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- Jul 2007
Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
Welcome to the second year's OOC thread for Return to Ironheart! Feel free to talk about rampant plot speculation, QQing about how much of a rat bastard DM I am, or just generally chit-chat and let us all know what's new with you.
We've got some fresh faces now - hopefully they will endure their tenderization into hardened meat (yes, that's an oxy-moron - deal with it! ) and become proud ongoing contributors to the misery that is Ironheart.
If everyone would please post their character sheets here first thing, I would appreciate it.I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.
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- Jul 2007
Musical themes for various characters!
Generally speaking, I tend to try to find theme songs for most important characters, although I usually leave PC themes up to you guys. I *do* however, like coming up with appropriate "theme bands" to use for each PC (see The Protomen/The Megas for Ander/Hondshioh).
Here are some of the themes for NPCs:
Amelia the Purifier - Fire Queen by Lullacry
Silverspear, Voice of Athelion - Opinion by Device
Redeemer, The First Einherjar - I'm Ready by Fenix Down
The Fiend Lords
The Black General, Strategist of the Hells - Asylum by Disturbed
Videle, Lady of Lust - Give Me All Your Love from The World Ends with You
Nihilus, The Writer of History - Take Me Back by Story of the Year
Omi, The Drowning Despair - Ashes of Dreams from NieR
Yvonne, The Crimson Arsenal - Metal Dance by the Megas
Ruse, The Hidden Blade -
Fengul, The Executioner of Innocence -
Kith, The Festering Hunger -
Anguish The Unending -
The Faceless One -
Glurdalak, The Seething Darkness -
Skithiss The Skittering Chaos -
Dirge The Withered Echo -
Robot MastersFiend Lords Ander Imprisoned Personally
(No, I will NEVER STOP!!! )
Mammon the Tyrant - You Sparked A War by The Megas
Daz'Kick, The Forgemaster - Man on Fire by The Megas
Quietus, the Slaying Wind -The Quick and the Blue by The Megas
Eck’ra, Mother of Monsters - Carved from Mighty Oak by The Megas
Zareth The Remorseless - Beneath the Steel by The Megas
Slevir The Blasphemer - Walk Away from Light by The Megas
Beljabo, The Emperor of Debauchery - Can't Stop the Top by The Megas
Nadireth The Eternal - Annihilation of Monsteropolis
Nihilus Versus Songs:
Nihilus vs Ander - One Last Time by the Megas
Nihilus vs Korram - Revenge by Chevelle
Nihilus vs The Spirit - Bring 'Em Down by Lostprophets
Nihilus vs Umber - Running Out of Time by Poets of the Fall
Nihilus vs Sohssal - Hourglass by Diecast
Nihilus vs Lukina - Wings from Wild Arms 3 (English)
Nihilus vs Incom - Wasted Time by Heavenly
Nihilus vs Hondshioh - More than Fate by Eye Empire
Nihilus vs Mal - The Final Countdown by Europe (no, I can't stop trolling you with hilarious classic songs Vegna )
Nihilus vs Tare - Satellite by Rise Against
Nihilus vs Pyria/Pyrene/Jacqueline/Princess Whatsherface - The Other Side by Evanescence
Nihilus vs Mar - This is Gonna Hurt by Hoobastank
Nihilus vs Rosenberg - L'Impeto Oscuro from Kingdom Hearts 3D
Nihilus vs Alons - Whereabouts Unknown by Rise Against
Nihilus vs Lucifuge/Noctis - Powerless by Linkin Park
Nihilus vs the Heroes - Elective Amnesia by Rise Against
Nihilus vs Melcara - Chalk Outline by Three Days Grace
Nihilus vs Miriam the Valkyrie & Athelion the Lightbringer - From Heads Unworthy by Rise Against
Last edited by Inspectre; 2013-10-21 at 09:06 PM.I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.
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We have developed quite a cadre of skilled artists here amongst our players! Here's (as far as I know) all of the lovely fan art that they've all done so far!
Pyrene the Temptress
Mar Beaten (Just the way I like it - The_Snark MUST SUFFER!)
Lukina - Sacred Blue Flame Activated
Lukina - Ready for Battle!
Umber - Insufferably Smug Bastard
Videlle, Lady of Lust
Rosenberg - Ready for a Fight
Pyrene the Temptress - Human & Spirit Form
Astrid vs Orc
Armored Chance? Astrid Cyberwarrior?
Mud Man (AKA Mal Halrath)
Astrid - Escaping Orc Invasion
Last edited by Inspectre; 2013-09-22 at 08:38 PM.I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.
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- Jul 2007
Other Important Things
Link to the (Very Much Unfinished) Wiki:
Link to the Lords of Blood Backstory:
Former PCs that are still important:
Former PCs that might one day be vaguely important:
Here be a few simple ground rules that will hopefully answer any lingering questions about how this thread will be run.
1) Post Format
I don’t particularly care how you format your posts, provided they are legible. However, I would strongly encourage you to use the standard set up on these boards: normal text being actions, italics being thoughts, “quotations and color being used for speech”, etc. Obviously with so many players it will be difficult for each character to have their own unique color, so I will leave you to sort that out amongst yourselves in the OOC thread. However, I personally would not mind if two characters had the same/similar color text for speech, nor would I mind if you don’t use a color at all – just be sure to use quotation marks in that case so I know you’re talking instead of doing something.
This is a common freeform issue, so I thought I should briefly address the matter. While I want to encourage creativity as much as possible, obviously I need to set limits on what is possible. My only real limits on what your characters can do is this: be reasonable.
We have a wide range of character types and abilities, and as such what might be a reasonable action for one might not be for another. As an example, a commoner with no prior training and shackled at the feet being able to run along the wall for several feet before jumping down onto a guard and snapping his neck is probably not reasonable. However, a ninja that is not encumbered by shackles probably would be able to run along the wall and land on the guard.
I understand that this makes for a fairly grey area, so I will try to nudge everyone along in the right direction towards my ideal as necessary. Sometimes this nudging will take the form of outright failure (with usually an explanation as to why your idea failed), sometimes success but with a price (like being injured), and sometimes you’ll just get away with it because your idea is so darn cool and original. :smallgrin:
If anyone still has any concerns about this, please feel free to PM me with additional questions or post in the OOC thread.
3) The DM is Final Adjudicator
This should go without saying, but for completeness I’ll list it here. I, as DM, have the final say regarding the outcome and consequences of your characters’ actions. If you feel that I’m being unfair towards your character, feel free to send me a PM so we can discuss it – I would rather that the OOC thread is not clogged up with disputes. That being said, I don’t think there should be many disputes if everyone is reasonable with their actions, and there should be no player vs. player incidents so any “yeah, he did that, but I did this” arguments should not occur.
4) Post Regularly, But Don’t Worry About It
I am going to try to DM this thing roughly twice a week. When I DM I will write up outcomes for everyone who posted since my last DM – I will not wait for everyone to post (unless of course someone sends me a PM saying, “hey, I’m just about done with my post could you please wait?”). Other than the fact that you missed the DMing there are no penalties for posting late or not posting at all.
However, if you suddenly fall off the face of the earth and stop regularly posting in Ironheart without telling me ahead of time, I am going to assume that you have quit the thread. About a week or two after not posting anything, I will remove any characters that have quit the thread in a permanent and probably gruesome fashion unless they’re somehow important to the plot in which case I’ll NPC them until the plot reaches I point where I can kill said character in a permanent and probably gruesome fashion. Obviously, telling me you’re about to go on vacation or something is different and I’ll NPC/temporally-displace your character as needed.
Note that because some players might wind up on teams together, I will DM those players on a team as one unit. Only one player on a team needs to post for a fresh DM to be made, but obviously those other people on said team who didn’t post will end up NPC’d and do relatively nothing unless absolutely required. Of course, repeated incidents of this in a row with the same character will cause me to assume said character has quit the thread, and thus vulnerable to dying in a permanent and gruesome fashion.
5) No Player vs. Player
In the previous thread, I had a strict no-no on Player vs. Player. Now that you are all out of the prison, it makes more sense that you would be willing to fight each other should it prove necessary. Adjudicating who wins in a fight between players is extremely obnoxious however, especially in freeform. So I’m not going to do it (). Feel free to argue, hate each other, avoid each other, refuse to cooperate, and/or go your separate ways once you’re free, but actually coming to blows is still going to be frowned upon. That being said, some of you people are currently on different sides, or just don’t plain like each other. Screwing the other guy over in a more indirect way, depending on the situation may be acceptable (particularly if it gets an evil laugh from me ).
6) What You *Can* Do
Like my definition of god-modding, I suspect that this concept might take a bit of work for everyone to get used to and enjoy. As the DM, my job is to determine the final outcome and consequences of player actions. However, I am going to divide those player actions into two categories: combat and non-combat situations.
In non-combat situations, the players are trying to solve some sort of problem that generally does not involve something trying to directly kill them. This could be solving some sort of puzzle, escaping from their restraints, or even choosing which hallway at an intersection to go down. Here, because the player obviously doesn’t know what I’m intending the solution to be, I would prefer if the player just posts whatever their character is doing to solve the problem. I’ll then come in and post the outcome, whether the player’s actions succeed or fail, the consequences of this, and what is going to happen next. In combat situations, the players have a bit more leeway if they so choose.
Example: John Doe has just been DM’d saying that he’s come to a locked door.
John Doe: “I pound loudly on the door, shouting at anyone inside to open up, while disguising my voice to sound like a gruff guard.”
Me: “Sure enough, after a minute the door opens, and two guards are standing in the small room beyond the door. Unfortunately, though you may sound like a guard, you certainly don’t look like it, and they draw their weapons upon seeing you.
In combat situations, the players are fighting against or directly opposing one or more NPC denizens of Ironheart. Because the solution to direct combat against an NPC should be obvious (kill the duder, or run away if he’s too powerful), I will allow players to post a bit more. Instead of just post their actions, players can also post the desired outcomes of their actions as well. Of course, I will still have the final say whether players are ultimately successful, but this addition will hopefully allow players a wider range of creativity in combat and speed such things up. Note that some opponents will require more effort/more than one post to kill.
Also note that regeneration from wounds, either through healing magic or outright regeneration, is dependant on the source of the injury. Wounds that I give are permanent until I say so, but feel free to add to your list of actions that you’re drinking a healing potion, attempting to regenerate, whatever it is your character can do to recover from an injury. I will post whether such attempts are successful or not. For wounds that are self-inflicted, like the player posting as part of their combat outcome that they take a scratch along one arm, they can post recovering from said wound without having to wait for my approval, assuming of course that they have some reasonable method for recovery.
Example: John Doe has just encountered two guards in the room beyond a previously locked door.
John Doe: “As the guards draw their weapons, I draw my own: a crossbow that I had taken from a previously defeated guard. Raising the weapon to my shoulder, I take careful aim and fire at the guard nearest to me. The bolt flies true, striking the guard in the chest and sending him crashing to the floor, dead. As the second guard steps toward me I suddenly leap at him, bringing the butt of the crossbow up into his chin. The guard staggers back and drops to the floor, dazed. Before he can recover I step in close and deliver a hard kick to his jaw, knocking him out cold.”
Me: “Your surprise attack with the crossbow works, as the bolt hits the guard square in the chest and he falls to the ground, dead. The second guard is a bit more skillful a combatant, however, and he rolls with the blow as the butt of the crossbow impacts against his chin. He staggers back a step, then leaps forward, slashing at you with his sword. Luckily, the blow actually strikes the shaft of your appropriated crossbow, shattering it and ruining the weapon but otherwise leaving you unharmed.”
I hope that everyone can see what my intention with this is. If not, feel free to send me questions via PM or in the OOC thread. Go nuts, have fun with this, and don’t worry: if you get too crazy I’ll reel you back in.
7) Life Sucks, Then You Die
It is possible that various player characters will die. If this is for some bizarre plot situation or the character has been backed into an inescapable corner due to reasons not entirely self-inflicted, I will contact the player of that character and we will work something out (a new character, visitations from beyond the grave, resurrection later by an outside force, whatever).
If, however, the character dies from a severe lack of regular posting or because their most recent course of action was just plain stupid (such as charging into a room full of elite guards armed only with a rusty spoon), chances are good that the character is going to stay dead. If that character’s player is still interested in playing, then they are free to make a brand new character with which to escape with. Hopefully, this new character will have a better sense of judgment and/or more regular posting. :smallgrin: Players whose characters die for plot reasons also have this option if desired.
I think that about covers it.
Last edited by Inspectre; 2013-09-29 at 07:00 PM.
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- Jun 2010
- San Jose, California
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
Name: Lorcán Rosenberg
SpoilerAbilities:SpoilerLycanthropy: Rosenberg is a functioning werewolf, and through Druidic powers has learned to be in balance with the inner beast. He can transform into a wolf or hybrid form, gaining impressive strength, speed, and regenerative properties, as well as the menacing visage he takes.
Nature Magic: Being raised by the Druids has its perks- one gains a deep understanding of the Natural world, how it functions, and the ever present natural energies which course throughout it. Nature magic allows one to affect the natural world, summoning a variety of different plants, calling animals to do your will, or even taking their very shapes. Rosenberg is known for favoring spells that ensnare his foes and have a general "thorn" like feel to them.
Death Magic: With raw life, you have its opposite: death. In nature, all things must come to an end. To survive and acquire sustenance for ourselves, we must destroy living things. Death is part of the natural world, and Rosenberg has studied it and the power which can be obtained from it. He has a variety of spells which deal with corruption, blight, pestilence, and simple plain death.
Weeping Rose: This scythe is a special tool; it has both the power to sustain life, and to bring it to a halt. This scythe was specially made by the Druids of Rosenberg's order, a beautiful tool grown to suit him. He uses it primarily as a fighting tool and a focus for his spells. It's a fitting representation of his dual nature, and the dual nature of Nature herself. Through both Life and Death, Nature is sustained. If this precarious balance tips too much one way or the other, its stability would crumble.
Its shaft is a long dark wood wrapped in places with leather. The blade has thorns growing from the shaft onto the back of the blade. It is "weeping" in the sense that petals are constantly falling from the blade.
Weaknesses:SpoilerLycanthropy: Even though transformation into the wolf is as easy to him as transforming into a bear or a bird, it is still a curse, and has repercussions. Every full moon, he is forcibly transformed into his hybrid form, going on a murderous rampage once per month. It is a strong liability, but he's come to cope with it by holding himself down with trees and roots he grows on the spot. This way, though he is still forced to change, he's imprisoned in place, and can't harm others. However it is still a liability, as it can, if maniacal intentions are in place, be used against him.
Country Bumpkin: Rosenberg has lived in the forest and amongst the Druids for most of his life. He purposely has stayed out of contact with society, walking the wild ways of the earth from Order to Order. Though he knows the lay of the land well, he knows little to nothing of civilization and its ways.
Nature is Sacred: Nature is everything to a Druid. Without Nature, they would have nothing and nowhere to worship. Upholding it, amongst other things, is their duty, and its desecration must be answered with Nature's Wrath.
Alignment:SpoilerIf neutrality had a form, Rosenberg would be it. He knows nothing of the world and its problems, and even if he did know, all he would worry about is the fact that he does at least know. He, like the Druids, do not care for the epic battle between good and evil, and could happily watch as both sides blow each other to kingdom come. However, the Druids will act if there is a significant force of great enough threat which would destroy all of Nature.
Motivation:SpoilerThe barrier which holds back the Fey is wearing thin. It needs reinforcement, strengthening, and insurance that it won't break open. Rosenberg, though not an Archdruid, is well on his way to becoming one. He's dedicated to upholding the barrier's strength, and destroying anything which might break through.
Associates:SpoilerRosenberg is a part of the Druidic Order. He's been risen by the order ever since he was a child, and has known nothing but the Order, its teachings, and the secrets of Nature. Through these, he has gained considerable strength, and now he wishes to repay Nature by his mission to ensure her survival, and destroy that which would destroy her.
The Druids are an order of people from various races. Their organization is part time occupation and part time worship. They revere Nature and all her facets, protecting and defending the natural world; in return, they gain Nature's power. The Druid's order was primarily formed to not only protect and sustain Nature, but to defend it against the wild and untamed Elementals and Fey creatures. It is known to all members, and is most prevalent in the forethought's of the members of the Circle, the Druid's ruling council. They are maintaining and strengthening the barrier constantly, though forces on the other side wish it broken apart. The Druidic Order can be found everywhere, though they tend to be a secretive group that hides from society. The variety of Organizations changes with the regions and climates of the world. The leaders of these Orders are all part of a council called the Druid's Circle. They have not convened in some time, and part Rosenberg's venture is to seek out the various Orders and check on their conditions.
Background:SpoilerRosenberg was born a natural werewolf, that is, to two parents who were themselves werewolves. However, he remembers nothing of this other than what the Order has told him, for his parents were killed by hunters. He was risen as a child and a young pup by the men and women who understood his plight more keenly than anyone in this world could: members of the Druidic Order. He grew quickly, strengthened not only by his prowess with Nature, but by the control of his more bestial half as well. Everyone of his Order knew that he would be the one to succeed the Archdruid; he had the passion to uphold Nature, as well as the skill and power necessary for such a vigil. As a younger man, Rosenberg ventured the world, though staying clear of the hubs of civilization. He was a crucial part in enforcing the strength and unity of the Druids over the years, and is well known and respected by the Orders he came upon.
In more recent times, civilization has begun to throw its weight around; the forests themselves are restless with a sense of foreboding. Rosenberg has sensed this unsteadiness, this calm before a storm of titanic proportions, and has decided to meet it head on in the only way he knows: fighting, traveling, and recruiting new Druids to the Order. A great battle was coming, and he would not be alone in its wake.
Play Style: Play-styles I like include making my character out to be a bad ass, fighting, making decisions, just general good old roleplay.
Party Preference: I recently found out that I much prefer to roleplay with others rather than myself, alone. I do want to unfold and reveal my character's backstory, but I do find it more rewarding to roleplay with others, and not just doing my own thing. In fact, I don't like doing my own thing at all, and would much rather roleplay with people.
Last edited by TechnOkami; 2013-09-22 at 09:38 PM.
- Join Date
- Sep 2008
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
I'm just... I'm just so relieved.
Thanks for the invite, Inspectre.
"Adrian Arcos isn't a Paladin, he's a monster. That kind of man doesn't change, he only fools himself."
Name: Adrian Arcos
Race: Human Einherjar
Adrian is reasonably tall, about six foot, with dark hair, olive skin, and hazel eyes. He's in his mid-thirties, evident by the beginnings of wrinkles around his face and the nearly unnoticeable flecks of gray hair at his temples. He typically wears a severe expression, but he can have a bright smile when he's not concentrating (and always when he's winning). He has a light but tough build from working a farm when he was young. A small scar traces from near the corner of his eye towards his ear, stopping at the hairline. He has taken great joy in his recently regained ability to grow a beard, but since he doesn't have the face for it he just leaves it as stubble.
He wears a light set of finely crafted, flexible duelist armor stitched together from mithril and dragonhide. He has a cloak that obscures his movements in flight, but breaks away easily if grabbed. His saber rests on his left hip, a long blade with a cold grey edge and tiny channels for arcane energy carved up each side. He keeps a pouch of supplies (Smoke bombs! Caltrops! Doodads!) and a length of silk rope strapped unobtrusively to his left leg.
Einherjar: As a vampire, Adrian was able to tap in to the dark powers that fueled his nature, enhancing them and using them to augment his sorcery. That skill has served him well as an Einherjar, allowing him to very quickly adapt to his new body and begin to exploit its strengths to augment his existing abilities. He can fly, regenerate, and possesses strength far above a normal human. The transformation has also given him a greater reservoir from which to draw holy energy. He is adept at the basic forms of holy magic, being able to heal mortals and burn fiends (but more sophisticated applications, such as creating seals and blessings, are still beyond him).
Pyromancy: Adrian is a master pyromancer, controlling and conjuring flame as easily as breathing. He can wreathe himself in intense flame and produce massive streams and waves of intense fire. He is immune to damage from fire and heat. He has learned to infuse these flames with holy magic, creating a golden flame devastating to Fiends and the Undead. He once possessed the ability to do the same with Fel magic to create Hellfire, but he is out of practice and his new body is not conducive to black magic.
Sorcery: Adrian is a sorcerer fueled by pure force of will; the more raw and instinctual the effect, the more powerful it is. His most practiced and most powerful applications of this sorcery are telekinesis, flight, and mind bending, but can have nearly infinite broader uses depending on the 'force' behind the command and his ability to physically touch his target. It allows him to continue when a normal person might not, his magic rejuvenating and numbing a broken and weary body. It also manifests itself appearing as 'luck' or 'fate', with his will slightly bending the course of events around him towards what he wants, not necessarily what is best for him. (Essentially, he was a Protagonist. Now he's just a PC.)
Swordplay: Adrian is a swordsman, though not necessarily a master. It is only through the intermixing of sword and sorcery that he becomes truly dangerous in melee combat, infusing his strikes with flame and force to deadly effect His saber was crafted to be especially conductive of his sorcery, briefly channeling energy almost like an extension of his arm. Also, he's got a mean left hook.
Fighting style: Adrian is a skirmisher and a mid-range combatant. He uses his flight speed to dart around, making himself a hard target to hit, while he bathes his targets in flame and darts in for fast, hard sword blows. If he can hide or deceive, he will, catching his opponent off guard whenever possible. He uses his endurance to his advantage, retreating to regenerate when necessary. He isn't afraid to take a near-mortal wound to assure a victory by catching his opponent off guard.
Though not helpless, Adrian is comparatively weak in melee combat and will avoid it when outmatched. He also possesses little ability to fight at further than medium ranges. Given his skillset, he is more vulnerable to single powerful opponents than to multiple weaker opponents. His natural enemies are archers and mages he can't take cover from, as well as melee opponents not afraid of his fire aura. He can't fight as effectively in areas where collateral damage is a problem.
When pointed at a target, Adrian is a force of nature. This singlemindedness can sometimes lead him in to traps and make him blind to other matters.
Without a clear path, faced with multiple uncertain options, he stagnates and begins gathering information. He prefers to know, or feel like he knows, enough to minimize failure risk.
Adrian is a restless man. He has always been a man of want. Selflessness and servitude has left an unfortunate hole in his heart, one he has so far been able to ignore. But if he were offered power that he thought he could use to reshape the world the way he thought best, what would he betray for it?
As with many men, his family is his greatest weakness. A man controlling his daughter can make him do almost anything.
Adrian supports good men. He always has, even if they usually came second behind himself. He's never enjoyed causing suffering or death, seeing them only as a means to an end. He's always seen himself as The Hero of his own story, justifying his actions by reasoning that they were necessary or that the afflicted party would have done the same to him given the chance. His perspective is constantly changing, and these days he gives more weight to what is 'right' rather than what is 'acceptable' than he ever had before.
Intellectually, he supports a perfect world of peace and harmony where all people can live together happily. He knows people are fallible and weighs intentions over results. He is also the first to preach forgiveness for past transgressions, because he wants to believe that people can change. He believes a person is worth what they can do for the world, not that all people are intrinsically equal. He doesn't support mercy for mercy's sake.
In practice, he's not perfect. He's far less likely to forgive someone who has caused him personal harm, even by mistake. He will give greater weight to people close to him. He is also, unfortunately, still fighting the selfish urge to be better and have more than the people around him. Now, with the world falling apart, he finds himself morally at odds with the Miriam's Angels in many ways. He lacks many of their prejudices, but also their virtues. He often struggles between a certain outcome and a righteous one, believing that if he had the power to destroy a soul he would use it with reckless abandon to cleanse Fiends.
Becoming a good man was a slow transition. At first, he only cared about himself. Then, he cared about his daughter. As he walked the path of redemption that grew in to a general good will towards all that would do well by him. A large part of seeking redemption was turning his selfish impulses towards good. Through that, altruism slowly became natural to him, and he began to feel compassion for all people. He has yet to grasp the high virtue of loving thine enemy, but maybe he'll get there.
That said, the man he was is far from dead. His first impulses are still selfish ones and there's always a voice in his head telling him what he could get away with. He is spiteful, even wrathful, and quick to violence when wronged. His allegiance is more solid than his alignment. Once you get passed his Paladin facade, he's snarky, controlling, and really just a bit of an *******.
Adrian has two motivations to join the war. His more righteous motivator is his new understanding of the value of people in his life. He has become a protector, and the thought of such profound pain and injustice stokes the fire in his heart. A little gratitude and kindness would make his struggles much easier and help keep him on the right track.
His more powerful motivator is his love of the struggle. He was a few years from metaphorically chewing his own leg off in Heaven. He wants to bring his fury down on the conspirators for what they have done. The world is going to Hell underneath him and he knows he has the power to help stop it. It's a chance to be his own man again rather than living in the Angels' (extraordinarily gilded) cage of souls. He won't be entirely free, but at least he'll be important.
Of greatest importance to him is his daughter Jaina. Jaina is... her father's daughter. She's headstrong, with a tongue like a silver knife; she's Han Solo with a claymore. Adrian was a decent father; there was no lack of love, but she spent her childhood on the road and felt a constant need to assert her independence from her father's overbearing protection and guidance. She inherited Adrian's values, doing as she pleased without a whole lot of concern for the toes stepped on, but generally trying to treat people as well as she thought they would treat her. She was a nightmare teenager and an independent adult, but the two of them teamed up from time to time.
When they nearly died, Adrian was able to convince her to join him in seeking redemption. She was reluctant, but went along with it. She made sure she was put in a different city than her father out of resentment for never being able to escape his shadow. She didn't mind the quiet life so much as Adrian did, but it was definitely not for her. She left the church the moment she heard that Adrian had. She didn't join him in returning to their hometown. She didn't even know he died until his letters stopped coming.
She never learned he wasn't her biological father.
He has a profound respect and admiration for Samuel Rynes, the paladin that mentored him through his redemption. Rynes saw that Adrian was a man of action who would never last in The Church. Seeing the chance to turn a powerful enemy in to an ally, he took Adrian as his apprentice. He gave him a little space and freedom and gently nudged him here and there to turn him towards the right path.
Samuel is, himself, a kindred spirit to Adrian. He joined the paladin order to be a Hero, not to do good. He became a soldier because it was the only job he didn't consider work. As he grew older, though, he settled down in to a more grizzled and wise bleeding-heart veteran who meshed better with the hierarchy. He died from a hail of bolts from Fiendish crossbows, his sword stained with infernal dust, and twelve families successfully evacuated in his wake.
Besides that, Adrian has made many friends in the afterlife. The most notable of these is the Angel Josephine. Josephine has charged herself with helping Adrian accept the afterlife. This has, so far, involved keeping a close eye on him to make sure he isn't doing anything stupid or unbecoming. It also involves entirely too much standing by and watching him self destruct, trying to talk sense in to him. Sometimes she feels like she's trying to empty a roiling sea with a teacup, but other times she can see him taking her words to heart. They have, if nothing else, come to understand each other. Josephine did not return from the Battle of Narle. If she shows up on his radar, Adrian will try to get her back.
He also has many, many enemies. He's angered a lot of monarchs, mages, mercenaries, monsters, and mademoiselles in his days. He has also greatly angered at least one group of Fiends, having stolen power from them, thwarted a small invasion attempt, and absolutely badgered their earthbound associates both mentally and physically (And one time literally, he's very proud of that). There were plenty in the paladin chain of command that didn't like him, but hopefully not enough to be any more than a little irritated by him.
SpoilerAdrian Arcos was the kind of man born once in a generation. He was the kind of man destined to be a king or a revolutionary. He possessed an indomitable spirit and a force of will that could be felt in the air. He was the kind of man that men would follow in to Hell; the kind that seemed to twist fate itself in his favor. Adrian Arcos was the kind of man that could climb to the top of a mountain to scream "My Will Be Done!" and the Heavens would listen.
He was attacked and turned by a vampire. His 'master' restrained him and left him to thirst for days; at the edge of starvation, he was fed his own wife.
Adrian was taught the basics of sorcery. He found that fire would answer his every beck and call; evoking it was as easy as breathing.
Adrian broke free from his master's influence.
Facing a crisis of identity, he returned to his home town. When the people discovered what he was, they attacked him; in response, he razed half of the town. Standing in the center of the wreckage, he resigned himself to be a monster. At least until he heard a child crying. Her name was Jaina.
He took his new daughter on the road with him. He became a mercenary, he became a pirate captain, he became a researcher. He emptied coffers and hunted marauding beasts. He raised Jaina into a woman who would take what she wanted from life.
Adrian made a lot of enemies, greatest of all when he began stealing power from Hell itself. As he grew, so did the caliber of his opposition.
The Fiends used Jaina to get to him. It was an obvious trap, but he had to walk right in to it. He would have died, he should have died, but the two of them escaped with their lives only through blind luck.
It was a wake-up call. He could try to keep scheming, gambling, and clawing his way to the top until not even the entirety of Hell itself could stand against him, or he could stop playing the fools' game and make an investment in their future.
The two of them walked in to the Church of Light for the first time in either of their lives. She wouldn't go without him.
The Church was reluctant to take in a warlock, but one paladin took a chance on him. Paladin Rynes.
Rynes asked him to give up everything, and he did. Living a life of service was boring, frustrating, and... somehow humiliating. He didn't understand it, but his daughter slowly took to it. For a while, that was enough.
It wasn't until Rynes took him in to the field that the first progress was made. A band of Fiends was abducting slaves from a local village. Adrian tracked down and destroyed the band, leading the prisoners back to their homes. As he watched those prisoners reunite with their families, he smiled for the first time in a long time.
Rynes inducted him to the paladin order as his apprentice. They hunted Fiends, rescued civilians, and held off raiders. Adrian spent two decades fighting battles and rallying support for the paladin cause, but he never fit well in the hierarchy. Being a paladin required humility and obedience and he had little of either.
Rynes died in action. Chaffed from years of friction and a lack of advancement, Adrian left the paladin order. He returned for a second time to his home town, this time as a protector.
It wasn't long before he noticed high fiend activity in the area, the same fiends that had nearly killed Jaina and him years ago. He tracked them back to a cave system in the nearby mountain range. Inside, he found a ritual in the process of summoning a small army. Without time to contact the church before they would overrun his home, he tried to disrupt the ritual himself. He was surrounded, and all exist were cut off. In his last moments, he collapsed the cave system on top of them all.
When his judgement came, he just barely squeaked by. He was profoundly relieved.
Here's a quick narrative draft of one of the plot points in Adrian's history, back when he was still Big 'E' Evil:
SpoilerAdrian could hear the murmuring through the floorboards. He had heard that sound a dozen times before. Men whispered in hushed but strained voices, barking back and forth at each other as they struggled to come up with a plan here, at their enemy's front gates. He could smell their sweat and fear, hear the nervous footfalls of their boots on the packed earth floor. They were amateurs, and they were 'ambushing' him.
It was his home town. It had been eighty three years since he had last seen it. Eighty years of slavery, playing at some fool's dream of conquering the world, then three more of mindless feeding and hedonism. He had returned here, not knowing entirely why. He had lost motivation. Nothing satisfied him. He wanted to find a new way to live.
He had donated to their church. He had come to them as friends. He had been feeding on cattle for weeks in an attempt to fit in. He thought he was beginning to like it here.
Maybe they suspected the way he avoided spending long amounts of time in the sun. Maybe they thought it odd that he was reluctant to enter a home without invitation. Maybe they were offended that he wouldn't go to church or eat a meal made with garlic. Maybe some clever kid noticed he had no reflection in the tin cutlery they used at the tavern. Or maybe, just maybe, that old ancient crone in the city square recognized his face and told them all the circumstances under which he left here last.
It didn't matter, now. Everyone responded to him with short answers, gave him nervous smiles, and found excuses to be elsewhere. They whispered about things behind his back, gave him wary looks when he turned away, and discretely pointed him out from down the street. They knew. They were so obvious about it that it made his chest burn with anger. When he had returned to his room in the tavern, he packed his things. He knew it would be tonight even before they did.
But he never left. The thought of being forced to do something again was like a hot poker in his chest. Instead, he sat there and waited, letting the thoughts turn over in his head while his teeth clenched tighter and tighter. That tension had been instantly relieved when he heard the sound of a dozen men walking through the front door downstairs.
If they wanted a monster, he'd show them one.
They took to the stairs. Now the inbreds were tip-toeing, but it was hard to mask the squeaks of an old staircase. They carried spears, something they could have hidden if they hadn't kept clacking them against each other and letting their butts tap against the walls and floor. They reached his door, and for the first time they were actually quiet.
He reached out with his mind and held the door shut. A heavy boot slammed against it at the lock, but the man just bounced off and toppled over outside, making an outrageous racket. He would have laughed if it weren't so goddamned insulting.
They stirred, whispering frantically. The knob clicked faintly as a hand grabbed it and began to turn. When they threw the door open, all they saw was fire. All the garlic and holy symbols and mirrors in the world couldn't stop that.
As the first three men fell, twitching and charred and without even a scream, the rest scattered. Adrian followed, sword in hand.
One fell in the staircase. Another fell at the door. Two fell in the street outside. They were all guilty, all of them, in his eyes. He returned home as a friend, and they tried to stake him in the night.
He lost focus. He degenerated from retributive anger to ordinary hate, lighting fire to homes and businesses of everyone who had slighted him that day. It became less about revenge and more about planting his heel firmly on the throat of those who thought themselves his master. Their anguish meant nothing to him; if they wanted mercy they should have offered it first. He felt... Nothing.
Until that moment, maybe the most important moment in his entire life. He had targeted another house and set its thatched roof ablaze. He had thrown open the door and, recognizing one of his assailants, cut down a man and a woman inside. He had been ready to move on. Then he heard it. A baby, crying.
It was all alone. Left to die. The smoke would get it before long. That wasn't fair. The baby had done nothing.
He tried to turn away but his feet were rooted to the ground. He... couldn't leave, even though he wanted to. Was that empathy?
It was laying in a bundle of cloth, barely a year old. He picked it up, cradled it in his arm, and looked in to its eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it stopped crying.
He took it outside and found a small place on its swaddle where they had stitched in a few letters.
Her name was Jaina.
Here's what Adrian was doing after the rocks fell and everyone died:
Adrian in the Afterlife
SpoilerHis eyes shot open. With a frantic breath and a plume of fire he leaped to his feet, expecting to be beset. Instead, a warm light and a cool breeze touched his skin. The scent of clean rain and spring entered his nose. A faint music reached his ear from somewhere around him. A huge city and a beautiful countryside sprawled out to either side of him. This place was... awfully pearly for Hell.
There was a man waiting for him. A grizzled man who looked at once young and old. It was Samuel Rynes, and he wore a bittersweet smile on his face. "The Second Crusade is over, I see."
Adrian smiled so hard it almost hurt. He fell back down in to a patch of soft grass and he started to laugh.
Adrian sat, one among one million, at a massive feasting table. He had lived like a king in Heaven, same as everyone. He had feasted, he had partied, he had romanced. He had willed elaborate structures in to existence only to remake them even greater. He had explored huge oceans, tundras, forests, and mountain ranges. He had done everything there was to do. For a time, it had been perfect.
Now, it was not. It had begun to lose its luster. There was no longer any meaning to anything he did. There was nothing to accomplish. There was no penalty for failure. There was no risk. There was no thrill. Worst of all, there was no news of the mortal world he had left behind.
As the people around him talked, he looked down at his cup and thought about Jaina. Every day he worried about his daughter and about the state of the world. Every day he yearned for something more. The Angels had brushed him off, cooing to him like a child and telling him time would make it all better. Maybe it would, but he was never one to wait.
Adrian's head snapped back as a fist connected squarely with his nose. He was momentarily dazed, but not long enough for the follow up attack to connect. He tilted his head and ducked under the longsword that was aimed for his neck, bringing his saber up in to his opponent's armpit for a mortal wound.
"Got you!" Adrian cheered, pumping his fist and his dull saber in the air. Samuel Rynes, his former mentor, was unamused. "You're getting better, but you've got more to learn. Let's do it again. Same as before. No flying, no magic, you need to master the sword in isolation before you can mix it with other things."
"One more," Adrian agreed. "then I've got an appointment to keep." The two of them went at it like wild dogs, lunging and grappling and crossing blades. Rynes was getting the upper hand when an Angel landed near them.
"Excuse me." Politely, they stopped, but only after taking another shot at each other. "My name is Josephine, a servant of our Lady. I have come to understand that Mr. Arcos here is not studying for knowledge's sake, but with the intent to return to the mortal realm and use what he has learned. If that is so, I must ask you to stop."
Adrian stood in the center of a training field of his own make. He had been practicing his sorcery out of sight of the Angels. The Heavens were so malleable that he could begin to understand some of the finer points of his own powers. With that understanding had come greater mastery, mastery that would hopefully translate to the mortal realm once he had escaped.
Escape was his intent. He had finally... had enough. He could feel himself slowly pacifying. It was like feeling a part of himself die. He needed a way out, but the Angels wouldn't give him one. His eternal reward was a gilded cage, a baby's crib, where the Angels would look through the bars and tell him it was for the best. He was having none of it.
He focused his will. He thought of his home in the mortal realm. He could feel the planar boundaries between it and him. With a surge of raw willpower, he pushed against those boundaries, trying to find a weak point to slide his way through. His body became fuzzy and began to fade just slightly, but then was unceremoniously shunted backwards to land on his rear.
He tried that hundreds of times before he moved on, it had gotten him absolutely nowhere. He had a new idea. He held his sword in hand, focused his will, and then sliced through that fabric between the planes, but the hole closed so quickly it might as well never have existed at all.
In an exasperated huff, he focused his will and struck the planar boundary with his hand. It worked! He could feel the material crack.
Finding the proper technique, he gathered himself again. Feeling the boundary to the mortal world, he struck his hand through it with all of his might.
There was a flash of light, a snap of the boundary between worlds, and a cry of pain as Adrian's hand was severed.
Josephine and Adrian stood together in an empty field, shimmering green grass swaying gently in the wind at their feet. Adrian was dripping sweat, and there was blood staining both his clothing and the grass at his feet. Josephine watched him from a few feet away with a pained expression on her face. "Adrian, I must insist you stop this."
"Or WHAT? You'll kick me out?" He snapped at her and glared, causing her to wince. "That'll save us both a lot of trouble." He turned his glare back to some invisible point in front of him. With a growl, he struck that point both of his hands. There was a faint crackling sound and a shining light from that point as he held it, but it ended abruptly with a snap. Adrian roared, pulling his mutilated hands back and wordlessly holding them out to Josephine. He wouldn't even look at her.
Josephine stepped forward and held his hands in hers, sealing the wounds and slowly restoring the missing fingers for the thirtieth time today. "You're in Heaven, Adrian. It's supposed to be your reward. If you just let go--"
"I am not going to let go!" He barked, yanking his hands back from her. "Look at me! Look at my soul! Look at who I am, what I've done! I raised a daughter just like me! I have mistakes to fix! I want OUT!" He clenched most of his fists and focused on that spot again, arcane energy warping the space around him. "I want OUT!"
With a crackle and a flash, he was gone.
But it lasted only a moment. With another snap and a flash of light, Adrian was shunted violently away from the spot where he had been standing. He bounced and skidded across the ground, finally coming to rest in a broken heap almost a hundred feet away.
"Adrian!" Josephine flew to him as fast as she could.
"Josephine keeps telling me to let it go. She doesn't understand, none of them do. She thinks its something you can just switch off." Adrian and Samuel sat across from each other in a good old fashioned pub. It was something they had rare opportunity to do in life, and alcohol was never something Adrian was able to enjoy as an undead.
"Maybe she's right. Life is short, Adrian. You got too used to the idea of immortality. We all made mistakes, but when our time is up we have to live with them."
Adrian sighed. This was just an extension of their argument about whether or not he could get out. "Its not just that. I don't feel right, here. I don't belong. I can't think of a word for it. It eats at me every day here. You, of all people, know what I am. I never lost those impulses, I just held them off."
"That's what we all did, Adrian. Give it time, you'll settle."
Adrian was walking down the white marble streets outside the Palace of the Sun. He wasn't bashing himself against the bars of his cell anymore, but he hadn't stopped trying to pick the lock. He was looking for Ysora the Teacher, or maybe that harpy Hephestia, to badger some more for information on how the Archangels created their portals. There was a small garden, hidden in the back of an alleyway, where the Angels sometimes went to be alone. If he loomed around the area long enough, he'd see her.
But as he stalked, he could feel something wrong. There was a palpable tension in the air, one that was released with the opening of a massive portal above the Palace of the Sun. The Angels of the city all ascended at once, called to action by The Valkyrie. To Adrian, it was like a bolt of lightning to the heart. Something was happening.
He took to the sky, racing after the Angels towards the portal. He grabbed one of them by the ankle. "What's going on? What's happening?" The eyes of Josephine turned down to look at him. "Adrian, stay here." Her voice was at once determined, frantic, exasperated, and disappointed. "Like Hell I will! Whatever this is, it's big!"
Josephine stopped in the air. "Adrian this is not your fight." She put her hands on his shoulders and looked in to his eyes. "It's our Duty to serve our Lady, to protect those who have earned their reward."
Adrian was quiet for a moment. "That's not me. I can help and you know it. Let me." He reached up and took her hands off of his shoulders. There was no anger this time, only quiet determination.
With a sigh of frustration, Josephine wordlessly ascended towards the portal above them. Adrian followed, willing a set of armor on to his body. At the very edge of the portal, Josephine gently, but sternly, put her foot on Adrian's shoulder and kicked off. She was sent through the opening while he was sent wheeling downwards. Adrian righted himself and bolted towards the rapidly collapsing portal. Just as it closed he saw Josephine turn back to him; from between the sounds of battle and the shimmering of the portal he could make out only two words: "I'm sorry."
The news had come in slowly. Paladins came first, telling horror stories of Fiend armies, sky fortresses, fallen Angels, undead, and all manner of apocolyptic tales. Adrian was already on the move, having his armor refashioned and his sword reforged. It was fortunate that he was at the front of the line. He pieced together the story from the dead paladins and surviving Angels. Josephine was not among those that came back.
He spent a while trying to hurl himself through the fabric of Creation back to the mortal plane. He spent a while banging on the gates of the Palace of the Sun demanding answers. He spent a while raging over the waters of the lake, reminding himself how to conjure a white-hot inferno with nothing but his whim.
He was picking up his sword and armor when a call to assembly came. The current Speaker and Lord General of The Church was here, someone named Ander. He listened to the speech, chuckled in delight at how perfectly blasphemous the plan was, and then marveled at this new opportunity to become an Einherjar.
He was among the first in line. When Mammon's attack came, he was also among the first out. He hadn't yet been ascended, but that didn't prove any problem. He made quick work of detonating those armored carriages' munitions, but only when his overzealous comrades would give enough space to avoid the blasts.
He was standing on a nearby rooftop as Mammon was chased down like a dog and squashed like a bug. In that moment, watching a seemingly ordinary human crush a Lord of Hell, every fear he had ever held of the Fires below evaporated.
TL;DR: Adrian was made a vampire and became a bad man. When he found his daughter he became just kindof an ***hole. When they nearly died because of him, he asked the church to help him find redemption. One paladin had faith in him and allowed him to become a recruit so he could put his skills to use. He spent a long time fighting monsters and defending people, but his personality prevented him from actually advancing beyond an entry level rank. When his mentor died, he left. He sacrificed himself to defend a town he had previously wronged and prevent a bloody battle.
Quiestion 1: I'm a sucker for a good old Slash-and-Burn campaign. Adrian specializes in guerrilla warfare against larger numbers. I'm also a sucker for planning. Planning anything, really, from assaults on bases to political maneuvers. That said, I'm not actually any good at political maneuvering or military strategy (never done either outside of a game run by people who had also never done either). I'm not any good at dramatic speeches, but I can do arguments. Adrian is not good at being inspirational or humble, especially after centuries in Heaven, so it could be funny watching him crash and burn in a couple low-to-medium stakes situations.
Question 2: I want Adrian to find and secure his daughter, destroy the souls of the Lords of Hell, win a fistfight against The Certain King, and maybe moon an elf or two along the way. But we can't always get what we want. For a story-arc, I'd like to see him join or organize an effort to cripple Hell the way Hell crippled Heaven, turning the balance back towards good. Hopefully along the way he can help support (or participate in!) the pacification of The Certain King. I'd also like to see him struggle morally with temptation. It wouldn't be entirely out of character for him, if he had the power, to become a Lord if he could tell himself the place would be a little less awful under his rule.
I don't see Adrian wanting to return to Heaven, not permanently. He'll either go out in a blaze of glory in the climax or become some kind of eternal vanguard (or tyrant!).
As for things I don't want, I don't want Adrian to be a total failure. He's got to accomplish something, at least. I'd also rather the situation with his daughter isn't hopeless.
Question 3: I prefer The Heaven/Hell Conflict and The Certain King Prophecy. The Revolution is third, with the other two tied for last.
Last edited by AdamSmasher; 2013-11-28 at 09:30 PM.
- Join Date
- Jul 2007
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
As much as I'm glad that you are happy TechnOkami, I would also appreciate a copy of your character sheet.
DMs (including the first set of DMs for the newbies) will be incoming *next* weekend, either Saturday Sept 28th or Sunday Sept 29th.
Threads I'm currently DMing:
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- Join Date
- May 2010
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
Whew, good to be here. Glad me, Muldoon, and Xondoure got all in.
And to Tech, Guy, and Kasanip, I say hello to you all!
SpoilerName: Garxin Ebonwitt
Race: Lich (formerly Human)
SpoilerNecrotic Magic: Garxin's magic as a lich focuses on the use and manipulation of necrotic magic for combat and defense. Among these abilities include:
- Undeathly Revival: Garxin is capable of raising the bodies of those who have fallen back into a battle-worthy condition. Those affected by this spell do not regain any sort of sentience or soul, those remaining untouched in the afterlife they had been taken to. Instead these undead bodies are directly controlled by Garxin and follow simple commands whether they are "destroy enemy" or "guard this area." They are otherwise dormant and harmless to any being that comes in it's sight. Garxin may raise groups of undead with this spell, but only if they have died before. In addition the earlier the being had died, the more effective this spell will be.
- Negative Harm: Garxin can manipulate necrotic energy against his foes in many variants. He can fire a simple bolt of energy, call forth an erupting explosion of energy, contaminate a small area with energy that corrodes foes in it, and set energy traps for those foolish enough to come upon it. This is less effective on other undead and it has always been one of his more blind spots in terms of dealing with enemies.
- Halberd of Chaos: Garxin's own weapon of choice for when he needs to face a melee opponent. He can create a weapon made of necrotic energy from his very hands in the shape of a halberd. The weapon, though strong is not his preferred way of battle and instead uses it only to keep his foes away. While better on undead due to physical force being applied to his swings, the halberd doesn't compare to a strong arm and a well-crafted silver blade for fighting those who are undead.
- Corrosion Aura: While never a proper combatant, Garxin does have another way of defense for those who try and get up close and personal with him. As a lich he can concentrate and create an aura of necrotic energy surrounding him that can quickly decay almost anything upon touch. Physical attacks which strike him will have their edges dulled and sharpness removed, rendering most blades and arrows useless. Blunt weapons however are sturdy enough to be used to their full effectiveness for a bit before they wear out. Holy weapons of enough power can also penetrate this magical aura. Fleshy hands that touch this aura will also burn away like acid and is highly dangerous to get grabbed by him while his aura is out.
Lich: Transforming into a lich has given Garxin many benefits that he considers to outweigh the downsides that has come with it.
- Undead: As an undead, Garxin is unfazed by pestilence, plague, drowning, pain, hunger, thirst, and uncomfortable temperatures which can be a problem for most other beings.
- Phylactery: A lich's prize possession. Garxin has placed his own essence in this object, specifically a lapis trophy resembling a crescent moon, as part of the process to his transformation. The essence holds his sense of feel and pain as well as the memories of his past before transformation. Whenever destroyed the phylactery eventually brings him back to life wherever it is, usually in his keep. The trophy itself is incredibly durable and can only be destroyed by a weapon of heightened holy power. When destroyed, Garxin's essence goes with it.
- Spell Resistance: As a lich, Garxin has an uncanny ability to nullify spells of weaker magnitude that strike at him. Magic such as simple fireballs and lightning storms do not harm him in the slightest from wizards not experienced to cast more advanced spells that can penetrate and harm the lich.
Human Illusion: In the cases he needs to get out of his keep or make himself civilly present in front of other people, Garxin uses a simple illusion spell to cast himself in a human form that matches his look before his transformation. The spell is specific in nature, only working on himself and only into his specific human form. To keep him from being known as a lich while in this form, Garxin makes use of his powers as little as possible, especially his corrosion aura. A powerful enough dispel spell can remove the illusion.
SpoilerPoor Fighter: For the ways he uses his powers to defend himself in melee combat, Garxin is terrible on actually fighting foes up close. His lack of martial experience renders him usually outwitted and outplayed by skilled warriors. Though his aura can help minimize the damage he takes from swords and arrows, maces, flails, and other blunt weapons of war can strike him fiercely and divine power can outright penetrate the aura to severely wound Garxin.
Divine Weakness: As a mocking threat to the gods of life and death, Garxin like most undead are vulnerable to weapons of holy might. No sort of defense he has, aura included, will be able to protect him from weapons and magic made and blessed by the powers of Heaven.
Inability to Heal: One of the biggest downsides for Garxin is his inability to rejuvenate wounds as a lich. Any damage he takes will last on his body until he is destroyed. Healing magic either does nothing or harms him if powerful enough and potions have no effect on him either. The only way he can recover from damage is to meditate next to his Phylactery or to be destroyed and resurrected by it. This makes it all the more important to him to avoid engaging in melee combat.
Phylactery: The benefits this relic offers to Graxin also works as a double-edged sword in a few ways. It's destruction renders his essence and being moot like all phylactery does. Garxin prefers to keep his hidden in his keep where he will be revived in a safe place. However even if someone cannot destroy it if found, there is nothing stopping them from placing it in a place very disadvantageous to the lich whether it be crushed under the rubble of an underwater landslide or the pits of Hell.
Problematic Presence: Liches are not liked by most of the living in the world. Garxin goes to illusions to try and prevent this issue. Not much more needs to be said.
SpoilerScorning the gods by his form alone, Garxin carries no pride in admitting his past actions have been less-than-true to a good path. To keep himself from attracting unwanted attention he prefers to stay in his keep, out of the eyes and issues of the public. Unless something presses his concerns or way of living Garxin prefers to remain neutral.
SpoilerAs of the past many years, Garxin has found himself painting a good deal and drawing events of both his life and of other history. His hobby of painting has slowly become something of a passion to learn about history and describe it through paintings rather than words. He may have a library in his keep of old history but he has spent the last 150 years reading it all. His desire to learn something new that he can visually show to others is a reason that he ought to get out and travel. For his fear of death, he is also willing to do anything to keep himself existing in the world whether it is simply defending himself or trying to save the world from a damning fate.
SpoilerSorcerers' Council: A proud and wise court of wizards and sorcerers who once shaped and developed the use of magic in the Kingdom of Narle. Garxin was once of those members, banished long ago for his persistent use and attempts to justify Necrotic magic as a viable tool for humanity as well as his forbidden marriage. The council has now, as well as the town they had been in, has been destroyed over a hundred and fifty years ago when they tried to bring down the lich after his transformation. Garxin has believed that though he did desire revenge against the council, having the rest of the town caught in the crossfire was an unfortunate consequence.
Malicia Ebonwitt: Garxin's wife who he had known for five years, three of those married. A simple courtier to a vassal in town, Malicia and Garxin shared a love for art, landscaping, magic, and doing what they thought was best for their kingdom. As council members were forbidden from wedding the common folk, Garxin had found himself torn between his lover or his kingdom and eventually settled on the former. Malicia died in childbirth and even now her thoughts and visions of a happy family are represented in the paintings Garxin makes over the course of his life.
SpoilerAs a young child, Garxin grew up in a normal family with an exciting interest in magic. He can almost be called a prodigy with how intense a focus he took to studying the ideas and philosophies magic had back then. Able to cast his first spell, if only a little successfully at the age of twelve, Garxin had been a subject of great importance to the Sorcerers' Council and highly praised to be an heir to one of their positions when he comes of age. In his own time he also took an interest in drawing and painting, wanting one day to "paint the land with color" as he said in his own childhood mind.
That day eventually came to pass on his twenty-third birthday when he was given a seat on the council. As an ambitious man, Garxin worked to bringing new advances of magic for the kingdom, as eccentric as some of them were. One of his more infamous arguments however was for the purpose of using necrotic magic. Undead as they are have already been scorned for rejecting the ideas of life and death. Garxin however believed that undead can be used to help others such as removing the pain of the wounded, creating golems and non-sentient creatures to do labor work that humans cannot, and most damningly bringing back the deceased. The council disapproved of this in the end, believing unlife as an unacceptable idea in the world of the living. This disappointed Garxin, though not cause him despair.
What drove a stake between him and the council was Malicia. The young courtier had met Garxin one fateful day and their similarities and interests eventually brought the two to come to love each other. For awhile they kept their relationship a secret as Garxin taught Malicia how to be a better spell-caster, being amazingly inept at correctly using magic. Eventually this was brought to life of the council, who warned that the each member were not to wed to simple civilians and instead to the nobles Garxin had no interest in. Refusal of this command would result in exile from the city and told Garxin that he has a choice he must make; the love for the courtier or the love for the kingdom.
Deciding that he would prefer to spend his life with his love, Garxin chose Malicia over his kingdom and the two together escaped the town and fled to a keep long abandoned. There the two married each other and spent the next few years together. Though they may have been alone, they were happy together.
Over two years passed before Garxin learned his wife is pregnant and that he would be a father. The simple thought of it made him joyous with the thought of having a family and Malicia agreed with him. This however was not meant to be; Malicia dies in childbirth much to the grief of herself and her husband. Garxin's embrace had been the only reason why she could die with a smile on her face.
Garxin goes into depression after her death, wondering why he couldn't save her. All magic he tried had not worked and the only thing left he could do was try and bring her back. Desperately the sorcerer uses a ritual of necrotic magic to bring his wife's soul back to her body and return to the mortal plane. This however ended disastrously. His ritual had forced her soul from the afterlife and painfully inserted it into the deceased body. The imperfect ritual left her unable to speak and in horrible pain as Garxin felt more horrified at what his actions had wrought. For ten days she lay in bed in a painful form of life and death. After the tenth day, her soul departed from her body again. Her look of terrible anguish screamed into her husband's mind upon her final death.
It is upon her second death that Garxin realizes what this means for him. Tearing a soul from the afterlife and bringing a new world of horror upon that soul is an act considered repulsive. His use of necrotic magic, whether used for what he believed was right or not, was something he considered unforgivable and that the path to Heaven would be denied. The only place he will go to when he dies is Hell, as he deserves. Nothing he thinks he can do will change that. The simple thought of going to Hell terrifies him. He didn't want to die and go to eternal damnation; he wanted to live despite what he has done.
Removing the belief that he still has moral boundaries, Garxin undertook another ritual, this time one to become a immortal lich that may not die by conventional means. He gives all his flesh and all his skin and organs, transferring that and his soul as essence to his phylactery. Such a ritual proved to be amazingly painful for Garxin and he knew he was lucky to have survived it. Only days later did tales about Garxin becoming a lich reach the Sorcerers' Council. Agreeing that he deserved death for what he had become, the council rallied the town and moved out to face the lich.
Garxin, seeing the town come to his fort, let revenge against the council decide his actions. He had grown tired of the limits they insisted for their laws and felt that Malicia may still be alive had they simply accepted the marriage. So the lich took to the battle to face the town; his power magnified significantly from his transformation. Garxin's magic was able to swiftly put down the common folk wielding spears and swords, then raised them to fight the survivors. Quickly the battle changed to an undead horde slaughtering those of the town militia and the sorcerers. By the end both the sorcerers and the townsfolk were dead at Garxin's magic. When revenge left his mind, sorrow filled it instead over the bloodshed he didn't want to commit on the townsfolk.
After the ordeal, Garxin retreats back to his fort in understanding how far he has come since becoming a lich. Being a terror to many and having nothing but his life left to give he finds meaning to his life gone. Deciding to at least leave memoirs of the town, Garxin began painting over the long years, depicting the many areas of the town, the council, his lover, his exile, his marriage, Malicia's death, her failed revival, his transformation, and the battle that wiped the town off the kingdom. If he was to write history he will do it truthfully, as a scorn of Heaven with a mad excuse for his actions. The paintings were placed in the keep alongside many other paintings he has done in the meantime to try and decorate it with history of many places and stories. In a way he is like a historian whose stories are told by drawings instead of words.
Now in the present day Garxin does not hold many emotional thoughts on the world. Taking a very analytical view of the world he finds working on his new hobby to be good enough for his endless life. His paintings keep him company as it tells of his actions and other events known widely among people. However he knows his library in his keep has run short of knowledge for him. In spite of wanting to admit he has no leash left on ambition Garxin carries a taste for history still. If he is going to learn more then he's gonna need to head out and face the world, consequences of who he is now be damned.
SpoilerIn human form, Garxin stands at 6' 3'' tall with a broad build and tanned skin color. He has short brown hair, fierce blue eyes and sharp, rough features on his face. Often his look is like that of a focused and analytical man in his early thirties, not one to show emotion easily but not one without emotion either.
Among his clothing is a simple but efficient travel cloak of red-ish browns and dark blues that made up the colors of the town he was once from. It's quality represents that it was newly made for the lich to wear. In contrast is the cape and robe of similar colors he has kept since his human days. Old for over 100 years it has waned and aged to a good degree, kept intact by his magic. The cape is tattered in numerous areas. He prefers to simply wear his travel cloak at all times but had found himself wearing the cape and robe underneath the cloak during the days he reminisces about the town he had once lived in. On Garxin's right hand is a diamond bracelet which is the last and most cherished gift he has kept from his deceased wife.
Outside of his human illusion, Garxin as a lich is a skeleton of dusty gray bones held together by his powers. His skulls represents no emotion, changing not at all while speaking as if using magic to voice his speech. His dark red corrosion aura surrounds both him and the robe he wears, coming off as both a show of power and a danger to be near.
Last edited by Starsign; 2013-09-22 at 08:35 PM.
- Join Date
- Sep 2008
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
Did somebody say THEME MUSIC!?
Last edited by AdamSmasher; 2013-09-22 at 08:46 PM.
- Join Date
- Feb 2013
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
Now that's over with, I have to pick a themesong... nygggh...
Spoiler“The elves have their cunning, the fiends have the fury of hell itself, and the fey have their fancy magic. Humanity has me. Needless to say, the elves, fiends and fey don’t stand a chance.”
Name: Ridley Wheelock, the Man of Many Violent Nicknames
SpoilerTo put it simply, Ridley is very, very good at being ordinary. He runs a little faster, jumps a little higher, hits a little harder, and is a great deal more intelligent and ruthlessly cunning than most men. One might question how a mere mortal managed to achieve such skill in combat, and the intellect necessary to create powerful weapons such as the ones he currently wields. The answer? Sheer determination, fueled by greed, hatred, and hint of bloodlust.
Ridley is trained with most mundane weapons, as well as firearms and powder bombs. He excels at killing mages before they have time to so much as utter an incantation.
SpoilerCombat-wise, Ridley’s firearms are not capable of firing multiple times before they need to be reloaded. Though he carries several at a time, he has difficulty once his shots have been used up, he must resort to melee tactics, which requires closing the distance between a foe before an archer or mage has time to obliterate him. From a technical standpoint, bullets don’t have anywhere near the same raw destructive power or accuracy as spells, but Ridley’s working on that.
Personality-wise, Ridley is incredibly stubborn. Though not above accepting help from others (he’s recruited other bands of mercenaries multiple times) he will outright deny any sort of magical assistance, whether it is for healing his injuries or destroying a barricade. He believes that his own grit and advanced technology are enough to obsolete magic in its entirety. Though he will not attack or intentionally mistreat those who utilize magic, he will look down upon them as “cheaters”. He is also highly racist, considering any elf, fiend or fey to be an enemy of humanity, and an enemy of his personally. However, he will not kill them on sight unless threatened by them or paid to. Of course, if he happens to goad them into attacking him... well, that’s all the excuse he needs.
The einherjar are exempt from Ridley’s hatred. He actually holds them in high regard, partially because they were created to protect humans, and partially because they have never personally wronged them, even if he still treats their use of magic as a sign of weakness. He regards other races (and human strangers) with apathy.
Any magical phenomenon used to prevent or inhibit the use of other magic is exempt from Ridley’s stigma, though he will rarely utilize them himself unless necessary to kill fey menaces.
SpoilerOne might mistake Ridley’s willingness to defend the interests of mortals as heroism. After all, someone who spends most of his time wiping out genocidal elves can't be all that bad, right? Rest assured, Ridley is quite possibly the least heroic man alive, and does these things out of sheer malice for those who happen to be humanity’s enemies and hatred of magic. He is selfish, fights for vengeance and profit alone, is highly opportunistic, and believes “honour isn’t worth the dirt on a beggar’s feet”. “Heroism” is a side-effect of his true profession: killing for massive profit and personal enjoyment.
SpoilerVengeance. Ridley’s been through a lot, and has very little compassion left. He’ll find the odd job for a cause he genuinely believes in, or to protect a group of people who have treated he and his men well, but he mostly just uses them as an excuse to kill (you guessed it) elves, fiends and fey.
Spoiler”You do NOT cross the Riders. You cross the Riders, you’re going to find yourself with at least two less limbs and eleven new holes in your body.”
Ridley’s Riders are a group of elite mercenaries led by, you guessed it, Ridley. Their membership is highly limited and barred to anyone who uses magic as a primary means of fighting, and anyone who is an elf, fey, or fiend. Ridley screens each applicant personally, and instantly rejects anyone who he deems as being “too moral”. Though they do ride horses (or whatever fast, sometimes mutant quadrupeds they can find), few are actually trained in mounted combat. Their steeds are mostly for transportation (and alliteration) purposes, and expendable without a second thought. When ambushing an enemy, the mercenaries’ preferred tactic is to pick off and scatter as many enemies from a distance as possible with long-barreled firearms, or mounted hit-and-run tactics, then have their bruisers clean up in the chaos of it all. Ridley’s Riders are not only excellent mercenaries, but the only people with whom Ridley trusts with firearms. Unfortunately, it seems as though somehow, others have gotten hold of his grandfather’s designs.
Ridley’s Riders consists of twenty-four people (give or take a few) at any given time. New mercenaries are only recruited to replace dead or retired ones, barring a few special exceptions. They tend to operate in groups of two to eight depending on the nature and severity of the mission, with at least four guarding their hideout at all times if possible. The Riders’ high prices and sheer brutality have earned them a reputation as a last resort, albeit a highly effective one. On only two occasions has the entire team assembled for a job. On both occasions, they were able to help push back or decimate an enemy with several times as many soldiers.
SpoilerBrutus: Standing at roughly seven feet tall, Brutus is highly trained in the arts of intimidation and unarmed combat. He claims to be part ogre, and though he has never been able to prove this, nobody questions it due to his immense stature. Brutus earns a special respect from Ridley as the only member of the Riders who is able to defeat Ridley in single combat. Though strong, he is woefully uneducated, and not particularly sharp. Brutus is the only original member of the Riders who is still alive (barring Ridley), one of the oldest age-wise, and is even more brutal and evil than Ridley.
Sidney: Sidney’s story is a tragic one, to say the least. Her father was a selfish merchant who hired Ridley and Brutus to escort one of his caravans, but refused to pay his bill. Instead, he forced his beautiful daughter to pay it off by working for the Riders. Needless to say, Sidney is that daughter. Sidney is a combatant who specializes in horseback archery. She makes a conscious effort to stay as far away from the other mercenaries as possible, with the exception of Lucius and Cutter. She has since paid off her father’s debt to the group, but was turned bitter by the initial deal to the point where she has forsaken all connections with her family. She is quiet and brutal, and uses a long scythe in close-quarters combat, earning her the nickname of "Reaper".
Lucius: Lucius is the most moral and most agreeable member of the team, and the member who Ridley most commonly uses for negotiation purposes. He is suave, smooth and very persuasive. Though Ridley questions Lucius’ dedication to the group and often has gripes with the man’s high morals, his people skills are invaluable among a group of hardened mercenaries who are about as charismatic as a bag of dead rats. Many people mistake Lucius as the group’s leader. His favoured weapons are a small pistol and a rapier, though he is no more skilled in using them than your average soldier: Lucius' wit and charm are his greatest assets.
Cutter: Young, mundane Cutter typically stays at the Riders’ base, building new firearms for their ever-expanding arsenal. After coming across their means of creation for more advanced munitions and selling bootlegged versions, Ridley tracked her down, offering her a choice: die or join the Riders. Though not a fighter, she is a decent marksman due to her extensive weapons knowledge. She does not claim to be an inventor, but she is highly effective at copying existing models of firearms. She and Lucius are good friends, though Cutter’s cowardice prevents her from acting as a moral compass in the same way that Lucius does.
Members not mentioned above are also highly skilled and highly deadly, and also in it for the profit. They disregard their morality as well, because after all, killing is their business, and business is good.
Ridley’s fear and hatred towards magic is not necessarily shared between his mercenaries. Most of them deem his hostility towards the arcane as unnecessary, and some even use magic of their own when not in their leader's presence.
SpoilerFourteen years ago, at the tender age of twelve, Ridley had his entire family, his brother, sister and parents, butchered by an elven warband. I know, I know: a helluva way to start a backstory, but up until then, Ridley was fairly normal as far as children went. He had a few close friends, an older brother and a younger sister. When the elves attacked, he gathered a few of his more valuable possessions and fled, bartering what he had to get to his grandfather’s house.
His grandfather’s name was Flint Wheelock. Though somewhat senile and highly paranoid at the thought of someone stealing his various creations, he was a staggeringly intelligent inventor who was more than willing to welcome Ridley into his home. In his old age, Flint appreciated having someone to go to sell his creations and purchase food, whereas Ridley appreciated having someone to care for and educate him. Ridley ended up with many of his grandfather’s personality traits: greediness, introversion, and a severe phobia of magic, which translated into a hatred of it during Ridley’s later teen years. With a lot of extra time on his hands, it was only two years before Flint Wheelock managed to create the world’s first firearm. It was an astounding invention, capable of piercing through a suit of plate mail with force an arrow never could. They were inaccurate and impractical, but innovative nonetheless, and constantly improving in quality. Flint trained Ridley their use and creation before selling his first few to a group of nobles. This money allowed Flint to create various other inventions as he began to acquire fame across the land as a renowned inventor, with Ridley as his prodigy. The Wheelock legacy would live on, or so they thought. Only a few of these early inventions were ever released to the public, though, for disaster struck soon after his developing of the Powder Bomb, a primitive grenade.
When Ridley was seventeen, an insane fey creature, a goat-legged man with massive ram horns, attacked their shack in the woods, slaughtering poor old Flint. His twisted mind had reasoned that such inventions were an abomination unto the natural world, and needed to be destroyed.
Ridley must’ve come to the same conclusion about the satyr as he killed him with a Wheelock musket. Flint’s funeral service was short and mainly attended by business colleagues, but Ridley vowed to continue his grandfather’s work, secluding himself to the same cabin in the woods to improve on these new wheelock weapons. Out of this tinkering eventually came the matchlock, and a unanimous improvement over the wheelock, the flintlock: named after both its firing mechanism and Flint, as Ridley felt as though it was an improvement worthy of his grandfather’s namesake. Ridley took advantage of the fear of the people, limiting supply so as to drive up his guns’ prices, and refusing to sell the more advanced models for fear of his technological secrets being stolen. He saw that there was profit to be made from war, and that if he played his cards right, he would not only get to take vengeance on those responsible for the death of his family, and those fiends who nearly brought his species to extinction, but make a hefty sum of money by using technology and brutality to gain an edge over their competition.
Using the funds left to him by his grandfather, he started a mercenary company, hiring some of the cruelest folks he could find: those who could look him in the eye and say: “I kill for profit. I will follow orders, and I will kill whoever my employer asks me to.”
Ridley recently received an assignment from an unknown employer with very simple instructions. "KILL AS MANY ELVES AS POSSIBLE". He was happy to oblige.
SpoilerRidley himself looks rather mundane. About 5’9, lean, well-muscled and grizzled looking. He has a thin layer of stubble around his chin, but looks to be fairly young, no more than his late 20s. He has brown, straight hair coming just below his ears and can usually be seen smoking a cigar of some kind.
His clothing, however, is highly unique. It is made out of leather to allow for mobility, but has many different sheaths for weapons. There are three pistols holstered on either side of his belt, a bandolier of knives on his chest, and his two primary weapons, a long-barrelled musket and a blunderbuss, mounted on his back. He leaves the other load-bearing to his black stallion, which he has named Gunsmoke.
And here's another little RP sample/backstory post...
SpoilerRidley’s hands were placed on the desk in front of him as he looked over their latest proposed job. It was an old thing, with several chips taken out of it, along with a few pens, inkwells and sheets of parchment for the more bureaucratic aspects of running a mercenary organization. Their base was located primarily underground, roughly five miles from Diron: far away enough to stay hidden, and close enough to walk or ride to the city of in order to collect new employment opportunities. He only sent his stealthiest, or their main diplomatic presence, Lucius, to retrieve jobs. This was to prevent anyone from following them back to their base. He sent out mercenaries to other cities on occasion,
“We can’t take this job,” Ridley said, pushing the proposal back to the girl, a few years younger, standing across from his desk. He was a mundane-looking man, albeit a bit on the short side. “I don’t want to get involved with this rebellion crap.” The mercenary leader took a piece of parchment and a pen began to write a brief message to those who had made the proposal.
“We offer our services as a weapons dealer to those who want them. Otherwise, piss off.
“That oughta do it,” he said, smiling and passing the note to the girl, “Whaddya think?”
“Uhmm...” The girl across from him smelled of sulphur and charcoal. Cutter, the team’s engineer, occasionally served as a secretary of sorts. She was pale from lack of sun and skinny from poor nourishment, with green eyes and wavy blonde hair. “I guess it’s okay... you’re not worried about someone who might not be as... friendly with the rebels getting this?”
“Cutter,” Ridley began, “Nobody is that paranoid. Besides, if they saw us as a threat, they’d be more likely to buy our loyalty than to wipe us out. After all, we’ve got something most of them don’t...” The leader took a pistol off of his holster and spun it around on his index finger before placing it back. “And we’re well-hidden, not to mention well-armed and spell-proofed. Actually, come to think of it...”
Ridley scribbled another note on the request they’d received from their rebel customers.
“Dearest Marchioness Drusilla,
We have received this note from a group claiming to be rallying against your regime. We refused their offer, of course, as we have no interest in nearly destroying the city where we find ourselves seeking employment. I have also enclosed a list of seven names which my representatives have collected, each of which can be linked directly to this rebellion. Please do not disclose who gave this information for you, as we prefer to remain neutral in conflicts that we are not paid to participate in.
Should you require our aid in the future, our representatives are constantly seeking work in the commercial sector of Diron: you need only seek us out. Remember, our services as a weapons dealer are always available if you find your army’s primitive arsenal to be insufficient.
Sincerely and best wishes,
Ridley Wheelock, Leader of Ridley’s Riders
Ridley passed the leader to Cutter, who quickly looked it over. “There.” He said confidently, “When Lucius next goes to town, make sure he delivers those. If we’re picking a side in this, we’re going to pick the side that already has money and won’t destroy the infrastructure we use.”
“Yes sir!” Cutter responded, giving a salute. She turned to leave, but stopped in her tracks and made a swift turn back towards Ridley. “I almost forgot...” she passed another envelope to Ridley. “According to Lucius, a woman in a black mask, hat and cloak gave this to him. Real mysterious.”
“Ah, fine...” Ridley said, opening it up, “I need to get back in the field again... Lesse here... secret organization... need your advanced munitions... Ah. Killing elves. They’re gonna scry on us and see how many we get, and pay us for each one.” He crumpled up the letter and threw it at Cutter’s feet. “Sorry, but I hate being scryed on more than I love killing those genocidal mutants. No deal.”
Cutter picked up the notes Ridley had written and the crumpled paper at her feet. She opened it up, intending to skim it over before tossing it away, but stopped in her tracks.
“What is it, Cutter?”
“... Ridley? You might want to see this...” She shoved the paper in Ridley’s face, pointing to a specific passage of interest.
“Get that thing out of my--... Wow. That is a lot of zeroes...”
Last edited by Lightning Fast; 2013-09-22 at 08:53 PM.
- Join Date
- Dec 2007
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
[Character Sheet Placeholder!]
My old one is completely obsolete by this point, and I really need to re-write the whole thing. I'll be working on that (as well as a post for the thread) in between tests and paper due dates this week. :)
In the mean time, Welcome New Peoples!
- Join Date
- Jul 2007
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
AdamSmasher - You're, like, six years too late with that theme, I'm afraid.
OverWilliam - Uh huh . . . Actually, I have a special task for you. PM incoming.
Lightning Fast - While I intend on trolling you with songs from the Vagrant Story OST "Mr. Ashley Riot", I would more seriously recommend something along the lines of this.
Threads I'm currently DMing:
Threads I have successfully completed:
- Join Date
- May 2010
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
I actually don't really know what to take for a theme, mostly cause I'm really awful at finding one. If anyone has an idea for a theme for Garxin I'd be glad to hear it.
- Join Date
- Jun 2011
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
Hello hello! Welcome new peoples! Welcome to your doom.
Oh, and my character sheet:
Race: Draconic humanoid/Dragon
Description: Probably among the largest of his kind, Lucifuge is a black dragon with a commanding presence, inspiring awe from his comrades and fear among his enemies. He has the wingspan of around a hundred feet end to end, as long as he is wide, and a height of thirty feet. His whole body is covered with large, thick, black scales that refract the colors of the rainbow when hit by light at certain angles, and his visage exudes a mixture of ferocity and elegance.
In his draconic humanoid form, Lucifuge stands at around 6 feet, huge, muscular body, black scales covering his body. He has deep-seated green draconic eyes, snout-like jaws and nose, small horns lining his forehead, frilled spikes where his ears should be, and scaly strands hanging from his head that should resemble his hair (basically dragonborn).
Because of the nature of his kind, he usually walks around shrouded in cloak and hood to hide his appearance, and when it is required of him, he uses illusion to take the form of a human in his forties. On his back is a huge multi-slotted sheath filled with an odd selection of weapons: two swords, two battleaxes, two warhammers, and a spear.
- Keen Senses: Lucifuge possess senses sharper than a normal human being. He can see farther, see in low to dark illuminations, has a more acute sense of smell, and he can hear a wider range of sound.
- Superior Intellect: Lucifuge is blessed with the intellect of a creature born of the dragon race, as well as the wisdom born of living through the ages.
- Magic: Being innately magical creature, it was obvious for the wizard to experiment on Lucifuge's ability to cast magic. Coupled with his interest on the subject, a few years of observation and self studying and Lucifuge can now channel the arcane energies and shape them into destructive spells to reduce his foes into ashes in combat, as well as support spells to aid him in other types of situation that calls for them. (He knows spells that are similar to spells from Evocation, Illusory, and Transformation schools from DnD. Can only use low level spells in his humanoid form, but gains access to stronger spells when he is in dragon form.)
- Taint: The dark energies that corrupted Dacian and Elandra had also taken part of Lucifuge's sanity, but he died before it had fully taken over. Though dangerous, this dark energy is also a boon, granting him increased strength and near-endless supply of magic and dragon fire proportional to its degree of spreading.
Draconic Humanoid Form Lucifuge's current normal form. While in this form, he does not suffer the Taint eroding away his sanity. In fact, staying in this form for longer periods allows him to reverse its effects.
- Weapons Master: After he was transformed into a humanoid form, Lucifuge was forced to cope up with losing his superior dragon strength and size and his normal weapons consisting of sharp claws, powerful bites, wing buffets, and deadly tail slaps. He began learning to use weapons of different sorts and mastered a number of them, as well unarmed fighting. He developed a fighting style wherein he tries to make attacks that mimic how he fights as a dragon.
His usual style of combat is wielding 7 weapons - a pair of swords, a pair of battleaxes, a pair of warhammers, and a spear - scattering them and grabbing one or two of them depending on which attacks he would use, and and using his agility, speed, and strength, blitz through the battlefield.
- Draconic Body: Even reduced to a humanoid body, Lucifuge is still stronger than an average human being. And the smaller body grants him unrivaled speed and agility.
Dragon Form Lucifuge's true form. He can only access this form when he undergoes extreme negative emotions such as anger, or sorrow. However, whenever manifesting his dragon form, Taint begins to spread throughout his mind and body, slowly consuming his very being.
- Dragon's Body: As a dragon, Lucifuge possesses immense physical strength. He also possesses an array of attacks using his powerful claws, jaws, wings, and tail. Like all dragons, Lucifuge's body is covered with scales tougher than armor, protecting him from all but the most devastating of attacks, and even then, he has the constitution to withstand severe punishment. He is resistant to magical attacks, and like all dragons, he also possesses a prolonged lifespan.
- Dragon's Breath: In dragon form, Lucifuge can use the legendary dragon's breath, burning all things that stand in his way with scorching dragon fire.
- Flight: A dragon's massive wings is not merely for show. Lucifuge uses his wings to take to the skies, making travel faster or adding versatility to his combat maneuvers.
SpoilerTaint: While Lucifuge has learned to use this to his advantage, the fact remains that the dark energies is slowly eating away at his very being every time he transforms into his dragon form, threatening to consume him and turn him into Azguloth's servant. He could also feel the Taint slowly becoming stronger for every step he makes towards Ironheart, or feel intense negative emotions and doing or thinking evil deeds. The irony is that the more the Taint spreads, the more he is inclined to feel negative emotions and think of evil deeds.
Draconic Humanoid Form: Lucifuge survived death at the cost of his dragon form. Although this form is still stronger than a normal human, millennia of living and moving about in his dragon body makes it hard for him to adjust to his current form, forgetting most times what he can or cannot do while in it.
Draconic Nature: Being a dragon, and probably the last of his kind, Lucifuge faces the constant problem of unwanted attention. This varies greatly from simple curiosity, to being hunted down for his life.
Alignment: Lucifuge is still loyal to the Oath he swore as a member of the Order of the New Dawn, and his ultimate goal is still to ensure that Azguloth does not break forth from his prison under Ironheart. To achieve this, he is willing to do almost anything, but the repercussions of negative emotions by doing evil acts keeps him somewhat in check.
Motivation: Lucifuge's ultimate goal is to ensure that Azguloth does not escape. This means reforming the Order some way or another, regain control of Ironheart, and redo the shackles of Azguloth. However, he knows he cannot do this without taking care of the problem of his Taint, so his most urgent goal is to rid himself of it.
Associates: Lucifuge is a member of the Order of the New Dawn, once safeguarding Ironheart alongside Elandra and Dacian. Since his awakening, he has heard of the complete destruction of the Order and Dacian's final demise. He has yet to meet or hear of any survivors among his kind or descendants of the human guardians.
SpoilerThe last thing he remembered was steel wreathed in unholy energies piercing through his chest, tearing through his wings, rending his every limb.
The last thing he saw was the glorious smile on the face of the one he regarded as a brother.
The next thing he saw was light. And a wicked representation of a smile.
He was alive. He knew there was no afterlife for soulless creatures such as themselves. But how? Why?
The next days saw him going through a number of times going under the knife, getting drugged. Dazed. But he was aware that there was something different. Glaringly so.
His mind ran through his memories. He could remember everything perfectly: the day he was born, the day he first took to the air, the day he first breathed his fire, the day he first hunted for food, the day he became a member of the Order, the day of the betrayal. He was sure he was himself.
But through the little instances of consciousness he had verified it.
He was not in his body.
His majestic, powerful body he was proud of was gone. Instead he was inside a shell of a human, or something similar. What happened? Where was he? And who was this human, or whatever it was, that constantly tried to open his body up?
The next few weeks came the answers. Apparently the human had satisfied himself with what he could find out about his body, so he was left awake for most times now. He had come to know the man had called himself a wizard, and that he was the one who brought him back to life. Or so he says. And upon asking, he also came to know another glaring difference.
He had been dead, or asleep, for well over a few millennia.
His first reaction at the stark realization was to burst out of his chains and return to Ironheart, but he was stopped by two things. The first, he was physically incapable of doing so. His new form did not have his usual strength. The second, and the heavier reason, was his lack of will.
He had remembered why he was there in that dark, decrepit place, bound in chains, confined in a cage of iron and flesh not of his own in the first place. They had lost. Elandra was lost. Dacian was lost too, and a more costly loss at that one. Days immediately after Dacian became the leader, death came en masse to both dragons and humans alike. His suspicions were true.
He had felt it as well. That silent tug at his moral fiber, gnawing at his sanity, slowly. He knew it was what caused Elandra to go insane. And now it had taken over Dacian.
Now that a few thousand years have passed, he knew it was over. Dacian should have finished off what he started.
Months passed. Months that turned to years. He was still a prisoner, locked up in a cage. The only difference was now he was in a bigger one. The wizard who found him used him as a gladiator for money and research, observing how much of his draconic powers survived his 'death', and how he could obtain it for himself.
The now hopeless and aimless Lucifuge came to accept his current predicament, and sometimes even relished in it. He did not have his own body, but this current one, he found out, was good enough to beat almost anyone with. Though he had to adjust his fighting style, adopting weapons for losing his natural ones, he still had that weapon he treasured most, his intellect. He mastered a number of weapons and even developed his own fighting style. In just over a few months, he was the reigning gladiator favorite.
Six years after he awakened, it happened.
While in the middle of a gladiatorial battle, something pierced through Lucifuge's being. Flashes of memory began to bombard his mind, and the image of Dacian seemed to surface. At that instant, his emotions spiked, making him clutch his heart and collapse. And then an explosion.
When he came to, he was lying naked on the ground in the middle of a forest, with the immediate vicinity scorched and burnt down. Confused, he bagan wandering about, and in a few minutes, he remembered. The forest was familiar; he had been there before. A little bit more walking and he confirmed it. He was in a forest at the border of Narle.
And there was another thing he could remember.
It was vague, and he was barely conscious, but he was sure. The reason that he was there was because he flew there, on his old form. Something triggered his transformation, and the sudden change overwhelmed him that he could not control himself. As soon as he had transformed, he spewed his dragon fire, instantly leveling the arena and killing everyone in it, then kicked off the ground and flew. He had been flying for days in a particular direction, something he chose on instinct.
The next few days he traveled around, gathering information, and he was able to piece the events that happened recently. He now understood the vision he saw that eventually led to his coming back: Dacian was dead. He also came to know of the instability Dacian's death caused. Several factions began moving to take hold of Ironheart. Most notable was the Baron of Gast, who had taken control of the fortress.
All of this was on top of the myriad troubles he came to know, of the elves and the fiends and even recently, the Spirit World threatening to spill over into this one.
But he knew his purpose was clear, why he was brought back there, and so he left for the barony of Gast.
Along the way, he could feel something evil growing stronger within him with every step he took towards Ironheart. And the moment he saw the slightest glimpse of its tallest spire, he knew. The evil taint that had threatened to take him over in the past had survived his death along with him. Apparently it grew stronger, acknowledging its source. Once he tried to approach, the negative emotions swelled within him and he transformed yet again back to his former self. But he could feel that as soon as he did, the vile energies within him accelerated its corrosion of his being.
Knowing full well going any closer would only just mean another corrupted being taking Dacian's place, he decided to leave. He knew he had to somehow find a way to remove that Taint within him before he could even approach the wretched place.
He spent months trying to find a solution, at the same time find news of any of the survivors of the Order, as well as getting used to his dual forms, changing between them, and mitigating the spread of Taint. He began doing odd jobs, jobs he would never consider doing millennia ago, when he was once the great Lucifuge, the mighty sentinel of Ironheart. All the while he kept track of things that happened around the fortress.
But he could only do so much. His draconic nature kept him from running about to do what needs to be done normally. Everything had to be done secretly, using illusions and concealment to hide his face, else he be pursued by a lot of people trying to kill him for his relation to dragons.
After the Battle of Narle, Lucifuge saw the chaos that ensued as a signal. He could now move more freely. He could do what needs to be done without worrying of the repercussions. It was time.
It was time to Return to Ironheart.
Play Style: I am game for any play style that would be appropriate for Lucifuge in his story, and I think his character is pretty much suited and capable for most, if not all of those.
Party Preference: A tangled web we weave, if only it is organic and not forced, just for playing together's sake.
- Join Date
- Feb 2013
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
WE MEET AGAIN.
... Hello :D
... You know what? Until further notice, this is my themesong.
Last edited by Lightning Fast; 2013-09-22 at 10:29 PM.
- Join Date
- Aug 2010
- Join Date
- Apr 2007
- Hastings, MN
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
I can't seem to find my old character sheet."Reach down into your heart and you'll find many reasons to fight. Survival. Honor. Glory. But what about those who feel it's their duty to protect the innocent? There you'll find a warrior savage enough to match any dragon, and in the end, they'll retain what the others won't. Their humanity."
- Join Date
- Apr 2008
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
Welcome to New Members! And hello Starsign and Xondoure. It is long time no see.
I am ready to continue! Lukina, reporting!
Name: Lukina Marcellis
Race: Human (Returner)
The return of a certain archangel named Genevieve in human form, desires to return to the heavens, and rally humanity to the side of good and the gods.
A heroic spirit, returned to the mortal realm, Lukina once was the archangel known as Genevieve, of the host of the Miriam, who fought and was slain by the Herald of Azguloth in an earlier time. She was lost to the Heavens, and her fate was left unresolved. Had she been trapped in the Hells? Had her soul been irrevocably destroyed by the Herald?
As the events of Narle came to conclusion, a young woman awoke with nightmares of battles long ago, and of faces and memories she knew but didn't know. And awakening to these, she became aware that she wasn't what she thought she was. The call to battle of Miriam and the awakened energies of the world had awoken feelings and a part of her that she hadn't known was there, and in the dream, she awakened to her purpose of divine make, and her desire to become a heroine will take up the task again.
SpoilerLukina is a young woman of silk-like, straight black hair and clear blue eyes. She often wears her hair pulled into a ponytail or another fashion. Though she has a small build, she stands with reassurance and confidence that gives her a fiery feeling. She is young, but something in her eyes is out of place with time. They seem like they are hiding something, maybe even from herself. Her normal clothes are practical, with a tunic and skirt over breeches and strong boots. She wears steel halberdier armor that is light for her to move.
sketch: Imagined Version
sketch: Sacred Blue Flame
SpoilerLukina is a girl of strong spirit and heart and optimism. A bit of a tomboy child, she grew up with eyes looking far off, knowing that her destiny lay somewhere outside the village life she had been born in. She grew up holding onto the legends and fairy tales that were told, always hoping to be a heroine herself.
And then the nightmares and the memories came, and suddenly everything she knew had been thrown into question. She knows she was once someone different- an angel of heaven. But the life in the memories is so different than the one she has known. Why did it happen? How did it happen? Only one of the Gods could answer this question, but it does haunt her. It asks the question then, is she still Genevieve, or is Lukina a different person? Can she be both of them?
Despite these worries, Lukina is determined to find the answers to her questions, and part of her is excited and thrilled by this. The calling that she was so uncertain of, she knows now what her purpose is. Or what it was? And she will make the best she can now. She will live her life together, both the path and the present.
Lukina is opposed to injustice, it is something that is nearly impossible to ignore. Knowing the glimpses of her past now that she does, she is even more reassured of the rightness of her cause in opposing it where she can. She always was faithful in prayer and attendence of the church, and she still trusts the paladins and priests may be able to help her now with her task and goal.
Deep down though, she is a girl from a village who hasn't been out much, and the archangel memories she has are from a different age and time. One could say she is a little ignorant of all the happenings of the outside world now, but she is determined to go forward anyway.
Lukina is a good heroine. She serves Miriam and Athelion as best she can, and opposes evil as best she can, wherever she comes across it. She is firmly against evil, and will attempt to rally those around her against it, or at least to fight it herself.
Lukina is driven by some knowledge of her past, and the glimpses she gets in dreams, or her meetings with the divine. Her ultimate goal and desire is to return to the side of her creator Miriam, but before she can get there, she has continue the duty laid on her. To help teach and save humans from evil, oppose and fight the forces of hell, and return the fallen to the holy path. If she can accomplish all of these things as a human, then surely she'll achieve her goal. Or so, she thinks. As a human, she still desires to be a heroine and an angel, and to live up to her past.
Paladin Commander Welkin and Paladins
Though many of their forces were lost, Commander Welkin has managed to form a new camp of paladins and is drawing recruits. The remnants of the baron's army and hell forces continue to cause trouble, and the paladins is trying to deal with this threat, as well as any remaining demons from the hells. Welkin is a young man in his early 20s, with a heavy burden after so many of the veterans were killed in the last battle. He is a determined and sharp commander and very loyal to his men. He is more willing to trust Lukina than most, but he sees her more as a needed mascot than a commander to follow.
Paladin Commander Tyberius/The Order of the Star
The Order of the Star are a paladin organization from outside of Narle. With the great disruption and afterwards of the battle of Narle, they have come in to help. Unlike the paladins of Narle, the Order of the Star are organized with strong morale. This is an elite unit, led by Commander Tyberius. He is an older commander who maybe remembers the most recent paladin attempts to attack the hells (if those are so recent). His duty is to scout and to report the situation of Narle to the rest of his order, but things may change that. Though he may have a good relationship with Commander Welkin, he will need a lot of persuasion of Lukina to believe her claim. But if it is proven, Tyberius may be her strongest supporter.
The priest of the church in the town that Lukina grew up in. Priest Adam is middle aged, and knew Lukina since she was little. He doesn't believe she is what she claims, but he can offer a lot advice and knowledge about the church of light to her. Of course after the war, everything is in trouble, but Priest Adam is helping with other priests to try to rebuild the churches to the glory they were before.
Angels- If any of the angels of Miriam are still on the mortal world, or even the ones in the heavens, they will certainly remember Genevieve, though whether they believe Lukina is her or not is different. But her sisters would be good allies to have.
Charisma: Lukina has a striking appearance and a certain grace and earnestness that is inspiring.
Mysterious Healing: Lukina heals faster than a normal human. Probably part of her own heritage?
The Sacred Blue Flame: Connecting the weak link between her past and her present, Lukina unites the two parts of who she is, empowering herself with divine energy and drawing upon her knowledge and abilities of before. Her body gains supernatural physical ability, as well as regeneration and alacrity, capable of using more of her full potential. Though she is not an angel, it could be said her ability is this level, though she can only use this for a limited time, and becomes exhausted after using it, due to the strains on her mortal body. When she channels her divine power, she is surrounded by a shimmering aura of pure divine blue flames and her hair bleaches to a blonde white-like color. The energy aura around her may glimmer faintly a halo or energy-like wings, if focused enough. When the connection ends, her hair will slowly return to it's normal color.
Combat Expertise: Unarmed, Sword, Spears (and halberds) are the weapons that Lukina can use with great skill.
Equipment: Currently Lukina uses a set of steel halberdier armor recovered from the battle of Narle. It gives some protection from injury and can be moved in easily. Whatever weapons she can recover or is given to use she will do her best with. At some point, hopefully she will recover or receive Angel Armor.
(Both of the Weapons are thoughts to obtain later maybe)
Edelweiss - the white and flowery halberd that is her 'Legacy weapon,' once held by Genevieve as the herald-spear of Miriam. It is a pure, white adamantine halberd that gives of the light of the sun. It is a weapon capable of inspiring faith. It is also a weapon that is said can pierce any armor. Perhaps it will be recovered sometime.
Exshia - The divine sword of Genevieve, lost after her death. Has been carried in the hands of the Avatars, and then was recovered by Miriam in the battle against the Baron. Where is it now? Someday all faithful swords will find their owners.
Youthful Form: Lukina's form is a young human. Despite her divine skill and experience, her current form isn't quite ready for a heroic battle as her past experience would desire. A mortal body can't sustain angelic combat for a long time. As such, she cannot use her maximum power, skill, speed, or endurance at this time. She may even hurt herself or overestimate her body's ability. She can use her The Sacred Blue Flame to give her these advantages for a short time, but she has to adapt until she has time to train up her body. Not that a human body even at the peak of training can match a true archangel.
Virtues: As a heroic personality, she is virtuous and honorable. Do not lie, defend the weak, oppose injustice... These are values she strongly holds. But they can be burdens too.
Nightmares: Memories of her past life often haunt her at night. Though they may impart knowledge or wisdom to her, there are also painful memories.
Genevieve was the first archangel of Miriam, whom she was close to and served proudly long ago. In the war of the gods however, she was defeated and killed by the Herald of Azguloth during the final days of the battle. But her soul was not recovered then, and gradually she was given up as lost. Perhaps she had been stolen to the hells, or perhaps the herald had even destroyed her soul completely. Somehow, these things were avoided. The mystery hasn't been revealed yet. But at this time, the one known as Genevieve became a myth and a legend, though her sisters and Miriam mourned her loss.
Lukina was a tomboy when she was young. She had hoped for adventure, and always had seemed to have good nature with the animals of the farm that she grew up on. She had always enjoyed church, but her one fault was that she always loved to fight with the boys. She came home with many torn dresses and bruises when she was young, but always suffered the scolding. As she's grown up as a teenager she began to feel more uneasy. She didn't feel content or comfortable with this life, and at night she had often had dreams about the stories she had heard in the church.
And when the Baron of Narle had opened the rift to the hells, when Miriam descended to the mortal world in a form, and the angels of the heavens had assembled, a call had gone out. A call that had resonated in Lukina's dreams, that had awoken in her memories and emotions that had been long locked away. She remembered her name, and she remembered her life before, though parts of it were still dark and clouded. But she remembered what she had been, and despaired at how far she had fallen. How had it happened? She didn't know. But she couldn't stay here now.
The two parents whom she had known all of her life, they couldn't understand this. And Lukina wasn't sure even how she had come to be human, or if to believe her dreams were true. But seeing the world around her, it was clearly in need of help. And if that call had truly been to rally the heavens to a purpose, then she had to go. Lukina had to leave and go do her duty.. The cathedral of the church, the orders of paladins that had once defended the lands, she had to go to them. She had to talk to Miriam, or Athelion. Or one of her sisters- if they remained. A priest or paladin. Someone who could tell her what was going on. And then she would know what to do.
Or at least, that was what Lukina hoped.
Play Style: Getting into physical fights, taking moral stands, trying to play an inspiring and good character. Not to be trapped in Hells. But I will do my best to understand mythology (I want to learn more).
Party Preference: I want my own plot threads to be woven in amongst others like a rug. Of meeting other characters, it seems Ander is probably the easiest to meet. But I would be happy to meet anyone of the PCs.
Lukina: 『unleash』 by 少女病
Lukina/Genevieve（Sacred Blue Flame)： 『metaphor』 by 少女病
『Flames Within These Black Feathers』 by Foreground Eclipse
Last edited by Kasanip; 2013-09-23 at 01:59 AM.Kasanip's Sketchbook 2 Thread
It is difficult to speak English, please excuse mistakes kindly m(_ _)m
- Join Date
- Feb 2009
- I'm sure it's somewhere
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
Let's get this party started.
I'm afraid full post with character and everything will have to come later. Busy atm.Bingo.
And it's nice to see you too Kasanip. Your art's looking great as always.
Ferris Songteller, Sarand of the Fey
Abilities: Ferris is a very powerful fey. Just how powerful he's never really had a chance to explore. However, due to the nature of his current form he is of slightly less than average human physical capabilities.
What remains of his fey powers is the ability to sense the supernatural. Rifts between worlds shimmer and vibrate like a heat haze before his eyes. He can smell the other planes on those who have travelled from them, or are connected in some way to other dimensions. He can hear the susurrations of magic being called upon. He knows something of the desires of everyone he meets. While he cannot see ley lines; he has an uncanny ability to pinpoint their locations. And finally he can feel the world bend around those of immense power.
An ability he no longer possesses but which will probably still come up is his ability to make animals talk (and in general reach a level of sapience.) He did not do this consciously. He simply talked to them, and did not know that they couldn't talk back.
His greatest talent is music. He has many instruments, most of which he plays to perfection. There are some he has not quite figured out, and those are the ones he likes best. The challenge of mastery in this new body is wholly new and wonderful to him. Among these, his favorite is a horrendously complex sixteen-string lute of his own design. It is similar to, but not the same as the one he used to play in the court of Phaedra in time that memories have all but stolen from him.
Weaknesses: A ball of cold iron is lodged next to the heart of Ferris' corporeal form. This ball has weakened him to the point at which he appears mortal, and all but cut off any magical ability he possesses. He lives in constant fear of fey agents discovering his identity and dragging him back to Titania. This fear can reach low levels of paranoia at times, but despite this he is not fully willing to stop drawing attention to himself. He is too fond of conversation, too happy to play his music to others, and not quite sensible enough to keep his mouth shut. His sanity is less badly damaged as it might have been, but he is still prone to fits of truly manic or depressed behavior. Especially in times of high stress.
Alignment and Motivation (they sort of fell into each other:) Ferris likes this world. He likes the people in it. He even likes waking up in the morning with a terrific hangover from too much wine and song. Ferris would like to live relatively quietly without bothering too much with the grand affairs of the world. However he is distantly aware that if he wants to keep living in this world, he might have to do something about making sure it stays around. He tries not to think about that too much.
However, more than anything, Ferris does not want to go back. And he really doesn't want the rest coming here. He is doing something about that. He is hiding. And he is running.
Associates: Ferris' dearest companion is his donkey Stella. Stella has silver hair, sad eyes, and a razor sharp wit. She is by far the more sensible of the pair, and tolerates Ferris out of affection for him, and loyalty to the man who told her she could talk.
He may or may not have other travelling companions, depending on the interest/compatibility of other players.
Once upon a time Ferris worshipped Titania. He may have even loved her. That was a very long time ago.
Background:SpoilerIn the kingdom of Phaedra there lived a bard named Sarand of Lot. Like most other citizens of this once mighty civilization he was well versed in the ways of magic. However his true love was music and it was that to which he applied himself. His skills became so great that word of his talents reached the ears of the high courts. When the bard was asked to play for the courts he gladly accepted. And so it was that Sarand stood before the lords and ladies of Phaedra and began to play. His fingers stroked the strings of his lyre with such gentle care that at first the sound could barely be heard. But as he began to sing the music followed his voice until it had captured the hearts of all who paused to listen. But the bard was not playing for them. From the moment he looked upon her he was playing only for the queen. And it was her heart that he touched deepest of all. Looking back upon this time before, the bard regrets that performance most bitterly of all.
Night after night Titania called upon the young man, to listen to the sweet tenor notes that parted his lips and splashed endlessly among the ripples of sound he brought forth from his instruments.
Then one night, after playing a song so sad the stars seemed to weep, he paused, and then set down his lyre. Startled by this, Titania asked him why he had stopped before the night was done. The bard smiled, and replied that she had heard every song he knew. And that regretfully there was nothing left for him to play. Titania wept at this and pleaded with him to pick up his lyre, and continue. He came to her and put his arms around his queen, and whispered that tomorrow he would come with another song. He did not leave the palace until the next morning, having begun an entirely different type of song.
From then on the bard would spend his days writing new songs for his lover, and at night he would come to sing them to her, and then together they would dance to the rhythms of their hearts.
Not long after this the war reached its height. And out of desperation for her people, Titania tore them all from the world.
Time is not a concept the fey are familiar with. For them it ceased to be important well... they can't really remember when. Perhaps it was not too long ago, but probably since long before that.
What Sarand can remember is this: Titania remembered him. And in her recollections he found himself again with form. And for time beyond time he was her companion. He played songs for her beyond the possibility of the physical world; he spoke to her and offered her counsel when she requested it of him, which was rarely. He listened to her, and he danced with her. And he lost himself in his love of her. Even without a sense of time, some things grow old. Titania still called upon him, but after the first millennia he didn't really feel there was much to be said. She on the other hand would pour over the same thoughts, as if to stretch them out until new and wondrous things emerged. And perhaps they did for her. Even the passion for his songs began to fade as he lost track of himself in Titania's imaginings of him. For her, he was the lover. His own identity swept away in the living dream that was her will. And his form twisted into whatever shape he desired until he had forgotten most of what he had been.
There remained something of what was once the bard, but it was hidden deep within the folds of his mind. And while it seemed to sleep; in truth it watched. As time went on; it started to learn. And once it began to understand; it waited.
And after... some length of time had passed; he escaped. Chaos had spread across all worlds as heaven and hell waged divine war under the machinations of mortals. And just as Titania's attention was turned away from him, cracks had begun to seep between her world, and the world she had taken him away from. Out of sight and out of mind, the bard escaped.
He emerged from a ring of toadstools in the depths of a great forest. At first he was overwhelmed by the firmness of this reality. He felt himself hammered by the physical presence of his surroundings. If he had had true form he would have collapsed to the ground. As it was he merely gaped, and marveled at all he had forgotten.
Eventually he began to take form himself. What may have looked something like a man, but probably looked like a tree was standing in his place. Within what might have been days, and what might have been hours, a squirrel came to rest upon his branch. Alarmed at the chattering little creature, he asked it if it might please be quiet, or at the very least go find someone else to bother. The squirrel turned to him and told him that it wasn't going to be quiet, it was looking for its mother and as a tree he ought to mind his own business anyways.
He had not realized he was a tree. A tree, the more he thought about it, was not a very practical shape. He had barely moved at all since he had escaped. And while he suspected that particular door had closed, one could never be too careful when fleeing from the fairy queen. Having made up his mind he took the form of a squirrel and scampered off to help her find her mother. He spent quite some time in the forest, shifting between the animals, and asking of them what they knew. You may have heard the rumors of beasts that talk in human voices. They say that they dwell in the deeper woods of Narle, and that they are demons come to snatch away the souls of men. About the talking beasts and their locations they are quite right, but they have gotten the origins of such things terribly wrong.
After a few weeks, time beginning to once more right itself in his mind, he found himself a swallow. Birds, by nature of being up so high, often see things others might not. And what he saw, some long ways off was a town. It was then that the concept of people came crashing down upon him. He flew far faster than any swallow had a right to. And by the time he arrived he was not so much swallow as he was human. He was certainly not so very human though either.
The villagers were terrified. Had they been braver sorts, they might have rallied to drive him away. But as it happened none of them dared approach him for fear of some horrible fate. Calmly he walked up to a young girl and asked her if there was anything wrong. She screamed, which he found quite alarming. And then she began to cry, which he found very upsetting. Quickly he put his arms around her, which only made it worse. And then softly he began to sing. As his song took hold of her the crying ceased. A tremendous sense of calm fell over the villagers, as if they had been wrapped in a warm blanket. Quietly they came forward and asked of him what he was doing, and if there was anything he might need.
He smiled wider than anyone could feasibly smile, and said that he had already found what he was looking for. And so he stayed for a time. The longer he spent there, the more human he appeared. His features were still too sharp, and still too soft, but they were beginning to believe the image.
Sanity, or some closer cousin to it, took firmer root the longer he spent in the presence of the townsfolk. He had had a whole conversation about next years harvest, and it was the best conversation of his life. He couldn't believe how lucky he was to be able to talk to people. Even better, to talk to people who weren't Titania. However, as time wore on he began to grow bored once more. His body refused to stay in one form, and try as he might he could feel himself slipping away back into madness. And to madness he might have gone, if he had not been asked to help the blacksmith shoe a horse.
The moment he touched the iron, his life changed. He felt pain. It shot through him as cold and as bitter as ice. But more than that, he felt grounded. At once a plan began to tickle his mind. His laughter ripped through the air and painted it with relief as it went. He felt as clever as a young child who has just learned to read.
That night he took a lump of iron and fashioned it into a crude ball. He inhaled deeply as if to soak in the world. As he exhaled he whispered a goodbye in case this was to be the end. And then he plunged the iron ball into his chest.
Some time later he awoke to find himself reformed around the iron. Glancing at his reflection on the dawnlit surface of a pond he seemed somewhat older. His hair remained a light brown, but his eyes had turned slate grey, and his features had taken a decisively more human tone. There was still something about him that seemed off. But you would be baffled if someone asked you what it was. 'Just a funny feeling' you might say.
As he made his way back to the inn he realized he was hungry. So he went to the larder and bit into a loaf of bread and some cheese. After raiding half the pantry, he went once more outside to take in the world around him. He was hit with a sinking feeling. He hadn't noticed before because it had been part of him, but the whole town reeked of fey. And if Titania were to come looking for him... it simply wouldn't do. He was about to run, but paused long enough to return to the pantry and pack a knapsack. He then made his way out the back and into the mist. Or he would have if he had not at that moment looked into the stables and seen one of the donkeys gazing solemnly back at him. 'Would you like to come with me?' he asked.
The donkey tilted her head as if to think and then nodded. 'I think I'd like that.' She told him.
For three years now the two have been on the road, never staying in one place very long. It was Stella's idea that he play to earn them their supper and a roof over their heads. Ferris as he now called himself, was delighted to find the challenge of adjusting his fingers to the demands of music. And in relearning skills he had long ago put aside in the otherness of Titania's court, he found again the joy of music. At first his powers seemed little reduced by the iron weight in his heart. But as time went on they faded away until all that remained were the senses awakened in another world so unlike this one as to be almost forgotten.
But he can't forget. Nor can he truly relax. He remembers the terrible tug of Titania's call to him. 'What if she simply hasn't realized I'm gone?' He thinks to himself. 'What will happen when she does?'
SpoilerQuestion 1, Playstyle: Social situations for the most part. Physical confrontations aren't that bad, but they would likely end in running, hiding, or getting chewed up and spit out by whatever happens to be bothered by his presence. Interacting with other PCs would be nice. But I'd be happy to just explore the world as well. New addition: Interaction's probably for the best.
Question 2, Plot Goals: Well he'd like to stay hidden. In his weakened state, he doesn't really attract magical attention, nor does he himself light up as fey magic might otherwise to the watchful. And since Stella is smart enough to keep her mouth shut around strangers, he thinks he's okay. He's also terrified of Titania and convinced she'll find him eventually. Which maybe she will. Her only real leads would be the forest of talking animals (most prominent of which is a wolf if anyone is interested) and beyond that the trail goes pretty cold.
If things become really bad, like end of the world bad or worse, the fey returning to the world bad, he'll rip out the iron ball.
Stella is a very kind, very wise, and very loyal sort of donkey, and unlikely to betray Ferris anytime soon. In fact she's quite protective of him.
Question 3, Plot Involvement: Probably much of the political goings on of Narle will bother him in his travels. Particularly the ground level activities would directly impact his life. He clearly has plenty of investment in the fey plot line as well but only if it looks (and he'll probably be able to tell) like the fey might merge once more with the material. And as was stated way up at the top, he likes the world. He'd rather not have anything bad happen to it. There are people who aren't Titania living in it. Some of them are even his friends.
On theme music: I am not currently in a place where the internet is good enough to do any sort of streaming. So I'm afraid that will have to wait until November. It's also tricky playing a musical character. It puts a lot of pressure on the music being, well, good.
Last edited by Xondoure; 2013-09-23 at 06:48 AM.Avatar Credit: the very talented PseudoStraw. Full image:Spoiler
- Join Date
- Jun 2010
- San Jose, California
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
I don't really have a song that comes to mind as Rosenberg's theme song. <<"
- Join Date
- Jun 2013
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
Insert snappy comment here about being the furst to see their name in the chosen list earlier.
- Join Date
- May 2013
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
Aha! I have been stalking the old OOC waiting for this and then you do it while I am sleeping, you tricksy DM!
Name: Astrid Chance
Race: Human/Undead plague bearer
Age: Died when she was 32, now ~80
Description: As far as anyone can see she is a woman dressed in a plague bearer’s garb; her face and head are completely shelled in a bird like visage crafted from bone and her body is covered from head to toe in thick cloth and leather, not an inch of skin is exposed. Only very few know why she is dressed like this though and even fewer are still alive today. If you were to ask them they would tell you that what is under that cloth and bone is no longer human, it is yellowing flesh filled with pus and black sorcery. Those who can will tell of the black miasma that seeps through her eyes and mouth and any of the popped blisters that litter her skin. If they were to look closer though they would see, hidden behind the monstrous appearance, the eyes of a kind woman who is desperately lonely and fighting to fix her curse.
SpoilerTaught abilities -
Potion making – She has an expert hand in making potions thanks to her training with the hag-witch, Baba Yaga, and an encyclopaedic knowledge of how to make them. If she can find the right ingredients she can make anything from basic healing potions that will cure almost any ill, to vials of shape shifting tonic that will turn you into man or beast. They take preparation though and not all potions can be made in all areas of the country as they require specific ingredients. The simplest potions, and her most created, are healing potions and she will almost always have a few bottles on her person. Thanks to her knowledge of potions she also has a great knowledge of botany.
Charm animal – Another trick learned from her old teacher was the ability to charm animals into doing her bidding. She is not as trained with this as her potion making but still has a lot of experience thanks to her long amount of time alone. By saying a few words to an animal she can bring it under her spell and it will perform basic tasks for her as if it was tamed. She cannot do this for long though as any fleshy beast that stay near her for too long will die. This ability is much easier on animals not scared or angered.
Elemental spells – Through the use of a wand she can cast a collection of offensive spells. She doesn’t like to use this power because she doesn’t enjoy fighting, so it is the weakest of her abilities. Baba Yaga had a collection of at least fifty spells she could cast with ease, Astrid has only perfected four. Her four spells are:
Fireball – She shoots a large fireball from her wand which will explode on contact.
Icy grip – A large icy hand comes from her wand and grips her opponent dealing little damage but leaving them immobilized.
Chain lighting – A quick shot of lightning flies to the closest enemy and then jumps between up to three other adjacent creatures leaving all those hit stunned for a short time.
Fissure – By tapping the ground with her wand she causes a crack in the earth that will shoot straight out in the direction she is facing. This has varying affectivity depending on the type of ground she is on.
She knows other spells but isn’t proficient with them and so is unlikely to use them in a fight.
Cursed abilities –
Plague – There is a constant black miasma that flows from her eyes, mouth and nose along with any of the blisters that have popped on her body. Anyone who stays in this mist for longer than a few minutes will start to feel sick, their muscles will weaken and their eyes lose focus. The strongest fighters will fall if they spend more than half an hour near her as their skin will turn ashen and their eyes start to sink into their skulls. Most people have the innate desire to move away from Astrid thanks to the putrid stench of the plague though and anyone who has started to feel ill will get better after an hour or two of clean air and a healing potion. Those who spend too long near her will need a longer amount of time to heal up. The plague doesn’t spread from person to person though only from Astrid to others and seems to only affect fleshy creatures from this plane so angels and demons won’t be affected and neither will golems or other mineral based beings.
Undead – She technically died when she was thirty two and so her body has stopped aging and she no longer feels pain. Wounds caused by attacks will heal with her quick regeneration but the damage caused by her curse are permanent, meaning that she is covered with black holes from burst boils and her eyes are sunken into her skull from the plague. She cannot be affected by poisons but will take a large amount of damage if she drinks her own healing potions or is hit with holy spells. Other undead entities do not register her as a target to attack unless guided by their master or if she attacks them first.
Curse of Solitude – Her curse means that almost anyone from this plane will do their upmost to get away from her. She gives off a putrid stench and a general feeling on unease to anyone around her. This has meant that she has been chased out of towns before she can ask anyone for advice on her curse and is often mistaken for an evil creature so has been attacked by aspiring adventurers without a second thought. This also spreads onto animals and so almost all animals are hostile or scared of her, making her Charm animal ability harder to cast.
Allergic to healing – She is hyper sensitive to any and all healing and holy magics and it will stop her regeneration for a short time if she is hit by it. While she will not feel pain from the attacks it would kill her if she is hit enough by it. She does not feel comfortable walking on holy ground and will refuse to enter churches unless dragged in. The holy ground doesn’t hurt her but does make her uneasy.
Alignment: She desperately wants to be on the side of the good but no one will believe her.
Motivation: She is motivated on two major fronts, the first is her desire to help the world she lives in and to make it a safer, brighter place and the second is her search for the cure to her curse. Unfortunately her journey of healing the world around her has been faced with nothing but obstacles and people questioning her motivations and so it has been a slow process and her quest for healing herself has been equally difficult as no one is willing to help her. She is still trying even after fifty years though and shows no signs of slowing down.
Associates: Thanks to her Curse of Solitude no one is willing to relate themselves with her. The closest she has to an associate is Baba Yaga but if she was to return to the witch’s cottage she would likely be killed on the spot.
TL;DR – Cursed with super leprosy to be taught not be such a push-over.
SpoilerShe was born in a small village with a local “witch”, an old lady who would make basic healing salves for those who would bring her food and trinkets. Astrid became friends with the old woman and began to learn how to make these salves too, learning which plants to use and how to help the poorly. Until she was around twenty she helped the old lady with the chores in the village, everything from aiding the elderly to delivering babies until the woman started to show her age and said it wouldn’t be long before she was going to die. Astrid was distraught as she felt that she didn’t know enough to be the next witch and if the woman died now then the village would surely crumble. She promised the old woman that she would find someone to give her training so she would be just as good a witch as her and set off to try and find someone to train her.
After years of searching she came across a strange house held aloft by two gigantic chicken legs. When she called up asking who would live in such a strange house the door opened and a shrivelled old woman peered down at her. Astrid asked her if she was a witch and the woman said she was. When she asked the woman’s name she replied “Baba Yaga” but when asked if she might teach Astrid how to be a better witch she refused and closed the door on her. Astrid called up every day for two weeks asking if Baba Yaga would teach her and every time she refused.
After two weeks Astrid called up again and asked the same question and finally Baba Yaga asked why she wanted to be taught so badly, as it seemed she was quite an adequate witch as it was. Astrid said that she was okay at her art but needed to be taught to get better. Baba Yaga asked if she had tried to get better on her own and Astrid admitted she had not, that she had always learnt best with a teacher. Baba Yaga became quiet for a while before her house lowered itself to the girl and the old woman stepped out and looked up at Astrid, peering into her grey eyes. She asked if Astrid was sure the only way she would get better would be with a teacher and Astrid said it was. She then asked if the girl was willing to pay for her training and she said she did not have coin but she would pay in any other way the woman asked. One last time Baba Yaga asked if Astrid truly needed the teacher and again she said she did. Finally satisfied Baba Yaga said she would accept the girl for ten years and not a day more and when the ten years was up she would collect her payment.
The ten years was gruelling and painful work, every day Astrid has to learn something new and every day she would be forced to recite everything she knew before. She was made to clean the entire house every month and while it seemed like a cottage from the outside it was easily as large as a mansion inside. There was never a rest day but as Astrid aged she became better at her chores and her lessons and despite the constant work she seemed to only become more beautiful, finally filling out into a mature woman.
When she was thirty three her ten years was finally over and she now had to pay the price of all the knowledge she had gained. Baba Yaga took Astrid into the ritual room one final time before she was to leave and asked her if she had learnt enough now, Astrid said she had. The old woman then asked if she would ever teach herself anything new, Astrid said she felt she didn’t need to, if she needed more knowledge she was sure there would be someone out there who could teach her but until then she was happy with what she knew. Finally the powerful witch asked if she was willing to pay the price, Astrid said she was. The hag lifted a hand and chanted a long a twisted spell at the apprentice and a black ooze came out of the stone floor and wrapped itself around her legs but she did not struggle, she had learnt never to deny her teacher. The ooze crept up her body but still she did not struggle, she was a good student. Finally it entered her mouth and slid down her throat, the taste of death and eldritch magic filling her body but /still/ she stood, still as a tree, awaiting what would come next. She was not prepared for what happened next though. Her heart stopped in her chest as the ooze entered her veins. Her skin turned yellow and ashen as the ooze filled her pours. Her breath became still as the ooze leaked from her mouth as a black miasma. She stood in shock. She has died at her teachers hand but still she stood there, still, loyal to the end. Baba Yaga shook her head at the girl. She told her that she was weak. She said that she had never had the confidence to learn the art herself, she said that every day she had put the girl up against harder and harder tasks, many of them impossible but she had never asked why. She had beaten her for doing tasks no person could have sanely done but she took the beatings without question. She had been given opportunity after opportunity to go and learn on her own in the vast library but she had refused, only learning what she was told to learn. And now, she allowed herself to be cursed, she stood without a whimper, without battering an eyelid as the curse took her body. Well now she would have to learn to live without relying on others. The curse that had been placed on Astrid was the Curse of Solitude and it meant that until she learnt how to remove the curse by herself she would be forever on her own, killing all who she approached and driving people away with her very presence. If she could beat the curse and learn to live on her own she would be given a form of immortality and would be powered by the magics put into her body but until then she would be truly alone.
With that she was cast out back into the forest and the house turned, and with its huge chicken legs it bounded away. Left numb and alone she looked at her body in a stream and saw that she was no longer beautiful but a monster covered in ashen skin and boils as big as her thumb. She stumbled back, trying to find the village she left behind but when she returned no one recognised her and she was chased away as is she was nothing more than a beast. This was the start to how the rest of her life would be lead.
During the next fifty years of undeath she learned to cope with her solitude through covering her body as much as possible to keep the miasma to a minimum and the stares away. She tried to stay away from any towns or cities and kept herself busy with making potions and trying to heal herself, unfortunately all of the healing potions she made did nothing but hurt her. She tried to go to a city to get help but was run off by the guard when she accidently killed a begging woman when she stood too close to her, after that she did not try again. Her solitude is painful but she feels it is better than hurting others and will continue to be alone until she is strong enough to finally break free.
Play Style: Trying to talk to characters despite the curse, being forced into fights to teach Astrid to stand up for herself, lots of talking to herself because no one else will!
Party Preference: Anyone who isn’t fleshy... And who isn’t likely to instantly attack her with holy magic would be nice! But really, I doubt she can be put into a party as much as she would love to be in one.
Her story so far in pictures:
Encountering the orcs
The damage dealt... to herself (nsfw, linked off forum)
Fixing herself up for the kids
EDIT: I think I found a song for her... This might change depending on what happens with her but here she is at the moment.
Skillet - One Day Too Late
- Join Date
- Feb 2009
- I'm sure it's somewhere
- Join Date
- Sep 2011
- Cambridge, England
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
Italics are updates, for whoever cares
SpoilerName: Mal Harath
Martial Skills: Mal has been trained for many years in mixed combat art of Terra Style, a predominantly hand-to-hand martial art. His body strength, whilst not on the level of some larger weapon users, is still above the average man. He makes up for this in combat with his use of momentum, to use his whole body's speed to close the gap and add force to his attacks. Mal has also received training in wielding a staff as a weapon.
Along with that strength, his athletic skills allow him to perform acts such as jumping over a 5 foot wall with ease, even with weights attached. His balance and endurance are also beyond the norm, being integral to his stances.
A dying art of Dwarven origin, as purist magic develops to greater heights and increasingly deadly weapons are crafted. Terra Style combines relatively minor earth magic to help train and add options to the user's hand-to-hand skills.
Range of Effect: This is the range of Mal's earth magic, relying on the density of molecules that his body is contact with. If he were suspended in mid-air or attempts to affect earth suspended in air, but with no actual connection to the ground he stood on, he has no effective powers of earth magic. If submerged in water or quicksand, his radius is around 1 foot from his body. Once on solid ground, his effective range can still vary, with the types of ground from sand to plain dirt to solid stone having an increasingly wider range up to 20 feet.
Loosen/Tighten Earth: Within his effective range, Mal can affect the density of the earth, softening rocks or hardening sand with his earth magic. This doesn't affect the earth's mass, only affecting the bonds that keep it together. The stronger the bonds, the harder to break down, and the looser the bonds, the more effort to build them. Sand to stone and the reverse is an exhaustive process, if on a large enough scale.
Earth Elemental Creation: Taught by Elise, his fellow Terra Style user, Mal can shape crude elementals from the ground. As this is relatively new to him, he requires time to prepare them and cannot make them whilst distracted by fighting.
Earthen Armour: By submerging a limb, or potentially his body, into a form of earth, Mal can use it as a form of armour. Using his magic to keep the earth passively as dense as leather, he can harden the armour at times to block attacks or just to add solid mass to his punches.
Elemental Armour: Invented during his first battle with Terra, Mal can will his elementals to surround his body as a form of armour. As the armour is semi-autonomous, it doesn't require the normal focus to maintain as his Earthen Armour. Also, if he has an elemental in your size, Mal can also command his elementals to 'equip' themselves to other people, even if they have no training in earth magic. Though without it, they may have trouble exiting the armour.
Tremorsense: A skill rather than a power, Mal can tell where any moving being/object is within 30 feet of him, if they are in some way in contact with the same surface, as well as his direct surroundings within 10 feet. Whilst he has a good mental picture of his surroundings, living beings and such are much blurrier. Only effective on surfaces as solid as wood or denser.
Other Skills: Mal also has a basic grasp of the Dwarven Language, having been taught by his master during his training, along with knowledge of some of their customs.
Taught to look for any opening in a guard as made Mal very analytical of his surroundings and body language, only aided further by his sensing skills.
Weaknesses: Foremost is Mal's reliance on a source of earth to use his power properly, without such, he's limited to his own physical skills. However on the other end of the scale, as his tremorsense is constant, he can feel severely overloaded if in a busy area, as he's forced to see every detail at once. He's also a sucker for helping fight a bully. With the revelation of his Master's failures, lies and lack of knowledge of his own students, Mal has lost much respect for his teacher. He is more inclined towards doing what he thinks is right, rather than entrust the choice to his master.
Alignment: Hunted Student
Motivation: Since discovering his Master's stone duplicate, Mal is racing to discover the Ultimate Technique. As long as Terra is after him and his friends, they cannot rest safely without a way to stop him. Though his own skills haven't been mastered yet, he hopes to one day take his own student to pass on his skills.
Appearance: A man of deceptively, subtle build, often gaining a chuckle from a larger opponent before a fight, Mal wears little beyond loose clothing at a preference. He also has a habit of walking bare foot regardless of where he is. His hair is as thin as he can shave or cut at the time, for convenience sake, though it’s a premature steel grey when grown. He used to wear a thin rock ring around his right forefinger, a gift from Master Vork that he lost during the first encounter with Terra.
Personality: He values his ogre and elf friends, Val'Tosh and Elise above most things, them being his first true companions in years. He has a wavering opinion of his teacher, that goes better sour and positive. That said, if someone is aggressive to someone weaker, he has no qualms in levelling the field for a complete stranger. A little hard-headed, but friendly to those who need or want friends.
Background: A hyper-active child, Mal's parents found him one day pulling at the beard of a wandering dwarf in curiosity. After explaining that it was no issue, the traveller asked his parents if he teach him something to calm his hyper-activity. From that day, the dwarf stayed and slowly formed Mal into his student, shaping the boy's mind and body into a disciplined fighter. In the last year of his training, Terra Style was truly unveiled to him, with the magic drilled into Mal's mind just the same as any exercise, and incorporated into his fighting methods.
However, one morning as he awoke to the calls of murder. His master was found dead, mysteriously drowned in his living room. There were obvious signs of a physical fight, with rock rupturing through the house to defend the body, and thin streaks of blood that were not the dwarf's, on his knuckles. Mal left after his master was buried, partially to complete his training, slightly to leave behind his sadness and mostly to stop the people responsible.
For the past months, Mal has been running from Terra, a living elemental and Master of possibly a hundred styles of martial arts and magic, created by their mutual teacher. The only way to defeat him lies in The Ultimate Technique, the highest level of Terra style which is claimed to create life, such as Terra. Hopefully it can end it too.
Korram Alstan (played by Dorizzet): During his first battle with Terra, in the city of Luxien, Korram was responsible for saving Mal and Val'Tosh against a monster far stronger than them. Whilst neither parties could defeat Terra, their combined efforts bought time for the City's Angel, Ysora, to arrive and swiftly route him. Korram's fighting abilities are that of a veteran, as so very impressive to a martial artist such as Mal. However, his inhuman body and apparent resurrection are alien and strange to Mal.
- Join Date
- Feb 2009
- I'm sure it's somewhere
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
TL;DR version of Ferris for those who don't have time to read through ten new characters they may or may not interact with anytime soon.
There was this bard who lived in Phaedra. His music so impressed the court that he played personally for the queen every night. Then one night it got a little steamy. Phaedra was pulled into the spirit world and Titania kept him as her lover for eternity. Which is less pleasant than it sounds. He spent most of it watching her work magic and keeping some small part of his identity alive while he was reshaped by her will. As trouble stormed on the horizon and Titania began to make preparations for invading the material world he was forgotten for a time (that happened a lot, but it's hard to be aware of it in the spirit world.) He found a nexus point and escaped. Spent some time in nature talking to things that shouldn't talk (like that anyways) and due to the power he's not fully aware he has they talked back. Finally he encountered humans as well as iron. Seeking to remain grounded to the material plane and hidden from Titania he placed a ball of iron next to his heart, granting him an almost human form, and cutting him off from nearly all of his fey powers. He's been traveling for three years with his instruments, most of which he makes himself, and his dear friend Stella the talking donkey.
Edit: Oh, and let me know if you have some ideas how to get Ferris involved with the rp. Failing that I leave it in the capable hands of Inspectre.
Last edited by Xondoure; 2013-09-23 at 06:42 AM.Avatar Credit: the very talented PseudoStraw. Full image:Spoiler
- Join Date
- Nov 2012
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
Here is everything that I posted in the recruitment again, that way everything remains available. But I remain in need of a good song, and I can't look for music at work for some reason.
The Silver Lady
SpoilerName: Drusilla Firantis, marchioness of Diron, the Silver Lady
Race: Drusilla was born as a normal human, but by the use of magic she has altered herself.
Abilities: Drusilla is intelligent and learned, but what makes her special is her use of dark magic, although she has never admitted to possessing such powers, any such incidents are the gods protecting her divine rights.
Weaknesses: Drusilla is cruel, sometimes needlessly so, and she is a coward. Added to that she is relatively frail, she doesn’t eat much and that leaves her weak.
Alignment: Drusilla cares only about herself and Ermenia, to ensure her survival she is willing to do the darkest deeds, and has already done terrible things. She believes that that is the natural order of things, and that everyone thinks like her, she thinks that most however lack her strength of will.
Motivation: Drusilla is afraid, almost all of her predecessors have been murdered in coups and she fears death more than anything. She believes that the only way to protect herself is to be powerful and feared.
Associates: Achamani, the devil-lady to who she swore aid. Ermenia, who she married.
[b]Background:[b/] Drusilla was born as the third child of marques Drusus IV of Diron. She was raised in luxury but when she was only thirteen her uncle Clodius attempted to seize power and killed his brother and all of his offspring except for Drusilla who managed to escape by hiding in a secret room, from which she observed the slaughter. That day she learned that titles and right don’t give power, the only source of power is power. When everyone was gone she sneaked out of the keep, looking for a place to hide. That night she dreamt, in her dream she saw fire and suffering, and a winged woman. This woman offered her help to Drusilla, in return she only wanted the girl to swear, on her soul, to aid her at an undefined date. Drusilla accepted this offer and the stranger opened her eyes to the powers of dark magic. The next day Drusilla walked into the keep. The guards took her to her uncle, and when she set her eyes on him he screamed as he burned alive, but was unable to move. Afterwards everyone knelt and swore loyalty to her, not wanting to meet that same fate.
Drusilla proved to be cruel, but she didn’t suffer from the madness that was all too common in her family which made her relatively effective. She never took a moment for herself, she was always either working or studying. She tried to eat and drink as little as possible, believing that it would be poisoned, and one time she even had the candlemaker arrested because she didn’t feel well and thought that it was due to toxic fumes worked into the candles. Of course the poor man was innocent but Drusilla didn’t think that way. The fact that she hadn’t eaten for three days couldn’t have anything to do with it. Drusilla’s power however increased until she found what she thought to be a way to avoid death and poison. Using terrible magic she tried to turn herself into an undead creature. This however failed miserably and she only succeeded in turning her blood black which caused her veins to become visible under her skin as black lines. She couldn’t show herself to anyone this way and decided to hide her face behind a silver mask and to always cover her entire body. This didn’t particularly surprise those around her because they were already used to her peculiar fears.
Then something happened that made Drusilla a better person. She met a young knight, a woman disguised as a man who called herself Ermenius. Immediately Drusilla felt attracted to this stranger, and they often talked. One night when they were speaking a group of her bodyguards turned on their lady and attempted to kill her. Ermenius defended her while she gathered her power to crush them all. Drusilla knew that the night could simply have betrayed her and would certainly have received a reward. This led to her coming to trust Ermenia. She was already coming under increasing pressure to marry, she needed an heir and there weren’t any relatives alive because she suspected them of plotting against her, even the children had been executed for impossible crimes. Drusilla decided to marry Ermenia, who would simply have to maintain her disguise throughout her life, something to which she didn’t object.
Now Drusilla has been happily married for half a year, of course without any offspring but she doesn’t care about that, she after all intends to live forever with her Ermenia. She rules with an iron fist and gains greater mystical powers every day, although she now takes some more time for herself. Trouble however is rising, she has sent large numbers of soldiers to fight the elves and there is growing unrest in her lands and the city, despite her command to simply execute everyone who speaks of rebellion. At night she dreams again, for the first time since she first swore her unholy vows, but so far she has only seen suffering, Achamani hasn’t yet shown herself.
Drusilla doesn’t realize that she is exceptionally afraid of things, she believes that she just is very rational. She had already been in love with Ermenia before she saved her life, and that event gave her some trust in her. Not much of course, but it was a start. At first she used her magic to constantly spy on her, a method by which she had already uncovered many dark schemes against her, like when she heard two servants whisper about someone who had just been arrested, obviously they were in on his scheme as well, and the traitor had been trained to resist torture, he hadn’t mentioned these two. Somehow she didn’t see any signs of possible treason, probably because Ermenia was very careful, she had already gotten to know Drusilla a bit and understood that she wasn’t entirely right in the mind. Ermenia had felt attracted to her since their first meeting, even though she had only heard her voice. Something in the marchioness made her immensely curious about her, and she simply wanted to be close to her. She didn’t mind her cruelty to others, she herself had already done terrible things as a mercenary, and actually enjoyed it a lot. Being with Drusilla gives her the perfect opportunity to live the life she wants to, people fear her, and she can inflict the most horrible tortures on people without any possible repercussions. She doesn’t always believe Drusilla’s delusions, or rather, she hardly ever believes them, but she pretends to do so. It allows her to inflict horrors on the world around her. They are quite affectionate with eachother, and even in public they show some affection, of course it remains well within society's standards, at most they hold hands.
Drusilla is short and thin because of her poor diet. Her pale skin is crisscrossed by her black veins. She has very long curly red hair which is intermixed with grey. She never cuts it, she doesn’t trust anyone near her with any kind of sharp implement. Whenever she leaves her rooms she wears a silver mask that only shows her bloodshot blue eyes, which has led to her being called the Silver Lady. She no longer is as dehydrated as she used to be, Ermenia has convinced her to drink some water from a small source that she keeps secret from everyone but her. She always wears fully concealing dresses with several layers, she has been cold ever since she first spoke to Achamani.
Ermenia is relatively tall, and next to Drusilla she almost seems gigantic. She keeps her dark brown hair short, and has a long scar running over her face. Many assume that she always keeps herself perfectly shaven, but of course she, being a woman, is completely incapable of growing facial hair. She is strongly-built and tends to wear simple clothes, preferably of a military cut.
When she wakes up Drusilla feels cold. It is still dark and she hears Ermenia gently snoring next to her. Her heart beats rapidly, there is something wrong. Then she hears it, there are sounds by the window. It’s soft but certainly there. She pushes Ermenia, hoping to wake her up. She whispers: “Erm, Erm, wake up!”, but it doesn’t work. She always is so hard to wake up. Then she hears it again. A ticking noise. She closes her eyes, whispering strange words: “Ashmanech thrabe’il manodad.” Then she sees again, but not from her eyes, her vision flies through the room, to the window. There she sees the vile assassin, a gull sits in front of it, just beyond the glass. It looks into the bedroom. As though it can see her watching it. Then she knows it, this is no normal gull, it isn’t even really a bird, it is a sorcerer who took the shape of the animal to safely approach her. Then she opens her eyes again, she is back in the bed, in her body. Ermenia has awakened, and has her arm around her, she whispers: “What’s wrong?”
“There is an assassin at the window, disguised as a bird.”
“Don’t worry”, Ermenia says as she quietly slips out of the bed, grabbing her sword on the way. Then there is the sound of broken glass and a sound Drusilla doesn’t recognize, certain proof that there was something with the bird. Ermenie looks at her work for a few moments before she returns to Drusilla, putting her sword back by the side of the bed. “It’s dead.”
“It was a sorcerer, he could see me when I was watching. He looked right at me, only sorcerers can do that.”
“At least he is dead, and won’t try to do anything to you again.”
“Unless the sorcerer was merely looking through the eyes of the bird, to prepare his attack, or there was a whole coven of them scheming against us. Yes, that has to be it. They won’t act alone against me, there will be others as well.”
“O Dru, don’t worry, I will keep you safe, and they don’t know anything yet, he didn’t have the chance to report back. And that bird certainly was no normal bird, it had to be the sorcerer, the beak was curved upwards, and normal gulls don’t look like that.”
“But there might be more. They will come again, and now there is a hole in the window for them to go through.”
“They will come again, yes, but not if we hunt them down first. The sun is almost rising, we’ll instruct the guards to kill all the gulls they see. Meanwhile we will ask all of our prisoners what they know, some might be involved in that plot as well, and they will be made to talk. And then we will find these sorcerers”, her voice becomes softer and Ermenia sounds dangerous, “and they will suffer, o yes, I will make them suffer so much for trying to hurt you.”
A slight smile breaks Drusilla’s thin lips: “I love it when you are so protective, but you have to be careful. I need you, I don’t know what I would do without you, you make me feel so good and safe.”
SpoilerDrusilla sits on her solid marble throne, once there were cushions on it but she has come to realize that it would be too easy to place poisoned bins in them. Luckily she was the first to get that idea, but she certainly wouldn’t be the last. She doesn’t like being this exposed but at least people keep their distance. She briefly looks to her right. One step down from her sits Ermenia, dressed as a lord should with a sword at her side. Even though her consort is placed a step lower their faces are almost at equal height.
In front of her a young woman kneels, she looks frightened, Drusilla likes that, but then she remembers that an assassin could also be afraid of the moment that she has to act. She knows that everyone is searched before they may enter, or at least commoners are, she can’t insult nobles like that, but maybe she has bribed the guards or found another way to smuggle in a weapon. The mail woven into her thick and heavy clothes would stop most thrown weapons, but she could come running at her, or maybe she even has a small but powerful crossbow on her person. Or she could even be one of the unknown sorcerers who want her dead, any gesture or strange word could indicate spellcraft.
Whatever her intentions are, she starts speaking: “My lady marchioness, I am but a humble farmer, sworn to your lands, but I come to beg for justice. Two days ago a group of men came to my farm, they were masked and armed. They demanded that I would hand over the produce that we had harvested from the fields entrusted to our care. When my husband Ianus refused they killed him and abused me while burning our farm to the ground. They said that I should be glad that they didn’t kill me for not following their demands. They even took my little Iunius. So please, my lady, forgive me for not being capable of meeting your just demands this year, and I beg of you, grant me your justice.”
When the woman is finished speaking tears start to flow from her eyes, she could easily have killed her husband herself, and the bruises could be inflicted by her fellow rebels. But one thing is certain, there are rebels, and they have enough strength to require such amounts of food. Ermenia then leans towards her and whispers: “She seems sincere to me, and even if she isn’t we can use her, and we can show these rebels as utterly depraved. Allow me to hunt them down.”
Drusilla speaks out loud: “You will have justice, I am outraged by these vile crimes and my forces will show the meaning of justice to every last one of them. Horatius Galbaris will lead this punitive expedition. Prisoners will be interrogated and those who are guilty of rebellion will be properly punished. You will be permitted to stay in the guesthouse in the city.”
Later that they when they are alone Ermenia says: “Why didn’t you let me command that expedition, Galbaris is a fool and we can’t trust him”
“I know that, but you are the only one I can actually trust. I don’t trust that peasant and I think that it is a ploy to lure you away from me. So she dies tonight. In the field they can more easily attack you, or they could come at me while I am alone. I just can’t miss you, Erm, and you have to be more careful, we have many enemies, they want my power, they want my wealth. But they also hate me, people always hate those who are better than them and we are better. Only fear keeps them in their place, and that means that we can never show any hint of weakness. Every opposition has to be exterminated along with everything they hold dear. That discourages further treason, or at least until they see another opportunity. If you leave the serpents will see an opportunity to strike, and I only want to do such things when we have properly planned for it.”
“Sweetie, you are so clever, that has to be why no one has ever managed to hurt us. You just are so much more intelligent than all these plotters, you always see through their schemes. But I want to ride through the fields again, where it is clear who my friends and who my enemies are.”
Drusilla puts her thin arm around Ermenia: “That day will come, and when it comes to true war you are the only one who can lead the army without taking them against us. I fear that that day is coming closer and closer, there are whispers of war and great revolts.”
SpoilerDrusilla looks at her hands, they are thin and pale, with black veins running through them. She dresses herself, she trusts no one to do that for her, she would be vulnerable then, and if she is vulnerable a maid could easily place a dagger in her back. She feels tense, she knows that something is wrong somewhere but she can’t place it. She considers telling the knight that she isn’t interested in talking today, but for some reason she doesn’t want to. It feels alarming, normally she wouldn’t think twice about doing so, but then again, it already is strange that she agreed to a purely social meeting, she hasn’t done such a thing for years, not since her cousin Gaius tried to murder her at such an event.
When she places her silver mask she finds herself wondering what the knight would think about her face, if the warrior would be shocked by what was done to it. Obviously those spells had been placed in that book to bring her low, but luckily the assassins had underestimated her powers. The knight is driving her crazy and Drusilla briefly considers poisoning him, it would be easy, for some reason most people don’t worry about such an obvious danger, and most of the time they even believe in things like sudden illness, but Drusilla knows better, there is no such thing as normal illness, it always is either poison or magic.
Finally she puts her white gloves on, hiding the last part of her dry skin. She looks at herself in the mirror, and everything looks as it should. She leaves her rooms, there are soldiers at a distance from the door, no one is allowed to come too close to it, Drusilla doesn’t like people close to her, they make her uncomfortable. As she passes through the corridor the servants press themselves to the wall, fearing her ladyship’s attention. She enters her father’s old study, she hasn’t been there in years but it seemed like a good place for such a meeting. Everything in there is the same as it used to be. There is a large painting of her mother, her brothers and herself, at which she looks while she sits down in her father’s favourite chair. She recalls how things were, she was so stupid then, never understanding that there were all those dangers. She thinks about the games she played, running through the courtyard trying to catch and not be caught, enjoying the sun and splashing in the pool that had been dug for them to celebrate the summer. For a brief moment she smiles. Then it fades again. The memory is a deception. While she played in ignorance plots were hatched and treasons planned. That will not happen again. Now she sees the painting differently, it is a danger, a weakness and it has to go, she will have it burned.
Then she hears footsteps on the marble floor. She turns to face the entrance and the knight enters. Two soldiers take position by the door and the smiling mercenary bows to her: “My lady, Ermenius Castor at your service.”
She looks at her guest during the bow, and feels nervous in a strange way. Not like she is going to be killed, but for some reason she doesn’t know what to say. She forces herself to speak: “Please, please take a seat.”
“Thank you my lady, I am really grateful that you would receive a lowly sellsword like me.”
“The pleasure is all mine, after all, you don’t get to speak to someone who has seen as much of the world as you have.”, a thought runs through her head: Let alone someone who looks like that, but she dismisses it.
“Not that much, there are those who have seen far more than I have, although I won’t complain, it is a great honour to speak to someone as famous for her prudence and wisdom as you.”
The two talk about distant places and all sorts of other things and Drusilla is absorbed in the conversation when the knight suddenly rises. Drusilla nearly falls from her seat when this happens. She sees her guest, or assassin, punch one of the guards and take his sword before gutting the second. The guards who were supposed to be outside burst through the door at the same time, all with weapons drawn. Why aren’t they surprised, and how can they be here already. Now she understands, they come to kill her. Another falls but her sole protector is forced backwards by the press of men. She stretches her hand and starts to mutter: “Lamal ashai thramegh”, but more words are required. Two more assailants fall but then the knight cries out with a high-pitched voice and falls to the ground. The murderers approach: “This is for Dyonisius!” one shouts as he lifts his blade to strike, but he never does so, he falls to the ground, crying out in pain as a sword’s tip emerges from his abdomen. There is a desperate struggle on the ground, it is certain that the knight won’t last much longer.
But he doesn’t have to, Drusilla speaks the last of the words of power and black tendrils emerge from her hands, they slither through the air until they reach her enemies. They worm their way through their armour, clothes and skin before piercing into their bloodstream, causing the blood to coagulate in their bodies. They scream and know that they are dying. One tries to raise his hand in a final act of defiance, but he lacks the strength to do so. Then there is silence, and no more movement.
There still is some movement, in between the dead there is one who still lives, barely. Drusilla approaches the fallen knight and kneels, looking into fierce eyes. She says: “I, I thank you, Ermenius Castor, I wish that I could repay you.”
“Please, I have only one desire.”
“What is it? You will have it.”
“Let me, let me see your face before I die.”
Drusilla swallows but does as she is asked, she pulls off her cowl and undoes the bindings. One hand now holds the polished silver in its place, she hesitates, but then she slowly moves it aside. She expects shock but instead there is a smile: “You are beautiful, truly a face worth dying to see.”
“But you will not die Ermenius, I forbid it.”
“Ermenia, my name is Ermenia.”
Last edited by Raunchel; 2013-09-23 at 07:25 AM.Make Egypt Great Again: Waking up as Cleopatra VII Philopator My ongoing attempt at writing a story.
My Homebrew for 3.5
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- Jun 2013
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
Nesbit the Coil.
Race: Fey. His true form is that of shadow.
A shadowy form lurks just out of sight in the darkness, no matter how close you get, it seems to stay just far enough away to remain featureless even though it does not move.
Abilities: Coil can heal himself fairly quickly when in a body of his own making. When in the service of Queen Titania, Coil learned to manipulate his own spirit essence into a powerful energy he calls Balefire. He spills the blood of a body he or another Fey has constructed and pulls all of the magic from it, making it unstable and flame-like. The fire rages for hours and can eat through almost anything, Coil himself barely able to control it. The greatest strength of Balefire is that when he abandons the body he is in, it cannot harm his spirit-like form, making suicide runs possible to be made without suicide. Coil is fairly adept at making illusions to keep people busy while he sneaks around and stabs them in the back.
The years in Queen Titania's service have helped make Coil a skilled fighter, making up for his lack of being able to stay lucid long enough to hold a decent conversation. He is skilled with the sword and bow, but his favorite is the spear, making up for his lack of reach when in physical form. Coil has an unnatural talent to absorb magical energies from leylines and use them to create a body of any kind, his favorite, which takes almost a week of uninterrupted work is that of a damselfly winged man with short silver hair and a color matched outfit.
Weaknesses: Coil's ability to form his own body is a little sub-standard; he can only create small forms a third the size of an actual person and very easily spotted as abnormal. It takes Coil a few days to create himself a body, which is why he often relies on 'donations' from others, although he will never take a body without the owner’s permission. When borrowing a body, he avoids any amount of harm, protecting it by any means necessary. He enjoys playing the hero and will sometimes get distracted from his goal if someone needs his help. Queen Titania’s control over Coil’s mind has made it fragile; he often suffers from short bouts of memory loss and cluster headaches.
Because of how many people he has joined with, Coil often has trouble remembering which one he is: the intruder, or the original mind. He often acts out the owners desires instead of his own, thinking them to be his.
Alignment: Coil believes fully that all beings deserve freedom in all of its forms and sacrifices much in order to protect someone from any kind of servitude. He does not shy away from killing, but regrets every death he was cause of, thinking about them often.
Motivation: Angry at Queen Titania for making him kill so many people, he tries desperately to atone for his crimes, all the while, plotting revenge against his queen. When Coil is not lucid, his motivations are childish and he reacts aggressively to many things.
Associates: Coil cares deeply for the people he borrows bodies from, trying his hardest to protect their minds from his presence. He is close to the first person he borrowed a body from when escaping Queen Titania's clutches, a woman named Amara, who at the time of their first encounter was a small child. Because of how much time Coil has spent playing the role of Amara, he sometimes forgets that he is technically a male and also responds to the name Amara; the fact that the body’s he creates are usually genderless and he tends to borrow bodies from woman don’t help.
Background: For centuries, Coil acted as a soldier for his Queen Titania, who used the fact that he was still mostly lucid to make him into an extremely adept killer. Around thirty years ago, Coil began to realize that his Queen was not as just as he had believed, giving him orders that seemed crueler and crueler each time, maybe she was beginning to trust him with her real missions. When he was in the real world with orders to kill a human male that had done or will do something against his Queen, he was supposed to leave no witnesses. The man had a child, barely older than six winters, finding himself unable to kill the child, he set down his knife as the mother entered. Deciding that he should explain what was going on, the mother offered to help him escape, saying that he could take her body as his own.
After a few more months, which seemed like mere moments in his life, he found a way to open a gateway to the woman. Upon arriving back at the human world, he found her lying dead, maybe to convince him against leaving the fey realm. Somehow the child caught sight of his form in the shadows and told him that he could have her. Unable to kill her just so that he could live, he found a way to protect her mind while he was with her. Enclosed in her memories and unable to see the outside world, she was safe for a time, but after six more years, he realized that she was not ageing, somehow his being there was protecting her from the passage of time.
He had to leave, not only was he affecting her body in ways he could not imagine, but he had trapped her within her own mind, no better than he had been trapped in Queen Titania's service for so long. He released the blocks on her mind to find that she already had found a way out of them, watching silently as he lived inside of her, caring for her like his own child. Now whenever he borrows a body, he makes certain that the person in question understands all risks associated with his presence.
- Join Date
- Jun 2007
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)
Reserved spot for Korram once I dig his profile up and update it.Truly awesome Ark Tamaeus avatar by Bryn. Full size version here.
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- Feb 2013
- Join Date
- Jun 2011
Re: Return to Ironheart OOC (Year Two)