Stitches

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

I'm considering joining this with a buddy, but we've run into one major issue - how was the false paleblood administered? Was it done knowingly onto the patients? How were the patients selected?

Cardinal Rift

Victor Moltke, Abigail Harlow and Meredith Shieldbreaker

Location: Harrow's Keep Townstead, South Gate to Furlton Farm.

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”S-sir, please stop throwing things at the barrier, I’m really worried about what’ll-”

”Quiet now, there’s never been progress with a little brute force!”

”I know, but don’t you think it’s a little dangerous to-”

Abigail turned around just in time to see the flash of light and then found herself once again face-first on the floor, her tongue bitten. She rolled onto her side and spat out a mix of dirt, spit and blood, rubbing the spot where her jaw hit the cobbles. ”Lord Moltke…?” she voiced out, dusting herself off.

”Yes.” came a semi-defeated tone.

”Am I allowed to say ‘I told you so’ yet, milord?”

Meanwhile, several leagues away in the hilltops surrounding the keep, a young rider on a horse tugged on the reins and galloped down the valley towards a dilapidated farmstead. By the time he had broken through the treeline surrounding the old plot, cantered through the weedy field and ducked into the stables, his steed’s flanks were steaming with the exertion. Hurriedly but with an air of trepidation, he pulled open the barn door enough to slip inside.

Behind those worm-eaten doors sat a little under a dozen men in the gloom. Several glinting pairs of eyes settled on the boy as he cut through their rough bodies, their set brows and sneer of short-temperedness. They were all wearing armour which, whilst polished and gussied up for occasion, bore the telltale abrasions and cuts of real warfare. Their skin fared no better, what parts of it were visible under the leather and chainmail and colours of Balaur. Behind them all, lounging demurely in the wreckage of an old wagon, was a hulking figure lit only somewhat by the cigar in her gnarled fingers.

“The-...the keep has returned, ma’am.”

“And Moltke?”

“Alive, ma’am.”

A thick cloud of smoke escaped from her lips as she grumbled and hefted her bulk from the wagon. “Assemble the men. Let’s see what Victor has to say for himself.”

Still nursing her jaw and riding at a much more leisurely pace than the scout that preceded her, Abigail rode her twitchy pony side by side with Victor as they also approached the abandoned farm. ”You don’t think she’ll be mad at us, do you sir?” Abigail asked, fidgeting with the reins.

”No, of course not. She’ll be relieved at our survival.”

Abigail sucked her tongue thoughtfully, as if she was rolling the words in her mouth and ultimately deciding to keep quiet. She merely nodded, her gaze catching sight of twenty one men standing to attention somewhere beyond the trees. Before them stood one woman - one behemoth, dressed in finer gear than the troops behind her with a large and well-worn axe resting lazily at her hip. Her lips curled into a toothy grin at the two approaching horses and Abigail rubbed the back of her neck subconsciously.

Meredith Shieldbreaker strode towards the duo as they unmounted from their steeds, arms spread wide in a gesture of welcoming. ”Victor, Abigail! So nice to see you again. I hope the old man didn’t boss you ‘round too hard this time, eh?”

”W-Well, actually we-”

”Good to hear,” Meredith talked over the squire, giving Abigail a resounding pat on the back that sent the girl keeling forwards whilst her other arm swung around Victor’s neck in a display of camaraderie that dragged his upper half flush against the vicinity of her ribcage and in a low, chillingly cheery voice, she asked ”So, mind telling me what all that was about then?”

Victor was dwarfed by the woman and quickly decided it’d be well to explain the situation as best as he could. “Don’t look at me like I'm responsible for whatever that was! I wasn’t even invited into the damn talks themselves! I don’t think anyone has answers, and I want as far away from this place as possible!”

”Wasn't even invited?” Meredith's grin turned merciless. ”Can't imagine why, you seem like the kind of guy who'd really brighten up a peace negotiation. Harlow, stop eating dirt and get back on your horse. This isn't your parents' estate,” she idly barked as her meaty forearm unfurled from Victor's throat, setting him free.

Abigail was still recovering from the friendly pat as she scrambled to her feet and onto her steadfast Munchkin. ”Nice to see you too Lady Shieldbreaker,” she chirped with strained optimism, a sore upper back and a shaky smile.

Harry Potter: Hogwarts, 1975

As in, how many people are you going to accept before the IC gets released? Or is it open to join whenever?

Harry Potter: Hogwarts, 1975

Damn, if I knew we'd all go for faculty I would've kept Abi a curse breaker. What's the max limit on players before we start?

Harry Potter: Hogwarts, 1975

Oh yeah definitely. I just wanted to hear your takw on it. I'm also begrudgingly accepting that guns are superior, but Abi doesn't have a Glock in her quarters.

Do the teachers live on campus like the students? If so, where?

Harry Potter: Hogwarts, 1975

Second question and a point of debate between me and my friend - do guns work in areas of high magic?

Guns are mechanical instead of electronic and it makes sense that if we have gramophones and rudimentary projectors then a gun would work too. And how Do you out-cast a bullet? Unless you have a charm up already, I can't see a way to combat it.

Harry Potter: Hogwarts, 1975

Thanks for having me! I'm already making Abigail's vinyl collection lmfao

I have a question about character death, mainly how trigger happy you are for it right now? Edited for clarity: as in, some GMs are very stern on consequences, but would you attempt to negotiate and figure out compromises instead of offing a character after a severe blunder?

Cardinal Rift

Behold, my tall wife

Meredith the Shieldbreaker

ℂardinal ℝift

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ℙersonal 𝕀nformation

Name: Meredith the Shieldbreaker
House: Balaur
Age: 45
Race: Human
Gender: Female
Appearance: Standing at a hulking 6'4, Meredith is about as broad as she is tall. Were it not for her long hair, charcoaled eyes and fuller lips, one would have mistakenly assumed that she was a he. Her flesh is disfigured with swathes of scar tissue, even across her face and chin. She is usually clad in her darksteel armour for public events, upholding the image of a ferocious, Balaur-born Black Knight. Under less extenuating circumstances she can be spotted in very simple, sturdy pieces of clothing that sit tight around her scar-dappled muscles. She carries herself like a warlord.

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𝕊o 𝕆n & 𝕊o 𝔽orth

Reputation: The Shieldbreaker name isn't a name - it's a title, and it was earnt. The lives of Meredith's ancestry are short and brutal. Heir to a petty warlord's fortune, she stands alone in her lineage to do what she does best: bend the knees of the public by force. She's known as an odd mixture of a slavemaster, a warlord and a leader of her people, depending on who you ask.
Alignment: Neutral. Meredith spends little time worrying over the broader political implications of the decision, preferring instead to focus on the more immediate problems in her province.
Skills: Presuming, of course, that sheer brute strength isn't a skill, Meredith is extensively trained in combat through her many battles. She has some knowledge of tactics and planning, but her real speciality is the maintenance of a reputation. She can use propaganda and bribery to spread rumours throughout Croan and is skilled in acting and being able to falsify the truth around certain events to suit her ambitions.
Backstory: Meredith's ancestors were the first to kneel before Darius and she intends to maintain the tradition. She learnt what she knows from her father, who was far greater of a leader than she and left some pretty large boots to fill. It went without saying that a youth of working in the mines, rubbing shoulders with the destitute but gorging on three heavy meals a day, had coupled with her genes to produce a behemoth of a lass. Her father instilled discipline and forced humility by giving her a taste of serfdom. She still has mixed feelings about it, both grateful and resentful for the life lessons it brought. Regardless of her own opinion on the matter, it influenced the way she lead her people.

When Meredith was old enough to hold a sword, she challenged her father for dominance over the province. She was promptly defeated and learnt a valuable lesson in arrogance. Her teenage years were devoted more to study than to labour, cutting her hours by half to teach her behind closed doors. She started to become alienated from the people as the class boundaries began to widen between herself and the workers. She was still subjected to a gruelling workout each day, and had very little in the way of free time which stunted her socialisation skills. It didn't matter all that much - she was to be a ruler, not a friend.

When Meredith turned twenty seven, she challenged her father again, only this time she was armed with a hefty axe and a Gate. The magic was simple yet devastating; she gradually, slowly and painstakingly increased the heat and weight of her father's armour throughout the battle, and once he fell to his knees with fatigue, repeatedly slammed her axe into his shield until it was bent and cleft in twain, earning her the title of Shieldbreaker. As per tradition of her people, she had to execute her progenitor on the battlefield and assume his position as ruler over the mines. She never really comments on how that shift in power affected her emotionally.

For two decades since, Meredith has been uncontested in her rule over the province. For many of the natives, her traditional rise to power and the blood of a warlord were enough to garner respect for their new mistress. In the initial few years of her rule she mucked in with the labour to remind herself of the conditions in which her people work, donning her armour go avoid a pickaxe in the back and heighten the difficulty of the work. Since the mines exported a lot of steel, she worked tirelessly to improve the quality of life for the slaves. Whilst the hours of labour didn't let up, the meals were more sustainable and a team of professional medics were employed to provide healthcare for anyone injured or sick. Pregnant workers in their last three months of pregnancy were given less hours, and after giving birth they only worked half days for the first year.

Nevertheless, Meredith's status as slave master was unflinching. Whenever some of the workers rested on their laurels and pushed for pay or better rights, Meredith inflicted swift, merciless suppression. She was shrewder than her father and paid some of her workers to be whistleblowers and spies as well as propagandists, receiving better benefits in exchange for spreading good word about her rule and reporting any schemes to her taskmasters. She'd misdirect hostility towards dissenters and leaders of rebel cells by framing them to be under her payroll, or simply blackmail them into submission. Torture and interrogation were not below her sense of honour.

Finding that the peace talks may fundamentally change the way she needs to control her province, Meredith is on call for summoning to the tower and answering to any orders given by her direct superior.

Miscellaneous: Meredith has a retinue of six 'taskmasters' who report to her. They are unflinchingly loyal, nigh-worshippers of her rule, and each play an integral role in the management of her province without shirking their duties at the handle of a whip in the mines. By making these roles, Meredith shifts the public eye onto the taskmasters and elevates her authority. To see her personally walk afield was now considered an Occasion to remember. To see her carry the whip meant that the recipient was infamous enough to lure her down into the mines. The days when her mood was lighter and she handled the pulleys and listened to her people were the days where she was revered and beloved. Any other day was dominated by the shadows of these six followers.

Tyrus Adenti - the resident mageborn. He uses his air magic to eavesdrop and spy on his people (and the other taskmasters for that matter) by silencing his footfalls.

Jeremiah Oldesson - A hearty ex-slave who masquerades as a mediator between the populace and the taskmasters. Jovial, boisterous and fond of songs and poems, he boosts morale amongst the workers and maintains reverence of their mistress.

Ilmeri Daltmer - head of the medical facilities, she's also a priestess and uses religion to give the people hope. She goes out of her way to provide soup kitchens and sermons where she uses faith as a vehicle for gratefulness and optimism. Her healers, mostly female, are similarly agents who use their tender charms and gentle care to both bolster the morale of their patients and weed out any dissent to report back to the Priestess.

Bodkar The Cruel - Plays the role of 'taskmaster' in Jeremiah's region of the mines. He's the bad guy, the receptacle of the slaves' hatred. Jeremiah occasionally orchestrates revolts that are inevitably quelled by Bodkar. By focusing the slaves' contempt at Bodkar, Meredith feigns punishment and close surveillance over him to seem like a more justified ruler.

Yorrick Pearson - A more generic taskmaster who watches over the rails, making sure shipment of iron is kept at peak productivity. Not as heartless as most, he uses the infirm as cleaners instead of labourers to maintain better hygiene standards in his portion of the mines.

Rudd the Quartermaster - lord and ruler of the commissary, Rudd guards the inventory of the mines, oversees the supply routes and punishes thievery severely. He's often likened to a Wyvern.

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𝕄agic

Gate: Combination Gate (Force and Heat)
Flow: Average
Favour: High
Field: 10m max range

Cardinal Rift

Meredith the Shieldbreaker

ℂardinal ℝift

---

---

ℙersonal 𝕀nformation

Name: Meredith the Shieldbreaker
House: Balaur
Age: 45
Race: Human
Gender: Female
Appearance: Standing at a hulking 6'4, Meredith is about as broad as she is tall. Were it not for her long hair, charcoaled eyes and fuller lips, one would have mistakenly assumed that she was a he. Her flesh is disfigured with swathes of scar tissue, even across her face and chin. She is usually clad in her darksteel armour for public events, upholding the image of a ferocious, Balaur-born Black Knight. Under less extenuating circumstances she can be spotted in very simple, sturdy pieces of clothing that sit tight around her scar-dappled muscles. She carries herself like a warlord.

---

𝕊o 𝕆n & 𝕊o 𝔽orth

Reputation: The Shieldbreaker name isn't a name - it's a title, and it was earnt. The lives of Meredith's ancestry are short and brutal. Heir to a petty warlord's fortune, she stands alone in her lineage to do what she does best: bend the knees of the public by force. She's known as an odd mixture of a slavemaster, a warlord and a leader of her people, depending on who you ask.
Alignment: Neutral. Meredith spends little time worrying over the broader political implications of the decision, preferring instead to focus on the more immediate problems in her province.
Skills: Presuming, of course, that sheer brute strength isn't a skill, Meredith is extensively trained in combat through her many battles. She has some knowledge of tactics and planning, but her real speciality is the maintenance of a reputation. She can use propaganda and bribery to spread rumours throughout Croan and is skilled in acting and being able to falsify the truth around certain events to suit her ambitions.
Backstory: Meredith's ancestors were the first to kneel before Darius and she intends to maintain the tradition. She learnt what she knows from her father, who was far greater of a leader than she and left some pretty large boots to fill. It went without saying that a youth of working in the mines, rubbing shoulders with the destitute but gorging on three heavy meals a day, had coupled with her genes to produce a behemoth of a lass. Her father instilled discipline and forced humility by giving her a taste of serfdom. She still has mixed feelings about it, both grateful and resentful for the life lessons it brought. Regardless of her own opinion on the matter, it influenced the way she lead her people.

When Meredith was old enough to hold a sword, she challenged her father for dominance over the province. She was promptly defeated and learnt a valuable lesson in arrogance. Her teenage years were devoted more to study than to labour, cutting her hours by half to teach her behind closed doors. She started to become alienated from the people as the class boundaries began to widen between herself and the workers. She was still subjected to a gruelling workout each day, and had very little in the way of free time which stunted her socialisation skills. It didn't matter all that much - she was to be a ruler, not a friend.

When Meredith turned twenty seven, she challenged her father again, only this time she was armed with a hefty axe and a Gate. The magic was simple yet devastating; she gradually, slowly and painstakingly increased the heat and weight of her father's armour throughout the battle, and once he fell to his knees with fatigue, repeatedly slammed her axe into his shield until it was bent and cleft in twain, earning her the title of Shieldbreaker. As per tradition of her people, she had to execute her progenitor on the battlefield and assume his position as ruler over the mines. She never really comments on how that shift in power affected her emotionally.

For two decades since, Meredith has been uncontested in her rule over the province. For many of the natives, her traditional rise to power and the blood of a warlord were enough to garner respect for their new mistress. In the initial few years of her rule she mucked in with the labour to remind herself of the conditions in which her people work, donning her armour go avoid a pickaxe in the back and heighten the difficulty of the work. Since the mines exported a lot of steel, she worked tirelessly to improve the quality of life for the slaves. Whilst the hours of labour didn't let up, the meals were more sustainable and a team of professional medics were employed to provide healthcare for anyone injured or sick. Pregnant workers in their last three months of pregnancy were given less hours, and after giving birth they only worked half days for the first year.

Nevertheless, Meredith's status as slave master was unflinching. Whenever some of the workers rested on their laurels and pushed for pay or better rights, Meredith inflicted swift, merciless suppression. She was shrewder than her father and paid some of her workers to be whistleblowers and spies as well as propagandists, receiving better benefits in exchange for spreading good word about her rule and reporting any schemes to her taskmasters. She'd misdirect hostility towards dissenters and leaders of rebel cells by framing them to be under her payroll, or simply blackmail them into submission. Torture and interrogation were not below her sense of honour.

Finding that the peace talks may fundamentally change the way she needs to control her province, Meredith is on call for summoning to the tower and answering to any orders given by her direct superior.

Miscellaneous: Meredith has a retinue of six 'taskmasters' who report to her. They are unflinchingly loyal, nigh-worshippers of her rule, and each play an integral role in the management of her province without shirking their duties at the handle of a whip in the mines. By making these roles, Meredith shifts the public eye onto the taskmasters and elevates her authority. To see her personally walk afield was now considered an Occasion to remember. To see her carry the whip meant that the recipient was infamous enough to lure her down into the mines. The days when her mood was lighter and she handled the pulleys and listened to her people were the days where she was revered and beloved. Any other day was dominated by the shadows of these six followers.

Tyrus Adenti - the resident mageborn. He uses his air magic to eavesdrop and spy on his people (and the other taskmasters for that matter) by silencing his footfalls.

Jeremiah Oldesson - A hearty ex-slave who masquerades as a mediator between the populace and the taskmasters. Jovial, boisterous and fond of songs and poems, he boosts morale amongst the workers and maintains reverence of their mistress.

Ilmeri Daltmer - head of the medical facilities, she's also a priestess and uses religion to give the people hope. She goes out of her way to provide soup kitchens and sermons where she uses faith as a vehicle for gratefulness and optimism. Her healers, mostly female, are similarly agents who use their tender charms and gentle care to both bolster the morale of their patients and weed out any dissent to report back to the Priestess.

Bodkar The Cruel - Plays the role of 'taskmaster' in Jeremiah's region of the mines. He's the bad guy, the receptacle of the slaves' hatred. Jeremiah occasionally orchestrates revolts that are inevitably quelled by Bodkar. By focusing the slaves' contempt at Bodkar, Meredith feigns punishment and close surveillance over him to seem like a more justified ruler.

Yorrick Pearson - A more generic taskmaster who watches over the rails, making sure shipment of iron is kept at peak productivity. Not as heartless as most, he uses the infirm as cleaners instead of labourers to maintain better hygiene standards in his portion of the mines.

Rudd the Quartermaster - lord and ruler of the commissary, Rudd guards the inventory of the mines, oversees the supply routes and punishes thievery severely. He's often likened to a Wyvern.

---

𝕄agic

Gate: Combination Gate (Force and Heat)
Flow: Average
Favour: High
Field: 10m max range

Cardinal Rift

Victor Moltke Abigail Harlow

Location: Harrow's Keep Townstead, Artisan Market to Harrow’s Tower to South Gate.

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Victor finally came stumbling out of what was formerly the Spire Inn. With one hand pressing against the doorframe to further support himself. He took one last minute to recollect himself, hoist up his pantaloons by it’s belt buckle and start what could be best described as a walk of shame into the Courtyard. He spotted the makeshift hospital, along with the true devastation that had hit the town, some of the civilians being treated, and Abigail clearing a path to free more space. ”Good lord!” he shouted at her, waving his arms around to catch and gain the girls. Abigail stopped, bewildered, and stared at Victor’s flailing. She trotted up to him, rickety cart and furious pony in tow. ”What’re you doing, trying to rebuild the tower?! Leave this bunkum alone, we have more important things to see to!”

Abigail looked around, a little startled. ”B-but sir! The civilians…?”

”Leave the others to play nurse, we have more pressing matters to see to. Things like “what the hell happened?” or “who the hell happened?”” Abigail surveyed the situation. The largest parts of the marketplace had been set aside, and it seemed as if the richly dressed man of importance had started to stabilise the community.

”I feel kinda bad leaving them to it, though…” Abigail mumbled sheepishly, already unhitching the cart from Munchkin as ordered.

”The tower.” Victor pointed at it.”Surely things are all still being civilly discussed in there.”

”Y-yeah! Maybe we can see if Lord Matthias is okay!” Abigail chirped, clinging onto the hope of peace and order amongst the nobility. She helped Victor climb onto Munchkin and they took the main road towards Harrow’s tower. It was the easiest, fastest route as it had the least amount of material to sporadically glitch out and provided a wide, flat surface for Munchkin’s tetchy canter to cross in a few minutes.

The tower started to shudder and shake. Dust plumed from the windows. It already looked unsteady before, but now…

The pony stopped in its tracks, almost as if it knew the danger of the implication a giant structure of that size shaking so violently would have. Victor stared at it with furrowed brows. ”Mhrm. Maybe we should go the other way.”

”It uh. It looks like they have it covered. But what about Lord Mattias…?”

Victor wafted a dismissive hand at the air.”Ah, he’ll be fine! He’s the grand and noble heir of the Balaur household. A crumbling, bursting tower has never killed anyone.”

Abigail nodded, cleared her throat, mumbled some hasty words of agreement and made a sharp 180. They took a decidedly jauntier canter towards the Southern Gate instead - not so fast as to imply that they were escaping the impact site of a falling tower full of the continent’s leaders, but fast enough to imply that there were very persuading reasons to make it to the furthermost edges of the keep as fast as possible. Munchkin decided that this was as far as he was willing to go when it came to the swirling grey masses enveloping the sky and dug his heels in some short distance away from the gate, snorting and whinnying and completely prepared to throw off both riders if they didn’t agree with his decision. ”That’s as far as he’ll go, Sir. I can’t blame the wee lad…” Abigail did her best to restrain him.

”What -is- this…?” Victor was engrossed in the uncomfortable sight of null visibility outside of the bubble. Partially fearing the unknown but suddenly interested in more then just escape. He could see some of the civilians clawing at the bubble, assuming the barrier itself wasn’t harmful just a trapping mechanism, or maybe even created to hold out the smoke? ”Clouds? Fog?” A million questions and possibilities running through his mind.

Abigail sniffed, rubbed her nose on the back of her gauntlet. ”’Tis a gate, sir.”

Victor’s face scrunched up at the smart remark, turned to her with a deeply disturbed and unhappy scowl. ”Is this truly the time, damn it?! he then promptly turned back at the bubble. He grabbed a small rock nearby and threw it at it the barrier to test for a reaction to confirm the effects it would have.

”If anything, now’s the best time for a bit of lightheartedWOAHWOAHWOAHSIR?!” Abigail fell off her pony trying to rush up to him. ”I don’t think we should be throwing rocks at the bubble Sir! What if it pops?!”

”We smash rocks together for fire, it’s the best way to learn!” he exclaimed. Once he was certain it was truly just a bubble he approached it to lay a hand on it. Ever weary of drastic reactions it would have.