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Post by DerpWolf on May 27, 2014 4:00:07 GMT
It's funny, sometimes. The way you sit back and look at the world, asking yourself, "Did I make the choices I wanted? Did I live up to my potential?" Some did. These people we call heroes or savants. These people we call farmers and lovers. Anyone can live their life the way that they want. Sit now, and listen. Listen to the stories of our people, from generations past. Some may have called them destructive. Others called them villains. Some hail them as heroes. But in the end, they were simply people, living unbound. Listen now as I tell you the stories of the Ten Lands.
~~~
The Ten Lands are filled with mystery, intrigue, and race-politics. Since I don't know what sort of races everyone will go with in the end, I'm going to post up the template you should use, review it, and then think up a good scenario once I've collected them all. Quick reminder that the beast races are:
Drakr: Wingless humanoid dragons Cherrit: Humanoid birds LaRou: Humanoid wolves Lunarin: Humanoid cats
The notes I handed out are important to remember. Most of the races don't fit into the common tropes.
Name: Race: Parentage: <If half-breed> Age: Gender: Appearance: Weapon of Choice: Armour choice: Magic: <If Applicable> Occupation: <If applicable. Some people are homeless vagabonds> History:
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Post by BrotherDeath on May 27, 2014 5:58:37 GMT
Name: Tormin Race: Undead LaRou Parentage: Unknown (skeletal structure strongly indicates pure-breed) Age: Unknown (Undead 6 years) Gender: Male Appearance: 8' 2", with notably thick bones bleached almost pure white. Weapon of Choice: Greatsword (well-maintained) Armour of Choice: Heavy Plate Mail (well-maintained but scarred from years of battle) Magic: None Occupation: Bounty Hunter and Mercenary
History: Tormin Awoke in an unknown city, unable to remember anything from his past life. All he knew was that his body was craving the weight of weapons and armour. Disregarding the other Undead that were attempting to attend to him, Tormin rose and left the Temple of Awakening, searching for some way to enlist into the local military or guard; his instincts told him to fight, all he needed to know was who and where. He quickly found himself drafted into a local militia, raised to repel a rapidly growing force of rebellious bandits; four years of service saw the rebellion completely suppressed, and, sick and tired of being unable to operate independently, Tormin sought employment in a mercenary guild. Two years of working on his own terms gave Tormin all of the experience he needed to know that this work fitted him perfectly, as well as enough income to afford his own equipment and even a small home in the city he Awoke in.
<All of this ok?>
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Post by DerpWolf on May 27, 2014 10:26:46 GMT
<Yup.>
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Post by anoroath on May 27, 2014 11:56:23 GMT
Name: Chinika Race: LaRou Parentage: Full blooded LaRou Age: 32 years Gender: Female Appearance: 7'9" with silver-like fur with a well-toned body, somewhat muscular. Weapon of Choice: Two-handed Warhammer Armour of Choice: Tribal leather clothing Magic: Elemental Magic, affinity for Earth and Fire Occupation: Soon-to-be Head shaman of her tribe
History: Having shown affinity for elemental magic at a very young age, Chinika was taken from her parents and raised by the head shaman of her tribe, so that she could one day succeed her. She was taught how and when to call for help from the elementals, and when not to. As she matured, Chinika showed great interest for the magic concerning Earth and Fire, and her tutor was pleased, as these two elements had always had a speciel place in their tribe. When the old and wise head shaman saw her time soon drawing to an end, she sent Chinika away, to experience the world. Chinika had to learn how the world works, and how to fare herself in it. And so Chinika set out. She soon realised how very small of an island she and her tribe belonged to (They come from the island to the north-east on the map, up in the corner). Wanting to learn more, she journied to the mainland, using one of the undead ships.
Politics: Chinika bears no hatred to any of the races she lives amongst, that being the undead and the humans. She has so far been almost oblivious to the existance of other races than her own, as her tutor was convinced that the knowledge of these would be optained through Chinikas' journey.
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Post by yourcomputer on May 27, 2014 14:45:55 GMT
Name: Draykur Race: undead drakr Age: 3 years undead Gender: male Appearance: 6'5" thick bones with very think dirty dented armor and a large ragged cloak and 4 hand cannons strapped underneath and a large dirty brown pack on back filled to the max Armor: large dented grey dirty armor covering the whole body (not including head) Weapon: a few hand cannons and a good amount of gun powder Magic: N/A Occupation: N/A History: he woke up on a shore with no memory of anything or anyone next to a ship crash and in torn Sailor gear. A quick look around and he found plent of gold bowing he'd need some for his new life and everyone else here was to dead to use it he took all he could carry. Still pretty shaking up about the whole thing he started walking until he came across a human settlement where they called him a drakr where he confused this with his name, after a while they pointed thin to a undead city he should go to. When he got there he started to remember more and more about the world and what he didn't remember he was taught, but still none of himself. With the gold he found was enough to buy a ship and crew where he was a captain for sometime. He found being a captain boring so he sold everything to adventure the land! (Sorry about grammar I'm on my phone writing this)
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Post by brownbear96 on May 27, 2014 21:04:11 GMT
Name: Ichabod Draken Race: Human Age: 19 Gender: Male Appearance: 6ft tall, standing above most women and shorter men. Has ebony dark skin, golden hazel eyes, and sharper features. His black hair grows in tight curls, and is fashioned into dreadlocks. He has a slim build, with long limbs, and slender fingers. Has a large burn scar that dominates the left side of his face, though his eye is appears healthy. Weapon of Choice: Carries a dagger and light crossbow, his dagger is always poison dipped, and he does the same with his bolts. Armour choice: Wears a grey long coat and a light iron cuirass, leather boots, and a grey travelling hood. Magic: (Is alchemy considered magic in this word?) Occupation: Alchemist History: Ichabod Draken was raised solely by his father, Simon Draken, his mother having died giving birth. Ichabod's father was an alchemist, and a damn good one, he owned an alchemy store in where he and Ichabod lived. Naturally, Simon taught Ichabod alchemy as he grew up, but he wasn't a patient teacher. When not teaching, Simon was tolerable, even generous at times, but as soon as any lesson started, hours of verbal abuse would ensue. Most commonly he'd note Ichabod's incompetence while making potions, and wouldn't give any complements no matter what he did correctly. This treatment drove Ichabod to work hard, no doubt as Simon intended, but it lead to reckless ambition.
When he was 15, Ichabod trying to develop a powerful dissolvent, which he ended up spilling on himself, resulting in a disfiguring burn scar. After that, his father lost heart for teaching him, and left Ichabod to learn on his own. He still was able to learn efficiently via experimentation, but began to gather ingredients on his own instead of from his father's shop. Most of them he gathered from herbs, but if he needed a component from an animal, he'd slather a bolt in home brewed venom, and go hunting, leading to the development of outside survival skills.
Soon after becoming an adult, Ichabod left his father to his shop and set out into the world on his own, making gold from selling potions and poisons he brews, and using the gold for new equipment, never settling anywhere for too long.
Politics: Ichabod's father was a sort of particular in terms of racial opinions, a trait that was passed on to Ichabod. The more human races, elves, dwarves, and even orcs, he considers civilized, and minds their culture when interacting with them. The more bestial races, he knows little to nothing about, and assumes them savage. He lacks any major hatred or love of any race, even humans. (Ya'll tell me if this is good to go, and sorry for taking so long.)
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Post by DerpWolf on May 29, 2014 9:18:15 GMT
Name: Tehrane Whitewhisker Race: Lunarin Parentage: Pure-bred Age: 27 Gender: Female
Appearance: Tehrane stands approximately 5'9, with a tall and slightly muscular build. Her skin is very pale, and covered in a coat of short, luxuriously soft silver-grey fur <No pattern> that changes shade in different light levels. Whitewhisker's eye is very large and a brilliant, blazing forest green. Her muzzle is medium length. Despite the catlike features of her body, she is clearly very feminine. Her tail, unlike the rest of her body, is covered in thick, long, fluffy fur, similar to that of a Maine Coon. She wears an eyepatch over her missing left eye, and the socket around it is covered in deep scars. She is also missing the ring finger of her right hand. Weapon of Choice: Elegant shortsword crafted by the best smiths in the Lunarin Royal Craftsman Guild. The blade is approximately three hand-lengths long made of a durable steel. It has a slight curve. An inscription on the blade reads, "For the Heart of the Guard." The very edge of the blade glows a soft green. The handle is wrapped in black leather, worn smooth and shiny from use. The pommel is shaped to look like the mouth of a large jungle cat like a jaguar, with massive fangs. Two emeralds sit within the eyes of the cat. Armour choice: Contrary to the pristine condition of her weapon, Tehrane's armour is a relatively plain, but sturdy set of splintmail. It has a few dents and scratches, and has clearly seen battle on many occasions. Scars stand out in the metal from repeated repairs. Her boots are mud-stained, but sturdy, and her helmet has holes for her ears to poke out. Magic: Tehrane has combat mastery of fire and air magic.
Occupation: Former bodyguard to the Lunarin Queen. Currently a mercenary. History: As per tradition, Tehrane, as the fourth kitten in the royal litter, was placed in the guard from birth to be raised as the bodyguard to her sister, Queen IllidaraGoldeneye. She was stripped of her name and was simply referred to as 'kitten.' At a young age, she was found to be particularly sensitive to magic, and had a natural aptitude for it. The guard in charge of her training contacted one of the royal mages, and they trained her in the art of the battlemage, balancing the destructive powers of magic with the physical arts of combat to create a powerful and situationally-flexible soldier perfect for defending the Queen. Upon official completion of her training, 'kitten' was allowed to choose a true name for herself. While she always wanted to try learning the healing powers of nature magic, she never managed it, so instead she specialized in applications of fire and air spells.
She served as the Queen's personal bodyguard and soldier for many years. Tehrane would accompany the Queen onto the field of battle, or 'eliminate' problem individuals on her behalf. During the recent war between the Lunarin and the northern clan of elves, she was trapped on one of the ships during the Lunarin's massive naval defeat. After nearly drowning, and just barely escaping the ocean battleground, she returned home with news of failure. Queen Illidara did not take the news well, and secluded herself in her chambers, asking for time to think. When she was done, she stripped her sister of her job and her armour, then ordered her to leave the Lunarin lands immediately. However, she let Tehrane keep her royal weapon. What exact reason the Queen chose for exiling her prime soldier and confidant, none of the royal advisers can say.
Using her skills as a battlemage, Tehrane quickly found it easy to sign on with mercenaries or take odd jobs that needed a violent hand to fill. She feels that the elves are personally responsible for her disgrace, on top of being responsible for her near death.
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Post by Pyromaniac on Jun 5, 2014 22:25:44 GMT
Name: Lylandra Nardhes Race: Elf (Northern Clans) Parentage: Lylandra never knew either of her parents Age: 22 Gender: Female Appearance: Lylandra is remarkable in that she is taller (5'8), and darker of skin than most elves, and her hair the uncommon colour of black. Weapon of Choice: Lylandra's weapons are as plain as the rest of her. A simple bastard sword and a long-bow. Armour choice: Favoring her bow over her sword, Lylandra prefers to go armourless as it only 'slows her down' Magic: Simple artistic crafting magics, useful for sculpting stone and wood Occupation: Artisan, ex-navy sailor, wanderer
History: Lylandra's parents were both gone before she was even a year old and so she remembers nothing about them, even the woman who took care of her refused to say much about her parents beyond 'they were both great, and they made each other greater', a phrase Lylandra never truly believed.
Like many elves, Lylandra showed an aptitude for magic at a young age, and like many elves she refined her skills to create wonderful works of art with her magic. Her affinity was for sculptures and she fully intended to one day become a master sculptor. However, no sooner had the young woman purchased her own workshop than her people went to war with a Lunarin kingdom to the south.
Her people, having captured an undead port and many of their ships, drafted all able bodied elves and dwarves into naval service. Lylandra was no exception. She operated a canon aboard one of the mighty ships when they struck a crushing defeat against the Lunarin navy, and she participated in the subsequent naval engagement against the combined undead and human fleet the Lunarin allied against them where she was nearly killed.
Only the timely arrival of an undead saved the elven woman from drowning, although why he never said to her or anyone else. She was left to recover from her injuries with a Draky doctor. By the time she recovered, the war had reached a stalemate, with both sides unable to launch a ground war against the other. Rather than return home and rejoin the military, Lylandra chose instead to wander.
While this makes her a deserter, the military of her homeland believes her dead.
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Post by DerpWolf on Jun 6, 2014 4:30:11 GMT
Well with everyone assembled we can start. I'm tired as balls and should have done it earlier, but I totally didn't. Some time tomorrow I will post something to set the stage.
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Post by DerpWolf on Jun 7, 2014 21:10:17 GMT
The Ten Lands. A world with a multitude of colourful races and deep-running cultures. Such a variety, of course, brings with it conflict. Ideologies rubs shoulders, and the friction isn't entirely harmless. War breaks out, for any number of reasons. Recently, the Lunarin Queendom went to war with the northern clans of the Elves, which ended in a stalemate. In a time when tensions and prices are high, while two groups jockey for position, your journey begins. For whatever reasons, you've all shown up in a tavern in the trade town of Oldasil in the Lunarin-controlled territory just south of the northern group of Elves. Despite the looming threat, the town itself is peaceful, more focused on prospering and moving caravans through. These Lunarin are not part of the same group at war with the northern Elven clans.
The tavern itself is decently busy, with a collection of people from all over. From Cherrit to Drakr and everything between (even an undead or two). The most striking feature, of course, is the architecture of the building: It's round. You've entered a tavern that has no corners. The menu sits on the wall, crude pictures depicting most of the items. They range from nice cuts of meat to disgusting bowls of gruel. It also has drinks ranging from water to ale and wines.
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Post by BrotherDeath on Jun 7, 2014 21:31:17 GMT
A large creature, most likely a LaRou, is sitting at the bar; its thick, heavy armour makes it difficult to tell much about it, but the glints of white beneath the plates tell anyone who studies it for long enough that the creature is Undead. The LaRou isn't eating or drinking, but sits unmoving at the bar with its head lowered, almost touching the wooden surface. Undead don't sleep, and it doesn't appear to be praying, so the more informed patrons can only come to the unsettling conclusion that the creature must be listening very carefully to the rest of the tavern around it. Nobody has dared to disturb the LaRou, thinking better of it when they glance again at the giant, dark greatsword sheathed on its back.
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Post by anoroath on Jun 7, 2014 21:42:47 GMT
As the door can be heard opening, a female LaRou enters the inn, her hips swaying gracefully as she walks down the center of the inn, peering around to seek an unoccupied table. A bit disappointed she concludes that there is none. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots two seats that has yet to be claimed at the bar. She makes her way to the bar and drops down on the chair next to the large Undead, a seat none else in the inn had considered taking. As she sits down, she orders a glass of mead from the barmaid and lets out a slight sigh of relief. She peers to her left, quickly eyeing the Undead next to her, concluding that he used to be a LaRou like herself. She places her warhammer she had carried on her back on the floor, leaning it against the bar.
"Good evening. You alright there?" She asks the Undead, as the barmaid places her mead in front of her.
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Post by yourcomputer on Jun 7, 2014 21:47:40 GMT
Sitting at a table is a undead drakr with a brown sack at his feet, he sits kinda of quietly laughing to himself as the tavern reminds him of his short lived time on a ship. he does have a plate in front of him with a piece of meat that has been cut into many times, the drakr seems uninterested in it now and is looking around at the other patrons still laughing the whole time as he wonders how much it would take to blow up the whole tavern, after a few minutes he is reminded of the last time he did that and how much trouble that caused where he sighs at the lack of fun he can have and lowers his head to the table and remains quiet.
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Post by BrotherDeath on Jun 7, 2014 21:56:35 GMT
The Undead LaRou tilts his head towards the woman who has taken the seat next to him, acknowledging her presence, but he doesn't reply to her. He resumes listening, following as many of the conversations around him as he can. Nothing of any great interest thus far; perhaps the LaRou woman would be his best lead after all? The Undead LaRou contents himself with waiting a little longer, trying to broaden his listening focus as best as he can.
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Post by anoroath on Jun 7, 2014 22:16:38 GMT
The female doesn't seem discouraged from being somewhat ignored, and just smile at the Undead. She takes a sip from her mead and turns around on her chair, using the bar as backrest, carefully studying the inn and the patrons in it. She notes that another Undead seems to be sitting alone at a table. A quick thought runs through her head, why aren't the two Undead seeking each others company, since noone else seeks theirs? She brushes the thought away quickly, reminding herself that not everyone is good at socializing.
"I just arrived here a few hours ago. Not planning to stay for long, just taking a short break. How bout you, you up to anything?" She asks as she shifts her gaze to the Undead beside her.
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