If Carsten needs to be somewhere else I can just put him somewhere else. I made him specifically to be flexible like that: I want to be able to follow the plot with this character without getting bogged down in garbage unimportant to the grander story.
Station: Blessed by magic and thus harangued into taking a court position, Carsten occupied a seat of some prestige before the world started to end. Now, with his liege’s castle burned and forced out of his home, Carsten has become an itinerant, wandering as his fancies guide him, determined to make the most out of his remaining days.
Description: Carsten is an unassuming man. He stands neither particularly taller nor shorter than the average noble, and is of a healthy, if not impressive, weight, diminished slightly by the lack of stuffed pheasant or roasted squash on the refugee trails. He used to war rich robes, ones that he thought looked particularly wizardly, but has taken to more mundane attire in the interest of not being stabbed in his sleep by some opportunistic farmer’s wife. His muddy brown eyes bely no special character, though are always focusing on one thing or another. He wears his hair short, a light brown mop crowning his angular face, contrasting sharply with his skin’s usual pale white hue but blending nicely with the ubiquitous caking of dirt and trail-dust.
Carsten is a simple man. He has few great designs for his life, and has fewer scruples. He lives in a world where change is slow and inexorable, and so has resigned himself to caring for little beyond his immediate situation. He wants to live comfortably, to indulge his interests in books and matters of money, and to find time to engage in the sort of casual adventures that make excellent stories but carry little chance of real danger. His maxim is not caution, though it has been frequently mistaken as such in the past. Instead, it is a determination to think things through to the end, and never act without proper consideration. Carsten knows what he wants, usually, and is determined to use whatever he has to achieve it. He does things for the sake of doing them, and contends that everyone does too, once the justifications and delusions are pared away. He has sought to know himself, and is fairly confident now that he does. He takes pleasure in helping the needy, and benefits from upholding society, but does not lie to himself that he acts for anyone’s sake but his own. He is, in his somewhat limited experience, the only person to have taken the demon invasion in stride. It has been just one more impossible-to-predict happening in the great whirlpool of the world, dong nothing to Carsten but changing his methods of enjoyment somewhat. He is still seeks to enjoy himself, to make the best of what life he is blessed with on this earth, but now simply has to work somewhat harder at it.
Biography: Carsten’s early life was rather unremarkable. The second son of a landed knight in the center of Tolos, Carsten spent his early days learning to read and hunt and fish, training with weapons and learning matters of business. His older brother predestined to inherit the small but lucrative estate, Carsten chose the path of scholarship for his future. He read, and studied, and practiced the arts and sciences, preparing himself to lounge in the court of some middling lord, answering inane questions while spending the large sums of money he would earn, legally or otherwise. For fifteen years, his life was a walk along a path set before him by the scores of generations come before him.
Halfway through his fifteenth year, a traveller came through the village which his father owned, and stayed for two nights. When he left, without speaking three words to any individual, clad in rags but looking regal, Carsten discovered that he could use magic. Carsten deduced it must have been the traveller, and figured that it was most likely Oromis in half-baked disguise. What Carsten never understood was why he had been blessed by the god of Justice and Pride. Being completely frank with himself, he didn’t think he particularly embodied either.
Regardless, Carsten was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when said horse elevated him from the middling life of a seneschal to the prestige and riches of a court mage. The well-worn path of his life split, and Carsten found himself on a road only slightly less traveled, and much more comfortable.
His power was to his liking as well: the ability to temporarily create steel seemingly from nothing, at a constant rate that amounted to just over one stone per second. The steel could be formed from anywhere on his body, or from any part of the steel structure created, and would remain in existence for a few minutes from the first piece created, or until he decided to be rid of it, at which point it would all vanish as though it had never been in the first place.
With his days, Carsten made room to practice his magic whenever he could, and resume his martial training, targets that magi were. When he turned 17, he was commissioned by Count Orso as court mage, and served happily there for twelve years. He had a comfortable bed, silver to spend on his fancies, books to read and women to pursue. It was a happy, ordinary life for a man such as Carsten.
Then the demons came, and within a week had burned Orso to the ground. Carsten, of course, was long gone. He had no intention of fighting monsters, foolish as it was. If Armageddon was going to be stopped, it would be by someone more capable than Carsten, that was certain. Carsten fled, taking a trio of horses and all the jewels he could carry. On the road he accidentally saved a village under attack by a gaggle of goblins, and accidentally doomed another to destruction at the hands of a rampaging Ogre. He wooed a lady on the banks of a river, but had to flee when a mob came to burn him at the stake. Always, he kept as far from the hordes of darkness as he could, determined to last longer than the rest through wit, or magic, or guile. In all honestly, it was a welcome change: the court had begun to bore him, and the world was too busy with its demise to trouble one rather capable traveller. Two months into his adventure, and Carsten is, perhaps, one of the happiest men in the world, trotting through the outskirts of Tolos with the confidence of the smugly superior, recently vindicated.
Relations: Carsten has no idea what became of his brother or his two sisters, but would very much like to find them at some point, presuming they are alive. He had always been close with his family, father exempted. As for other relations, Carsten has a long history of associating with individuals only as long as suits him, which is rarely as long as his fellows would like. He has a hundred acquaintances all over Tolos, and some beyond its borders, but few true friends or enemies. More recently, he has been cast as the villain, and has earned the ire of many a yeoman or village mayor or knight-errant, but demonic hordes are excellent at distracting petulant enemies, angry over a weighted die.
I think that some big event would be a good way to start. A huge battle, some magical nonsense, something good. There would probably be a lot of character mileage in us RPing around the aftermath of something huge.
Station: Blessed by magic and thus harangued into taking a court position, Carsten occupied a seat of some prestige before the world started to end. Now, with his liege’s castle burned and forced out of his home, Carsten has become an itinerant, wandering as his fancies guide him, determined to make the most out of his remaining days.
Description: Carsten is an unassuming man. He stands neither particularly taller nor shorter than the average noble, and is of a healthy, if not impressive, weight, diminished slightly by the lack of stuffed pheasant or roasted squash on the refugee trails. He used to war rich robes, ones that he thought looked particularly wizardly, but has taken to more mundane attire in the interest of not being stabbed in his sleep by some opportunistic farmer’s wife. His muddy brown eyes bely no special character, though are always focusing on one thing or another. He wears his hair short, a light brown mop crowning his angular face, contrasting sharply with his skin’s usual pale white hue but blending nicely with the ubiquitous caking of dirt and trail-dust.
Carsten is a simple man. He has few great designs for his life, and has fewer scruples. He lives in a world where change is slow and inexorable, and so has resigned himself to caring for little beyond his immediate situation. He wants to live comfortably, to indulge his interests in books and matters of money, and to find time to engage in the sort of casual adventures that make excellent stories but carry little chance of real danger. His maxim is not caution, though it has been frequently mistaken as such in the past. Instead, it is a determination to think things through to the end, and never act without proper consideration. Carsten knows what he wants, usually, and is determined to use whatever he has to achieve it. He does things for the sake of doing them, and contends that everyone does too, once the justifications and delusions are pared away. He has sought to know himself, and is fairly confident now that he does. He takes pleasure in helping the needy, and benefits from upholding society, but does not lie to himself that he acts for anyone’s sake but his own. He is, in his somewhat limited experience, the only person to have taken the demon invasion in stride. It has been just one more impossible-to-predict happening in the great whirlpool of the world, dong nothing to Carsten but changing his methods of enjoyment somewhat. He is still seeks to enjoy himself, to make the best of what life he is blessed with on this earth, but now simply has to work somewhat harder at it.
Biography: Carsten’s early life was rather unremarkable. The second son of a landed knight in the center of Tolos, Carsten spent his early days learning to read and hunt and fish, training with weapons and learning matters of business. His older brother predestined to inherit the small but lucrative estate, Carsten chose the path of scholarship for his future. He read, and studied, and practiced the arts and sciences, preparing himself to lounge in the court of some middling lord, answering inane questions while spending the large sums of money he would earn, legally or otherwise. For fifteen years, his life was a walk along a path set before him by the scores of generations come before him.
Halfway through his fifteenth year, a traveller came through the village which his father owned, and stayed for two nights. When he left, without speaking three words to any individual, clad in rags but looking regal, Carsten discovered that he could use magic. Carsten deduced it must have been the traveller, and figured that it was most likely Oromis in half-baked disguise. What Carsten never understood was why he had been blessed by the god of Justice and Pride. Being completely frank with himself, he didn’t think he particularly embodied either.
Regardless, Carsten was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when said horse elevated him from the middling life of a seneschal to the prestige and riches of a court mage. The well-worn path of his life split, and Carsten found himself on a road only slightly less traveled, and much more comfortable.
His power was to his liking as well: the ability to temporarily create steel seemingly from nothing, at a constant rate that amounted to just over one stone per second. The steel could be formed from anywhere on his body, or from any part of the steel structure created, and would remain in existence for a few minutes from the first piece created, or until he decided to be rid of it, at which point it would all vanish as though it had never been in the first place.
With his days, Carsten made room to practice his magic whenever he could, and resume his martial training, targets that magi were. When he turned 17, he was commissioned by Count Orso as court mage, and served happily there for twelve years. He had a comfortable bed, silver to spend on his fancies, books to read and women to pursue. It was a happy, ordinary life for a man such as Carsten.
Then the demons came, and within a week had burned Orso to the ground. Carsten, of course, was long gone. He had no intention of fighting monsters, foolish as it was. If Armageddon was going to be stopped, it would be by someone more capable than Carsten, that was certain. Carsten fled, taking a trio of horses and all the jewels he could carry. On the road he accidentally saved a village under attack by a gaggle of goblins, and accidentally doomed another to destruction at the hands of a rampaging Ogre. He wooed a lady on the banks of a river, but had to flee when a mob came to burn him at the stake. Always, he kept as far from the hordes of darkness as he could, determined to last longer than the rest through wit, or magic, or guile. In all honestly, it was a welcome change: the court had begun to bore him, and the world was too busy with its demise to trouble one rather capable traveller. Two months into his adventure, and Carsten is, perhaps, one of the happiest men in the world, trotting through the outskirts of Tolos with the confidence of the smugly superior, recently vindicated.
Relations: Carsten has no idea what became of his brother or his two sisters, but would very much like to find them at some point, presuming they are alive. He had always been close with his family, father exempted. As for other relations, Carsten has a long history of associating with individuals only as long as suits him, which is rarely as long as his fellows would like. He has a hundred acquaintances all over Tolos, and some beyond its borders, but few true friends or enemies. More recently, he has been cast as the villain, and has earned the ire of many a yeoman or village mayor or knight-errant, but demonic hordes are excellent at distracting petulant enemies, angry over a weighted die.
There we go. Hedonistic wastrel determined to stay one step ahead of the headsman for as long as it takes. Relationships are still a work in progress, depending on the coming characters.
Lazy Vahir is lazy. Fighting the dark ages as a term is like trying to stop a train hurtling towards you barehanded.
You think you have it bad. I not only try and fight the history in-snackuracies, but as a firearm enthusiast I am constantly assaulted with that perennial bugbear, the word "Clip".
Used incorrectly in ways such as "I put a new clip in my AK", "I fired my Mac-10 until its clip ran dry", etc.
Now that I think on it, what is the standard technology level? Is there a rough date in our real world I can look to for guidance? I can't find anything specific in the overview, maybe I am just being an idiot.
See the kind of light fiction I usually irrationally like is the kind in which characters, by being smart and creative, enact world-shaking change. See: Legend of the Galactic Heroes, First Law trilogy, Worm, Watchmen, etc.
This may explain my academic focus on 19th century military history.
I figure now is a good time to get out of my utitarian apotheosis-complex comfort zone and play someone who has temporarily stopped giving a shit.