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Author Topic: IronQuill seeks an Adventure [Freeform Fantasy]  (Read 328 times)

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Offline IronQuillTopic starter

IronQuill seeks an Adventure [Freeform Fantasy]
« on: September 25, 2017, 02:03:30 AM »
As I await my fate in Elliquiy, I suppose it'd no harm in seeing if a few good folks would like to engage in some roleplaying with me. I have don't quite an idea of what sort of adventure I wish to do, other than it would be a fantasy sort of deal. Things like Robert E. Howard's Conan, Glen Cook's Black Company, and some books about Warhammer Fantasy have been my main inspiration when forging roleplays, and to saying nothing of the multitudes of videogames that fuel my muse. No real setting set in stone, but I can offer a profile or two of characters I've written before. A sort of resume, or perhaps a glimpse into my writing style.

One is clever...
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Name: Margeaux Bon

Titles or Ranks: Professor of Magic Applied Engineering, or commonly “The Gypsy Street Witch”

Race: Human

Nationality: Eresia

Age: 21

Appearance: At 5’0”, Margeaux certainly stands out by how she cannot. She has a physique to match her stature, slender and thin not unlike a girl much younger than herself. A high metabolism insures she can indulge in sweets in excess without any worry of losing that petite figure. Auburn hair braided into an Eresian braid, piercing green eyes hidden under a thick pair of wide rimmed glasses, and thin lips top off the pretty face of this petite young lady. Margeaux finds herself a fan of dark green, and her dresses reflect as such, frills and all, and usually worn with white stockings and dark leather boots.

Weapons: While it never has crossed her mind, Margeaux has designed a multitude of devices that could very well prove effective in a battle. If they worked. More often than not, the devices she has conjured, assembled, or spawned have an affinity for exploding rather than working. Even when they’re supposed to explode they don’t. However, of the piles of junk she crafts there are a few that actually work and to varying degrees of terrifying success.

The most stable of her inventions is the Magus Capacitor, a stave that has gone under significant modification. A stave a foot taller than she is carved from sturdy oak wood, topped with a metal two pronged forkhead. The points of the fork are shaped in hollow orbs of metal that are forged in copper. Though the most interesting feature of her stave is the peculiar device attached to the fork head. Screwed into the base is a clear glass orb with something sealed inside it, held in the center with two coiled copper wires is a sliver of wychsteel, no larger to cat’s pupil. This is the source of the stave’s power.

Creed: "If mortal kind was not meant to meddle with the Gods' domain, then why is it there? Right in front of us~?"

Personality: A cynic would call her a "sociopath", an optimist would call her an "eccentric", a realist would keep his mouth shut. Margeaux is not the nicest or the meanest girl this world will yet encounter, but it goes without saying that this Fleurisian flower has plenty of thorns. She is both complex and simple, readable yet unpredictable.

Margeaux is not asocial, she genuinely enjoys the company of others. But only when they are silent and merely listening to her prattle on about the things she likes. It explains why she prefers the company of the recently exhumed or hapless sycophants, though the former greatly outnumber the latter.

She is a cheerful and energetic. She is as giddy as they come. Though all her enthusiasm is poured into her work and experiments. She loves it when things go her way and act on it with great giddiness. She would try to share with it other, but frankly, she sees many, if not all, other people slow of intellect and utterly boring.

Margeaux is undeniably brilliant. She would not be where she is right now if not for her considerable affinity for science and magic. However, brilliance only goes so far; in truth she is also astoundingly ignorant and naive at times. For all her observance, rarely does she look up from her work and take in what is going on around her. Keeping up with current events is simply not her strong suit. She does not even know the Empress' name.

To make it worse, she loves being in charge. The desire to be in control seems to be hard etched into her psyche. Someone always has to be lead by the nose by her for Margeaux to be satisfied. Slow to trusting anyone with her work has lead her to work with few assistants and fewer friends, with only her immediate family to count on as support.

Finally, Margeaux is ambitious. She will stop at nothing to achieve her dream of bringing the fields of science and magic together and take the realm by storm with her new world thinking. No ethic, moral, nor divine fiction can stop her, and that maybe the problem....

Skills and Talents: Engineer and Witch both, Margeaux's undying pursuit in melding these two hallowed arts together opened up a field of study she alone has partaken, opening a whole inventory of devices and spells she can call on at a flick of her wrist. Devices that need the input of mortal hands, but discharge like fire from the Aethereal.

Banes and Failings: If one were to rely on Margeaux in a fight, then they deserve whatever beating they get. She lacks the will, the guts, and the strength to engage anything short of a sick puppy in melee combat. Likewise, her own naivety and unawareness results in complete distraction, and that her unscrupulous nature brings about moral dilemmas that will bring her into conflict with many people.

Biography: What can be said of Prof. Margeaux Bon that is not already gossiped through the forums of the College of Mages and the streets of Fleuris’s highborn? What can be said of her that do not allude to her many appellations, “The Mad Doctor”, “The Gypsy Street Witch”, “The Lady of Explosions?” Rumors constantly circulate of this eccentric and bombastic young witch, with more than a few catching the ear of her Imperial Majesty.

Despite all the rumors, much of her story can be told. Her parents were lowborn, an army doctor and a tavern maid who lived on Fleuris’ meanest street, the notorious Gypsy Street; they loved their children very dearly, but cholera claimed them both and a young Margeaux was left in the care of her older brothers, Jacques and Martellus. As her parents loved her, so did her brothers. Jacques turned to a thug’s life, thieving the streets to feed her, and Martellus joined a mercenary company, operating its artillery to keep Margeaux in school. While she had her food and learned her maths and letters, she rarely saw her brothers. So in her solitude she looked to her textbooks for companion. Teachers and tutors took note of the frightening pace she took in new knowledge, especially the basics of science and magic.

At the age of 16, she discovered her talent for magic and applied for the College of Mages, where she truly found her calling. Her peers insisted she look to the schools of magic and find her place, be it invocation, enchantment, or conjuration, but Margeaux’s fascination always took her to the little seen school of engineering, where acolytes and students looked to the sciences to explain the fickle nature of magic. In three years, Margeaux took this failing school and turned it into a true place of learning. She invented, she discovered, she learned new things, and she shared that knowledge with her peers. And yet… she was not lauded a hero.

Students and professors alike did not see a brilliant scholar and researcher, but a mad inventor, conjuring devices that burst to flames or blasts to lighting. They fear the girl as much as they respect her work, to them she is only one thing: The Gypsy Street Witch.

...The other tall
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Name: Khars Damos, The Last Red Pauldron

Race: Halcyona

Gender: Male

Age: 40

Visage: 5’8”, of pure Hacylon stock and earned strength, Haster looks to all a man who walks the path of hardship. Sun baked skin on a stout frame of broad shoulders and thick limbs, marked by scars left by beasts and blades alike. His head is clean shaven, a beard of a dark brown shade adorns his lips, flecked with strands of grey, a nose healed from being thrice broken and dark green eyes centerpiece his grizzled visage.

Though a man of means, Haster prefers to travel light. Better to look poor and dangerous, than rich and vulnerable. A white cloth tunic and roughspun trousers with a padded gambeson of a dark green textile. A hauberk of iron unpolished chainmail worn over the gambeson and to protect his feet, a pair of leather boots with iron splints. On his head sits a cloth hood that serves as cushion for a iron nasal helm. But perhaps the most notable thing about him is the red pauldron he wears; a thick leather shoulder guard leashed to his right side with a belt, dyed blood red. This is the mark of the Red Pauldrons, free mercenaries of Hacylona. Slung to his back most times is a sanguine scutum and tied to his belt are scabbards for his arming sword and daggers, and a loop to hold his wood axe. A short spear he carries at all times.

Temperament: A man of little aggressive manner, if that makes any sense in the world we dwell in. To engage Khars on the battlefield is to fight a implacable soldier, never yielding a hint of fury or despair as he trades blows. He possesses a stone writ conviction and a strong moral compass, yet holds to himself a sense of pragmatism; honor sets him on a path away from darkness, but he is not blind to the evils of man. Khars is patient, loyal, and kind to those treat him in kind, and merciless to those who transgress him. Such is the soft spoken man who lives by the sword for coin, marching in lockstep with his battle brothers.

Skills, Talents, and Virtues: With weapon and shield in hand, Khars is a damn good soldier and a consumate professional. Put him in a shieldwall and he’ll hold the line with his fellow battle brothers, following orders dutifully or leading by example. His past experiences taught him how to win and lose battles in such a way he always walks away with his life. As well, he knows how to bargain. As a freelance soldier he often must negotiate his pay with those who think to hire him on the cheap, ever wary of what or who his assignment is. And of course, as per his heritage, he knows how to swim. A skill oddly lacking in many a sailor...

Khars knows the Khazistani, Taraamite, and Susrahite tongue well, and a little bit of Zakharai

Weaknesses, Blunders, and Shortcomings: His personal morals does leave him somewhat rigid in his way of thinking. He will never steal or cheat, preferring hardship over an easy shortcut any day, despite the fact his life would have been leagues better if he did once in awhile… Not to mention his old wounds. He isn’t considered old by many standards, but twenty or so winters’ worth of force marches, pitched battles, and bloody sieges is taking its toll on Khars. He may be just as dangerous as he was as young man, but he is not as nimble or energetic.

Faith: Khars has prayed to many gods in the past, though he’s not quite sure remembers which ones...

Origin: Glorious are the kingdoms of Halcyona, resplendent in their wealth. With each king chartering countless merchant ships to bring wealth and wonders from across the seas. But the wealth of the islands is not shared evenly, where there are wealthy merchants and dazzling generals marching the streets, hundreds of peons and beggars dwell in their shadow. Khars and his family were fishmongers by trade, Khars always tasked with skinning fish just as they were brought in by fishermen. It was humble but meager work, and Khars always aspired to more than what he is, a sentiment shared by his many siblings.

Then came the Red Pauldrons.

Free men who fought for money, and an inexplicable pride in what they do. Their commander stood on the docks, recruiting the poor and desperate. He said that the Red Pauldrons did not cared for birth or creed, every man who joined was a free man, a brother, a peer. Seduced by his words, Khars said his good byes to his family and signed on with the Red Pauldrons. For the next decades he would serve with distinction. He and his fellow Reds fought for many kingdoms, lords, and even fell sorcerers. Wealth was his, glory was his, and he shared it with a hundred men who stood by his side.

And like all good things, it did not last forever. Vengeful Khazraj saw to the destruction of all he stood for, in broad daylight as Red Pauldrons skirmished with what looked like a small patrol were killed to a man by a storm of thundering hooves, raining arrows and flashing swords. Khars fled that battlefield, clutching a slashed waist and barely conscious. In his satchel was the tome of the Red Pauldrons’ long and storied past. Now he alone can tell their story and perhaps further it...

Bonds: Tygran Ysgrimnir - I look into his eyes and see the leagues he walked upon the Path of Hardships. Grim fury and quiet virtue possess his stony countenance in equal measure. I do not pretend that I will ever truly understand him, but I know for certain my loyalty is his. He saved my life, and that is enough for this old Red Pauldron.