WittyReference

LANTERN (redux)

It'll be fiiiiine.

LANTERN (redux)

Yeezus Walks

LANTERN (redux)

I'll give the others a few hours to post while I decide how I want to play this interaction. If there's no activity by then we'll have a go.

LANTERN (redux)

Tadah! Now wake up so we can investigate those lights, Varric damn well ain't goin' alone.

LANTERN (redux)

From atop the spiraled staircase, the foyer below brimmed with life. The circular stained glass window shattering sunlight and throwing manic specks of color across those in attendance. The stone walls warm to the touch and inlaid with shelf upon shelf of tomes, maps, curios and keepsakes. The well worn floorboards shined to a mirror despite the treads of all walks of life carved into their fibers. Visionaries, diplomats, mauraders, preists, all men were equal in Fort Draleth. A man cannot control the content of his character but rather the merit of his action. Man is strong when he chooses to be. Man is weak when he allows himself to be. These were the guiding tenants of High Lord Varric Draleth II, son of High Lord Commander Varric Draleth the Greater and father of the foppish dandy atop the stairs.

"Gentlemen, I do hope you'll excuse me for just one moment." Kind grey eyes cooled to steel as they climbed the spiraled steps to his son's. "Varric, if you are intent to pry into family affairs then I will be more than happy to put you to work. If you would kindly, come entertain our guests while I see to theae documents."

Red face and shaling hands trotted down flights, smirking faces illuminating his path as men clad in ornate robes awaited the fruits of this intrusion smugly. "Varric the Lesser, I presume." The boy did not answer, did not look, did not dare breathe until he had reached the raised platform near the back of the foyer.

Eyes fixed on the harp before him, the boy choked out his rehearsed introduction. "If it should please those gathered, House Draleth welcomes all in attendance with a melody carried in the hearts of all who share our blood, a song that has been passed down since the Crusades of High Lord Commander Varric the Greater, Patriarch of our House and Loyal Hand of the King." Before his esteemed guests could interject, the boy began to play.

Shoulders eased against the strings. Fingers collapsed through notes of time. Steady. Ease trickled from his brow as the men disappeared. The foyer fell away until only the large window remained. The filtered light danced merry and gay through the brimming stained glass. Shards colored and shards spectacular, cut in such exquisite majesty. The image of his grandfather carved into glistening sun. Brave. Noble. His warm armor beaming unto the boy. From amidst the shelves, a voice spoke.

"You've been practicing."

The boy continued, a slight smile creeping through his polished veneer. It was subtle but he knew Father was proud. The man approached, his smile widening. The men in turn began to smile. As the music softened to silence, their death mask grins remained. Varric stood in stunned silence as their faces contorted. Their mouths opened wide, wider than any mortal could achieve. The screams were deafening as the sick crunch of bone gave wave to the rush of water. Frothing and tinged red from the blood, water burst forth from the three men's mouths, their eyes, their ears, all senses taken by the rushing water. The men as fountains, filling the foyer almost immediately, maps ruined in the the tide, books floating aloft desperately trying to save stories yet untold.

Panic gripped him as Varric tried desperately to stay above the coming flood. Pushing hard against the swirling current, his vision of his father obscured by the welling water, he kicked hard against the churning sea. Violent waves pushed him this way and that as he found himself surrounded on all sides by water, ever rising. Where was the fort? Where was his father? His body lamented as ragged breath and sea water clashed in his lungs, his strength waning swiftly as the sea continued to rise. As he tried desperately to scream out, to call for someone, anyone, to save him only the sea responded-its deafening waves crashing down his throat and sending him to the dark below.

* * *

With a gasp, the ornate wooden man creaked back to life, water and bile retching from his lungs to the sandy shore he lay sprawled upon. His vision was blurry and his breathing was ached with constant choking and cursing. Utterly undignified. As the assault subsided, Lord Varric remained prone in the sand as his vision cleared. All around him were strewn bodies and scraps of hull. The ship was gone. The fort was gone. Varric felt a weight in his chest as he turned from the scene before him.

"And so I die."

His fists clenched. His legs stood. It was unspeakable.

A man of his stature, a master of man and beast, to die atop some pockmarked shoreline in the eye of the abyss. What cruel fate was this? What manner of foul luck? To be destroyed so completely by a foe one could not confront. It was unspeakable! His wobbling knees steeled themselves, his breath once a pale green now shone red in the moonlit night.

Storming across the beach he cursed and berated the bodies cast haphazardly about the waves. You imbeciles! You guttural disappointments! You've run ashore and all died and left ME to pick up your scraps!

With a grunt, Varric lifted his ruined robe and ushered a swift kick into one of the corpses, a crooked specimen with unnatural proportions to its limbs and a primate's brow. Fumes of hopelessness and petulance steamed from Varric as he paced between the dead until a loud bleating tore him from his own concerns.

"Well."

He sighed and stared defeated at his new guest.

"At least there's food."

LANTERN (redux)

IC hype

I've never been so excited to smash my face into coral

LANTERN (redux)

*extremely Varric voice* Trust me.

LANTERN (redux)

I'm game. Besides, even if it isn't exactly what we envision, there's no reason we can't still do the equivalent of OOC table top discussion here in the OOC; in my experience people do that anyway to some extent naturally. It'll be fiiiiine.

LANTERN (redux)

I'd be down to try out that level of tranparency as an experiment but overall I think I'd rather gather information about the unfolding mysteries of the island and such through in-game interaction as opposed to a questionnaire dealio. That being said, that's just personal preference. Ol' dude's built to coerce and I crafted my backstory to allow character interaction as well; obviously I'm gonna be biased. I defer to my esteemed colleagues.

LANTERN (redux)

His Lordship

High Lord Varric Lyssander Anguis Draleth III

WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER'S NAME? WHAT DO THEY PREFER TO BE CALLED?
High Lord Varric Lyssander Anguis Draleth...the Third. While titles are highly important in a realm of civil discourse, given the circumstance, Lord Varric is an acceptable substitute.

HOW ARE THEY BEST RECOGNIZED IN A CROWD?
Clad in magnificent robes of violet, resplendent gold inlays and tasteful splashes of muck and blood courtesy of the crash, Varric stands just shy of six foot (though he swears he is all of 6'2). Floor length and tattered, Varric pairs the garment brilliantly with a petulant scowl. Wrinkled and streaked with grey, the nobleman's vanity belies the age inscribed on his face. Short, neat hair and a well groomed goatee befit a man of stature and subterfuge and as such are a staple of Varric's image.

WHAT IS A STRANGER'S FIRST IMPRESSION UPON MEETING THEM? HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER SEE THEMSELVES?
This depends entirely on whether or not Varric realizes he's being watched. Given notice, the nobleman carries himself with dignity befitting one of his station, leaning to his honored guest's sensibilities to garner favor and admiration. If caught off guard, however, one would see Varric's true colors, a lazy and vindictive soul, selfish and spoiled from birth.

If asked himself, Lord Draleth would tell you he is the pinnacle of civility, his intellect is such that one would be best to follow his lead but he is much too magnanimous to press that point. The foolish learn in their own time the fallacy of denying House Draleth.

WHERE DID THEY GROW UP? WHERE DO THEY FEEL AT HOME?
Lord Varric grew up in his family's naval fort situated amidst the tumultuous Morangi Atoll, creatively named Fort Draleth. Given their background, Izzy and potentially Elliot would know the atoll was originally a pirate alcove until House Draleth (and their mercenaries) moved in to pressure their political rivals' trade routes in the area. Many ruffians of the sea were put to the blade and the remainder employed as "privateers" of the family. With the combined manpower (and a steady supply of Daemon Spice) the native populace was kept docile meaning young Varric never had to lift a finger on the overgrown isle. This allowed his formulative years to be spent in the Fort proper whiling away the hours reading or watching his father clash wits with guests to the island.

As such, Varric feels most at home in towering spires, isolated and content, pampered and protected. Solitude is something he holds dear, free to wax philosophical on the necessity of castes, hierarchy and the law of man. When he does entertain the notion of discourse Varric prefers brow-beating easy prey rather than his father's penchant for spirited debate, opting to sorround himself with stimulating yet ultimately spineless yesmen.

WHO ARE THE MOST IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN THEIR LIVES?
Above all others Varric loves himself. Fate however has bound him to the other survivors and as such they are, much to his chagrin, the most important people to his life now.

WHAT IS THEIR PROFESSION, SKILL OR LIFESTYLE? WHAT DO THEY THINK THEIR STRENGTHS ARE? WHAT ARE THEIR ACTUAL STRENGTHS?
High Lord Varric of Draleth is first and foremost a statesman. His skill lies in diplomacy suggestion and manipulation. His existence relies on delegation of duty and winning favor. Varric believes his highborn status and numerous successes in the art of state make him naturally fit to run a kingdom of his own someday. In reality, his true calling is that of a tactician like his father before him (a profession he finds beneath him).

His ability to inspire and beguile friend and foe alike lay the groundwork for a leader of men, his time spent tracking the machinations of the other Houses, moving in secret to intercept and redirect supplies the beginnings of an effective guerrilla commander.

WHAT ARE THEIR FEARS, FLAWS AND SECRETS?
Varric fears being left to fend for himself. Having to rely on his own worth as he secretly believes he has none. Varric is at the mercy of his subordinates. He belittles them and breaks them to subservience so that they never realize the true sway they hold over him.

WHAT DO THEY WANT MOST? WHAT DO THEY ACTUALLY NEED?
Lord Varric wants nothing more than to return to Fort Draleth amidst his guards and his slaves and close the Plague, the rival Houses, and this damned island OUT. In reality, Varric needs to learn to live on his own merit rather than on the blood and sweat of others. Varric needs to control himself before he can control others.

IF YOUR CHARACTER COULD HAVE ANY SUPERNATURAL ABILITY, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
House Draleth is a wound, it's existence toxic and paralyzing. Where their influence swells, all life shudders. As such, Varric stands as conduit of his family's wickedness, a vile touch that withers life and draws sustenance from its suffering. The ability to Devour Life.

HOW HAS THE PLAGUE AFFECTED THEM? WHY ARE THEY ABOARD THE LEGEND'S FORGERY?
To hear Varric speak, he has lost the most of any to the cursed Plague. It is one thing to lose a mother or a sister but to lose station, now THAT is be mourned. Power, prestige, generations of planning set upon by an unthinking beast, an enemy the Draleth could not outwit.

Admittedly, Varric has no idea how his family at the Fort fared in the aftermath as he was on business in Glaifast when the evacuations began. Needless to say he made sure he was one of the first to board.

HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE THIS CHARACTER CHANGE AND DEVELOP?
Making a character to intentionally stir the pot is a measured risk, people need to know you're not going to be a GENUINE douche-bag, certain fail-safes have to be set up; to play Lawful Evil effectively you have to play Lawful Good. To this effect, I've neutered any ability for Varric to meaningfully screw over the group at large by making him wholly dependent on them for survival. He is weak. He is trivial. I'd like that to change.

I'd like to see Varric become more and more adept at getting by on his own and realizing exploiting people is a weakling's path to power. He should seize the world by the throat, not sit in backrooms with pirates and degenerates. (I don't really see a full redemption arc making sense but certainly becoming more honorable in his wicked ways would be feasible. Maybe someday.)

PITCH A SMALL SUBPLOT THAT WOULD BE PERSONALLY MEANINGFUL TO YOUR CHARACTER.
I've thought about this a lot. I imagine the Artificers sending Lord Varric as an emissary to the Kith after he regales them with his victories in the Great Halls back home. I imagine Varric intending instead to manipulate the weak-minded savages to serve him, just as his family had done in the Atoll. But I imagine something happening, maybe a spirit or a goddess, something that opens his eyes to the purity of the natural world and the pristine brutality of the island. Predator and prey, the games of cat and mouse he'd played all his life laid out in grisly glory before him. I imagine him returning to the Artificers under a new banner, a Warlord of the Kith.