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"The man who said "I'd rather be lucky than good" saw deeply into life. People are afraid to face how great a part of life is dependent on luck. It's scary to think so much is out of one's control."
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ChaosRequiem
FEPer
26 years old
Male
Transitioning Into Everything
Born June-14-1992
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Running, Writing, and People
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Joined: 9-September 07
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ChaosRequiem

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24 Mar 2008
Location: deep within the southern reaches of Azgarth
Season: Late august
Length: Short to medium, depending on how long interest holds.
Synopsis: four adventurers are hired to investigate a recent rise in Revenants.

Background info:

Alasari, a small fishing settlement of relatively no importance, has recently become plagued with Revenants, undead corpses. They sent word to the capital, where passing adventurers and mercenaries were hired to help dispatch the problem. Now, four of those enlisted wait at the village for the next attack.

Character - Class - Person

1. Varsuun "Var" Al'amehn - Wyvern Rider (lvl 1) - ChaosRequiem
2.
3.
4.



Eh...actually, nevermind. On second thought, I'm really not interested in running an RP anymore.
24 Mar 2008
Name: Varsuun "Var" Al'amehn
Age: 22
Homecountry: Val Mae
Affinity: Anima
Gender: Male
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 135 lbs.

Personality: Confident, self-sufficient, reliable, Varsuun suffers no fools, including himself. Preferring only the company of himself and his wyvern, he often finds himself silently uncomfortable in most social situations. Because of this, he rarely seeks out social events and parties, instead preferring to tirelessly pursue whatever activity he put his mind to. When pressed by too many questions or annoying chatter, he will often release a surprisingly acerbic tongue, an unexpected response from one who tends to be soft spoken.

Appearance: Short trimmed black hair, subtly grey eyes, and a slightly crooked nose tend to make most overlook him. Somewhat small in stature, and with the constant rough tan of an outdoorsman leads one to quickly pass him off as a simple soldier or workman. However, his body is entirely muscular, a necessity for one who fights from the writhing back of a giant flying lizard, and he often dresses in modest greys and beiges. When traveling or in a combat situation, he often wears light scale-mail armor, made of a lightweight steel alloy, purposefully dulled so as not to sparkle in the sunlight, and the spear he keeps slung over his shoulder is finely crafted, despite its simple appearance.

His wyvern, Helios, is mottled grey, and has a wingspan of about 5.4 meters or 17.7 feet. Is of sufficient size and weight to fight on its own, and is hostile to all but his master.

Bio: Varsuun grew up in a fairly normal, working class family of Val Mae. His father, a leather worker, and mother, a seamstress, raised three children, with Var being the oldest. At nine, he was pushed into the military academies, as Val Mae was in a small economic depression and his father was unable to feed his family. He soon lost all ties with his family, and never sought to rediscover them, preferring the dangerous life of a soldier to the boring, unrewarding life of a tradesman.

Surviving the difficult life of a recruit from a young age was not easy, but he managed to come out worse than some and better than most. Graduating as an aerial combat specialist at eighteen, he was provided with a wyvern and sent to deal with outlaws and smugglers. Quickly finding that hunting down criminals was dull and worthless, he began attempting to rise through the ranks, only to find that his birth station prevented him from rising any further than a skyspear (aerial lieutenant). Varsuun then focused on acquiring papers to become a sort of "national mercenary", a Val Mae soldier who traveled to various lands to be hired out by other armies, while sending a portion of his payment back home and attempting to recruit new trainees for the academies. Currently, he is not in any big hurry to find an army, instead seeking to explore Skylessia.

Class: Wyvern Rider
Level: 1

Weapons:
Iron Lance (For fighting on foot)
Iron Greatlance (For fighting mounted)
Whip
Iron Knuckles (always kept in his pocket)

Weapon Levels: (E for everything at the start)
Lance: E

Additional Notes/Comments:

* Despises those who purposefully act weak or coy
* Would rather break a nose then be annoyed by useless chatter or bravado
* Greatly enjoys the company of blond women, and is very polite and honorable
* Will generally fight on foot, with his wyvern offering support on its own. It should be noted that the wyvern only attacks those harming its master, and is indiscriminate of ally or enemy.
* Loves cats and doesn't mind dogs."
20 Sep 2007
Name: Vølstaag Mughsher
Nation: Amalek
Rank: Poruchik (Officer)
Age: 32
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 145 lbs.
Appearance/Personality: A man born of the ice and snows of the far northern regions of Amalek, Vølstaag is not one for compassion or mercy. His cold grey eyes hold perfect emotional control, and his muscular body reflects his absolute discipline. His hair is short and dark, and he's almost constantly garbed in his silver-trimmed armor. However, he is respected among soldiers for his insistence upon living and dining in the same fashion as his men when in combat situations.

His wyvern, Bräan, is a powerful, light grey male with a total length of 24'8" and a wingspan of nearly thirty feet. In combat, it often wears a light suit of tempered steel, and has a reputation for savaging other arial units if they fly too close to him. However, its master is as deadly as the beast, and often will choose to kill another mount if neutralizing the rider proves too arduous a task.

Biography:
Childhood for Vøstaag was a difficult affair. He was the youngest son in a family of nine, his mother forced to fend for herself while her husband left after 10 years of marriage. Often times the young boy was starved of attention from his mother, and abused by his older siblings, often being left to starve while the older siblings received nourishment of both the physical and emotional kind. Life was not easy in the far north, and he killed his first deer on his twelfth birthday, using one of his father's old hunting spears.

When he was old enough to live on his own, he enrolled himself in the newly formed Amalek military. After several years of training on horseback, he purchased a male wyvern from a trader, sending him spiraling into debt but providing him with the chance to rise exponentially through the ranks. Though no prodigy, he was skilled enough to merit an officer's position at 27, and has kept it since.

Class #(level) Balanced Extra-weapon bastion lance-wielding wyvern rider (Wyvern Lord) - 20/5

Weapon Levels: Lance - B, Sword - C

Weapons:

Fallen Grace - (B Lance)
Mithril Flierslayer keen-edged side-hooked lance

Raajnärøk - (C Sword)
Steel Basket-hilted Fatal-Curve Double-Filler Handsword
20 Sep 2007
Due to unfortunate circumstances regarding the basic utilities of my OS, I'm left without any sort of graphics program at all (until I can get my hands on that damn photoshop...). Anyway, could I possibly get a vector style [Link] signature or avatar? Preferably utilizing a more masculine & clean theme with the colors red, white, and black, and containing my name.

If I can, I'll give a favor in return. I don't have any graphical stuff, but I do have a lot of time on my hands and I'm a fair writer.


nvmthxbai
17 Sep 2007
The heavily shadowed tent was filled with a sort of intense communal energy, the thin deerskin walls vibrating with a desire to survive and conquer. The temporary structure was quite large, a grand house for a nomad, and served as the palace of Mesaaraa Valice, a small-time warlord of Erimate. It was rare that anyone save the Queen of Swords and her concubines were allowed in the confines of the rough dwelling, but four mercenaries lay across corse blankets and waited for her presence.

Mesaaraa was fairly wealthy for an Erimatian, ruling a tribe of several hundred soldiers and raiders that controlled a small amount of land. She was a brilliant manipulator, despite her age, and extremely bloodthirsty as well. 90% of her tribe had been forced or coerced into serving her, and her desire for power knew no bounds.

Ærin had heard all of these stories before, and in truth he almost had a morbid fascination with the twenty-something year old woman. One of her scouts had picked him up in a bar towards the south of the shattered country, filling his head with tales of the riches and power he could gain from serving the "Queen of Swords". He had commented that he would be very surprised if an Erimatian could pay any of his debts, let alone a mercenary, but the scout had instantly provided him with a fair amount of gold coins as an assurance of Mesaaraa's funds. Within the next ten minutes, Ærin had gathered his supplies and left with the man, forgetting all promises and errands as the jingle of coinage rang in his head.

Now he found himself trying to pick out the faces of the others who had come to her call, the poor lighting of twilight even further handicapped by the skins of the tent. He decided to hold his voice until it was absolutely necessary for him to speak, or until one of the others broke the silence.
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Comments
High Pope-Lord Bible ...
Three of them?! -flees-
16 Oct 2007 - 6:07
High Pope-Lord Bible ...
What is this letter of which you speak of?
15 Oct 2007 - 14:16
High Pope-Lord Bible ...
THOSE WHO VISIT MY PROFILE ARE ATTACKED BY MY AWESOMENESS.
13 Oct 2007 - 18:08
.:Falkyn:.
Well...SaS and Chef Brian are both good coders, and if you know Hekkerin, he apparently makes skins. *shrug*
30 Sep 2007 - 1:45
.:Falkyn:.
FIRST COMMENT! I just had to do it. :P
28 Sep 2007 - 17:02

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