Tuxedo Fox

Pawns of the Inquisition

Hey guys!

Just wanted to touch base today and let everybody know that as of now the status of the rp (as I see it anyways):

-Mouse is planning to get a char up sometime soon
-The rp itself is still open to character submissions
-Probably sometime in the next day or so me and Kraken will post/start working on a post to start moving things along
@The Kraken@Rotmouse

Fallout - Orleans

Just read the new stuff you put up about the Order and French Revolution. Awesome stuff man, it all sounds like how I'd genuinely imagine Fallout: New Orleans the video game to be like lol. Just wanted to let you know your doin a badass job on the factions & New Orleans vibe-really diggin the nods to french history itself also. Its just fun stuff to read man.

CLOSED.

So uh...I totally got all that code right on my first try. *suspicious cough*

CLOSED.

Final edit damnit!

Ulisse Lorette

Ulisse Lorette

"What? You expect me to believe in the boogeyman or something?"
-Author: Tuxedo Fox

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T H E B A S I C S

Name

Ulisse J. Lorette

Nickname;

Although he does not have a nickname he insists on being called Lorette-he despises his first name.

Birth Date;

06/30/1970.

Age;

46.

Zodiac Sign;

Cancer.

Gender

Male.

Sexuality;

Straight.

Relationship Status;

Divorced.

Sexually Active;

No.

Occupation;

Currently a Private Eye,EX NOPD Detective.

Role;

Human.

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M Y R E F L E C T I O N

In Depth Appearance;

As far as men go Lorette is a rather imposing figure-standing at a whopping 6'2” his clearly defined muscles are usually kept hidden beneath one of his many cheap suites. Like his body itself his facial features are rather strong, his slightly rounded face and solid jaw complimenting his constantly kept trimmed hairstyle and five o clock shadow. In just the past few years his once jet black hair has begun to become peppered with grey, although in some strange way this has only added to his haggard yet dangerous appearance. Rounding out his whole look are his dark brown eyes that are constantly baggy-as if he never gets enough sleep.

Clothing Style;

When on the job (which is practically always) Lorette has a large closet full of the worlds cheapest and tackiest suites. The rare chance he gets a day off he still dress's rather proper-button up shirts and slacks.

Scars | Piercings | Tattoos;

On the top left of his chest is a small quarter sized scar-the corresponding side on his back has a much larger and uglier baseball sized scar.

[.hr]

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M Y Q U I R K S

Habits;

Smoking, Drinking, People Watching

Hobbies;

Reading, Collects Pipes, Cooking

Likes;

✔-Jazz, -Alchohol, -Reading, -Solving a case, -Good food, -Guns, his Ex Wife Sophia

Dislikes;

✘-His Ex wife, -Alchohol, -Criminals, -Voodoo, -Tourists, -Doctors, -Cold cases

Fears;

Lorettes three greatest fears are admitting that he has become an alchoholic, the supernatural, and oddly enough spiders

Personality;

♦ Extremely loyal ♦ Superstitious ♦ Clever ♦ Anger Issues ♦

”Workaholic” would by far be the best word to describe Lorette-a personality trait that has only gotten worse in the years following his rather rocky divorce. The obsession he has with work has only been made worse by his ever growing problem with alcohol, although in his opinion his drinking is still “totally under control”. And yet despite his borderline alcoholism and maddening work ethic Lorette usually comes off as somewhat friendly-that is unless he even slightly suspects an individual of being involved in a case he is working or illegal activity.

When off the job (if there is such a thing) Lorette is the type of man could spend the whole night nursing a glass of whiskey at some hole in the wall bar. To him its easier to talk to a complete stranger over those he actually has an established relationship with but at the same time he would do just about anything for those in his “inner circle.” When meeting strangers he can't help but size them up and do his best to discover every detail about them that he can with the naked eye-details he cant discover by conversation and appearance he fills in with more often then not rather accurate assumptions.

When he does come to suspect people/get a suspicious feeling about someone he goes into what his ex wife used to call “full detective mode.” On more then one occasion he has done full blown one man sting operations on people he simply had “bad feelings about.” Whats more surprising is that more often then not these hunches normally lead down some type of rabbit hole that would eventually end with him forwarding all gathered information to his old colleagues in the NOPD. Arrests often followed.

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D E F I N I N G M Y P A S T

History;

Speaking of the boys in blue, it wasn't that long ago that Lorette himself wore a badge. Having graduated the police academy at the young age of twenty he was immediately hired into the local NOPD due to his seemingly excellent scores in almost every category. Having grown up in some of the rougher areas of Orleans he had wanted to join the police force for as long as he could remember-he wanted to make a difference. That's why it was so crushing when only 7 short years into his ideal career everything was torn out from under his feat in just the few short moments it took some shithead to fire a gun at him.

The bullet that shattered his left shoulder blade broke so many more things then bone: suddenly he found himself “unfit for duty”. To him the thought was total bullshit, after all he didn't need to be able to make a fist with his left hand in order to do his job-apparently the doctors disagreed though, and despite his rather vehement opposition he was given “honorable early retirement.”

From there everything spun out of control in his life. Not only did he start abusing the pain killers he'd been prescribed for his injury but his wife, who at first had been ecstatic he was going to be home full time, was quick to leave him soon after-in the note she left behind she told him how he wasn't the same man she had loved years ago. It goes without saying this only made things much, much, worse. Soon not only was he taking pain killers he no longer needed but was more often then not washing down the little white pills with vast quantities of alcohol.

It was his mother who finally pulled him out of this ever growing hole he had fallen into, to her it didn't matter they hadn't spoken since Lorette left home at the young age of 18. She simply showed up on his doorstep one night, the little old wrinkled woman with ridiculously oversized red glasses looking the exact same to Lorette as she had so many years ago. Lorette didn't know how but it was just like his mother to show up the very night he had decided to blow his brains out-somehow during the course of her visit she had convinced him to not pull the trigger, although every time he tried to remember just what she had said he would draw a complete blank.

The next morning he awoke with strange markings on his chest and forehead along with his mother nowhere to be found-quickly he remembered just why he avoided the woman most people in the Quarter called Mama Belle. After a quick shower and a change of clothes Lorette felt better-like, a lot better, way better then he should have. In fact, he felt so content he began to worry something wasn't right-it was a problem he quickly remedied with a tumbler of whiskey and two Vicodin.

Now feeling somewhat more normal Lorette couldn't help but ignore the newfound sensation that seemed to course through his body-it was if a drive to do something coursed through his very veins, so he went back to doing the one thing he really knew how to do: Detective work.

Sure, the NOPD could keep him from being a cop but what they couldn't do was keep him from opening his own Private Eye business-honestly he couldn't believe he hadn't made that realization years ago. Before long the “Lorette Detective Agency” came into actual existence, Lorettes new workplace coming in the form of a small shack sized building sandwiched into the busy French Quarter district.

His landlord was a batty old woman who charged him far to little for rent. Hell, just renting a shoe box in the French Quarter should have been completely unafordable for Lorette. The cheap rent actually made him go as far as to look into his landlords background, but sadly he didn't really turn up anything. She was just an old lady who lived alone and spent most of her time growing all sorts of plants, his gut told him there was more to the woman though and as of now he still has a “case file in progress” on her.

These days Lorette spends most of his time working on one case at a time with almost clinical obsession. Over the years he has garnered a reputation as a man who can find anyone in New Orleans alive or dead, because of this he is never wanting for clients.

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M I S C .

Extra:

Uh...I really cant decide, werewolf probably?

Theme Song;

Watching The Detectives– Elvis Costello

@HushedWhispers

CLOSED.

So would Voodoo fall under "Witches" or is that a different magic type in the world? Or will we even be referencing voodoo at all?

Pawns of the Inquisition

@Rotmouse
I think that can totally be doable-Flint himself is wanting to get out of the rain, so stumbling into each other in a random cave would probly work out fine (could even be the cave i mentioned in my post). I'll talk it over a little with Kraken when they get on today but I don't foresee any problems with that.

Pawns of the Inquisition

@Rotmouse @The Kraken
Oh its all good man, no worries.

I did mean to tell everyone last night before I passed out: You don't necessarily have to be in the Inquisition at the start of the rp (at the time this takes place the Inquisition itself is rather small.) The first mission that Flint is undertaking is as follows:

"We are sending you and a small group to investigate reports of Red Lyrium mining taking place just off the Storm Coast. It is unknown whether Venatori, Templars, or just the Carta are responsible. Irregardless the Inquisition wants the operation completely shut down and, if at all possible, all the red lyrium destroyed."

Now this may seem like it limits people in how they can join-but don't be afraid to get creative. For instance, the land this mine is on belongs to the Arl of Amaranthine-a fact he has not taking too kindly to and rumour has it he himself has dispatched men to not just shut the mine down but to take it over for Amaranthine. Likewise many small surrounding villages have been raided and ransacked by this new mining operation, their main goal not to loot or plunder but to obtain the most precious commodity of all: human lives. Now enslaved the local populace is forced to work the mines day and night: escape attempts and breakout plans have been rather frequent but are often met with extreme retribution. Or maybe you are one of the Venatori/Templars/Carta that are actually behind running the mine-its not like every single rebel mage and renegade templar are 100 percent committed to the cause, especially after watching people work themselves to death while enslaved: it might make one doubt what they are doing.

Anyways I wrote all that just to kinda throw some things out there and basicly get the point across that-Yes you can join and not be in the inquisition-it just might require some creativity on your part or a bit of colabing with me or Kraken.

Pawns of the Inquisition

My Hider

Name: Flint Cadash

Age: 30

Gender: Male

Appearance: Like most Dwarfs Flint's battle scarred features are kept hidden behind a thick brownish beard that is almost always kept tied in overly elaborate brades, his grumpy pudgy pit bullish face a seemingly constant mask of weariness-the look of a man that has seen far to much of the dark side of life in Thedas. Of all his features the one that stands out most of all is the large black S shaped tattoo on his right cheek, although his crooked nose (clearly having been broken a few times) comes in at a close second. At his full height he stands at a whopping 4'11”, although his stout muscular frame looks much more intimidating while encased in his thick iron plate mail.


Nationality: N/A (Orzamar outcast)

Race: Dwarf

Organization/Occupation: Inquisition/Mercenary

Equipment: Aside from an enchanted wooden Buckler and his average looking mace Flint carries the bare essentials along with a few personal knicknacks, all of which he usually keeps bound to his back in an old leather rucksack.

Specialization: Carta “Training”

History: Born the lowest of the low in a society where position is everything Flint was quick to learn just how important standing up for himself was, a fact that lead him down a path of constant fights and run ins with the law. In his world though the fact of the matter was his family could either starve or eat off the coin he earned doing things many claimed the paragons frowned upon.

Sod the paragons.

The stone had found it fit to give Flint a hard body and soft soul, a fact that clashed with the day to day dealings of his various “jobs”. Nonetheless for eighteen long years Flint begrudgingly locked his conscience away.

After years of hard work, shady dealings, and a fair amount of blood Flint had made his way up to a position of some actual importance-at least it was an important position to the far to numerous casteless that occupied Dust Town. For almost a year things had begun to look up for Flint, serving just underneath a wicked woman named Jarvia had brought him more wealth then he had ever seen up to that point in his life-he had so much money he was even able to afford a fancy looking ring for his younger sister.

All good things must come to an end as they say though, something Flint truly took to heart after the death of Jarvia-an event that created a power vacum unseen in Dust Town for as long as Flint could remember. One thing led to another and before Flint knew it he was taking his first (and hesitant) steps onto the surface, the ensuing blood bath in Dust Town having earned him and a handful of other teary eyed dwarfs a one way ticket above ground.

Amazingly Flint was shocked to find that he took to surface life far better then he would have ever imagined, his mace and shield quickly finding him work as he was drug off on various adventures throughout his years of traveling. And even more impressive was how almost all of those large bumbling humans didn't pay any heed to his permanently tattooed face-to them he was 'just another dwarf.'

Pawns of the Inquisition

Sitting out in the open in the middle of a wooded clearing with nothing but the night sky to stair for entertainment Flint did his best to pass the time. Only like usual Flints luck was almost comicly bad, a heavy downpour of rain smacking him in the face any time he dared look up at the twinkling dancing gems above. He had to admit, every ounce of him wanted to scurry off into a nearby cave he'd spotted on the trek here, after all there was nothing more comforting to the old dwarf than a large stone ceiling overhead.

He'd set up camp in the small clearing in the middle of nowhere deep off of the shores of the coastland about four days out of Amaranthine. Honestly he hated the place, the rolling black clouds in the sky seemingly never broke casting a strange eerie depressing mood throughout the vast wilderness he sat in. And the damned rain came and went at a moments notice, a fact that was almost completely unbearable due to the already chilly climate.

Despite how much the cave was begging for him to enter Flint sat there shivering with stereotypical Dwarven stubbornness. His orders from Spy Master Lelliana had been clear and he would not deviate from them, whether that was due to respect or a very healthy fear of the Spy Master was hard to tell. Nonetheless he had been dispatched to meet up with a small group of fellow members of the Inquisition, something he'd been doing more and more in the recent months and he wholeheartedly planned on following her orders to a T.

With the mage rebellion in full swing there had been more and more reports coming in of what had only been described to Flint as 'Dangerous Maleficur Activity'. Yet despite his gruff looking exterior Flint was no idiot, he was well aware that when it came mages they were simply people, and just like people there were good ones, bad ones, and then the kind that just needed to be wiped off the face of Thedas. The later of the three is what Flint had been tasked with combating on almost a daily basis, a feat he had become better and better at over the last few months-And with the Templars doing their seemingly best to kill everyone and everything except those who actually warranted their attention Flints talents had become more and more in demand as of late.

Like most Dwarfs Flint's battle scarred features were hidden behind a thick brownish beard that was kept tied in overly elaborate brades, his grumpy pudgy pit bullish face a seemingly constant mask of weariness-as if he was a man that had seen far to much of the dark side of life in Thedas. Of all his features the one that stood out most of all was the large black S shaped tattoo on his right cheek, his crooked nose that had clearly been broken a few times coming in at a close second however. At his full height he stood at a whopping 4'11”, although his stout muscular frame looked much more intimidating while wearing his thick iron plate mail. The weather however had made Flint regret his armor choice, between the cold rain and constant winds he felt as if he were encased in a thick block of ice.

Suddenly the rain stopped for what seemed like the twelfth time that day, a fact that made Flint look skyward in slight surprise. Quickly shaking his head in a manner that could only be described as 'dog like' drops of water quickly filled the air for a brief moment as his beard comically swung back and forth. Shifting his weight in an attempt to make himself more comfortable on his makeshift seat (which was really just a half rotten log he'd found), he then wasted no time searching through a medium sized rucksack that lay next to his right leg. He made a point of only traveling with the bare essentials, most journeys he carried little more then his mace, shield, and signature rucksack that was normally kept slung on his back.

His small armored hands apparently found what they were searching for rather quickly; a tiny amber brown bottle clutched triumphantly in his right hand in mere moments. It was a fine bottle of Antivan brandy he'd won off some Orlesian merchant in a rather heated game of wicked grace. He'd been saving it for a special occasion or a particularly wicked battle wound, but sitting here in the cold woods with boredom almost overwhelming him he had decided it was as good a time as any. Using his teeth like a bottle opener he bit onto the thick cork and twisted causing a loud 'pop' to sound in the quite night. Lifting the bottle to his mouth he took two long swigs, the warm liquid slightly stinging the back of his throat as he took it down. Within moments he felt the effect, his tense body slightly loosening up as the fancy liquor worked its magic. He even felt a little warmer.

In all honesty the booze was one of his favorite things about coming to the surface, unlike back home in Orzammar where everyone was literally used to drinking fermented dirt and mushrooms. Hell, just thinking of the dwarven brews back home made him shiver-the old familiar disgusting flavor filling his mouth with a strange phantom taste he could never forget.

Briefly lost in thought about his previous life back home Flint's mind began to wander only to be torn back to reality when he heard movement in the treeline behind him. Quickly grabbing the old worn out handle that was attached to his thick mace he yanked the tarnished piece of steel out of the ground where it had been resting, his beat up round wooden shield also appearing seemingly out of nowhere in his other hand. It was clear by the numerous knicks, scrapes, and dents on his armor and weapons that he was far more familiar with combat than your average man.

Striking a defensive pose his beady dark brown eyes frantically skimmed the treeline in hopes of finding the source of the noise, he hoped it was simply one of his allies he was here to meet...but knowing his luck it was probably a roving band of wild bandits or lyrium crazed nugs. After all, life was never easy for Flint.

Pawns of the Inquisition

EDIT-Just wanted to let any new arrivals know that as of now we are no longer taking character applications. If this changes in the future I will post something here.

The year is 9:40 Dragon and like most periods in the history of Thedas this too is a tumultuous one. Still reeling from the destruction of not only the Chantry in Kirkwall but the Grand Cleric herself both mages and templars war throughout the lands killing innocent and guilty alike. Circles have been abandoned, oaths have been broken, and blood has been spilt. Through the sea of Chaos the recently appointed Divine Justinia has done her best to push back against the seemingly collapsing age old orders of both Mage and Templars.

Aware of just how much weight her actions carried the brilliant Justinia not only brought back the ancient order of the Inquisition, headed by some of her best and most trusted agents, but she also arranged for a Conclave to take place-a meeting on neutral ground where both Templar, Mage, and Chantry could come together in hopes of finding a peaceful solution to the ever growing animosity between the trio. Perhaps most surprising of all is how she was even able to convince the two groups to meet, no doubt not only was she wise and benevolent but a master manipulator of the game both in and outside of Orlais. Set to take place in just a few days Justinia herself has decided to preside over these peace talks in hopes of a more positive outcome-for one often remembers their place when face to face with the Divine. In these troubling times Justinias actions not only bring hope to a fearful populace but also fuel the desire for real change.

But our story does not take place here, our tale begins with a lone dwarf shivering in the night leagues away.
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*Rules*
-Basic rules apply, we all know what they are. If you need clarification just shoot me or Kraken a PM.-
-Some types of characters may be limited to how many we allow (Grey Wardens, Blood Mages, Ect) Shoot me or Kraken a PM before making your whole sheet to avoid disappointment-

*Character Sheet*
-Character sheets will be somewhat basic, Ill leave it to the individual to deciede how fancy they want it to look. Would like the following info though.
Name:

Age:

Gender:

Race:

Nationality:

Group Affiliation: (If any. Ex:Templars, Circle of Magi, Legion of the Dead, ect)

Occupation: (If applicable)

Appearance: (Photos acceptable-keep them in the dragon age style though, no rl pics.)

Equipment/Weapons:

Bio: