<Snipped quote by Liseran Thistle>
YOU'LL NEVER SEE IT COMIN'
BUT MY HANDS ARE, TOO FAST FOR EYES
You've been done in!
This was your last surprise!
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- Tangletail 10 yrs ago
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8 yrs ago
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Game halfway done: but on pause
8 yrs ago
Programming a Wasteland/Fallout 1&2 style game. Going so and so.
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You've been done in!
This was your last surprise!
@Liseran Thistle
Not just a wolf. A direct wolf! They are like wolves. But dire...
...A wolf large enough for an adult man to mount. Or an orchestra warlord I guess...
EDIT
Fucking auto complete. But it's too funny to fix.
Not just a wolf. A direct wolf! They are like wolves. But dire...
...A wolf large enough for an adult man to mount. Or an orchestra warlord I guess...
EDIT
Fucking auto complete. But it's too funny to fix.
Farya the Wolfborn
"We are all fragile things. But we kill, we take, we live. That makes us strong."
Farya
"A small chested wildling woman with a toned body and cut back muscles. She's primitively dressed from head to toe in furs, wraps, and wraps of torn cloth from her favored game. Scars dot her body from various sources; Claws, blades, and arrows. A wooden wolf mask seems to be permanently fixed to her face"
Wolyo
"A young direwolf with intelligence glinting in its eyes, decorated in a protective harness created with carved hardwood plates and hides. It is large enough to be straddled, but not large enough to cast a shadow over a man."
FARYA ♦ 27 ♦ FEMALE ♦ TRUE NEUTRAL
Ω O R I G I N S:
I have little personal memory of my origins. What I know has been told through my mother’s jaws. And from her tongue, I shall lay bare to you. I was a delicate creature. A suckling babe, crying for the milk of her mother – a kind woman with demons grasping for her heart. She is-was the mate of a wealthy man – by convince of their pack. And… the driver of souls into damnation. The smell of poppy clung to her. The sweetness of the scent – heighted by a fanged smile lured many into her clutches. They desired escape. They disliked the world for what it gave them. Despair, disease, loss. She obliged for a grave pittance. Lambs walking into the jaws of a wolf.
You shall do well to suspend surprise, for her fate was of her own creation. She rode a wheeled construct into the depths of a forest. She carried the babe. And lusting men, stinking of the city’s streets, overtook her protectors and her. Nature’s will came that day. For the strong took from the weak. Poppy, money, warmth, lives, and the babe. The mother lane slain and stripped of her worldly possessions. The baby for ransom, in hope of gold and jewels from the father.
Those lusting eyes only saw the glint of steel and fire in the night before the river turned red. The man was no fool. He had power. He’ll take me back – whatever the cost. But I never came back. For my takers have left me in a cave. The cadaver of the one whom guarded me decorated the floor. My new takers, my new pack, found me. The children’s teeth thirst for more blood. But my mother saw only a child that new nothing of the world’s beauty, and its horrors.
And through the years that child grew. She danced with a bow and the grace of a cat. Her arrows weaving through the air to fell their mark. A huntress forged by wolves. A wolf in lamb’s clothing.
My mother’s story has beauty. Nature’s will laid out. But most importantly, the story was also a parable. If you are strong, whatever you desire will become yours. A lesson that girl took to heart.
I left my pack by their graces to find a hunting grounds to make my own. I’ve traveled for many moons, alone. Found a large forest ripe with game. Another wolf as well. A massive wolf, whom I’ve built a strong bond with, one I do not completely understand. We are nearly one. I’ve taken to calling him Wolyo. An act forged with great sentiment. He became my new teacher – unlocked the secrets of rituals, spells, and language. No nights were cold, no dreams fretful, no hunt alone. He became my trusted friend, I became his.
Together, we laid claim to that forest. Together, we hunted wild life for food, trespassers for sport. We hear whispers on the winds of us. They speak of us, forging stories and legends. Of a maiden with a bow, and a great wolf with dagger-like teeth. A great wealth is to be had, and we are their gate keepers. There is truth to this. We collect what they find valuable from the fallen and stored it away. They hunt us, we in turn - them. Shall we be bested, we’ll recognize their strength. And our hoard is theirs to own.
You shall do well to suspend surprise, for her fate was of her own creation. She rode a wheeled construct into the depths of a forest. She carried the babe. And lusting men, stinking of the city’s streets, overtook her protectors and her. Nature’s will came that day. For the strong took from the weak. Poppy, money, warmth, lives, and the babe. The mother lane slain and stripped of her worldly possessions. The baby for ransom, in hope of gold and jewels from the father.
Those lusting eyes only saw the glint of steel and fire in the night before the river turned red. The man was no fool. He had power. He’ll take me back – whatever the cost. But I never came back. For my takers have left me in a cave. The cadaver of the one whom guarded me decorated the floor. My new takers, my new pack, found me. The children’s teeth thirst for more blood. But my mother saw only a child that new nothing of the world’s beauty, and its horrors.
And through the years that child grew. She danced with a bow and the grace of a cat. Her arrows weaving through the air to fell their mark. A huntress forged by wolves. A wolf in lamb’s clothing.
My mother’s story has beauty. Nature’s will laid out. But most importantly, the story was also a parable. If you are strong, whatever you desire will become yours. A lesson that girl took to heart.
I left my pack by their graces to find a hunting grounds to make my own. I’ve traveled for many moons, alone. Found a large forest ripe with game. Another wolf as well. A massive wolf, whom I’ve built a strong bond with, one I do not completely understand. We are nearly one. I’ve taken to calling him Wolyo. An act forged with great sentiment. He became my new teacher – unlocked the secrets of rituals, spells, and language. No nights were cold, no dreams fretful, no hunt alone. He became my trusted friend, I became his.
Together, we laid claim to that forest. Together, we hunted wild life for food, trespassers for sport. We hear whispers on the winds of us. They speak of us, forging stories and legends. Of a maiden with a bow, and a great wolf with dagger-like teeth. A great wealth is to be had, and we are their gate keepers. There is truth to this. We collect what they find valuable from the fallen and stored it away. They hunt us, we in turn - them. Shall we be bested, we’ll recognize their strength. And our hoard is theirs to own.
Ω A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:
//ABILITIES:
//SKILLS:
//LIMITATIONS:
//WEAKNESSES:
◼ Feline’s Grace | Farya is startling graceful and dexterous. When relaxed, she drifts gracefully through the grass like a noble. Upright and to the step of a rhythm. When she prowls, she slinks like a predator with perfect balance. When she fires her bow, she does with the glory of a dancer. Swapping targets with a pirouette, and repositioning with a twirl, or a flip. And when running, she makes long strides with instinctive care in each step, or soars through the air when running on all fours.
◼ Apex Predator | Unlike most, Farya came to rely heavily on all of her senses working at their peak. She has better hearing, sense of smell, sensitivity to touch, and taste than most other humans. Naturally she’ll struggle with those who spent a lifetime hiding, but those few will gain her respect.
//SKILLS:
◼ Eternal Huntress | Farya had spent most of her life hunting. And like wise that gives her a lifetime to hone her tracking, stalking, and marksmanship. Those whom become Farya’s and Wolyo’s next target, will never live to tell the story of a close encounter with the two.
◼ We Hunt Together | Both Farya and Wolyo are no strangers to teamwork, and greatly desires a pack of their own. Those in their care would not need to fear about their flanks, or worry about being left to die.
◼ Nature’s Gift | Farya had learned some basic druid spells and rituals from her companion, Wolyo. While druid magics are worth fearing. Her spells are mostly utility, or ineffective in combat. Along with this gift, she holds a natural ability to speak with beasts.
//LIMITATIONS:
◼ Novice Druid | Farya had such a short time to learn the spells she knows. Practice and experimentation is the only reason why she can consistently cast such spells. However, she does not have the benefit of building up her endurance through years of practice like other spell casters. And more complicated spells she picks up later could potentially fail at a much higher rate than normal.
◼ Uneducated | Growing up in the wild often means you do not get the same opportunities. Farya is incapable of reading, writing, and some intermediate levels of arithmetic. She has little understanding of how machinery works.
//WEAKNESSES:
◼ A Wolf Is Not a Pet | Civilization is a foreign concept to Farya. She has no sense of modesty, a lack luster understanding of laws, bare minimum humanity, and some how managed to not understand some of the nuances of human emotions like love. That's right, ask for her hand in marriage, and she will look at you with confusion. The only things civil about her, is the fact she wears clothes for utility purposes only, grooms and bathes on a regular and strict basis, and has a strong grasp of language.
◼ Two Fangs One Maw | It would be almost accurate to say they are two halves of one person. Linked in mind and soul, with a deep ingrain trust - they're sworn to be life long companions and to never leave the other behind. Separation will cripple them both with grief, loneliness, and an inexplicably strong desire to regroup with one another no matter the cost.
◼ Lone Wolves Don't Survive | The two’s greatest weakness is their dependence on one another. Like many wolves, the individual will not survive for long. They overcome their weaknesses by covering for each other’s. The two work together like a well-oiled machine. Isolating one will force them into a bad spot if the other can't get to them.
◼ Identity Masquerade | She almost always wears her mask. And very rarely takes it off. The loss of it could potentially cause her to lock up in fear, or frantically search for it.
Ω N O T E S:
◼ Primitive tatoos line her body. Rather than being various tribal symbols, they are few long sweeping, and broad swirling blue lines. They seem to be all connected together. They swirl around her kalves, thighs, stomach, and end crawling up her back to her shoulders. The same pattern is repeated on the furs and rags of cloths she wears in the exact same locations.
◼ Farya wears a mask. The mask is an intricate black painted wood carving resembling a stylized wolf. A blue marking exists on the forehead in a similar style to the markings that covers her body.
◼ Her Primary Weapon is a long bow, well made and decorated with trophies like fangs, claws, and feathers. Her back up is a sturdy primitive knife with a large ring on the hilt.
If Farya had noticed the the mix of disgusted and bewildered looks she was receiving, she hadn’t shown it. They saw not a civil lady, but a barbarian. And in truth, the wildling fit every practical sense of the world. She belonged to none of the large cities. And her attire was definitely as loud as primitive can be - and far into the domain of being scandalous for women with the amount of skin and scars she openly displayed. It’d be clear to most without a lecherous mind that she sought clothing for utility and practicality rather than modesty.
She wore the furrs of multiple enemies as the majority of her clothing. She furred cuffs on her forearms that reached up to her elbows. They were laced together roughly, and further secured with crude belt and loops to ensure a tight fit. The same treatment was given to her lower legs, and feet, only with the addition of a mountain lions claws reaching just past her toes. A pelt with a tail had been fashioned into a crude kilt secured to her hips, with sections of it slashed into flowing ribbons. Cloth, likely stolen from corpses, was also found. The tattered rags had been tied together and wrapped around her chest like compression bandages. And just over that was a harness fashioned out of fur and leather offering more warmth, and of course modesty to the peering eyes. But once again, it was more for utility than for others in mind, as on the back of this harness, two hooks flush to her back could be found. One designed to secure her bow to her back, and the other to hold a bag, which is currently hitched onto her wolven companion, Wolyo. Draped over her head was a wolf pelt cowell complete with a ragged mane flowing backwards that hid her red hair. It served well to further accent the mask she wore.
The only thing that seemed civil about her, was the worn and faded linen cloak she was wearing. It contrasted horribly against everything else she wore. And made her stand out even more. Perhaps it was because it had a few holes in suspicious areas?
Regardless, the wildling paid no heed to those wondering eyes. Instead her gazed shifted to various different sights. The long ear like flaps of her cowel and mask made her head appear far more animated than what is needed. Indeed, her head bobbed too and fro, it swiveled to lock onto something else of interest, and rolled here and there. Then finally they were inside the largest building in the city, presumably the king’s castle.
It was here she finally spoke. Her hand gently raised to stroke her companion behind the ears, and in return she received a curious growl.
“What is it, little one,” she heard a rumbling voice in the back of her mind. Wolyo’s voice. A voice like rumbling thunder in the distance, but baring no ill will. The wolf was dressed in a crude but protective harness of carved wooden plates. He was not completely encased, like a suit of armor, but it was enough to prevent a hurried swing of a blade from causing serious harm.
“It is as the bard’s story says,” She whispered. Her voice ironically delicate and soft. Her gaze drifted among the throne room. Her eyes spotting the Guards who gave her a grim look, and tightened their holds on their weapons. And the group, presumably the other adventurers, near the throne. “The city’s beauty is of its own, I do not know how to put my feelings into words.”
“It is not the forest. The Sickness, little one,” Wolyo rumbled. A growl in the world, comprehendable words in her head.
“... Has taken its toll. The statues, are an unnatural art - the beauty unfound - unwanted. The poor souls fleeting moments captured, flesh to become stone. Ragged breaths reduced to dust, and pain permanently peers outward into the world. Those left carry on, but I hear it in their hearts. They are scared and daunted...”
“... a tale of woe,” Wolyo rumbled through a half hearted snarl. The sincerity of the words were mixed with aloof concern and boredom. His feelings were punctuated further by the massive wolf’s teeth taking hold of Farya’s kilt and giving it a tug to get her moving.
With a sigh, the woman began walking once more. She cleared the doorway with the grace of a noble. She stood tall and proud, despite being a guest in someone else’s territory. No flagrant display of power will daunt a wolf.
She watches the last of the men recieve their mark. And without question, or documentation, she approached the robed man silently. She removed one of the furred cuffs, and extended her arm. She watched as the mark come and go like a fading candle.
She studied her arm for a moment longer. Her wrist rolling gently to get a look around her entire arm. She had no idea of the spells purpose, but it did not appear to be doing anything. She did not feel any different at least. The cuff was pulled back on while her gaze turned to her soon to be companions.
Her masked head tilted to each one, spending some time to silently study them. Her hand lazily scratching her friend’s ear while he sat by her side. For each one, her own thoughts echoed in her head.
A grizzled elder, whos eyes speaks of war.
A man of steel, a bulwark in the tides.
A prowling shadow, a hunter like herself?
An excited child, likely forgotten and naive.
A shivering woman, smells of the sands.
Three of them, should they have met under a different circumstance, she would have enjoyed the challenge of hunting them. Perhaps one of them would be the one to finally best her? The child… failed to draw concern - but instead her deepest respects. He was here, he knows the stakes, and he is likely ready. The girl however… draws concern.
The wildling’s gaze drifted down to her own body, to study it, and then back up to the other. The mental image of what Farya perceived to be ‘normal’ had been projected over the other’s body. Oh yes… her concern was founded in her eyes. For the shivering woman of the sands looked terribly underfed. A problem that Farya will have to solve over the course of their journey.
Wolyo’s head tilted. His head bobbed to each woman, and his nose giving a few careful sniffs. His jaws soon parted to release one long whine of a growl. “AAAWWWwww! This is our pack!? They are pitiful!”
Farya, smiled softly behind her mask, and gave her companion a playful slap on the nose. “Hush, dear Wolyo,” the woman’s delicate voice rang out openly. “They are perfect.”
Despite her friend’s disdainful sniff of annoyance, she stepped forward and slung the cloak from her shoulders. She draped it over an arm and offered it out to the shivering child of Eerum. “It does a pack no good to succumb to illness, and bring your journey to an end too soon.”
She wore the furrs of multiple enemies as the majority of her clothing. She furred cuffs on her forearms that reached up to her elbows. They were laced together roughly, and further secured with crude belt and loops to ensure a tight fit. The same treatment was given to her lower legs, and feet, only with the addition of a mountain lions claws reaching just past her toes. A pelt with a tail had been fashioned into a crude kilt secured to her hips, with sections of it slashed into flowing ribbons. Cloth, likely stolen from corpses, was also found. The tattered rags had been tied together and wrapped around her chest like compression bandages. And just over that was a harness fashioned out of fur and leather offering more warmth, and of course modesty to the peering eyes. But once again, it was more for utility than for others in mind, as on the back of this harness, two hooks flush to her back could be found. One designed to secure her bow to her back, and the other to hold a bag, which is currently hitched onto her wolven companion, Wolyo. Draped over her head was a wolf pelt cowell complete with a ragged mane flowing backwards that hid her red hair. It served well to further accent the mask she wore.
The only thing that seemed civil about her, was the worn and faded linen cloak she was wearing. It contrasted horribly against everything else she wore. And made her stand out even more. Perhaps it was because it had a few holes in suspicious areas?
Regardless, the wildling paid no heed to those wondering eyes. Instead her gazed shifted to various different sights. The long ear like flaps of her cowel and mask made her head appear far more animated than what is needed. Indeed, her head bobbed too and fro, it swiveled to lock onto something else of interest, and rolled here and there. Then finally they were inside the largest building in the city, presumably the king’s castle.
It was here she finally spoke. Her hand gently raised to stroke her companion behind the ears, and in return she received a curious growl.
“What is it, little one,” she heard a rumbling voice in the back of her mind. Wolyo’s voice. A voice like rumbling thunder in the distance, but baring no ill will. The wolf was dressed in a crude but protective harness of carved wooden plates. He was not completely encased, like a suit of armor, but it was enough to prevent a hurried swing of a blade from causing serious harm.
“It is as the bard’s story says,” She whispered. Her voice ironically delicate and soft. Her gaze drifted among the throne room. Her eyes spotting the Guards who gave her a grim look, and tightened their holds on their weapons. And the group, presumably the other adventurers, near the throne. “The city’s beauty is of its own, I do not know how to put my feelings into words.”
“It is not the forest. The Sickness, little one,” Wolyo rumbled. A growl in the world, comprehendable words in her head.
“... Has taken its toll. The statues, are an unnatural art - the beauty unfound - unwanted. The poor souls fleeting moments captured, flesh to become stone. Ragged breaths reduced to dust, and pain permanently peers outward into the world. Those left carry on, but I hear it in their hearts. They are scared and daunted...”
“... a tale of woe,” Wolyo rumbled through a half hearted snarl. The sincerity of the words were mixed with aloof concern and boredom. His feelings were punctuated further by the massive wolf’s teeth taking hold of Farya’s kilt and giving it a tug to get her moving.
With a sigh, the woman began walking once more. She cleared the doorway with the grace of a noble. She stood tall and proud, despite being a guest in someone else’s territory. No flagrant display of power will daunt a wolf.
She watches the last of the men recieve their mark. And without question, or documentation, she approached the robed man silently. She removed one of the furred cuffs, and extended her arm. She watched as the mark come and go like a fading candle.
She studied her arm for a moment longer. Her wrist rolling gently to get a look around her entire arm. She had no idea of the spells purpose, but it did not appear to be doing anything. She did not feel any different at least. The cuff was pulled back on while her gaze turned to her soon to be companions.
Her masked head tilted to each one, spending some time to silently study them. Her hand lazily scratching her friend’s ear while he sat by her side. For each one, her own thoughts echoed in her head.
A grizzled elder, whos eyes speaks of war.
A man of steel, a bulwark in the tides.
A prowling shadow, a hunter like herself?
An excited child, likely forgotten and naive.
A shivering woman, smells of the sands.
Three of them, should they have met under a different circumstance, she would have enjoyed the challenge of hunting them. Perhaps one of them would be the one to finally best her? The child… failed to draw concern - but instead her deepest respects. He was here, he knows the stakes, and he is likely ready. The girl however… draws concern.
The wildling’s gaze drifted down to her own body, to study it, and then back up to the other. The mental image of what Farya perceived to be ‘normal’ had been projected over the other’s body. Oh yes… her concern was founded in her eyes. For the shivering woman of the sands looked terribly underfed. A problem that Farya will have to solve over the course of their journey.
Wolyo’s head tilted. His head bobbed to each woman, and his nose giving a few careful sniffs. His jaws soon parted to release one long whine of a growl. “AAAWWWwww! This is our pack!? They are pitiful!”
Farya, smiled softly behind her mask, and gave her companion a playful slap on the nose. “Hush, dear Wolyo,” the woman’s delicate voice rang out openly. “They are perfect.”
Despite her friend’s disdainful sniff of annoyance, she stepped forward and slung the cloak from her shoulders. She draped it over an arm and offered it out to the shivering child of Eerum. “It does a pack no good to succumb to illness, and bring your journey to an end too soon.”
I'll have a post up today
I got the words Pargon echoing in my head. Are we able to make use of any lovecraftian inspired content?
<Snipped quote by Tangletail>
You have a job in the computer science business? Because what you describe sounds eerily similar to what I do...
Yup. Pedestrian and traffic ai for simulators
<Snipped quote by Mistress Dizzy>
overtime sounds like it fucking sucks, congrats! I only have about a week left of school, so no more worrying about essays for me yay!
I graduated. But boy is there internal unholy screeching from college debt. Now I bang my head against a desk as I sift through horrible code 9hrs a day...
<Snipped quote by Tangletail>
I'm umming and aah-ing about your sheet so I will try and PM you to discuss it tomorrow. @fetzen I know you're still waiting as well so I will do you both at the same time.
<Snipped quote by Sovi3t>
In all honestly I'm struggling to see any significant changes that you've made to address what we talked about? I like Jartod but he needs some focused direction and something to distinguish him from our other Knight-archetype characters, Gaius and Roderick.
Got you. I'll... Just leave it as it is then.
@Roman
Holy crap, I'm rereading my app and I just realized my late night stupor she's learning magic from a wolf. Unless you find that fine, I'll correct that wierdness when I get to a computer.
Holy crap, I'm rereading my app and I just realized my late night stupor she's learning magic from a wolf. Unless you find that fine, I'll correct that wierdness when I get to a computer.
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