On The Wayside RP (Interest Thread) [CLOSED]

[Technetium]

Spoiler: Psiatticus Purview

Name: Psiatticus Purview

Age: 34

Sex: Male

Appearance: Psiatticus is about 5,9 in height, with long jet black hair tied back into a ponytail. He wears a suit made of the finest materials, and always has an air of authority around people. He acts around others with the utmost sense of decorum. He is handsome, and has deep violet eyes, alongside a piercing stare. He is physically fit, thin, and has waxy, pale skin which always appears to shine in the moonlight. He is distinctly related to elves, and thus his ears are slightly pointed.

Weapons/gear: He has a briefcase, presumably filled with important documents regarding his line of work, and a well-worn overcoat, which he wears in the wintertime. He also has gloves, an expensive scarf in bright colours, and he sports a Fedora and Shades when travelling.

Magic (if applicable): Although Pisatticus is learned in the Arcane arts, he does not require them in his line of work, and practices them in his spare time. He is able to create intricate illusions, his "masterpieces" as he calls them. He does not use his magic primarily for a weapon, but more for vanity.

Biography: Psiatticus, the son of a merchant prince and princess, was viewed by many as a child prodigy. Born in the western country of Artemia, he grew up with most luxuries available, and has never felt the harsh side of life before. He was sent to an elite institution to be educated from the age of 3-25, alongside people with the same mental capacity as his, where he excelled both physically and academically, as well as practicing and becoming the highest level possible to achieve in 5 different instruments. After he graduated from the institution, he was steadily groomed to run the family's merchanting buisness, however they fell through some hard times, so he decided to seek an alternative employ. He chose to study and learn the profession of law, at Artemia's top Law firm, Oswell & Hawthorne (O&H). O&H were delighted to have a person of such esteemed lineage learning under their wing, so they immediatley proceeded to groom him for entry into the Supreme High court of Alto Regis, the international Juditionary body which represented only the most important cases, such as disputes between nations. Although carrying no physical force (I.E. Armies), the Alto Regis is hugely influential, and often steps in to provide advisors and representatives for countries that have chosen to contract with the Alto Regis.

Upon entry into the Alto Regis, within a few days, Psiatticus was already whisked off to the flying country of Adolantes, which is built upon the largest accumulation of skyrock, the only landmass which has properties which enable it to float, seemingly unaffected by gravity, but suspended in the magnetic fields of the planet. Upon arrival in Adolantes, Psiatticus was presented to the Emperor, who invited him to be his adviser. After 5 years, Psiatticus had already become head of the Emperor's advisory council, and had a dukedom bestowed upon him, although because of his modesty, you will never hear him discuss it, nor will he ask you to adress him as such.

When Psiatticus saw the appauling conditions that some citizens of Adolantes had to live in, he made a new campaign to try and end poverty in all countries allied with Adolantes, using voluminous sums of money he had recieved upon his parents' early deaths (due to suicide), and whilst making a living off being a lawyer and advisor to the emperor. He begged the emperor to give him leave to go and end poverty once and for all, whilst travelling round the world, and became a figure of eminent standing in the process. He is renowned for his talents in the arts, both arcane, literary, musically, artistically and dramatically, and for his wit, his unique style of approaching any situation, and finally, his hardened beliefs that all humans are equal, no matter what standing or race they are from.

What the history books say:

An extract from Lord Archibald Hussar's "Famous Figures Throughout The Last 2 Centuries"

....a certain Psiatticus Purview, who was appointed as advisor to Emperor Algernon at that said time. Within 5 years, Psiatticus was given the lands, estates and the esteemed title of the dukedom of Dianeros, the capital city of Adolantes, giving him access to all the taxes and shares in profits that the duchy had to offer. Emperor Algernon had kept illustrious company, as Duke Purview soon rose to eminence through his charitable actions towards the eradication of human plight and starvation. However....

An extract from Antonia Berkley-Lawson's "Psiatticus Purview: Wings of Justice"

....and although famed for his attempts at ridding the world of the evil that is poverty, after a large period of time spent travelling round the world, Psiatticus returned to Adolantes, where he resigned as position from advisor, and returned to the Supreme High Courts of Alto Regis, where he quickly rose to become head of the Board of Governors which ran the Supreme Courts. He used the remnants of the money he recieved to buy out his family's old merchanting company, and then bought and merged Oswell & Hawthorne into the Alto Regis, as a subsector, from which he could take a substantial cut of their profits as well. It has been said that there has never been a man as monoganimous as Psiatticus Purview.

here's my entry sheet...on the day of the deadline xD.....

 

[Khedive Rex]

Editted. Its not as illustrous but it does tell a little more about Thibadeau's childhood.

 

[Tips_of_Fingers]

Okie dokie, it's that time I've been dreading. THE DECISION!

First off I'd like to thank everybody who showed interest in the RP and made this decision so fucking difficult. For the past few days I've been going over the pros and cons of each sheet; the quality of writing, the character idea, how each one would fit into my plans. Quite honestly, I was overwhelmed by how good many of the sheets were. I even toyed with the idea of upping the number of players again!

In the end though, I think this is a good number of people to work with and unfortunately some characters had to be rejected. I can't stress enough how hard it was to decide...*sighs* but here it goes.

Below are a list of the accepted sheets:

Spoiler: Old Man Claudio

Name: Old Man Claudio
Sex: Male

Age: He claims to be a few centuries old.

Appearance: Claudio looks considerably younger than he claims to be, his appearance is that of a healthy man in his mid fifties. Crew cut grey hair tops an otherwise cleanly shaven head. His face is lightly scarred all over, as if lightly burned. The scarring is so subtle that in low lit conditions it is nearly unnoticeable.

He is adorned in huge tan brown robes, not dissimilar to those worn by the priests of Northern Ridge. The robes are held tight to his stomach by an evidently quality made leather belt, fastened by a large, silver, rectangular belt buckle.

Class/Job: Claudio describes himself as a wanderer or a watcher, though he also acknowledges his origins as a priest, philosopher and theological scholar. At one point in his life, he admits, he saw himself as a soldier, but that is a story in itself.

Weapons and Gear: A long wooden staff, approximately 7 feet in length, with a small unlit and rather ornate lantern fastened to the top end by a short metal chain.

Magic (If applicable): He does not openly identify as a magic user, though throughout his many stories he describes his participation in events which would simply be impossible to any mortal man without access to the arcane or spiritual energies that run throughout these lands.

Personality: Though at first Claudio appears to carry an air of stoicism, it soon becomes clear upon engaging in discussion with the aging wanderer that he has very strong opinions on the nature of the world around him. His primary interest lies in the very nature of what it is to be human living in a world that many claim to have been separated from the Lords of Creation. Although he is happy to listen to other people explain their own life philosophy, Claudio will quite harshly object to a point he doesn?t agree with. As far as he is concerned, his age gives him a massive benefit over the adventurers and sell-swords he often comes across on the road when it comes to discussion. He has published select works within the academic circles of the larger cities, but enjoys to travel to the smaller towns to reach out and engage with what he calls ?valuable, if not misguided life experience.?

Biography: Many people don?t believe the tales Claudio spins about his earlier life, and even fewer believe the tales about his later life. The stories don?t seem so infeasible at first; Claudio was once a priest of the Lords, much like his father, and his father?s father before him. A preacher and a holy man, he spent much of his early life, right up into adulthood, in his home town upon the Northern Ridge. He took part in the military campaigns of the Nordrin armies, serving as chaplain to a Storm Legion during The Great Divide. The complication of such a narrative comes only when you consult the history books of the north; The Great Divide occurred over 150 years ago.

The tales of Claudio?s later life require a lot more explanation. After the war Claudio came back a ?man?, and was allowed to take a wife, which he did. But Claudio?s marriage didn?t last. His wife ran away with another member of his legion. It was at this point that he questioned his faith; if he had done as asked of him, fought in the name of the Lords to destroy those who stood against his people, why would he be punished? His wife and her new lover inherited vast sums of money, a keep, land and serfs from her parents, while Claudio?s monastery fell upon hard times. It was with permission from his elders that Claudio set out upon what he called his ?Journey?. At the time he was unsure of what he was doing, or where he was going. But as Claudio tells it, a century and a half later, he had found what he was looking for. But that my friends, is his story to tell.

?What the History Books Say?
Old Man Claudio is known among scholarly circles of the more densely populated cities to the east. Though some of his academic work is respected, his claim to prolonged life is usually laughed at as nothing but literary device used to draw attention to his theories.
Many historians have found records of a Claudio Anarelicus, a young chaplain of one of the Storm Legions of the north. Several have disputed, even with Claudio in person, that it is impossible for him to actually be the same man. The usual argument centres around Old Man Claudio?s reluctance to adopt such a surname.

What little is known of Claudio Anarelicus corroborates Old Man Claudio?s stories of his early life. He indeed came from a long line of priests, and he also married upon returning home from the war. But again, such facts mean nothing to the scholars of Daramasuc, who have argued that Old Man Claudio?s education is the key to unravelling his ?lies?. As Leopald Venodeer once said in his memoirs ?Confessions of a Justified Historian?, ?One such as this boastful Claudio character is intelligent enough to construct a fabricated identity from the bits and pieces of narrative he comes across in the Great library of Daramasuc. What truly puts the fear into me is that many a peasant will listen to his intangible and often ludicrous fictions.?

Spoiler: Thibadeau Pleural

Name: Thibadeau Pleural (Tib-a-doe ? Plur-al)

Sex: Occasionally? I ?pose you actually asking about what I keep beneath my trousers. I don?t want to offend anybody?s sensibilities. Suffice to say I?m masculine.

Age: I?ve had forty four birthdays in my time, but in the swamp that don?t mean much. Some days feel like you been born again. Some years drag on never quite gettin? to the next. And other times you say to yourself, ?These people need a party. I?ll be a little older for ?em.?

Appearance: I keep my face clean. I can?t say the same of my shoes. There are days they just won?t cooperate. If you don?t know us swamp folk, we?re pale; pale but tall. Long legs are a necessity in this part of the world, lots of swamp brush to wade through. We call ?em Lonely Weeds. They cling? Anyway. I ?pose I?d call myself dignified, in a run-down fashion. My hair is long, in a braid that runs most of the way down my back. It means I don?t have to think about cuttin? it and it keeps the top of my head tight enough to wear my hat. It?s a little leather mockery of a gentlemen?s cap, but I?m fond of it. As I?m fond of my tweed jacket, earth brown with some genuine earth worked in. Some patches keep the thing from falling apart and all the buttons got lost long ago but it?s warm and formal and it?s got just enough pockets?. What else do you care to know? Oh! My face. Well. It?s masculine I ?pose. Heh. How does a man describe his own face? Its shaved on days when I take a razor to it. The rest of the time there?s hair. I have a chin; its probably sharper than I care to admit. Two eyes. They?re both blue. No scars or anythin? important. People tell me I look trustworthy, some ladies have told me I?m handsome. I don?t widely spread either opinion but I will admit to having about forty four birthdays worth of exercise in my arms. I?m tall but well formed. You gotta be when your jobs movin? the mud.

Class/Job: I move the mud. Ain?t everybody fit to do it and I don?t pretend it?s a lavish lifestyle; but you asked me what I do. I move the mud.

Weapons and Gear: War ain?t really a swamp thing. We don?t conquer and, coincidentally, we aren?t conquered. What I carry for protection is ideally intended to correct a mistaken predator or some young, brash, uninformed thing. Not to kill. That said, you asked me for weapons. I guess I would count my paddle. It?s a stumpy thing but its sharp on one side and you can hit a tree with it, no worry of shattering. Its wood, but it?s old stubborn wood, and the muds gotten to it. I ?pose it could come against a sharpened metal sword and be less the victim. It?s had a time to get stuck in its ways and now, won?t break easily. It?s just a hand paddle though, long enough to break the surface of the water not long enough to get hooked in the Lonely Weeds. Better that way? What else? Well, I keep an Ugly Bell. Do they have those in the east? It?s a bell, sort of dark silver, turned on itself a couple way. If they got a single credit to their name, its volume. The Ugly Bells the loudest instrument I ever heard, and the way it turn keeps the hum changing pitch and resonance, almost bouncing as the noise works its way down. They?re ugly but a talented musician can harvest orchestras that?ll break your heart. Now I love music, but the strings have always been my instrument. I keep it for the volume. Lots of things don?t like loud. Apart from that I keep some flint for warmth and fire. I keep some bottles for mud. I carry a bit of parchment with my charcoals; catalogue all the new things I see. And that?s really all that?s? reliably on my person.

Magic (If applicable): Ever seen your newborn daughter smile at you? She?s tiny and precious and she trusts you completely? Yeah. There?s a lot of magic in the world. I ?pose I have some. Same way you do. None of that fireball-hurling of course; that?s not magic. Bunch of idiots.

Personality: People have said I?m easy to get along with and hard to know; they say I got a way of talking that avoids givin? anything away. But I don?t know if they?re right. I?m friendly enough. I think. I just don?t take the little things too serious. People who ain?t from the swamp want to tell you about every little part of their day when a third of everyone?s day is spent unconscious in bed and half of what?s left is devoted to chairs and silence. There ain?t that much to tell in a regular day. I prefer to talk about people, not events. But you asked me about myself. I?m pretty casual. It don?t take a whole lot of effort to live, that comes natural. And no matter how much energy you spend, you?re gonna die. Comes natural too. So my philosophy, for what it is, spend what you got to and enjoy what?s left over. Really enjoy. Don?t fight unless you got to, or you both really want to, and don?t kill if it?s gonna leave a bad taste in your mouth. Always left a bad taste in mine. I celebrate every victory and praise every kindness. I eat everything and sleep beneath the sun. I move the mud and watch it grow. It?s a short life but you can fill it up with lots of little moments; and I look for ?em under every rock.

Biography: I was born to a mom and dad, like most people. Our families from the swamp though so we immediately not like most people. Swamps always been its own world. Anyway, my parents took me to the mud when I was young and explained that all men women and little children, of every species, came from the mud. I was so impressed. I asked Mother how they all fit beneath the pool and she giggled and said she?d explain more when I was older. Which she did. When I was older. Swamp folk are very honest.

We came back to the mud when I was a teenager and she told me how it all worked. That before there was anything solid in the world it was just ideas floatin?. And then there was mud. And when the mud got hit by an idea it changed and grew, gave it a form. It all started with big ideas like ?Solid? which gave us some ground to stand on and ?Warm? which made the sun. These days of course the ideas are smaller, which made the odds of them hittin? the mud pretty low. But it happens sometimes. She said if I watched careful and maybe played some music something would come crawlin? out of the mud. Sure enough, two days later long after she?d left to go home and my fingers started bleeding on the strings I catch sight in my tired eyes of a little blue something dashin? out the far side. I knew from there it was all I wanted to do.

So I studied under the old men who moved mud. There ain?t a whole lot of studying really. You get a bottle, grab some mud, and go wandering for new ideas hoping one hits. It?s about nurturing the little thing and that?s what the old men watched, whether I had the right instincts. My first bottle popped into a sapphire fish-man, little red stripes all over it. I let him loose in the sea after giving him a long talk about life love and responsibility. He held my hand in his spiny twirls and I could tell he appreciated everything I?d done. Which wasn?t a lot, but infants don?t know the world.

Anyway, they said I did such a good job I could keep doing it, if I wanted. Which I did. These days I?m sort of a saint. Ain?t no big deal but it does keep me warm inside.

What the History books say:

The history of mud moving is long and winding. Its hard to know who the first person to vial the Mud and carry it away was. But that man spawned a tradition that would come to define swamp culture and influence the lives of many of its most famous citizens. Figures such as Percy Servai, Ailleen Hemway and even Thibadeau Pleural made their livings following the great traditions of mud moving.

Thibadeau Pleural in particular serves as a great example of the appeals of Mud Moving. Born to an impoverished family, as many in the swamp were, Thibadeau was raised without most conveniences that would have been standard outside the swamp. His younger brother, Antone, wouldn?t survive past four years before succumbing of a lung infection that might have been treated with basic medicines from more advanced parts of the world. His father would go missing when Thibadeau was nine, never to be seen or heard from again. All manner of tradgedy befell the Pleural family, and yet it was from these humble beginings that Thibadeau would come to be known as his time?s most famous and illustrious mud mover.

Perhaps because of all his lose, the act of creation through the mud served as a great comfort to Thibadeau and he took naturally to the job of tutoring and protecting creatures the sprung from it. Moving mud also required no special tools, only some kind of canister to store the mud in. So many of the impoverished of the swamp found it was both an activity that could be easily entertained while continuing the work that sustained themselves and their family, that it was an activity that didn?t require extra resources and that it was an activity that help them to come to some peace about their lot. It was common practice in the swamp to move mud, but few took it to the extreme and made a profession out of it. Those who did were often regarded as wise and patronly. They wandered and filled the roles of bards of adventurers in more traditional lands. They were often lauded for their extensive wealth of experience and their calm nurturing attitude. It was a career that brought a lot of respect with it and one that any of the swamp people could enter without concern of start-up capital.

Thibadeau in particular led a fascinating life moving mud. He even left the swamp for a short period of time in his travels, something few swamp people ever got the privilege of doing. This wandering man lifestyle was very appealing to the undernourished and overworked of the swamp. With this is mind its easy to see why Mud Moving remains a prominent aspect of Swamp culture.

Spoiler: Shannow

Name: His only name is Shannow, but he has been known variously as the Fool, the Master of the Revels, and a hundred other names of his own devising.

Sex: Male

Age: He has so far invested forty three years in this life.

Appearance: Shannow is a tall man, long of limb and lean of stature, but he stands hunched, as if carrying an unseen weight. His face is weathered, his eyes bright above a curved nose and his mouth a generous curve. His hair is dark, and has grown long and unkempt.
He wears loose clothing; a white shirt and dark trousers that disguise both his figure, and anything he might choose to hid upon it. A belt around his waist reveals how slim he really is, and his shoes, though worn, still show signs of master-crafting. His coat is long and heavy, and well endowed with pockets. It is the coat of a man who has so little that he can carry it all upon his back, and is accustomed to sleeping without shelter.

Class/Job: Fool to the Republic of Drenan

Weapons and Gear: Shannow carries a small bag of food and supplies, and within his many pockets holds many small objects of interest; most notably, a vicious little knife for seeing off unwanted company, and a little set of tools that he says are for 'inquisitiveness' sake'

Magic (If applicable): Shannow possess no magic, save a gift for words and a way with people.

Personality: Shannow was once a friendly man of infinite capacity for wit and reason. He was a friend to all and willing to share his thoughts on any mater with whoever cared to speak. Now, he is changed; his words are fewer, and those he does produce are harsh, and bitter; those of a man who has lost faith in the good he saw in the world.
What he actually thinks is hard to say; as a fool, he has spent so long wearing a mask that even he no longer knows exactly what he actually thinks. When pushed on matters he does not wish to discuss, he will often retreat into obfuscating nonsense under the guise of foolery.

Biography: Allow me to present myself, my ladies and gentlemen of this exalted age, before my stories take the stage. For I am the Master of Revels, the caller-up and caster-in of Devils, late of Drenan, where they no long need my skills.
What need have Drenan of a Fool, you ask? Well, you might remember, a few years back now, when they called it the Republic of Drenan? Back when they were a nation of Enlightenment, one country under God and reason? Oh, they were they proud of their new-found powers: only a nation that knows itself can guide it's own path, they said, and in our smug egalitarianism we thought we needed someone to speak what everyone thought and no one dared.
They chose me, can you believe it? I railed against it at first, but that only seemed to encourage it; they said they didn't want an ambitious man, but a cynic who would find all the holes. They sat me in their Council meetings, opposite the President and on a little throne of my own, and in their infinitely self indulgent irony they called me their Fool.
As much as I railed, it was a glorious time. A city of reason gets an awful lot done, and we advanced in leaps and bounds, but nothing lasts for ever. Everything that happens is only under the phase of the moon; and the tide always turns. Freedom of thought became freedom of education, and then people were advocating the right to be ignorant. When they elected Solowal, I shouted the whole Council down, then got out of the city. Later they torched my house; I understand that they had to hold the public back from trying to save my books.

Spoiler: Drenan; A Rise to Glory, reference: Shannow

Shannow.
Known also as the Fool, Shannow was a major part of the conspiracy that interupted the monarchs rule, and in the ensuing chaos, he and his elite began a systematic attack on the morals that our glorious King Solowal restored to us.
A known homosexual, Shannow's subversive agenda included outlawing the salve trade, and raising the lower races to an equal standing with our pure-blood countrymen. His system was justified by a monopolized control of education, and mendacious manipulation of facts, making outrageous claims about the self evident world order.
He showed his true colors when King Solowal ascended to the throne, and would have been the first death of the Purge for his treason if he had not turned tail and fled. His lover, Dexero, was burnt at the stake for aiding his escape.

Spoiler: Darren Ammon

Name: Darren Ammon (until recently was known as Sir Darren Ammon)

Sex: Male

Age: 27

Appearance: Darren is a physically fit late-twenties male with long autumn brown hair tied back in a pony tail and lightly tanned skin. He is very slightly above the average height for a fully grown man. His beard has being growing for just over a month since he stopped shaving and so isn't as thick as most men of his age who let theirs grow. His nose is somewhat on the large size and his teeth are a little crooked, however he's otherwise reasonably attractive. While Darren has lost some weight over the past few weeks, his muscles are still quite well-toned from when he regularly wore a full-suit of armour. For discretion he has traded his armour for padded leather and typical brown clothing that a more typical warrior would wear whilst travelling, however his accent which lies somewhere in the middle between the refined drawl of a noble and the rough speech of a commoner hints at his former knightly status.

Class/Job: When he was younger he was a squire to his father, upon reaching his late teens he became a knight serving under King Turin III, a position he held until very recently. He has now become a rebel and has been exiled from his native land, the Kingdom of Tamar, on the pain of death.

Weapons and Gear: The only weapon which Darren carries is the broadsword which his father gave him as a gift at his knighting ceremony, he has sold his shield and his other weapons over time to make travelling easier. The sword is not particularly remarkable, it's heavy and long as all broadswords are and other than the maroon leather grip it is a burnished metallic grey all over. The only distinguishing feature of the blade is a small carving of a salamander on the hilt; the Ammon family emblem.

Magic (If applicable): None, he believes that the majority of magic performed by humans is actually tricks and deception although he is more agnostic on various forms of naturalistic magic due to his belief in the religion Kin.

Personality: Though outwardly a determined warrior, Darren is idealistic more than anything else, he'll argue his anti-monarchy and religious views eagerly with anyone who brings up either subject and he is quick to express scepticism if someone claims something he doesn't believe is true. Darren's republican views stem from him becoming disillusioned by the vast differences in quality of life he has seen between over-indulgent nobles and the poorest Tamarian commoners. This has led him to deciding that the feudal system is inherently flawed and that the only way to have a truly fair country is to divide up the labour and wealth equally between all citizens and for everyone to work for the common good. The second pillar of his world-view is the religion of Kin which he learned from his parents, a naturalistic belief system based on spirit and charm worship which was the most common religion throughout Tamar before missionaries introduced the Lords of Creation to the nation around a century ago. It is now only usually found amongst the commoners of the more sparse north of the country or isolated southern villages; Darren had to remain quiet about his beliefs whilst he was a knight as many of the nobles he served looked down upon Kin followers as "heathens". Kin teaches that all life should be treated with respect as part of nature and Darren tries to stick to that, though to his shame he hasn't always in the past.

Overconfidence is another clear trait Darren displays from anything from battle plans to games of luck; he usually ends up over-estimating his chances of success which can be a blessing or a curse depending on the situation at hand. Despite this he has a slight streak of cowardice which he is usually able to conceal from companions but when facing probable death reveals itself; for example when most his fellow comrades fell in the battle of Khana he instead fled the battlefield at the point it became clear that his side could not prevail. While Darren is dedicated to continuing his mission to free the Tamarian people this is not entirely for unselfish reasons, he secretly fantasises about himself as becoming the leader of a new Republic of Tamar and being praising and loved by all his fellow citizens.

Biography: Well, I never thought it would come to this but here I am. My story started twenty seven years ago when I was born in my parent's manor house in a northern Tamarian town, I'd like to say it was an extraordinary event or there was some sort of sign but no... there was nothing particularly special about my birth. My earliest memories are mainly of my father as even after my younger sisters were born, he always spent more time teaching me about knighthood than anyone-else ever did. My childhood was mostly uneventful, my tutors didn't like the way I thought and only the threat of a beating from my father kept me working hard, something I'm very grateful for now. I was popular with the other children, partly because of my prowess in sports and fighting though as I got older I increasingly focused on improving the latter. Once I entered my teenage years I finally learned how to keep my objections to myself and quickly reaped the benefits: my father took me as a squire on a campaign and several years later, I became an official Knight of the Crown. I had to keep quiet about my religion being Kin since most the other knights were Lords of Creation followers but at the time this was a small sacrifice to make.

Initially, I served my new master with enthusiasm as I was sent journeying across the land: slaying bandits, arresting rebels and "encountering" the local women afterwards. It wasn't a bad life and I looked an impressive sight when kitted out in full shining armour, the King and the Ammon family emblem together upon my shield and my trusty broadsword by my side. After a while though I began to see through this to the flaws in my companions and our superiors; the corruption and selfishness that seemed to embody their attitudes and their lack of empathy for the common folk who seemed to suffer more and more every year. These were not the values I'd been taught a knight was supposed to hold, I decided, and so next time I met with my father I raised my concerns with him. His reaction wasn't at-all what I expected, he shouted and accused me of being disloyal to the King and my oath. He then pleaded to me to drop such traitorous thoughts and I told him I would, deep down though as I left for my next assignment in the city of Khana I was deeply confused.

There I found the situation was even worse, families were literally starving in many parts of the city as the crops in the farms nearby failed and this was exacerbated by the high taxes forced onto the populace by the local Duke of Clay. That evening I was invited to dine with him so I arrived at his banquet, only to be disgusted by the mountains of meat and delicacies piled up on the plates whilst just a few hours earlier I had witnessed little children crying pitifully from hunger pains while their parents begged passersby for any spare food. Later that night I found my way to a small Kin shrine and prayed for guidance, whether it was by destiny or coincidence I do not know but on the way out I began conversing with a member of the Free Peoples. To my surprise I found out the group advocated an idea part of me had long felt but never knew how to put words to, that people should be able to decide their own destiny and that resources should be divided up equally rather than held in the hands of the rich and powerful. I agreed to help and quickly became involved in collecting information for the Free Peoples, but also helping the poor when we could to surreptitiously gain their support. A few weeks later our leaders were arrested and an emergency meeting was held where many angry words were spoken and many more townspeople than I expected arrived. Some city guards approached to break up the crowd, starting acting rather too rough to people who were already close to the snapping point and... well... let's just say before we knew it the Duke was hanging dead by his guts from the castle walls and we had a town to run.

The news of our rebellion spread like wildfire across the land and of course less than a fortnight after our victory we heard that an army in the south was being raised to retake Khana. King Turin himself would lead it for the first time since the death of his father in battle over two decades ago. We thought he would be burning with rage but the first message we received from him was surprisingly calm, perhaps he hadn't liked the Duke as much as we had thought? It offered us generous terms, in exchange for surrendering without a fight he pledged not to re-instate the Duchy around Khana but to instead let the people of the city elect their own local council, a system that hadn't been used since ancient times. The inner ten of us who first read his offer knew that if we showed the letter to the townspeople, they would leap behind the terms in a heartbeat... but we wanted something better. Now that we had a taste of power, we didn't want to let go just yet and what had so recently been just a pipe dream, a free Republic of Tamar, was tantalisingly close. We curtly declined the King's offer and told the city folk that the Royal army was coming with the intentions of terrible vengeance, that we would need every able-bodied man we could get to defend ourselves. It was an exaggeration if not a lie but it was all for the greater good, we told ourselves.

A few rushed days of preparation were never enough come the day of the Battle of Khana, our walled city surrounded by rank upon rank of knights, multitudes of foot-soldiers and far behind the enemy lines the King's Royal tent. I could see from a glance that they far outnumbered our meagre volunteer army and that our fortifications were our only hope of survival. At dawn they attacked with battering rams and wide shields to protect themselves from what we threw down at them, in under an hour they breached the main entrance and poured into the city like frenzied ants. I realised at that point that we had no chance of prevailing that day and so while my comrades fought and died as martyrs for our cause I turned tail and escaped out through the back-gate. Thankfully in the ensuring carnage by the time it was found my body was not among the fallen I was already hiding amongst the border villages where no monarch, let alone Turin III, was popular or loved. I knew I couldn't return to my father, mother or sisters now I had broken my vow to serve the King and after a number of days of recovering from the failure of our revolution, I bid the kind family who were sheltering me goodbye and travelled over the north-western border into the Western Lands. I decided that although our cause had been set back, it's time must be close and so I began to journey into the wide world, searching for allies with whom I could one day return to Tamar with. And that, my friends, is the story of my life so far.

What the History Books Say: Extract from "Tamarian folk-heroes: A concise history"

Born in the north of Tamar into a family who had served as knights under the country's monarchy for over two centuries, there wasn't a great deal of indication during his childhood that Darren Ammon would be anything other than a typical loyal warrior. Being the oldest of four children and the only son meant that Ammon's father spared no effort in raising him to be a brave and capable fighter, as well as having him educated in the more academic subjects. Whilst he was perfectly fitting of his father's fighting image, Ammon took a different tact in his written studies. It is said that uncommonly for a squire he often questioned his orders and proposed his own ideas. His tutors wrote this attitude off as "childish disobedience" and beat the boy to teach him his place. As Ammon entered his teenage years this tactic seemed to have paid off as he stopped voicing opposition to his superiors and accompanied his father on several minor campaigns, eventually being knighted by the Duke of Clay in the name of the King at age eighteen for his services against the outlaws of Tyrone Forest. For almost a decade he served the Crown in a number of other conflicts and duties across the land, however it was only when he was sent to serve in the northern city of Khana near the place of his birth that he became more than a footnote in Tamarian history.

The early 8th century was a period of turmoil for Tamar, around the time of Ammon's birth the kingdom was engaged in a destructive war with the Imperial Empire in the east and only a combination of luck and internal struggles within the empire left the small southern country free, albeit without its king Manor VI who perished in the siege of Newport along with his eldest two children. The sole surviving heir was his five year old son who was dutifully crowned Turin III and for the next decade the Kingdom experienced a time of prosperity whilst it was run by the boy's mother and a cabinet of senior advisors from the capital city of Daramasuc. The boy-king grew up well-educated but sheltered and was ill-prepared for leadership when he came into full capacity at the tender age of sixteen.

At heart it seems that King Turin did care about his people and often tried to help them, but he was woefully ignorant about their day-to-day life and was surrounded by nobles who exaggerated, covered up and even sometimes downright lied to favour their own interests. In addition to that a childhood of special treatment and yes-men had left the King hugely vain and constantly insecure about his own image. In the year of 753 when that the great blight hit many farmer's livestock, particularly those in the north of the country where the local lords held much more power, stories began to circulate about the excesses and riches of the Royal Court in Daramasuc. To the northern population on the edge of starvation, these tales fostered resentment above all else.

There was second compounding factor that eventually led to the rebellion in the north. For the last half a century most southern Tamarians and the nobility across the entire country had been followers of the Lords of Creation, however the common folk in the north had by and large retained the native faith of Kin. Whilst the King himself promoted officially religious freedom for his subjects, many of the nobles who held great power in the north favoured fellow Lords worshippers and gave them privileges over those who followed other faiths. The Duke of Clay, who based his fiefdom in the city of Khana, took this policy to the extreme and combined with punitive taxes, strife was inevitable. It was here that Ammon found himself drawn to those who opposed the power of the monarchy and after a number of conversations agreed break his oath to the Crown and join their group, the Free Peoples. Ironically for an organisation that opposed nobility and rank, it wasn't any special leadership, intellect or even fighting ability that led to Ammon quickly gaining influence amongst the potential rebels but the unusualness of someone of his high status supporting their goal.

While the exact records of how the rebellion started are unclear, what's known is that in the morning of the day it begun the Duke of Clay had three of the group's top leaders arrested for conspiracy against the Crown. By the evening of that same day the Duke was castrated and hung by his intestines from his tower window whilst he was still alive. Noble families fled the city as the rioting commoners inflicted terrible retribution on anyone perceived to allied with the ill-fated duke, including foreigners and priests of the Lords of Creation whose temples were ransacked and torched until there was nothing left standing. Accounts of who started the violence are conflicting but many accounts on both sides point the finger squarely towards Ammon who supposedly convinced the other influential members that action was needed in response to the arrests. Later that night the leaders of the rebellion gathered together and declared their conquest to be the "Free City of Khana", an autonomous region within Tamar.

Despite the private feud between King Turin III and the Duke of Clay of which evidence only emerged many years later, his response was uncharacteristically quick as an army was rapidly spirited up from the southern counties and marched towards Khana with the King following at a safe distance behind. It is said that Turin offered the rebels the chance for peace in-exchange for surrender, however perhaps because of his low reputation amongst the city folk the offer was rejected and thus an attack was ordered. Despite their effectiveness during the initial taking of the city, the rebel's army were poorly equipped and most were untrained, meaning that once the city walls had been breached they stood no chance against more numerous Royal soldiers. The exact role that Ammon played in the battle is unknown, partly due to the lack of surviving witnesses afterwards, but what is known is that his body was never found and numerous unverified sightings around the Tamarian borders and in certain nearby regions of the Western Lands helped perpetuate the legend that he had become a folk hero who was still fighting the King from hiding and would one day return to fight another great battle. How much truth there is in these tales unknown but most historians nowadays believe that he did survive when collaborating evidence is taken into account...

 

[Tips_of_Fingers]

Apparently the post was "too large" to do all in one go. Here's the rest of it lol.

Spoiler: Sai'if Jyukas

Name: Sai'if Jyukas

Gender: Male

Age: 46

Appearance: 5'4" at 155 lbs, his wavy dark brown hair compliments his olive brown skin and reaches the base of his neck at longest, though it is noticeably beginning to grey. His face is handsome yet un-remakable save for an aged scar stemming from the inner corner of his left eye brow travelling across the bridge of his nose to the right corner of his mouth then taking a slight curve downward as it ends at his jaw line. His well trimmed goatee and moustache are scared as well, unable to grow hair where the blade destroyed the roots. His eyes are light grey, but when one looks into them deeply for long enough, they become an obsidian black.

A dark grey wool hooded cloak rests on his shoulders and his black shirt is covered by a leather vest. Steel greaves adorn his forearms, intricately etched with emblazoned eyes underneath which are the words Ego Hunt Scelestus. A bandolier holds six daggers across his chest and a sizeable leather belt is clasped around his abdomen holding a number of pouches and two water skins on the back. Black pants slip behind steel shin guards before being tucked into leather boots. All this gear looks like it once may have been well made but has since become aged and worn.

Weapons and Gear:A stout side sword hangs sheathed from the left of his waist, six daggers are held across his chest as explained previously, another two lie concealed on the inside of either bracer. Climbing tiger claws can be seen if one notices on his gloved hands. In one of the pouches on the front of his belt are black eggshells, carefully filled with a combination of grounded pepper and glass to be thrown in the face of a foe causing great pain and temporary blindness.

Class/Job: Rogue/Soul Watcher

Magic: As with any Soul Watcher, Sai'if has the ability to look into the depths of a person's soul to see their pain, joy, fear, sins, and kindness so that they might be judged. The image is not completely clear, and individual acts from the person's past can't be deciphered, but recurring or drawn out doings can be more easily seen. Aside from this he has no magical abilities.

Personality: Having had the ability to see the tragedy behind the eyes of anyone he's met has forced Sai'if to become somewhat detached from his own emotions. Everyone has known pain and suffering, especially during these dark times and to feel compassion for every soul he comes across would break his emotions past their limits. The only one he ever truly shows emotions to is his apprentice Kasris. To others he is polite and courteous, if somewhat cold and thus often comes off as ungenuine. Dispatching the wicked is his job, and most judgments are carried out with little to no feeling, though the occasional guilty comes along that is either elusive, challenging or has commited truly great enough sins to get him riled up and excited again.

While most often assume the ability to look into the souls of others would make Soul Watchers religious and devout, the pain, evil, and darkness he sees causes him to question the wisdom, justness, morality, and power of the gods or if they even exist at all. If asked his greatest fear he would simply say, "Centipedes. Not sure why but something about them just truly gets underneath my skin, and I've never met one with a good soul."

Biography: How did I become a Soul Watcher? That's a rather upfront question that most people lack the courage to ask. Unfortunately it's one not so easily answered either as even we Soul Watchers don't truly know how we came into being or what triggers the change within us that allows us to see others' true selves. Perhaps the Soul Watchers from before the years of Retribution, when we were once more commonly known as the Grey Eyed Gaurdians, knew more about this subject and could tell you, but alas they and their knowledge are gone. I can see that you are a good man however, so I will try my best to answer your question.

I have no recollection of my parents, as I was abandoned on the steps of the temple in the city of Grahib when I was but a baby, with naught but a note telling my name. The priests raised me devoutly and taught me of good and evil, to be a good little boy likely to grow up to be a priest myself one day. However, I was a spirited youth and longed for adventure and to see the outside world and so I found myself running away and never turning back. As you can imagine the streets of Grahib aren't the kindest to a ten year old boy, and I soon found myself begging, picking through others' waste for scraps and eventually stealing. This was how I met Marcas.

When I was 13 I found myself following a man dressed as though setting out or returning from adventure and adventurers were usually worthwhile targets for pick pocketing as they tend to carry more money on them to pay for services and goods on their long travels. I ran up to him bumping him as I passed to cover up me snatching his coin purse giving him a quick, "Sorry, sir!" for his troubles. I got naught four inches past him when a hand grabbed the arm that held his purse and pulled me back to face him. Initially he looked as though to scold or strike me but he just stared at me silently for a few moments before his expression turned from one of anger to one of curiosity. This is when I noticed that his eyes were grey.

"Are you afraid?" he asked me.

"No, sirrah." I answered back, fear looming in my stomach that only grew greater as his eyes slowly began turning into a black void.

"You're lying. I can see your fear though you try your best to hide it. You show great courage. What is your name?"

"Sai'if, Sai'if Jyukas."

"I see. You are alone in this city are you not? No family or loved ones?" I simply nodded in reply; too awestruck by the man's gaze to use words, though curious as to where these questions were leading. "Do you want to leave this city? To see the world beyond and learn to defeat the evils within it?"

This question caught me off guard and I pondered for sometime searching for the answer. I had always wanted to leave Grahib, to see the world and have adventures, but to defeat evils? That hadn't been part of the original plan, but I began to see that it was my true destiny. To roam the world, seeking out the evil within and destroying it. Of course it could have just been the active fantasies of a young boy, but I felt it to be so. "Yes." I answered confidently.

"Hmm, I know not how I know just as my master before me said would happen, but I feel you are one of us." The man said, more to himself than to me. "You shall come with me. I am Marcas Hywyn, and you shall become my apprentice. You will become a Soul Watcher." There was no question in the statement. It was a simple fact. From then on I was to follow this man. I was to become a Soul Watcher. "You can take this." Marcas said as he unhefted his pack and handed it to me. "Carrying this burden will feel as nothing compared to that of the duty you will one day bear."

With that, I took his pack and followed him out of Grahib and into the world. For 14 years I travelled with him. Learning to fight, track and investigate. My unique skills as a Soul Watcher began to manifest themselves as well. For the first few years I was trained to read faces, body language, tone, all the things that give clues as to people's true intentions. As the years went on however, my blue eyes began to grey and I started to be able to glimpse into people's souls. Marcas fell ill when I was 27 and soon thereafter died peacefully, a rare gift for a Soul Watcher. I then travelled by myself, carrying the burden of my duties alone. That is, until I met Kasris. But that's another story.

What the History Book Says: It is unsure as to when Soul Watchers first came into existence or what created them. Heritage seems to have no play in the matter, as there are few records of Watchers ever having children, and none of a Watcher's offspring becoming Watchers themselves. However, Soul Watchers first came into the public eye when four hundred Watchers formed the Grey Eyed Guardians a little over three and a half centuries ago. They constructed the Grey Keep in the snowy, mountainous region of Blathbane to the North which served as a sort of hub for the Soul Watchers. As word of the Grey Keep spread, more and more Soul Watchers made their way there, and joined the ranks of the Grey Eyed Guardians. At the height of their power, it was said that over three thousand Watchers were associated with the Grey Eyed Guardians.

Two and a half centuries ago, Ra'ath Annul, King of the arid Atunne Kingdom began a genocide of the tribal nomads within his borders, determining them too primitive and inferior for his kingdom. The Grey Eyed Guardians saw this as a great evil and judged King Annul a "Guilty", what the Soul Watchers call one who has been judged for death, and mustered their numbers to launch a massive intervention in the Atunne Kingdom. Despite being outnumbered, the Guardians dealt several serious blows to the Atunne army, crippling them before forcing their way into Grahib, Atunne's capital. Annul's palace was stormed and he and his nobles executed for their sins. This intervention won the hearts of many of the common folk the world over, while isolating others for their brashness. Understandably, the heads of other kingdoms were quite disturbed by the Guardian's actions, and found themselves feeling threatened by a new outside force that didn't play by the same rules as them and could intrude on their sovereignty.

It was fifty years later however, before they were able to act on these fears. So drunk with their own power, watchers roamed the world, and judged just about everyone they met, instantly dealing death to those they judged as Guilty. The Grey Eyed Guardians were now feared by all, and public outcry against their existence was heard throughout the lands. Neighboring kingdoms used this outcry as an excuse to deal with the threat and declared all out war on the Guardians. Caught unprepared, the Grey Keep was razed and all of its occupants slaughtered and a worldwide hunt for Soul Watchers began. Having stopped one genocide, the Soul Watchers now faced their own. Thousands were killed, while the rest went into hiding, still cautiously attempting to carry out their duties of ridding the world of evil. They refer to these times as the years of Retribution.

Thought mostly extinct, Soul Watchers made a reappearance 84 years ago. No longer organized, the Soul Watchers now travel the lands individually or in pairs, often as pupil and master and their numbers are thought to be no more than a couple hundred. Wary of reenacting the years of Retribution, Soul Watchers no longer dispense their justice instantly. Instead, after finding a "Guilty", they use their abilities and investigative skills to provide evidence which can be brought before the populace so that justice may be dealt with popular favor. This process proves infinitely more labor intensive but allows them to carry out their duties without incurring the wrath of the common folk and their sovereigns.

Spoiler: Marcus

Name: Marcus

Sex: Male

Age: 27

Appearance: Marcus is a well built man, in his late twenties and stands at 5"10. He carries the look of a well traveled person, heavily tanned and a creased forehead. His shoulders are broad and his arms are lightly toned. He has a light sprinkiling of stubble and a smooth, nearly bald head with bright blue eye?s. He wears a simple olive drab tunic, with leather trousers. He wears heavy leather boots and across his chest lays a simple leather breast plate. Bracers adorn his wrists and tanned gloves cover his hands.

Class/Job: Marcus is a simple wanderer, going from town to town doing odds and ends, he?s cut wood, smelted swords, repaired houses and dealt with animals.

Weapons and Gear: On his hip he carries a simple Steel broadsword, with an ornate design of a dragon along the hilt. Slung across his back, a large round sheild sits snugly, all his supplies attached to the inside of it. A small dagger is concealed within his boots.

Magic (If applicable): A very weak healing ability. Hovering his hand over a minor injury will steam blood flow and if given time, reseal the skin. Although useful, it will not help if a wound is deep or too large.

Personality: Marcus is a proud man. This does not mean he treats all with respect however, you must first EARN his respect. He will fight for the poor and defend the weak, if he deems them worthy. His morals are mixed at best. He believes that helping those who do not deserve it, to be tampering with natural selection and will stand by and watch men, women and children die. Those who earn his respect, however, he will fight with all his strength for. Whilst religion is apparent within the land he walks, he takes a direct stanse of non-believing and will openly mock those who follow any deity.

Biography: The name?s Marcus and I?m an explorer. Lookabout-man. Wanderer. Got lots of names for folks like me, but to put it plain I?m just a fella walking the world and seeing all it?s got to give. I?ve seen a lot in my wanderings, met a lot of folks ? good and bad ? in all corners of this land. So let me tell you what I seen.

When I was a kid, I grew up in a little village. Real quiet like, everyone knew everyone and people were happy. Times were good. Until Dad got ill, some plague or somethin?, Mother died in child birth, so I was alone. Ripe age of Sixteen I left that place. Took my Dad?s sword ? You wouldn?t believe the stories he used to tell about that thing. Sigurd he called it, funny name if you ask me, but with that and his sheild I set off. Things were tough. Met a lot of folk on my travels, not all helpful.

Well, I wandered through villages for a few years, stealing food and selling wares when I had ?em, but after a while and a bout of near starvation I decided to settle and work. Didn?t suit me. Few seasons passed and I was off again. Wandering the land and doing odds and ends here. Suited me just fine. Heard a lot of talk, and seen a lot of sights and fought a lot of men, killed a few too. One thing I learnt, you ain?t given nothin?. You gotta earn it. That?s my motto atleast.


What the History Books Say: Marcus wandered the land for many years. Working, trading and just exploring. They say he was a good man. Some might disagree, but no one knows for sure. He was a quiet man. Didn?t say much, good listener though. He?d sit and listen to stories like a kid at dinner.
They say he changed at somepoint. Used to be real nice, something hit him hard. A few people have said it was Hark?s bay. Anyone who?s anyone know?s that what happened there, would change any man.

Harks bay was an idealic place, quiet harbour town ? that Salt air taste hanging around and the sounds of gulls waiting for the fishermen to bring in the next catch. Not very interested in relgion or anything else for that matter. Trade and fish and good drink was their thing. They say one of the nobles there offended a religious fanatic. One of those hooded cloaked men, the ones who devote themselves to some other being. Well, they didn?t take well at that. Came down on the town with a mob. Burned that place up good. The few who knew Marcus said he was there. He saw the town burn. People butchered. Children murdered. He only just got out himself. Something changed in him that day. He never spoke of it, but you can tell it had done something to his head.

After that, not much was heard of from him. He stopped going to his usual traders. Some say he went for revenge. Some say he just settled down somewhere quiet. Others have spoke of a quiet man, passing through back villages. Searching for something, talking to the story tellers in the dark corners of inns and taverns.

I apologise to all who didn't make it in, but I assure you that it was a very tight race. Hopefully you'll stick around and follow our progress.

For the accepted players, I ask you to join this User Group [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/groups/view/The-Wayside] and begin our time 'On The Wayside'. [/terrible pun]

 

[Sir Strange Of The House Lycan]

A CURSE ON YOUR HOUSE.
By which I mean good luck with the RP Mister Fingers and other involved.
*Takes his leave*

 

[Febel]

Well that's a shame. I already had like 70% of my story written out...

 

[Tips_of_Fingers]

Snip

Snip

So sorry to both of you. Your characters had great strengths and caused me so much difficulty in my decisions. In the end, though, I had to choose.

If this incarnation goes well though I may take the RP structure (characters telling a story) and create another incarnation in a different setting.