Thorn Darkblade
I know lots of things. Lots of things...
Alright, gonna work on getting this thing live today! Roll-call here, 
[Darkest Before Dawn] The Broken Daiklave Teahouse
- Thread starter Thorn Darkblade
- Start date
Zachariah
BLACKJACK!
I'm here, and wondering where Thorns even is
This is the eastern portion of the inner sea around the blessed isle.Zachariah said:
http://www.cartographersguild.com/attachments/finished-maps/6799d1222986056-maps-white-wolfs-exalted-daedonas-exalted.jpg
Thorns is on the south-eastern coast.
Zachariah
BLACKJACK!
Thank you.
Thorn Darkblade
I know lots of things. Lots of things...
So we'll go over final concepts here before we put them up, and then we'll get to playing,
solyrflair
Have Towel - Will travel
Present and ready to go.
Jann Khatun-Marzbei
"The Sunlit Scorpion"
Women may rule, but they can't command. That is the rule in the sand, but it seems to have changed when Jann decided to fight back.
She had been born as the third daughter and didn't have as many prospects as her older brothers and sisters. One sister was already married to a general, a brother married to a wealthy merchant house, another sister engaged, and a brother assigned to a powerful position. She was 12 and the family wasn't paying attention to her. Then the Farzati attacked. Her sister and General were killed early. The brother to the merchant house were imprisoned, their wealth gone. Her sister fled to another town farther away. Her brother killed in the fighting. She hid.
Two years later she was 14. It started out as a series of small pranks, but the people learned they could fight back, if they were quiet about it. Then she got bolder, one of the Farzati died and no one could find the killer. Then a few more died and she had a small group asking her about how she got away with it. The next was an open attack. By years end the Farzati were rounding up random people, but couldn't stop the killing. The following year, they fled, burning their town to the ground.
She promised to rebuild their city, but she didn't know how. But the Farazti had built their own. She formed an army, small and fragile, but they followed her. She raided their farms, raided their caravans, raided their homes. Then she attacked their town and razed it to the ground. The mercenaries they hired to fight against her were boarded up into a tower. She gave them a choice, join her at half cost, or she would strip them of their weapons and armor and kill half of them. They took the bargain, and she now had an army. Some of the Farzati joined her city, and the rebuilding started.
But rebuilding a major city takes large funds. And she had an army to feed. So she took them north at rumors that something big was happening. She could make money there. The first village was close to starving providing for to the Mask of Winters. She attacked the baggage train and gave back half the food as payment. The next was easier, but the third was heavily guarded, but she caught them by surprise.
The Mask of Winters didn't like someone playing with his supply lines. The army was larger surrounded her and her army broke, fleeing back to their home if they could. It was a death knight that hammered her with a mace, pile drove her to the ground. He dragged her back to Thorns, tossed her at the foot of his commander.
Jann Khatun-Marzbei
"The Sunlit Scorpion"
Women may rule, but they can't command. That is the rule in the sand, but it seems to have changed when Jann decided to fight back.
She had been born as the third daughter and didn't have as many prospects as her older brothers and sisters. One sister was already married to a general, a brother married to a wealthy merchant house, another sister engaged, and a brother assigned to a powerful position. She was 12 and the family wasn't paying attention to her. Then the Farzati attacked. Her sister and General were killed early. The brother to the merchant house were imprisoned, their wealth gone. Her sister fled to another town farther away. Her brother killed in the fighting. She hid.
Two years later she was 14. It started out as a series of small pranks, but the people learned they could fight back, if they were quiet about it. Then she got bolder, one of the Farzati died and no one could find the killer. Then a few more died and she had a small group asking her about how she got away with it. The next was an open attack. By years end the Farzati were rounding up random people, but couldn't stop the killing. The following year, they fled, burning their town to the ground.
She promised to rebuild their city, but she didn't know how. But the Farazti had built their own. She formed an army, small and fragile, but they followed her. She raided their farms, raided their caravans, raided their homes. Then she attacked their town and razed it to the ground. The mercenaries they hired to fight against her were boarded up into a tower. She gave them a choice, join her at half cost, or she would strip them of their weapons and armor and kill half of them. They took the bargain, and she now had an army. Some of the Farzati joined her city, and the rebuilding started.
But rebuilding a major city takes large funds. And she had an army to feed. So she took them north at rumors that something big was happening. She could make money there. The first village was close to starving providing for to the Mask of Winters. She attacked the baggage train and gave back half the food as payment. The next was easier, but the third was heavily guarded, but she caught them by surprise.
The Mask of Winters didn't like someone playing with his supply lines. The army was larger surrounded her and her army broke, fleeing back to their home if they could. It was a death knight that hammered her with a mace, pile drove her to the ground. He dragged her back to Thorns, tossed her at the foot of his commander.
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Thorn Darkblade
I know lots of things. Lots of things...
Solyr, that is acceptable. Go ahead and post in characters,
solyrflair
Have Towel - Will travel
So, how much should I be posting there? Background? Stats and abilities? Charms? Not so sure how far I should go into the creation process.
wingnut2292
New Member
Presesnt. Good News! I've been asked to be a godfather! Been having trouble making a background for my Zenith. Either its too long and and not about my character or not epic enough. I may need some help.
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Tian Feng (If this makes him come off too much like a terrorist, it is easy enough to edit a few lines and have him become a member of the resistance. I might do that anyway.)
In all peoples there are at least three orders, and according to circumstances the distinction of these orders will remain though custom or propriety deny them. Those who rule, those who are ruled, and those who transform the rulings of the first into the rules of the second.
- From a scrap of paper found in ruins of the Bureau of Civic Examinations
Heavenly Wind was the son of a midlevel bureaucrat in the service of the satrap of Thorns that Was. Though of purely Threshold stock, his parents adopted patrician styles and affectations in order to advance their position. Their son was raised to piously observe the Immaculate teachings and took the Realm style name Tian Feng when he came of age. He was educated by the best tutors from the Blessed Isle that could be afforded and entered the civil service as his parents had. They took great, and visible, efforts to ensure that he was not favored because of their position, reinforcing their image as honest officials.
Tian Feng, who thinks of himself by that name, felt his entire life that he was giving up. His faith was a placeholder for true piety he did not feel. His change of name was a surrender to foreign fashion. His education was chosen for him, and he never said a word about what he would have preferred. Even his carer was no more then the path of expectations his family had paved before him. When the Mask of Winters came, he capitulated and was quietly folded into the new regime like so many others who did so. It is unfortunate that it took the legislated cruelty of the dead to convince him that he needed to stop ignoring what he believed.
He worked with great diligence, fawning and playacting as needed, to gain the favor of those above him. Yet more then anything his ruthless competence impressed the true masters of Thorns. People called him the Scribe Whose Ink is Blood and the upper echelons whispered that he might advance high and mightily in death or... other services. When he requested administration of the sewers and underways it came as a great shock to his bureaucratic peers. Many assumed he had found something, or was working on a project involving the rumored entries to the Labyrinth.
He did have a plan, though not the one his rivals suspected. He directed work gangs to seal certain sections supposedly to cut off black market activity. He had new tunnels dug which allowed troops quicker transit. Yet there was one thing that no one noticed. Those with all the information available did not think it important and those who were in a position to care were also the ones being exploited to bring it about. The sewer system was carefully transformed into a crude geomantic ward of immense size.
Then Tian Feng had a problem. In order to accomplish his plan he needed assistance and the only ones who would even want to give it were those he had most alienated. So he made do. He transferred from sewer administration to overseeing of prisoners. At the feet of captive monks and dissident priests he learned the ways of spirits and gods. He copied confessions under torture and prayers for aid by hand. He cataloged illicit goods and rituals so carefully that he was able to piece together the rudiments of their working. Only then did he act.
First he carefully oversaw the burning of seized assets to direct essence to the salt gods. He had prayers to them written on the garments of criminals thrown into the sea. At last he met with the little gods and pantomimed the prayers he had memorized. At last, with great reluctance, they agreed and the waters of the Bay of Thorns began to increase in saltiness as the gods walled off the water so that the salt should not flow out. The price in blood and treasure was very great and the people hated Tian Feng all the more for his effort to pay it.
At last the plan was ready. It was during a great performance in the Amphitheater, with visiting dignitaries from all across the Scavenger Lands. Tian Feng had the walls that separated sea from sewers broken and the brine allowed in. It flowed along the contours he had prepared. The dead all over the city were cut off from each other, and the theater itself was severed in two by a warding line. The Mask of Winters himself threw out the counter magic to undo the ward, but that served only to splinter it into thousands of lesser salt lines.
Even still, mortal are sent down into the sewers to scrub away the salt, and they grumble yet louder at the traitor. The bureaucrats grumbled for the crackdown brought upon them by the actions of a rouge member. As for Tian Feng, the Deathlord has plans of his own for the twice betrayer.
There was no incessant drip of water, of the kind that drives a mind slowly to madness. There were no screams to chill the heart, those here were beyond even whimpering. There was silence and all caught in it were naked before its uncaring vastness. Some of the new prisoners, those who knew they were already broken but played the game regardless, shouted and rattled their chains. The silence gladly took in every noise they made, until there was no sound left to give and the silence remained unchanged.
Tian Feng, who stubbornly clung to that name, had not lost that game. He had never played it. He knew his stay with the silence was temporary, already the sound of steps approached. There would be silence again after, and perhaps he would succumb and let the tattered rags of sanity fall away to reveal the naked madness within. Perhaps he would not live long enough to. Either way, now was not the time to fight the silence. Not yet.
He spoke first as the figure was finishing the final steps to bring itself toward him. That was part of the act, and what could he do but play along?
"It wasn't though, not really. It was the quick way, the easy way, the way out. It was surrender. Maybe it was all there was, maybe the other way was too hard for anyone, but you are still here."
"I DID NOT COME TO COMPLIMENT YOU."
"You don't have to lie, neither of us do. We both know why you are here and what comes next. It was not resistance or rebellion no matter what the criers call it when you use it as pretext for crimes you had already resolved to do. It was grand theater, an act on the only stage that matters that signified and changed nothing."
"WHY THEN?"
"For this, this moment right here and right now."
The silence came back in, patiently waiting for him to continue. His interlocutor did not wait for such a tiny thing as a man.
"I didn't fight, when you reached me down there." He didn't bother to gesture toward the sewers. "You noticed that I think."
Perhaps I am playing that game where I pretend I made the silence go away after all.
"I was ankle deep in the brine when you came and I will swear that there was anger behind your eyes. That was the start of it. I saw the blood but it didn't frighten me, it was supposed to be there just like you were."
"ALL PART OF THE ACT."
"No." the man shook his head, "nothing so great as that. You were the audience, never an actor. That was my power, to take agency away from you and make you move in the path I had laid down. You did that to us, you were doing it to me even as I did it to you. Just for that once though, you stopped being you. The symbol that all the statues portray and that all the proclamations invoke is just a mask, and everyone can see through it. The other you, the cold, cruel, calculating thing that needs to be in control is what you really are. That is what I took away from you, that was how I spit at you in a way that you would be forced to notice. That is how I made myself matter."
"I GRANT YOU THIS, SUCH IS MORE THEN ANY OF THE OTHERS LET THEMSELVES HOPE FOR."
The mortal laughed, and there was a hint of the madness exposing itself like lewdly bared flesh at the edge of his tone.
"That is why you will fail, why all of this will fail." He turned to meet the terrible gaze and quickly averted his eyes.
"They hope to destroy you, to overthrow you, to drive you out. They hope to win. That is the hard path, the path I couldn't walk. That surpassing greatness, that excellence, is not what we were made for. To be more than we are, to push past the limitation we place on ourselves, is counter to everything human about us. Those who can, those willing to accomplish something, are not human anymore. They are our great shame, the recognition that we are responsible when we fail because there was more we could have been and done and given. It is they, not you, who are more then they are. They, not you, are Exalted."
That was when the pain began.
- From a scrap of paper found in ruins of the Bureau of Civic Examinations
Heavenly Wind was the son of a midlevel bureaucrat in the service of the satrap of Thorns that Was. Though of purely Threshold stock, his parents adopted patrician styles and affectations in order to advance their position. Their son was raised to piously observe the Immaculate teachings and took the Realm style name Tian Feng when he came of age. He was educated by the best tutors from the Blessed Isle that could be afforded and entered the civil service as his parents had. They took great, and visible, efforts to ensure that he was not favored because of their position, reinforcing their image as honest officials.
Tian Feng, who thinks of himself by that name, felt his entire life that he was giving up. His faith was a placeholder for true piety he did not feel. His change of name was a surrender to foreign fashion. His education was chosen for him, and he never said a word about what he would have preferred. Even his carer was no more then the path of expectations his family had paved before him. When the Mask of Winters came, he capitulated and was quietly folded into the new regime like so many others who did so. It is unfortunate that it took the legislated cruelty of the dead to convince him that he needed to stop ignoring what he believed.
He worked with great diligence, fawning and playacting as needed, to gain the favor of those above him. Yet more then anything his ruthless competence impressed the true masters of Thorns. People called him the Scribe Whose Ink is Blood and the upper echelons whispered that he might advance high and mightily in death or... other services. When he requested administration of the sewers and underways it came as a great shock to his bureaucratic peers. Many assumed he had found something, or was working on a project involving the rumored entries to the Labyrinth.
He did have a plan, though not the one his rivals suspected. He directed work gangs to seal certain sections supposedly to cut off black market activity. He had new tunnels dug which allowed troops quicker transit. Yet there was one thing that no one noticed. Those with all the information available did not think it important and those who were in a position to care were also the ones being exploited to bring it about. The sewer system was carefully transformed into a crude geomantic ward of immense size.
Then Tian Feng had a problem. In order to accomplish his plan he needed assistance and the only ones who would even want to give it were those he had most alienated. So he made do. He transferred from sewer administration to overseeing of prisoners. At the feet of captive monks and dissident priests he learned the ways of spirits and gods. He copied confessions under torture and prayers for aid by hand. He cataloged illicit goods and rituals so carefully that he was able to piece together the rudiments of their working. Only then did he act.
First he carefully oversaw the burning of seized assets to direct essence to the salt gods. He had prayers to them written on the garments of criminals thrown into the sea. At last he met with the little gods and pantomimed the prayers he had memorized. At last, with great reluctance, they agreed and the waters of the Bay of Thorns began to increase in saltiness as the gods walled off the water so that the salt should not flow out. The price in blood and treasure was very great and the people hated Tian Feng all the more for his effort to pay it.
At last the plan was ready. It was during a great performance in the Amphitheater, with visiting dignitaries from all across the Scavenger Lands. Tian Feng had the walls that separated sea from sewers broken and the brine allowed in. It flowed along the contours he had prepared. The dead all over the city were cut off from each other, and the theater itself was severed in two by a warding line. The Mask of Winters himself threw out the counter magic to undo the ward, but that served only to splinter it into thousands of lesser salt lines.
Even still, mortal are sent down into the sewers to scrub away the salt, and they grumble yet louder at the traitor. The bureaucrats grumbled for the crackdown brought upon them by the actions of a rouge member. As for Tian Feng, the Deathlord has plans of his own for the twice betrayer.
There was no incessant drip of water, of the kind that drives a mind slowly to madness. There were no screams to chill the heart, those here were beyond even whimpering. There was silence and all caught in it were naked before its uncaring vastness. Some of the new prisoners, those who knew they were already broken but played the game regardless, shouted and rattled their chains. The silence gladly took in every noise they made, until there was no sound left to give and the silence remained unchanged.
Tian Feng, who stubbornly clung to that name, had not lost that game. He had never played it. He knew his stay with the silence was temporary, already the sound of steps approached. There would be silence again after, and perhaps he would succumb and let the tattered rags of sanity fall away to reveal the naked madness within. Perhaps he would not live long enough to. Either way, now was not the time to fight the silence. Not yet.
He spoke first as the figure was finishing the final steps to bring itself toward him. That was part of the act, and what could he do but play along?
"It wasn't though, not really. It was the quick way, the easy way, the way out. It was surrender. Maybe it was all there was, maybe the other way was too hard for anyone, but you are still here."
"I DID NOT COME TO COMPLIMENT YOU."
"You don't have to lie, neither of us do. We both know why you are here and what comes next. It was not resistance or rebellion no matter what the criers call it when you use it as pretext for crimes you had already resolved to do. It was grand theater, an act on the only stage that matters that signified and changed nothing."
"WHY THEN?"
"For this, this moment right here and right now."
The silence came back in, patiently waiting for him to continue. His interlocutor did not wait for such a tiny thing as a man.
"I didn't fight, when you reached me down there." He didn't bother to gesture toward the sewers. "You noticed that I think."
Perhaps I am playing that game where I pretend I made the silence go away after all.
"I was ankle deep in the brine when you came and I will swear that there was anger behind your eyes. That was the start of it. I saw the blood but it didn't frighten me, it was supposed to be there just like you were."
"ALL PART OF THE ACT."
"No." the man shook his head, "nothing so great as that. You were the audience, never an actor. That was my power, to take agency away from you and make you move in the path I had laid down. You did that to us, you were doing it to me even as I did it to you. Just for that once though, you stopped being you. The symbol that all the statues portray and that all the proclamations invoke is just a mask, and everyone can see through it. The other you, the cold, cruel, calculating thing that needs to be in control is what you really are. That is what I took away from you, that was how I spit at you in a way that you would be forced to notice. That is how I made myself matter."
"I GRANT YOU THIS, SUCH IS MORE THEN ANY OF THE OTHERS LET THEMSELVES HOPE FOR."
The mortal laughed, and there was a hint of the madness exposing itself like lewdly bared flesh at the edge of his tone.
"That is why you will fail, why all of this will fail." He turned to meet the terrible gaze and quickly averted his eyes.
"They hope to destroy you, to overthrow you, to drive you out. They hope to win. That is the hard path, the path I couldn't walk. That surpassing greatness, that excellence, is not what we were made for. To be more than we are, to push past the limitation we place on ourselves, is counter to everything human about us. Those who can, those willing to accomplish something, are not human anymore. They are our great shame, the recognition that we are responsible when we fail because there was more we could have been and done and given. It is they, not you, who are more then they are. They, not you, are Exalted."
That was when the pain began.
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Thorn Darkblade
I know lots of things. Lots of things...
Well, gimme what you got so far and I'll let you know. Don't worry too much about the details. If you know enough setting to use it, by all means do, but, you can also be from random insert-village-here...it's literally what the Hundred Kingdoms are meant for, along with the rest of the vast uncharted swaths of Creationwingnut2292 said:
wingnut2292
New Member
Ledaal Ryusei was an Immaculate Monk, a member of the Immaculate Choir. Paying a dear price for his craft, he was trained as a classical Castralto from a young age. In the Morning he practiced the forms of the Immaculate's school of martial arts, in the evening he sung the praises of the Holy Dragons. It was a simple life, the life a third son of a Dynast would live. His Eldest Sister would inherit the House in time, and his Older Brother was being groomed to be an officer in the Imperial Legion.
Then Thorns fell. The Immaculate Monks fought bravely along side the Heroic Dragon-Blooded in the defense of Thorns. But the Exalted Guardians became exhausted, and the Undead hordes were effectively limitless and so, the City fell. Ryusei was prevented from fighting as he was an acolyte and not yet a monk. Knocked unconscious for a majority of the battle Ryusei survived to find everything he knew ruined and turned upside down.
On the Graves of the heroic Dragon-Blooded that sacrificed their lives, Ryusei swore revenge and justice against the Undead.
As well as oaths of vengeance are, they don't put food in one's belly. Hungry, dirty and in rags begged for food, literally singing for his supper. This caught the eye of the Undead, as Mask of Winters is a patron of the Arts, with the Twilight Amphitheater appearing out of nothing as the Shadowland of Thorns arose. Singing for the Deathlord was contemptible but it also put Ryusei within sight of his target.
There was a small wrinkle in this plan. The Undead had the roster of the monks and acolytes from the temple and were looking for them. So...when Ryusei was mistaken for a girl because of his sweet unbroken voice, Ryusei swallowed his pride and didn't bother to correct the presumption.
Time passed. Ryusei's, now calling 'herself' Astra improved in skill as the counter-tenor pased through childhood and blossomed into young adulthood. As Astra, Ryusei had cultivated a reputation of beauty and wonder and grew a following in among the Living and the Undead.. 'She' frequently gave the excesses of her station to the poor and needy, and was concidered a fair teacher and healer when she wasn't singing.
In time, Astra recived a request to perform before the Deathlord priveltly, Astra knew she had her chance. In the Empty amphitheater with the Deathlord no less than ten feat away center stage, Astra started her preformance but halfhay though the second movement she sprung her trap and started singning the Incarnate Hymn of Exorcisim and Peaceful Repose. It was an old Hymn, from before the rise of the Immaculate Order, written in the Old High Tongue, discovered deep in the Music Libraries of the very Amphitheater Mask of Winters made appear.
A team of 25 (since 5 is a lucky number in Creation, 5x5 is considered very lucky) exorcists- members of the resistance that exists underground in Thorns- arose from thier cover as stage hands and ushers and began anointing the stage and theater with incense Jade censor and scattering oil, rice blessed and wardes blessed in the name of the Holy Dragons, all while singing the harmony to Astras melody.
It worked. The Deathlord was visibly setback. He acted like he was short of breath, moved slow and showed signs of not-slight pain and nausea, like having a the a migraine headache with a bad case of food poisoning on the side. It may not be the immediate dismissal back to the Underworld a lesser ghost would suffer, but the Deathlord was affected.
But then the air turned black in negative light relief and one of the Mask of Winter's Deathnight lieutenants attacked, and wasn't affected by the Hymn and holy rites. At least, not the the same degree. Visibly shaken, Mask of Winter anger was as cold as his mask, and instead of killing Astra outright, he commanded her to be brought to the Jugernaught to "be made an example of."
Then Thorns fell. The Immaculate Monks fought bravely along side the Heroic Dragon-Blooded in the defense of Thorns. But the Exalted Guardians became exhausted, and the Undead hordes were effectively limitless and so, the City fell. Ryusei was prevented from fighting as he was an acolyte and not yet a monk. Knocked unconscious for a majority of the battle Ryusei survived to find everything he knew ruined and turned upside down.
On the Graves of the heroic Dragon-Blooded that sacrificed their lives, Ryusei swore revenge and justice against the Undead.
As well as oaths of vengeance are, they don't put food in one's belly. Hungry, dirty and in rags begged for food, literally singing for his supper. This caught the eye of the Undead, as Mask of Winters is a patron of the Arts, with the Twilight Amphitheater appearing out of nothing as the Shadowland of Thorns arose. Singing for the Deathlord was contemptible but it also put Ryusei within sight of his target.
There was a small wrinkle in this plan. The Undead had the roster of the monks and acolytes from the temple and were looking for them. So...when Ryusei was mistaken for a girl because of his sweet unbroken voice, Ryusei swallowed his pride and didn't bother to correct the presumption.
Time passed. Ryusei's, now calling 'herself' Astra improved in skill as the counter-tenor pased through childhood and blossomed into young adulthood. As Astra, Ryusei had cultivated a reputation of beauty and wonder and grew a following in among the Living and the Undead.. 'She' frequently gave the excesses of her station to the poor and needy, and was concidered a fair teacher and healer when she wasn't singing.
In time, Astra recived a request to perform before the Deathlord priveltly, Astra knew she had her chance. In the Empty amphitheater with the Deathlord no less than ten feat away center stage, Astra started her preformance but halfhay though the second movement she sprung her trap and started singning the Incarnate Hymn of Exorcisim and Peaceful Repose. It was an old Hymn, from before the rise of the Immaculate Order, written in the Old High Tongue, discovered deep in the Music Libraries of the very Amphitheater Mask of Winters made appear.
A team of 25 (since 5 is a lucky number in Creation, 5x5 is considered very lucky) exorcists- members of the resistance that exists underground in Thorns- arose from thier cover as stage hands and ushers and began anointing the stage and theater with incense Jade censor and scattering oil, rice blessed and wardes blessed in the name of the Holy Dragons, all while singing the harmony to Astras melody.
It worked. The Deathlord was visibly setback. He acted like he was short of breath, moved slow and showed signs of not-slight pain and nausea, like having a the a migraine headache with a bad case of food poisoning on the side. It may not be the immediate dismissal back to the Underworld a lesser ghost would suffer, but the Deathlord was affected.
But then the air turned black in negative light relief and one of the Mask of Winter's Deathnight lieutenants attacked, and wasn't affected by the Hymn and holy rites. At least, not the the same degree. Visibly shaken, Mask of Winter anger was as cold as his mask, and instead of killing Astra outright, he commanded her to be brought to the Jugernaught to "be made an example of."
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solyrflair
Have Towel - Will travel
Okay. I was looking through the core book, and heroic mortals get different numbers for stats than exalted. Should we be building based off the heroic mortals number?
Thorn Darkblade
I know lots of things. Lots of things...
Nope, no stats or anything! So new players don't have to worry too much about the opening build and whether or not something is built right, stats will be given based on backstory and straight role playing in the opening
Thorn Darkblade
I know lots of things. Lots of things...
In short I'm making it evolve from diceless to dice based in-game as you guys learn the rules
wingnut2292
New Member
How was my background? I have some more ideas if that wasn't good enough.
Zachariah
BLACKJACK!
Here is mine
"Adamant Raven of Implacability"
Adam decided to reevaluate his life choices as he hung in the dungeon, chained both hands and feet to the wall. He had once heard someone cry for help, but that had long since ceased. Where had he gone wrong? He supposed he went wrong in accepting the assignment, the one that set him against the Mask of Winters, but what was he supposed to do? He prided himself on two things, a 100% acceptation rate, and a 100% success rate, and when a mysterious figure in a robe came to him asking him to steal an artifact from the Mask of Winters' personal armory, he knew he couldn't turn it down; Besides, if he did succeed, he would gain world renown and be the best mortal thief ever to walk this land.
But that wasn't where it truly started, was it? The actual catalyst that started the terrible dominoes of doom that was his existence would have to be his birth. Now where was he born again? He feared he was beginning to lose himself in the silence, which he thought was pretty funny, as he guessed he hadn't even been here for more than a week. Back to the mental recap, he thought to himself. He was born in the upper north, during one of its many less-than-celestial years. His village had been ransacked shortly after his birth, and his parents fled to the east, where they settled down in a little town called Ravenwood. That town was sacked also, leading to the death of his parents and him fleeing to a large trade center where he began using the alias of Raven and began making a living by stealing from shops. Eventually, someone caught him and threatened to turn him in unless he sabotaged the competition through theft and planting vermin. He had done so well the impressed shopkeeper paid him for his efforts. Thus began his career as a mercenary and thief. He eventually gained a reputation for having an exalted level of determination and professionalism, which earned him the rest of his nickname.
It had started well, admittedly, his security was a joke, the sewers were more than big enough to sneak in, although for some reason the whole thing smelled of salt. Then there were the enormous air ducts. Why did he even need air ducts? He's dead. The armory itself however, was where he found a welcome challenge, heavily guarded, magical wards, traps and a ridiculous amount of locked doors. He snuck by the guards, disrupted the wards, disarmed the traps, and picked the locks. At the moments of his triumph, when he was to claim the artifact, he blacked out; awakening chained to the wall of a dungeon that stank of hopelessness.
Hearing footsteps, he was roused out of his thoughts to see the Mask of Winters himself standing before him.
"DID YOU REALLY THINK I WOULD LET AN ENTIRE ROOM OF VALUABLE ARTIFACTS BE SO PITIFULLY UNGUARDED THAT A MERE MORTAL COULD BREAK IN?"
"I was kind of hoping that was the case. But why then, if you were aware of my presence, would you let me go so far?"
"TO SEE HOW FAR YOU WOULD GO, AND TO LEAVE YOU WITH THE MEMORY OF HOW CLOSE YOU CAME TO SUCCEEDING."
Winters let that sink in before beating him to near unconsciousness.
Adam looked in hatred as Winters left the room. He would have his revenge. He would complete his assignment. He would do the impossible.
How was that?
"Adamant Raven of Implacability"
Adam decided to reevaluate his life choices as he hung in the dungeon, chained both hands and feet to the wall. He had once heard someone cry for help, but that had long since ceased. Where had he gone wrong? He supposed he went wrong in accepting the assignment, the one that set him against the Mask of Winters, but what was he supposed to do? He prided himself on two things, a 100% acceptation rate, and a 100% success rate, and when a mysterious figure in a robe came to him asking him to steal an artifact from the Mask of Winters' personal armory, he knew he couldn't turn it down; Besides, if he did succeed, he would gain world renown and be the best mortal thief ever to walk this land.
But that wasn't where it truly started, was it? The actual catalyst that started the terrible dominoes of doom that was his existence would have to be his birth. Now where was he born again? He feared he was beginning to lose himself in the silence, which he thought was pretty funny, as he guessed he hadn't even been here for more than a week. Back to the mental recap, he thought to himself. He was born in the upper north, during one of its many less-than-celestial years. His village had been ransacked shortly after his birth, and his parents fled to the east, where they settled down in a little town called Ravenwood. That town was sacked also, leading to the death of his parents and him fleeing to a large trade center where he began using the alias of Raven and began making a living by stealing from shops. Eventually, someone caught him and threatened to turn him in unless he sabotaged the competition through theft and planting vermin. He had done so well the impressed shopkeeper paid him for his efforts. Thus began his career as a mercenary and thief. He eventually gained a reputation for having an exalted level of determination and professionalism, which earned him the rest of his nickname.
It had started well, admittedly, his security was a joke, the sewers were more than big enough to sneak in, although for some reason the whole thing smelled of salt. Then there were the enormous air ducts. Why did he even need air ducts? He's dead. The armory itself however, was where he found a welcome challenge, heavily guarded, magical wards, traps and a ridiculous amount of locked doors. He snuck by the guards, disrupted the wards, disarmed the traps, and picked the locks. At the moments of his triumph, when he was to claim the artifact, he blacked out; awakening chained to the wall of a dungeon that stank of hopelessness.
Hearing footsteps, he was roused out of his thoughts to see the Mask of Winters himself standing before him.
"DID YOU REALLY THINK I WOULD LET AN ENTIRE ROOM OF VALUABLE ARTIFACTS BE SO PITIFULLY UNGUARDED THAT A MERE MORTAL COULD BREAK IN?"
"I was kind of hoping that was the case. But why then, if you were aware of my presence, would you let me go so far?"
"TO SEE HOW FAR YOU WOULD GO, AND TO LEAVE YOU WITH THE MEMORY OF HOW CLOSE YOU CAME TO SUCCEEDING."
Winters let that sink in before beating him to near unconsciousness.
Adam looked in hatred as Winters left the room. He would have his revenge. He would complete his assignment. He would do the impossible.
How was that?
Thorn Darkblade
I know lots of things. Lots of things...
Sorry for vanishing for a day or two. Spring break is over, back to school. As promised though I will post within every two days,
@Zachariah Approved. Post it up,
Wingnut, trying to excorcise a Death Lord? Ballsy. I like it. Post it up!!!
@Zachariah Approved. Post it up,
Wingnut, trying to excorcise a Death Lord? Ballsy. I like it. Post it up!!!
Thorn Darkblade
I know lots of things. Lots of things...
@Exthalion sorry, forgot you too. Yours is good, We should be rolling soon then
We should be rolling soon thenwingnut2292
New Member
That would be great! How would we of met? Through the Resistance? the Guild, Lookshy or another outside 3rd party?
How long would of we known each other - Weeks, months, years? Ryusei was about 11 when Thorns fell, Astra is about 17 now.
Also here's a plain text char sheet I found.:
Edit: to prevent double posting -
Post it up? Oh, okay. My character sheet. 7/6/5 attribute dots + 28? skill dots + 7 background dots + 18 BP right?
Edit Again: Ah I get it! Posting character in character thread.
How long would of we known each other - Weeks, months, years? Ryusei was about 11 when Thorns fell, Astra is about 17 now.
Also here's a plain text char sheet I found.:
Code:
**The Solar Exalted**
>Name: >Concept: >Caste:
>Player: >Anima: >Motivation:
Attributes
~Physical~ ~Social~ ~Mental~
Strength * Charisma * Perception *
Dexterity * Manipulation * Intelligence *
Stamina * Appearance * Wits *
Abilities
~Dawn~ ~Zenith~ ~Twilight~
( ) Archery - ( ) Integrity - ( ) Craft -
( ) Martial Arts - ( ) Performance - ( ) Investigation -
( ) Melee - ( ) Presence - ( ) Lore -
( ) Thrown - ( ) Resistance - ( ) Medicine -
( ) War - ( ) Survival - ( ) Occult -
~Night~ ~Eclipse~ Specialties
( ) Athletics - ( ) Bureaucracy - ( ) -
( ) Awareness - ( ) Linguistics - ( ) -
( ) Dodge - ( ) Ride - ( ) -
( ) Larceny - ( ) Sail - ( ) -
( ) Stealth - ( ) Socialize - ( ) -
Advantages
Backgrounds
Background Name ( )( )( )( )( )
Background Name ( )( )( )( )( )
Background Name ( )( )( )( )( )
Charms
Name Cost Book/Page#
Weapons Willpower Virtue
(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)( )( )( )( )( ) Compassion Temperance
[ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ] (*)( )( )( )( ) (*)( )( )( )( )
[ ][ ][ ][ ][ ] [ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]
Conviction Valor
(*)( )( )( )( ) (*)( )( )( )( )
[ ][ ][ ][ ][ ] [ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]
Anima Soak
B______ L______ A______
Essence Health Limit Break
(*)(*)( )( )( )( ) -0 [ ][ ][ ][ ][*][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]
Personal 0 / 0 -1 [ ][ ][ ][*][*]Peripheral 0 / 0 -2 [ ][ ][ ][ ][*]Virtue Flaw
Committed [ ][ ][ ][ ][*]-4 [*]Incapacitated [*]ExperienceEdit: to prevent double posting -
Post it up? Oh, okay. My character sheet. 7/6/5 attribute dots + 28? skill dots + 7 background dots + 18 BP right?
Edit Again: Ah I get it! Posting character in character thread.
Last edited by a moderator:
I would suggest the resistance. Tian Feng was about 25 when Thorns fell and is 33 now. I can make a few rewrites so that he wasn't on as much of a personal crusade. This way at least the resistance wouldn't hate him.wingnut2292 said:
As an aside, how good of an Abyssal name is "The Scribe Whose Ink is Blood"? It just occurred to me that it could be a good fit.
Zachariah
BLACKJACK!
I could have been hired by the resistance to steal an artifact that would have turned the tide, maybe?