain to find that within Joy.

Joy is a caretaker to those around her, giving herself almost selflessly to the needs of others. She is more bold and daring than her lack of skills should allow her to be, she speaks for those in need, and is not afraid to speak her mind loud and proud when it comes to matters of morality and justice.

_{═══════ H I S T O R Y ══════}

My name is Joy, just Joy.

Nobody knows where or when I was born, only where I was found. I was discovered abandoned in Riften, under the shawls of the first snow of Frostfall. It was the blurred vision of a blushing drunk, and his curiosity that followed that led to my being rescued from a sure death, and soon after that encounter, I was sent to Honorhall Orphanage.

It was a bleak childhood. The Matron of the Orphanage was crueler behind closed doors and I spent most of my time dreaming about my future. I always felt so deeply unsettled, and I was never satisfied with the nonchalance and disregard of who I really was, of who left me, of who my parents were.

My fellow orphans and I would play together with the few toys we had, often we’d fashion dolls and the like from the sticks and stones in the yard and we would play out our lives in those hours of free time. I have never been able to cast a spell, but I like to believe that the other orphans and I created magic by the fireplace from pure imagination.

I watched over the years as one by one they were each adopted and I never saw them again. We had always promised to be friends forever, but once their ‘forever’ was with a family that loved and chose them… My forever with them was extinguished.

At 14, with no hopes of adoption at my age, I was simply sold to a Dunmer Madam named Minasi. I rode with her in the back of a cart from Riften to Windhelm, I was frightened, my life, as miserable as it had been, was changing. I always believed that it was better the misfortune that you know, than the one that you did not. She barely spoke a word, only prodded and poked at me on the ride.

I was soon put to work in her brothel, The Blushing Hawk. I was bought as her maid, since she was frailer in her age now and ailed with a rattling cough. The other women she employed were too busy with duties of a different kind to be of any other use to her. Minasi worked me hard, and over time I learned that this was simply her pride, and her need to run a safe place for the people who stepped in.

She was certainly refined, and the unmistakable matriarch of her establishment, but I could see in the smouldering embers of her eyes that she was wounded in many ways more than her ill health. I theorised that perhaps once upon a time, she had been just a girl here too, how she may have loved and lost, as many of us did. Her temper was coarse, in a way that I could only liken to a saber-cat with a thorn wedged in her paw. She was eager to react to any touch. Her flame had gone out.

After a year or two of that, the last of her kitchen staff left and I was then put to work in there. I’d never even picked up a knife or peeled a potato, but I learned quickly. Before long, I’d moved on from simple stews, to pies, to some rather exquisite desserts. When I wasn’t cooking, I was plucking the strings of a lute that had been left behind by a patron. The very same one I have now. I taught myself to play music, putting myself through the rigorous torture of freezing the tips of my fingers in the snow just so that I could play as cleanly as possible. What else could I do, but give something my all? It was how I showed the dedication to my craft. I still do it to this day. After this, Minasi saw something valuable in me and at the late age of 19 she started teaching me how to read and write.

I struggled with it at first and she would slap the backs of my hands if my penmanship was anything less than perfect. I think for close to a year the skin was red raw -- but I learned. That’s my gift you see, persistence, and the voracious hunger to learn crafts. As she continued to lose her vitality, I became the one holding the establishment together. She was approaching the winter of her life, and I, my spring. I kept the girls and the patrons fed, I sang and played music while they waited, I kept the place clean, mended the sheets, curtains, and clothing.

It had been a slow evening when I came to her in her bed, I could see that the colour from her eyes had drained completely, and there was no longer any light behind them. She was the cruel mother I had never wanted, a far cry from the kind woman in my dreams who nurtured and took care of me, held me, and fed me with warmth. But, however I looked at it, Minasi had raised me, and everything I had, I had her to thank for. There was no love between us, my coming into her life was a transaction, how could there be love?

Minasi had told me once that we lived our lives like a stream, travelling in more or less one direction until we were broken off into something that led us to a new current, a new path...

That change came soon enough after Minasi had passed. Disruption and bloodshed in the city brought tension, strangers, and whispers until finally the sky opened -- blooming like a flower raining fire. The shadows of wings darkened the streets, and the Blushing Hawk was just an obstacle in the path of someone else's terrible conflict. In that instant our lives changed forever, and we were forced to take what we could and flee, or perish. We had that choice, so many of the ones we knew were not given it. They were bones and dust on the ground.

That day, the flow of my life was altered and I was torn from those I had chosen as my family, from the world that I had known for most of my adult life. It wasn’t until the sun came back, that I learned that throughout those definitive years, I had been blind.

All I had seen day after day was The Blushing Hawk. It was so much so, that the only thing that had mattered in my world was that rickety brothel, in the backstreets of grey Windhelm. With only it’s ashes now swept into the air, I was forced to open my eyes and I observed that most people had nothing to do with my world at all. I couldn’t stop thinking about the life I could have led, had fate not carried me on that cart with Minasi from Riften to the doors of the Hawk.

Sometimes the only way to carry ourselves through such tragedy is by believing that our dreams may come true, and our prayers are answered. My only hope now is that one day, in some quiet place, there will be a house on a hill with a candle in the window for me.

Calling me home at last.

_{▼ S K I L L S}
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Speechcraft - Music and Empathy - Expert
► Provisioning - Culinary arts - Expert
► Tailoring - Adept}

_{▼ R E L A T I O N S & A F F I L I A T I O N S}
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Honorhall Orphanage
► The now-destroyed Blushing Hawk
► A number of adventurous men she once called lovers, who are occasionally the subject of her songs.}


_{▼ E Q U I P M E N T}
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Stylish linen rucksack.
► Coin Purse - 47 septims currently.
► Lyre, Lute, Ankle Chimes.
► A brooch in the shape of wings with a blue stone in the centre - the only clue she has to her parentage. She keeps this hidden.
► Sewing and knitting needles, threads.
► A set of 6 chef’s knives, and the tools to keep them sharp and well maintained.
► Tasting spoons seem to litter her pockets.
► Pinches and pouches of salt in various grind sizes, as well as sugars and other herbs - always somewhere on her person to sprinkle into a dish without searching too far.
► Parchments, notebooks, quills, and ink pots -- a supply of everything she needs to continue writing her songs, and more recently, a novel that she is working on drawn from the stories of those she meets..}


_{▼ C L O T H I N G & A R M O U R}
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Casual:Never one for vanity, Joy dresses in simple outfits - usually in shades of light hues, figure hugging feminine clothing that do not necessarily have grandiose embellishments, but little touches here and there in pretty stitching. Practical clothing, that allows her to move freely. She will often be wearing her apron as she gets to work in the kitchens, or to her other barmaid duties.
► Formal:When performing, she dresses slightly more luxuriously - as much as can be allowed. She’ll wear deeper hues, revealing cuts, and often opt to go barefoot, banded chimes adorn her ankles and she will show a lucrative amount of skin to display them.}

Good day Roleplayers!

Welcome to RPG Silvercoffee!

I hope to see you around soon! :)

Sheet Critiques and Free Hugs

Danger, Danger Fontaine

Name: Danger, Danger Fontaine
Epithet: Masked and Mustachioed Macho...Guy
Age: 32
Height: 6'4" pounds of towering manliness
Weight: 246 pounds of raw hard muscle slathered in baby oil
Race: Human
Dominant Hand: Right

Appearance-

Danger, Danger Fontaine is a thickly muscled well tanned man and is never seen without an indulgent quantity of baby oil ensuring each and ever muscle fiber glistens under the stadium lights as does his perfectly manicured mustache. His build is best described as mercilessly powerful and massively sexual.

You can do more with this. You can go further with it, I get the approach you’ve taken - to have a humurous, almost nonchalant take, but I want to see you take it further. Why is he best described as powerful and massively sexual -- that feels added on. Add in details about his eye colour, his expression, his stance, his manner - you can build a profile really well by just dropping these in so that when the reader does reach that finishing line, it feels justified. You could even write everything before that line to be completely not sexual at all for a bigger punch line. You’ve said it, now explain it. Show me.



Physical Abilities/Powers-

Hider

Physical Ability-
Danger, Danger Fontaine has inarguably perfected his craft. He is truly the picture of perfection. He is the image of intensity. The epitome of excellence. The physical manifestation of manliness. And also a generous lover, if you know what I mean. His grip is unbreakable, his strikes impeccable, his aerial game im...un...it's also pretty good.

See here? This is what you put in your physical appearance section. This shit is funny, and paints more of an image than the description does. Put it in, expand on it, throw the punchline down for big KO.

Powers-
Imagined Invulnerability -
Danger, Danger Fontaine can ignore injuries that would incapacitate neigh any other man. Due to a combination of repeated traumatic concussions, pain killer use and abuse, and his massively inflated ego he can suffer great harm and continue on despite it. He is either numb to the pain due to a combination of nerve damage and pain killer use or simply able to power through it due to his own overpowering sense of self confidence. In short, while he is not actually in any way shape or form invulnerable to injury or damage he is fully capable of ignoring such damage until it becomes fundamentally physically incapacitating.

Supreme Arrogance -
Danger, Danger Fontaine's massively inflated ego and additive brain damage due to regular traumatic head injury allows him to face adversaries that are clearly exponentially more powerful than he and believe he still has a very real chance of victory.

I really like this. The reason why is because this is tragic -- you’ve set up so far this hilarious man, all powerful, all glistenin muscle, and then you’ve put in a really relatable flaw that cuts through him with an emotional element and I love it. This is the material that you use to pull the rug out from your reader at the end. Build, build, build your character to ridiculous levels and then slam this in. Golden.

Delusion -
Arguably all of Danger, Danger Fontaine's power is a result of this aspect of his mind. Despite what absurd circumstance he may find himself in and what inconceivable threat he may face, he will stalwartly believe that he is the Fan Favorite and that this is his shot at the big time. He can hear the roaring crowd. He can hear the commentators expounding over his miraculous musculature and marvelous mustache.

That’s tragic too. He’s kind of a joke, but he believes he’s the best. Use that.

Unreasoning Rage -
Danger, Danger Fontaine's patina of professional wrestling professionalism fades into oblivion if his mask is removed or his mustache is mussed up. Though he generally plays up for the adoring arena carefully watching his each and every match, when an opponent dares to remove his mask he loses his restraint entirely. As a great man once said, he loses his smile. Much of the posing and smiling fades away and he is left a raving animal, throwing out as many big moves as he can as quickly as he can, often to his eventual detriment.

Personality-
Danger...Danger Fontaine. A self obsessed obnoxiously narcissistic professional wrestler, his greatest strength is also his greatest weakness. He is loud, because it is important that the millions and millions of fans, all slavering at the bit for just a little more Danger, hear each and every syllable of each and every word. He is self aggrandizing because who knows Danger better than Danger himself? He is light hearted and often cracks terrible terrible jokes, because he is THE MAN. He is the top, the pinnacle, the apex, the peak, the asymptote, the azimuth, the hyperbole, he is the the man and the only way to be THE MAN is to beat THE MAN and the only man who can beat THE MAN is THE MAN, which is him, thus he is unbeatable. Ask anyone, they'll tell you. In the unlikely event he is one day beaten he is magnanimous in defeat because he knows, HE KNOWS, that belt is meant for one man and one man alone. THE MAN, which is him, Danger, Danger Fontaine, aka THE MAN. The Macho...Guy.

This paints a great picture, but it could be written better to have more of an impact. Split it up into paragraphs. A concept I’m feeling is to follow the positives with a negative perhaps? Almost as if this is Fontaine himself pumping himself up before a battle - and the negatives become the little voice in his ear, the voice addicted to painkillers etc etc. I love it, because you’ve used humour and this style of writing throughout which sets it apart from other sheets I’d read. I get the feeling that this sheet is from an unreliable narrator, almost like the character himself is writing this, believing in his own hype to his detriment, and to laughter and mockery of those around him. It’s very very clever, but I do think you can take that further and polish it.

Background-
Danger, Danger Fontaine dreamed through all of his childhood of becoming a professional wrestler and eventually managed to make his dream come true. Growing up in South Dakota he knew from a young age that he was destined for greatness and the greatest greatness he could envision was becoming a massive slab of tanned and oiled muscle body slamming other, lesser, tanned and oiled massive muscle slabs for the entertainment and adoration of the million and millions watching at home. Happily fueled on by the antics of his wrestling idols, action movies, and neigh every book and training program advertised in the back of comic books, he grew muscleyier and muscleyier as his dream became an inevitable future.

He worked his way up through the indies gaining a reputation as an enormous ass, but an ass who put asses in seats. Which is the best kind of ass. Taking inspiration from his idols from America and the world abroad he fashioned for himself a number of easily recognized moves and a very recognizable physique. Muscles, Muscles, Mask and Mustache. In time he made his way to the premier federation of the United States and found great success. As well as he did he faced many injuries and eventually ended up as too big of a liability to the company to remain. This was likely a wise move as his massive ego led to him suffering many injuries that would have sidelined him if he weren't just such an egomaniac. Finally one day his undeniable superiority, ceaseless impossibly hyperbolic bragging, and need to pay some bills brought him to Undisputed Pro Wrestling.

This run of words is wonderful; “gaining a reputation as an enormous ass, but an ass who put asses in seats.”

I can only emphasis on what I’ve already said, in that I love the style you’ve taken with writing this, but I want you to look at it from a serious angle and find those points where you can lay in the emotion real thicc.

@BangoSkank

*Huge Hug*

This is great, Bango.

I instantly knew what you were doing, and the choice to use a humorous voice in the creation of this sheet was a great one. Maybe you did or did not realise that doing so would also give the sheet a real nice gravitas to is when it comes to the serious parts - the addictions of the character, the head injury. It feels almost like a surreal read at times. The ramblings of a maniac, it feels unreliable, in your face, really loud -- all of these choices only add layers to the character.

I'd love you to take another look at this now, 11 days later, to see how it hits you now. Look at my suggestions and maybe have another crack at it, because this feels like one of those sheets that needs a little time to mature and for some of the ideas you have to fall into place.

Nice job bud.

Sheet Critiques and Free Hugs

Nathalie

Name & Title: Nathalie Katia Thévenet, Queen of the Vampires.
Age: Looks 30.
Ethnicity: Scandinavian
Eyes: Blue
Weight: 135
Relationships: Edvard Thévenet, eternal Vikar. Progenies: Salvatore Di Vittiori & Rian Leahy
Hobby: Collecting beautiful people. That’s an interesting line.

History:

Scandinavia 500 BC at the start of the Iron Age. Katla Aakre was born. Her father was the tribe’s chieftain and her mother a high priestess, growing up she learned to be diplomatic and be intune with the gods and nature. At the age of 30, she lost her betrothed in battle and was expecting a child. On the night her betrothed died, she had a miscarriage. Inconsolable of her loss, Katla voluntarily offered herself up as a sacrifice to a demon. Legend has it that the demon was in love with her because of her beauty and promised she would have children one day. But how, is still unknown. Katla’s appearance of having white hair and blue eyes, was uncommon. In the eyes of her people, some would say that she was the equivalent to the goddess Freyja.

This is a very quick transition from being born to being 30, losing a husband and unborn child. I would perhaps expand on her upbringing -- that's an interesting parentage she has. I’m also curious about her husband, and their life together. Building up that story really adds flavour and makes the reveal of his death more emotional.

As a result of the sacrifice, the demon made an oath with her where it would possess her at the same time protect, keep her alive, never bear witness to the pain she endured, and stay with her. Now the demon had a mate that was stuck in the underworld which it desired to be released at the behest of the same ritual. However, for the demon’s mate to return to the realm of living, the right vessel had to be born. Winter of this same year, arrived at which point she lost her family to famine, sickness, and warfare. Katla tried to save them, except for one, her older brother. Seeing Tarald lying there dying in the cold winter snow was too much for her. The demon within her again witnessed her inconsolable emotions and taught her how to save him. Her and Tarald would become the first to share eternity and the gift bestowed upon them.

There is more tragedy here, I might introduce Tarald in the first paragraph and perhaps describe their relationship growing up, it doesn’t have to be long, but clues to their closeness and their bond again add depth to this history.

Together they witnessed humankind's effect on the earth. They moved around Scandinavia so as not to draw attention to who they really were. People started to question them out of fear, rumors and legends were made about them if they stayed in one place too long. For them it was better to live away from civilization.

Viking Age: 787 - 1066 AD

Years passed for Katla and Tarald as the first two original vampires. Their old Scandinavia as they remembered began to flourish into a colonizing nation filled with exploration, whalers, farmers, and raiders. Tarald was looked upon as a seer for he had the gift or foresight, and Katla was the town’s a high priestess for her healing capabilities. It was during the Viking era that her awaiting vessel would be born. Katla waited till he was thirty-five to be with her. She watched him grow and become a man, as well as become a famous warrior within their town. He was the son of an Earl. One day, he went out for a raid in the spring, after a successful voyage, he returned dying of his injuries. His family, filled with dismay, was frantic and begged for Katla to save him. With their plea, she agreed and had him brought to her home where she didn’t allow his family to witness for she was uncertain if it was going to work. In the privacy of hers and her brother’s home, she healed him using traditional methods. Days went by as she continued to care for him, never disclosing her true identity to him. His wounds were too great for her to perform the demonic ritual.

I think it’s very interesting that they’re the first vampires - and it feels very rooted in actual mythology, and you’ve built that very nicely by keeping it simple but using elements of gothic horror that we know and love. Kudos.

A year or so after she healed him, the town was growing in prosperity and becoming fortified, people once again were starting to question why the siblings haven’t aged, fear continued to grow. The siblings lived a life that didn’t draw attention to themselves as murderers. Rumors started to spread once more, a small group (first group of hunters) established themselves and went out one night to look for Katla and Tarald. Conflict broke out, the captors brought the siblings into the public eye for execution. At the moment, her Vikar appeared and defended them. At his defense the siblings were judged innocent. Once the crowd dispersed, that was the same night she finally disclosed who she was and was grateful for his aid, in return she gave him the gift of immortality.

Renaissance and Colonial Era

After waiting for such a long time for Vikar, the viking age came to end and they moved around from place to place, blending in, adjusting to the times, changing their names. The three of them witnessed the dark ages, They lived in Florence, Italy during the renaissance where she met Salvatore Di Vittirori in the mid-late 16th century. His status in society impressed her, especially with his background, making him her third progeny. She saw Salvatore as a son she never had. Time continues to pass; in 1728 at the Golden Age of piracy she was living in Calais, France for safety during Britain’s time of war. She was walking the beach at night just outside of her estate when she found a lifeless body washed ashore. He went by the name of Rian Leahy, who was a nautical medical officer in the British Navy. That fateful night she turned him at her request of him wanting him to live.

I love that she is slowly collecting this harem of men! (Beautiful people, of course) It reminds me a lot of the vampire backstory in Buffy, with Darla, Angelus, Drusilla, and Spike.

Katla’s time in the mortal realm was starting to wane, she needed to rest. War between her race, wolves, hunters/religious zealots, plague (lack of consumption supply), and regal power took a devastating toll on her. With the amount of casualties of her kin, she went into slumber for almost 120 years.

I like that you’re really counted for all of her history, she seems like a very interesting character who has lived an incredibly rich and full life so far. It’s very difficult to fit in so much information into a sheet and still keep it exciting to read - you’ve definitely managed this here. There are parts that I wish were expanded on - such as the relationship with her brother at the start, and more about her early upbringing.

In the winter of 1729, before she went into her stupor the following spring, Katla established the vampiric council. She had taught Salvatore and Rian everything they needed to know, gave them titles for they were now in her stead. She had prepared them for when she would not be around, entrusting them to protect her, Tarald and Vikar until it was time for them to return. As the vampiric Prophecy foretells:

“When legends of old return, a new prosperity shall reign.”

Nathalie paced the floor of the dim lit room, light from the fireplace danced across the halls. In the room where the two younger vampires, her Tarald and Edvard and a few others she instated as council members. “I cannot stand to see another of my kin suffer for the fear of mortals. Too much damage has been caused and we are on the brink of extinction. Each of you must go your own way. Seek safety and refuge, abide by our rules. Feed on animals or go into a slumber. King Charles reign will come to an end and our place will be reinstated. I’ve already seen what our future holds. A religious monarch will take the throne, at which point my awakening will happen. Whoever sits on the ivory throne, will regret their decision. We used to live in peace now we live in fear. We are myths and nightmares of old. It’s time my children for the world to adjust without us, for we adjusted to the world. When that time comes we will give in to our true nature as predators instead of prey.”

Victorian Era

Katla, now known as Nathalie, her story along with Tarald (Wesley Dallam) and Vikar (Edvard Devereux) would start in 1840s London. Her awakening caused by a regal power would spark her desire for her true nature, consuming blood from beautiful people that she collects and feeds on the lust of mortals.

Song: youtube.com/watch?v=mIPm5wOoV1Y
youtube.com/watch?v=rrcD0SS022w
youtube.com/watch?v=7PBo83bPyOE

@Tala93

*Big Hug*

I like this sheet a lot, it's mostly just a history so I'd want to see both how you would write her appearance, and also a written personality section. I'm not getting a sense of that part of who she is from the history alone. Much of it describes the events that happened around her, and I'm left hungry for information about her inner thoughts, and her personal change. The sheet would benefit so much from adding those two sections, in my opinion.

I love vampire characters though, and vampire mythology. You've taken a very classic gothic approach to this, both with the setting, the time frame, and the overall regality of it and I love that. I'm getting throwbacks to Buffy, Interview with the Vampire, Underworld etc which were all just a huge part of my early foray into fiction and into Vampires.

It's worth noting that you've crafted a really strong history for Nathalie, and also for the people around her and so for that I applaud you. Well done! I'd be very interested in reading your posts and roleplays based off this.

RPGC #26: All That Gitters Belongs To Me - Discussion

I'm just interested in a new contest. I missed the last one- I could of made a dragonslayer!

@Viper Commando

Keep an eye out then, and keep smiling...

Current Mood in One Gif

Sheet Critiques and Free Hugs

Thanks for patience everyone, I'll get these done this weekend :) Looking forward to reading the work!

Fruits of Contention - Wayrest

11:30pm, Last Seed 21
Dibella's House of Common Pleasures

^{With @GCold}

---

The evening was well underway now, and having let time enough time pass - Relyssa assumed that Gustav had been clued into the strangers' plans. She’d spent that time soothing herself, a specialist blend of herbs brewed and steeped in hot water to calm her frayed nerves. It wasn’t often that she was confronted with such loud reminders of the past out of the blue. Windhelm, specifically. It was the only chink in her otherwise pristine, and impregnable armour.

If Gustav was any bit the man she thought him to be, she knew he would be as restless as she was over this mysterious mission. A dragonhide shield as a down payment? The item in question had to be of extreme value… It was something that the Breton simply couldn’t ignore.

Set aside in her room was a selection of cakes; one in particular a simple sliced loaf pricked with lavender and tea leaf. Sophisticated, did Gustav have a sweet tooth? Something comforting and homely had to lift his spirits after having trekked his way into Wayrest via the sewer... A smirk played upon her lips as she plated it up, covering it with a silken handkerchief before making her way to his room, with a gentle knock, she waited in the hallway for the mysterious Nord.

The mysterious Nord, on the other hand, had finally dried out his boots. Discussing business with Finch, while barefooted, had been embarrassing to say the least. The smell of footwear drenched in sewer water was pervading through the premium suite. It's probably why Finch never went in further than the doorway. So Gustav opened the windows, put his boots near them, and sprayed the room with rose-flavored fragrances. Satisfied, he put on a pair of slippers from the closest; they were too small for his feet.

Then came the knocking on his door. Gustav was tempted to tell his visitor to go away, but like any good businessman, he couldn't turn away his own curiosity.

"Relyssa?" Gustav opened the door. His eyes traveled to the covered plate in her hands. "Come in."

He closed the door behind them and gestured to the tea table. There was only one sofa behind it, so Gustav sat on one end and waited for Relyssa to sit on the other. While she set herself down, Gustav realized the dragon hide shield was occupying the tea table. He set it aside, leaning it against the side of the table.

"I trust you brought a delicious midnight late snack? It's not healthy to sleep on an empty stomach, is it?" Gustav joked, not aware of what was under the handkerchief.

“I did indeed bring you something to eat,” she answered -- following his movements closely with curious eyes as she took her seat. On any other day, the smell would have been too much, but all of a sudden it simply felt par for the course of a Wayrest brothel. She chose to say nothing about it, just a simple sneer that soon faded as she peeled back the silk to reveal the cake. “Sugar will keep your energy up, I presume your way in was… Less than easy.”

"Oh wow, by Kyne, thank you!" Gustav laughed; it was genuine. He retrieved a fork from a nearby dining set and dug it right away. "Delicious; a nice change of pace from the travel rations."

"And, yes, we encountered an obstacle." Gustav wiped his mouth with a napkin. "A large, scaly obstacle. Nothing we can't handle."

The shield played at the back of her mind, but now that the shock of it had passed, it didn’t bother her half as much. It was just what it was, an item that was of no interest to her. “I take it you met the stranger too, then?”

"Ah yes, the Imperial calling himself 'Finch'." Gustav nodded. "He said he talked to you as well, and before that, a lord in the room next to yours."

A cold wind blew in from the open window; Gustav shivered. He got up to close it. On the way back, he brought a jug of water and two cups. It was a bit late for alcohol, he figured, and Relyssa would be unlikely to drink any alcohol he offered, since he gave her medical ethanol last time. "He gave this shield as a down payment, and pages from a journal. You may want to read them; very strange." Gustav put said journal pages on the table. "So, let me get this straight; we're working for this 'Finch', who's working for someone incredibly powerful and rich, and the goal is to retrieve an artifact and kill a spymaster."

“Mmm, is that all?” She asked quietly, allowing the Nord to continue to speak his mind.

"I don't know, Relyssa, seems like a lot can go wrong here, but the pay is too good to pass up." Gustav drank some water. "You probably have a plan already, and I take it you know more people here than I do. Also, how do you keep finding this kind of job anyway?"

“I didn’t find it. It found me,” Relyssa admitted — helping herself to the water. “I pretended to be you,” she said frankly, nonchalantly even. “It is concerning that you have been here less than a day and a so-called powerful stranger has found you, and is cornering you into this.” The Breton took a sip, crossing one leg over the other.

“Yes,” Gustav shrugged, “not like there’s much I can do about it.”

“A lot can go wrong, your men could die,” she muttered, thumbing over the journal pages with a raised brow, taking note of everything, but not allowing it to show on her face. “I almost am inclined to believe that our mysterious benefactor is counting on it, actually,” she remarked, suddenly serious as her gaze fell on Gustav once more.

“Or" she began, an excited glint fell into the sparkle of her eyes, "absolutely everything can go in your favour,” she smirked. “You can’t really want to simply pass up an artifact for pay?” Relyssa leaned back into the sofa and scoffed before smiling in an almost coy manner. “Why play by his rules when you could take everything.” The suggestion was very genuine, it all made sense in her mind of course — and she let the words hang in the air, watching closely for Gustav’s reaction. Would it scare him? Would he balk at it perhaps? Or find himself on board…

Truth be told, it did scare Gustav. He wasn’t a warrior or a thief; his expertise was finance, and this job was far beyond his expertise. Relyssa had made her schemes plain, and the previous sugar-induced smile faded from Gustav’s face. “You’ve got to be kidding.” He said.

Gustav’s eyes fell to the shield, it darted to the journal pages, and finally to Relyssa. She was not kidding, and he started thinking aloud. “Well, alright. This artifact probably fetches a better price than the pay, and it’s not like the original employer can send an army against us, because why would he hire us in the first place. That leaves Finch, but he doesn’t seem too smart, or strong.”

“I suppose you are right.” Gustav admitted. He drank more water, as most nervous people tend to do. “You and I both value the lives of our employees, but we have to make sacrifices in the grand scheme of things, yes? Let’s say, hypothetically, Alim changed his mind at the last moment; would you continue the mission without him?”

“We are trying to outwit one of the most powerful people in Wayrest, from just a room away.” Gustav waited for Relyssa’s reply, trying to see if she was as committed as she sounded.

That made her smile, she turned her cheek to Gustav, suppressing a laugh. “Gustav, you have made your first grievous error in underestimating Mr Finch. He is street smart, and street strong. He will not let this mission fall to failure. He will not let us double cross him.” Her eyes flashed devilishly, as she ran her hand across her leg. “You have to view our situation as if he is the smartest man in the room, to make it entirely waterproof.” Relyssa sighed, taking a sip from the glass again.

“Huh,” Gustav snorted, “more trouble than he appears.”

“It is inconsequential to me, whether Alim changes his mind at any moment. He does not even need to be there…” She sighed again, her brow furrowing as she concentrated on her words, lowering her voice even. “Nobody else can know what you and I have discussed. It is up to us to pull the rug out from all of them, Alim, the Dunmer and Imperial siblings included. If any of them are in on this, they will jeopardise it, and someone could die.”

“Of course.” Gustav concurred. He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. “Any one of us leaking this secret will spell doom for both.”

I know I’m asking you to put a certain level of… trust in me.” The Breton added. “It may almost feel like I’m handing you the rope with which to hang yourself…” she chuckled at the notion. “But let me tell you something about the gentleman next door; he is very indulgent, and he is hardly powerful in his nocturnal activities… If you know what I mean." The glass was brought to her lips, a mischief prickled across her cheeks in a blush as she recalled the sounds she had been forced to tolerate. "It would not take a distinguished mercenary to catch him off guard...”

“Good to know.” Gustav said nonchalantly. He looked away from Relyssa as she spoke. “We did trust each other at Evermore, didn’t we? It worked in the end, though I hope there won’t be a bounty this time.”

“Remember, Relyssa, I came to this city for the Ring of Potema, and you said you can help.” Gustav reminded her. He was a bit impatient and worried, but he was buying into Relyssa’s schemes. “If you think we can retrieve this sword without unnecessarily complications, then I’m in. You make the plan and tell me who you need, and where you need them.”

“And I will keep my promise to you on that, Gustav. Let’s just say I know a gentleman who could… Temporarily slip into your employ, who you may indeed find some use for in regards to… Obtaining an item,” Relyssa said, smoothing out the rising frustration in Gustav’s voice - hopefully, ignoring the comment about a bounty.

“We shall see.” Stated Gustav. “I cannot say no to extra help at this moment.”

“I can do this,” the Breton said, much of the manipulative look draining from her face. “Your mercenaries need a win… Their morale is low after Evermore. You need to be the boss now, but you also need to give them this victory.” She had leaned forwards in her seat, drawing closer to the Nord with severity in her eyes, a hand on each leg. “And as the boss of your company, it’s your decision to make. Sleep on it. Maybe you’ll come up with a plan all of your own, but heed my warning, Gustav,” she said, pausing to raise a finger into the air between them. “This gentleman desires this artifact more than anything, and desire is as dangerous an emotion as anything, especially when it was forged alongside revenge.” It was as if the woman was speaking directly from her experience, the depth of her tone was endless. “I don’t believe he should lay a hand on it, lest he smite every one of your mercenaries, Mr Finch included, as his reward -- as his guarantee of silence on the whole matter.”

Gustav looked back to Relyssa when she spoke, and the next thing he knew, he was staring at her, and unconsciously leaning to her direction. Gustav cursed himself silently. “You’re doing that again.” He grumbled.

With an overly feminine chuckle, Relyssa moved back, and out of his space, pleased with herself for the grating effect she’d had on the man. “My apologies…” She tossed her silver hair over her shoulder, instead leaning against the back of the sofa, her eyes staring right at Gustav.

“I am the boss of the company, and I-” Gustav stopped himself abruptly. He was getting worked up, and it’s probably what Relyssa wanted to see. She and her little game, Gustav tightened his jaw, and then forced himself to relax it; he would love to play it, if he weren’t always a step behind.

“Of course. Yes, you are the boss…” She repeated back at him with a slow nod.

“Look, this job is not what I’m expecting in Wayrest, and quite frankly, I’m not exactly the expert here.” Gustav decided he would be honest rather than going in circles. “But I see your point, it is better we get the upper hand on our employer, than playing pawns and leaving our fate to his whims. Very well, we will claim the sword as our own. You have certainly given me a lot to sleep on.”

“And this acquaintance of yours.” Gustav rested his arms on the tea table. He looked straight ahead, avoiding Relyssa’s alluring gestures and trying to not lose his wits. “How would he ‘temporarily slip into my employ’?”

The pride that she felt, over making him squirm so was incredibly delicious. It was as intoxicating a high as she could find in the place, and she’d felt a sense of her own power return to her after her earlier whimper of weakness. Whether she’d stick to the plan, she did not yet know, she only knew she enjoyed Gustav being on her hook -- she was one step closer to unravelling him. “Have your… What’s her name now… Ah,” she stopped, pointing her finger again, “have Miss Fontaine, or perhaps Miss Venim seek out the Peacock, tell him Relyssa requests a favour from him. He’ll do as he’s told.”

Deliberately cryptic, she wanted that to slither under his skin too.

“He’ll provide useful to you in a way that I don’t think anyone in your employ currently could be.” The Breton smiled again, relaxing into the sofa before she took a glance down at the tea table. “Mmmm,” she murmured out. “How time has gotten away with us,” she lamented. “You should get some sleep Gustav, it can’t have been easy working your way up here from below… And we have to make preparations in the morning.”

“Peacock? What a ridiculous moniker.” Gustav shook his head. He only looked over his shoulder to Relyssa now. “I shall have Miss Fontaine inquire about his services, for she has a task to test this Peacock’s worth.”

In the end, Gustav was determined to not let Relyssa get a rise out of him. Well, not too much of a rise out of him. He had to say something to even the odds. “Well, Relyssa, you do seem to enjoy our little chat as you enjoy the fineries of your suite.” Gustav leaned back and put on a cryptic smile to match hers. “It was quite refreshing to take in sights of the city, especially in less traveled areas. It would do you some good too, to get some fresh air outside, instead of cooped up in this brothel all evening.”

When it’s all said and done, Gustav was actually getting tired. He was stifling back yawns at this point. “I shall see you in the morning. While I would wish you good rest, we both know there’s too much on our minds for such.”

Relyssa gave him a polite smile, though his comment did rub her the wrong way — the implications of his words especially. They’d both been left with food for thought, and with desire to digest alone, Relyssa rose from her seat, glancing down at Gustav once more. “Well, goodnight then Gustav. I’ll be seeing you come morning…”

She left, walking as proud as she always did - her mind buzzing with the opportunities to come.