[PF-1e] Prison Colony Krakengard - The Daylight War

[Fon]

@Inem
Normally I would love a review, but I think my concept is pretty much set in stone and you seem busy, so I'll give the review offer a pass lol. It's good as long as my application has been read. (I don't mind questions, suggestions, or minor revisions though, if some of my character details bug you.)

[Squeak]

"I feels like an empty-headed numptie fer not asking fer a review earlier... I'd like it if ye could give mae app a keek or three and cry me yer thoughts."

Mae app!

[ManicMonky]

Name: Victor Astergrad III

Age: 72 Gender: Male
Race: Aasimar Class: Inquisitor

---

Description A man of slightly more than average height steps from the shadows. The light, golden locks of hair cascade down to his broad shoulders; a stark contrast to the soiled and stained clothing he found himself wearing. Brilliant green eyes gaze from a sharp featured face with a look of inquiry. "What did they charge you with," he asks with a smooth tenor voice. As he moves further into the light, it is clear that he has seen combat as several scars are visible through the tattered clothing. His stride is purposeful and powerful as he makes his way directly toward the other new comers, always seemingly ready to strike if the need arose. He extends a calloused hand in greeting, "My name is Victor."

Personality Victor is a knowledge seeker, the more he can find the better. Though he never wished to actually visit Karakengard, he had to admit that he was intrigued by the shadowy creatures that were unable to be killed but were able to be warded through some ancient ruins or glyphs. He's also a man who get's answers whether it be through friendship, bartering or darker deeds; he prefers to not have to resort to the dark deeds if he doesn't have to though. Due to the circumstances that landed him in this hell prison, he is fueled by determination to be free once again and to remove the blemish that had been been smeared across his once good name.

---

Background   Yarl Astergrad was born of a human mother and an angel father. He never knew his father though, but his mother told stories of how great and honorable of a warrior he was. Whether that was true or not didn't matter because he was infatuated with the stories and promised his mother he would grow up to be just like his dad. When he was finally old enough, Yarl join the local army, hoping to become a great warrior, just like his father. Several years had passed and Yarl had worked hard and others had taken notice of him, but still, he remained an infantry man, never moving beyond initiate. He knew it was because he was different than the others, but no matter how much he tried, the decision makers refused to promote him; it was frustrating, but he was determined to not let it get to him. In time, he was sure that his abilities would be rewarded. His time came one day while the King was on a diplomatic mission and his envoy was ambushed in the middle of a gorge. There was nowhere for them to run so they had to stand to fight. The commander had been one of the first to fall, leaving nobody to lead the men other than the King and having him on the open battlefield in this situation was folly. Yarl yelled, taking command of the men, "Protect the King. Cover the flanks and remember your training!" He then began fighting his way toward the King, pulling him toward cover. In the heat of the battle, an arrow shot directly at them, missing by only inches. "On that archer, now," he yelled, stepping in front of the King. He glanced back just in time to see a javelin hurtling their way. There was no time to think, he just grabbed the King by the collar, kicked his knee out and threw him to the ground. It saved the King, but as the javelin pierced his side, Yarl wondered whether he was done for before everything went black. When he awoke, a servant called out, "He's awake now. Still weak, but he should be fine to talk." The first voice was not one he was familiar with, but the second one he recognized instantly, "Thank you, please leave us." The King walked into view, placing a hand on Yarl's shoulder. "You saved my life, and for that I thank you immensely. The way you took command of the field was impressive as well. How long have you been with the military?" Yarl was still slightly in shock but managed to stammer a reply, "T-Ten years, your highness." The King thought as he replied, "Ten years, and still an initiate, huh? I asked around about you, seems there are some that would prefer you never rise above initiate. But you are a skilled man, and you command respect on the battlefield even if you don't realize it. Tomorrow, I am personally promoting you to Captain of my personal guard," he said with a smile. "I want to repay my debt to you by promising that you and your family always have a place of honor as long as my family remain King's and Queen's."   The Journey Begins For several years, Victor had been a squire to a noble knight. He made sure that the armor was always well polished and the weapons sharp as a razor (at least the edged ones anyway). It was a sense of honor he had learned from his father who had been a squire before him. As far back as anyone could remember, Victor's family had always served as squires to the royal army. Every day he did his absolute best and watched intently while the knight trained and sparred. At night, gathered around the campfire, his hunger for tales of ancient monsters, kings of the past and long forgotten treasure would be filled. It was on his forty-seventh birthday that the knight gave him the finest gift he had ever received, the sword that had been carried into battle for so many years by the knight himself. The balance of the blade was slightly askew after so many years, but it was still a fine blade that he wore proudly and trained with daily. Then the day finally came that he had to put his training to use. They had been surrounded in the middle of the night, the watchmen had barely been able to let out a cry before death claimed them. Bandits rushed out of the dark toward the remaining group but the knight was able to easily repel half of them before they even knew his weapon had been drawn. Normally, Victor would not be in the middle of the battle like this, but at least he would be able to defend himself with the new sword. Having watched the Knight for so long, the Aasimar knew the Knight's moves well so he stood back to back with him, defending and attacking as the opportunities arose. Slowly but surely, the bandits were either killed or driven off with only a few losses to the group. The next morning, as the dead were gathered and breakfast was made, the knight told him that he would no longer allow Victor to be his squire and as soon as they returned to the castle, the young man would be enrolled in the military academy. During his time in the academy Victor found that he was pushed to his limit on a daily basis. At first, it was hard and he wondered if he was ever really going to make it. It seemed like so many of the others were better than he was, easily beating him in the sparing training. Was it because they were so much stronger than him? Was he just that naive? But he was determined to succeed, if for nobody else than himself and the knight he had served; if the knight believed in him, then he could believe in himself. And so, after each long, grueling day, the Aasimar would head back to the training grounds and practice more. During these sessions, unbeknownst to him, Princess Laura took her evening strolls through the castle grounds. She found it odd that someone would be at the training grounds so late in the evening when the rest of the men would normally be resting and preparing for the next day. At first, she thought him just a peasant wanting to play dress-up and gave it no further thought since it didn't appear to be harming anyone or anything. After a few weeks, there was a ceremony for the Princess's birthday where all of the new recruits were to be presented before her and to swear their allegiance to her from this day forth. When Victor approached her, she did not immediately recognize him. His allegiance was pledged and accepted just like any everyone else, but as he turned to walk back to his place, something about him gave a flicker of recognition to Princess Laura, though she still could not place it exactly. Leaning to her attendant with a hand raised before her to halt the ceremony momentarily, she asked, "Who is that boy?" Her attendant replied, "He is the boy that we see training every night during your walks through the grounds." Princess Laura allowed herself a small smile before resuming the ceremony. In the weeks that came after her birthday, she would linger when she came across the training grounds, watching Victor as he practiced so diligently. He will be a great knight some day, she thought. A truly dedicated man who will try until his last breath. But he was exhausting himself with his routine; not getting the rest that the others did was beginning to take it's toll. One night, as the Princess watched, he simply collapsed in mid-swing. She let out an audible gasp and ran over to check on him. He was still breathing, but the pain on his face was an obvious reflection of the pain his body felt. She put her hands on him, chanted a few words, and channeled healing energy into him. A minute later, his eyes slowly opened to reveal the Princess's face hovering over him. Victor's immediate reaction was to crawl backward and get to a knee with his head bowed as quickly as he could. "Princess Laura, I am sorry. Please forgive me!" "There is no need for that. Please, raise your head and have a seat, you are exhausted. Sarah, fetch him some water," the Princess commanded her attendant who did so without question. "What is your name, soldier?" Victor moved to a sitting position with his back against a training dummy, still confused about what exactly was going on, then replied, "I am Victor Astergrad the third, mi'lady." Sarah returned with the water which he took, offering his thanks, then drank deeply not realizing how thirsty he had become until the water had touched his lips. "Astergrad," the Princess questioned with slight bewilderment. "Are you related to Yarl Astergrad?" Victor's eyes looked up to meet Princess Laura's, "You.. know him?"   The Hunt It had been five years since Victor had trained in the military academy, but it still felt like yesterday. Every morning, he ran over the techniques he had learned, performing each action in his mind before getting out of bed as well as the advice Princess Laura had given him, Work hard, be your best, but don't over do it. I can't save you every time, after all. Her smile, dancing though his mind, was enough for him to feel completely rejuvenated and invigorated. Today, he had to cut his review short because he had finally found his quarry; an alchemical merchant by the name of 'Honest' Luke. People who dealt with the underground market knew him better by the name Slickspeak though. From his vantage point, Victor watched as the merchant left his shop and made his way to a dark alley a few buildings away. Looks like that's where the entrance is then, he thought, giving Luke another few minutes before he followed. The alley looked like any other deadend, brick buildings on either side and a wooden fence between. Most secret entrances had a switch though, usually a false brick, so it wasn't long before Victor found his way in. He headed down the dimly lit stairs quietly, stopping to listen for any other sounds as he went. At the bottom of the stairs were three doors, each one looked exactly the same to the average person. But Victor's contact had told him to use the left door on Tuesdays and Fridays; the right door on Sundays, Wednesdays and Thursdays; and the middle door Mondays and Saturdays. Confidently, he opened the door and stepped into a well lit room that smelled of mold, spilled alcohol and tobacco; it was the right place for sure. He moved purposefully toward the back left corner where he knew Slickspeak would be sitting in his favorite lounge chair. "Slickspeak? I heard you have means of acquiring certain pharmaceuticals that have yet to be detectable in the blood," he stated. Not waiting for the man to acknowledge him, he continues, "I can pay well, of course. I just need it before dawn tomorrow as my target will not be vulnerable after that." He reached to a small pouch on his belt that had the look of being stuffed full of coins, untied it, and dropped it on the table with a dull thud and jingling of coin. Slickspeak looked at him finally, then to the coin pouch, "That's hardly enough for such a rushed need, double it and I might be able to help you." The sneer on the merchants face was one Victor knew all to well, greed, power and absolute corruption. He snorted at the counter offer, "Fine, but only half for now until I know the stuff is as good as you claim it to be. If you have it now and can prove it's worth, I will even triple the pay." As soon as the word triple registered in Slickspeaks mind, his eyes lit up and a hand quickly slid into his cloak. Victor knew he had him now,all that was left was to see the goods in action. The sly man produced a tiny vial, only a quarter full, of a clear liquid. "This will do the trick. One drop will paralyze the target for two hours, two drops will put them in a coma for a day, three drops will stop their heart completely. Allow me to demonstrate. Boy! Get over here," he shouted, after putting a single drop into a glass of ale. "This ale is bad, I demand a new one. Taste it for yourself." With just a sip, the boy immediately collapsed on the floor, his eyes wide open, but only his lungs moving. "You said triple then, right?" "Indeed, but I will have to get the rest from my storage. If you accompany me, you won't have to worry about me running off with the vial, and I won't have to worry about you disappearing with my gold," Victor proposed. With a heavy sigh, Slickspeak agreed, "Fine, but no funny business, or I will kill you." Outside, the Aasimar leads the merchant to a different secluded alley, rummages through some discarded trash and pulls out a bag twice the size of his first. He hands it to Slickspeak and takes the vial from him. As the merchant begins to look into the bag, a plume of smoke shoots forth, directly in his face, causing Slickspeak to fall asleep. "Two day's travel from here to the King, guess it's two drops then huh, 'Honest' Luke," he says, mostly to himself.   Betrayal What the hell happened, Victor thought as he grabbed his throbbing head. Why am I in the King's Dungeons? It was still painful to move too much, but he had to see what kind of damage he had incurred. As luck would have it, there were just a few bruises, nothing broken. "How could you plan to betray my father like that," a familiar, musical voice scolded him. Princess Laura, the name came to his mind slowly. "After all this kingdom has done for you, and all you have done for us, you would plan to kill my father? To what ends? More power? Money? ANSWER ME," she screamed, tears rolling down her face. "It's not true," he began, but was quickly cut off by the Princess. "I can't believe I ever had feelings for you, you worm. No, you aren't a worm, you are worse than that, you're a foul, diseased fiend!" The words were like a slap in the face, but nothing could have ever hurt him as much as the next few she spoke. "I wish I had never met you. You are NOTHING like Yarl was. You are a disgrace to his name." His heart stopped briefly at the vehement tone she used. She's never hated anyone in her life, what the hell is going on? "Please, you have to believe me, I would never hurt you, the King or this kingdom. Honest. Someone is lying to you!" The princess just turned up her nose, looking away from his crumpled form, "How could I believe you? You were found with the poison and the bottle of wine, just like Manfried said. The guards said you were the only one to have entered the room all day other than the chef and they escorted him to the wine cellar so it couldn't have been him." As the details were given, Victor wondered how he could have been tricked like that. The alchemist in the castle must have been an associate of Slickspeak's. "I'm telling you, that's not what was supposed to happen," he began again, and again he was cut off by the Princess. "So you admit you were in the room, with the poison and the wine?" He shook his head, "Well, yes, but no, not to poison the King," he said. "But you were going to poison someone," she retaliated. "No, I.." "Enough, it's not going to matter anyway. Tomorrow, you are being sent to Krakengard. You'll fit in just fine with that bunch of liars and scoundrels." Then she walked away, leaving him in complete darkness. "Looks like I will have my chance to kill you after all. I'll see you on the other side, friend," Slickspeak threatened from an adjacent cell. Victor hissed the mans name, "Slickspeak." The merchant chided in return, "Don't act so surprised, Manfried has been the Kings alchemist for dozens of years longer than your name was ever know to him. All it took was the right set of circumstances and I knew your downfall would be guaranteed. You best watch your back in Krakengard; the first chance I get, I will kill you."

[GeoAvanti]

I don't know. It just sort of happened. Like, really. Woke up, realized that I'd go crazy unless I wrote this out. So I wrote it out. Now I feel better.

Application Kel, Male Human Commoner A Final Storytime “Debt. Debt never changes.” The first words were pitchy, like the speaker was trying to sound gruffer and tougher than he had any right to be. “That ain't right, Kel. What 'bout--” The interruption had no such alterations. It was high-pitched and twangy, like the voice of a young child. “Shuush! Stop talking, David! You're ruining the moment!” Kel abandoned his attempt at sounding like a serious adult. He let out a cracking and inarticulate sigh of exasperation, throwing his hands up in the air for nothing more than dramatic effect. Around him, the dark of the predawn farmland quietly devoured the two young voices, leaving them with nothing but a heavy and pressing silence. Kel, the larger of the two, affixed the other boy with a look that only he thought intimidating. “Oh, sorry, Kel. I'll, uh, listen?” David didn't know what else to do, so he used the old stump as a seat and flumped down like he was about to watch the greatest show of his life. Seeing as how he would probably never actually see any shows in his life, the analogy seemed likely to be quite accurate. “Yes, you will!” David all but roared-- in his imagination. In reality, his voice simply dropped an octave and got a teeny bit louder. ”Now, uh, where was I?” He was trying, and failing, to hold his super-serious adult voice. He had a night's worth of practice to make it work. Sadly, he probably needed a few more years to pull it off. Not even his little cousin believed him through the cracking in his voice. David perked up, his smile brightening-- despite only having a couple of teeth in his head.“Debt never changes?” He offered the words easily and quietly, in that terrible stage-whisper that only children can manage. As if there was someone else around to actually overhear the two children. “Right!” Kel responded with sudden vigor. His body language rode the surge of hope and allowed for the wild gesticulations he would add to every word. “Ahem-hem.” David thought it was awesome that Kel sounded so cool when he cleared his throat like that; Kel would never admit that making that noise hurt more than gargling gravel. “Debt. Debt never changes.” He spoke his words, his voice rumbling and crackling in equal measure. Then he remained silent. David waited for a few long seconds to see if his older cousin had anything else to add. “... Is that it?” He tried, and failed, to keep the disappoint out of his voice. He had really hoped that Kel's big speech had been longer than five words. Or was it six? Three? Um, more than he had said. But David smiled anyway, because Kel looked even worse off. “Uh... yeah. I don't really know how I make myself sound like a tough badass.” Kel shrugged and flopped to the ground with the grace of a sack of potatoes. Sprawled out, he watched the sky as it started to ever-so-slightly change color from the distant dawn. ”I mean, only reason I'm gonna be goin' through the portal is to take the blame for someone else. It's not fair.” Kel was tired. Not physically. The other one. In his head. On his shoulders. He was a bad farmer. His family weren't exactly stellar at it, either, but for every wish he made that something else could happen to him, this fate seemed to be the cruelest. Even so, at the back of his mind, he had one peaceful thought: at least he won't have to die as some stupid dirt farmer. “Don't you got, what, five other brothers?” David was ruining Kel's moment of Zen, but it didn't bother him all that much. He didn't really like most of his family. David was one of the only exceptions, and Kel usually got David into plenty of trouble. It was something of a wonder that David was willing to put up with it all just to hang out with Kel. If his folks found out about tonight, he'd get quite a tanning for sure. “Don't remind me,” Kel snapped. He was getting cranky, but his words lacked any threat: a dog with no bite. ”Can't say I don't blame 'em, though. Lose the farm and watch the family starve, or send one wayward son off to die in a magic prison.” He splayed his hands across the cold, wet grass as thoughts turned in his head. “I'm just angry that they chose me over Karen. None of us like her anyway. Well, no point worrying about it now.” Kel closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He watched the vapor from his mouth disappear in the air. ”I've got, what, about an hour until dawn? That's when I'm going to be arrested for something I didn't even do. Stupid parents. Stupid criminals. Stupid colony. Stupid ore and magic portal. Stupid world.” ”Am I stupid?” David asked. His voice sang with childlike concern. He didn't want Kel to think him stupid. Kel laughed. It was a quiet sound, private, even from David. ”A bit, yeah? Not in a bad way, though. We're the good kind of stupid. My parents are the bad kind. Get it?” ”Yeah.” David did not. ”David. I've made a lot of selfish wishes. Bad-stupid wishes. I'm not sure if this isn't what I want, though. In a way. I'm not an adventurer. I'm not a great magician or a clever thief or a strong knight. I'm just a boy who wants to be more. I want you to be more, too. Don't do nothing stupid, but... don't be afraid to do what you have to do, yeah?” David nodded. Kel smiled. It felt good to smile and mean it. ”Now you git on home 'fore your folks catch on that you aren't in bed. And don't forget what I said!” ”I won't!” David cheered, and promptly started running off back home. Kel simply rested on the ground, watching the sky and feeling the wet on his back. Thoughts played against his brain. ”Life,” he voiced. ”Life always changes.” That sounded so much cooler. Who is this Child? Kel is nothing special to look at. He's a young human, somewhere in his early teens (he isn't quite sure, truth be told). He has brown hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin. He's not strong, or fast, or smart, or tough, or charming. He simply is. His mop of brown hair has probably seen fewer washings than the sackcloth clothes he wears, and he's still short enough to be easy pickings for those who prefer their targets small and weak. He's not particularly bright, but he won't forget your name when you tell him, and he likes to think about new and exciting things. His dreams are grand and spectacular. His reality is not. Farming is in Kel's blood. It is also In his his sweat, his tears, and his bones. He despises it. Kel wants bigger and better. He wants anything more than he has now. He isn't greedy, however. His wants are outrageous, but his needs are paltry, and his practicality has full control over his desires. To Kel, any measurably wealth is an improvement upon his life. He has never even seen a gold coin before, let alone a purse full. The women in his life are all related by blood, or less attractive than a mule-- he has a desire for princesses, sure, but that practicality of his life is that settling down with a homely lass who actually likes him is not only more likely, but preferred. In so many words, Kel is a dreamer who has dreams he deems impossible for him. Compared to his dreams, all of life is a disappointment. He can either find himself lost in that disappointment, or he can find wonder and enjoyment from anything that is a step forward. His life isn't about achieving his dreams. His life is about getting as close to those dreams as reality will let him. What's Your Story, Chummer? Kel is a nobody. The son of a family of peasants, he lives with his 9 brothers and sisters next to two other farms filled with a similar number of cousins and near-relations. He has had to work the fields and help with the chores since he could walk, and his life has never been anything else. Except in his mind. Kel dreams because his reality does not let him do anything else. Working fully through daylight hours leaves little time to enjoy oneself. Of course, here and there is childish mischief-- sneaking off to play instead of doing work, but those experiences were the exception, not the norm. Kel only truly lived while he was asleep, envisioning grand, beautiful things or living a life literally impossible in reality. He has been happy in his dreams. He has never felt that spark in his daily life. Every day is the same. The variables change, of course, but it is slave labor for survival. Pray the rain comes. Hope the harvest is good so no one starves come winter. Don't ever get sick. The only piece of Kel's life worth mentioning is that he was recently sold. His family accrued a debt to the kingdom, and as fears grew about this “colony” and the war, his family sought out “other” sources of income. They took loans. Loans which they have never been able to pay back. Of course, such debtors have their uses. The kingdom would simply seize them, toss them in the prison, and give the land to someone else. Such a waste for the enlightened entrepreneur. Kel has been sold to pay off a portion of the debt. He will take the blame for an individual otherwise guilty of a criminal act-- whether this person is part of this criminal group or simply someone who hired their services is unknown and irrelevant. All that matters is that Kel will find himself sentenced and ushered through the portal instead of the true criminal. What happens beyond that is of no concern to anyone. Business is business, after all. Contact He's called “The Baron”. No one knows why, exactly, but he's a contact on the inside of the prison. He works for the Blue Stripes, the folks who sent Kel through. It's his job, supposedly, to keep track of anyone they send through. He's supposed to look out for them. Keep 'em safe, sometimes, keep 'em scared, others. He's supposed to be in charge of anyone affiliated with them on the other side. Whether he actually does, is still alive, or is even a “he” is entirely unknown. Word doesn't exactly come out of the portal much. Still, when someone with the Blue Stripes mark goes through, he's supposed to have his eyes open enough to pick 'em up and make sure they can at least hit the ground running. Supposedly, he assassinated a noble for no other reason than because he could, but people in Krakengard love to talk, so stories abound. The only things known for certain is that someone goes by the title, and they have their own little enterprise set up, complete with secret clubhouse and expendable lackeys. Every once in a while, they grab new prisoners. Do different things to 'em. Sometimes they just get dumped out into the mists at night. Other times, they have a bed, food, and basic necessities covered. There's no rhyme or reason to it, so far as the locals can tell, but then again, most of the locals never knew much about the Blue Stripes on the outside, either. The Crime Kel doesn't know what his crime is-- just that he's going to be called guilty of something in the eyes of the law. Like most of Kel's life, he has been drawn into things well beyond his control. He doesn't know what kind of 'rep' he'll have going into Krakengarde. Will he be a cold-blooded murder? A philanderer among noble daughters? Maybe it's something as crude as indecent exposure or drunk and disorderly. He doesn't know what it will be-- but he knows that it will *matter*. Writer's Note: I deem it important to Kel's character that he really has no idea what his crime is until he's sentenced. The idea of being powerless and without choice is a fundamental piece of his character, and writing him with the knowledge of what he's done takes away, in my opinion, from the evolution of a character who goes from utterly powerless to If not still mostly powerless, but he will at least be able to make his own life decisionsfree. If you must have something, then I guess I can just roll up something random and see what the dice want.

[Sir Alex]

Application Name: Eustacia ("Tashia") nic'Bjerthe Gender: Female Race: Human Class: Cleric Crimes: Blackmail, Extortion Appearance: Tashia is a young woman of bright form and dark shadows. Her skin is fair and her hair skirts the line between blonde and chromed silver. Her blue eyes can be flirtatious, murderous, or anything in between. Still, there is a bitterness that clings to her like grease on the fingertips. In careless moments Tashia holds herself with a lady's bearing, full of sharp wit. Of course, serving time in prison is not the time to alienate oneself with the comportment of a lady, she supposes. Personality: Tashia considers herself a ruthless and creative thinker. A social, intellectual, and adaptable young woman. Nonetheless she is naive in many ways; although Tashia's course took a dangerous turn lately, most of her life has been sheltered, comfortable, and protected from the most vicious elements of society. She still favors manners and civility over subterfuge. There are lines many criminals have crossed that she has not, that she may or may not cross in the future. Background:   Greymoor was like an old tree. From the perspective of a bird or a foot-sore traveler, it was a beautiful city, resplendent in its green roof tiles and white plastered walls, eaves, and arches. It seemed ageless. Bright. Yet, like an old tree, the roots that sustained the city went deep, drawing from dank, sunless places where insects wriggled. Craven worms, the worst sort of men, hid from the light and did their vile business. Spiders schemed to trap the unwary. Indeed, the bright upper reaches of Greymoor were easy to see, but the crawling loam was just as obvious for someone with a shovel or a suite of unsavory interests. In Greymoor, Eustacia's life led her from the high places to somewhere much lower. Born the daughter of a noble lineage, she lived with her parents and elder brother in Bjerthe, a time-worn estate that perched on the bluffs of Tallow River. Her childhood was as carefree as one could wish. Unfortunately, as time progressed it became more and more apparent that her family was cursed. This curse was not an evil spell. Nor was it a black mark from the gods. No, instead it arose from the enduring hatred of Lord Gerrig, the scion of House Daravan. In his youth, Gerrig had coveted Eustacia's mother. He had courted her aggressively, showered her with gifts, and even proposed to take her hand in marriage. Gerrig had been so confident of her answer that he had hedged an entire business venture on the funds from her dowry. But the young woman had loved Eustacia's father, and he loved her in turn. When Gerrig was rebuffed and his venture failed, his heart was crushed along with his finances. It took more than a decade to recover his purse. His heart, on the other hand, was irrevocably shattered. He became a bitter man, the sort who feeds his hatred like a mother nurses her voracious child. Gerrig vowed to destroy Eustacia's parents and everything they treasured. It began with a hunting accident. Her father fell from his horse when a saddle loop snapped, and he shattered his back and died soon thereafter. Then Eustacia's mother was attacked en route to a country market. Her carriage was found in a state a wreckage with bodies of bandits and guardsmen alike strewn around it. The Lady had been hacked down with the rest, her jewelry stolen. Following that tragedy, Eustacia's brother Marten inherited as lord. Climbing a snow-capped mountain would have been an easier task. He took over the family's business, coaxing the finances back into solvency. Many lenders had lost faith in the Bjerthe credit; there were many relationships to re-forge and commodities markets to study. At this point, the brother and sister strongly suspected Gerrig's hand in the deaths of their parents. He had made too many veiled threats in the past. Now, with both parents dead, Gerrig's smug little smile only made Marten and Eustacia more suspicious. Then came the raid on Bjerthe. The men were clad in Nesjarran kits, the distinctive gear and dress of the Nesjah mercenaries used by the Kingdom's enemy. Black lamellar armor. Polearms and spiked gauntlets. They quickly overran the few guards posted on the estate, broke inside, and then methodically set fire to the mansion and every outbuilding. The “mercenaries” barely looted a thing. They killed no one not directly in their path, and the few words they spoke were not Nesjarran but a Southern Greymoor dialect. Granted, Bjerthe lay on the outskirts of the Kingdom, but a great swampland separated the estate from the war's front lines. It would be senseless if not impossible for true Nesjahs to stage such a raid. Most of the mansion burned. The siblings took refuge in the catacombs beneath the foundation, while the home above their heads fueled a bonfire that surely singed the clouds overhead. The following week, Marten was arrested for outstanding debt. Against all propriety, he was sentenced to labor in Krakengard. It caused a minor scandal, to be sure, but between the weave of plain court gossip ran a weft of dark speculation. How long would Eustacia last? The young woman had not been idle while her brother grew into the mantle of House Lord. Eustacia had plied her hand at a softer form of power and influence. She had sought invitations to every social function she could arrange. Yes, she had worn fine dresses and engaged in all the gossip, flirtation, and breathless whispering that was expected of a young lady of her station. Those endeavors were a facade, however. Her real work took place in the dark corners of balconies overlooking distraught nobles speaking in supposed confidence. She crouched and peered through keyholes. She questioned servants, cloaking her barbed inquiries in a velvet glove of nonchalant musings. In time, Eustacia was sneaking into empty studies, rifling through documents and searching for hidden caches. Soon enough, she had more tools at her disposal than wit and sleight of hand. Her success was greased by divine intercession. When she and her brother had fled into the catacombs during the raid on their mansion, Eustacia had stumbled across a side passage she had never noticed before. Inside, hidden in a cleft of rock, was a small Nivi Rhombodazzlebronze idol of a portly woman with gemstones for eyes. The figurine held a bag of coins in one hand and a round lens in the other. Something within its twinkling eyes glowed, piercing her soul, and in that darkness beneath the earth a bond was forged. Eustacia began to visit the idol daily, drawing new skills and inspiration from the depths of its topaz stare. Her fingers grew more nimble, and her tread was silent on the rich rugs and marble floors where she plied her trade. Lords and ladies did not measure their power in the might of their guardsmen, nor very much in the helt of their purses. Indeed, knowledge was the greatest currency. The greater the secret, the greater its value. And so Eustacia became a merchant of secrets. First she stole them. Then she arranged for the victims to buy those secrets back. She kept her files and her secret chambers in the catacombs of Bjerthe, all hidden away in an obscure branch of caverns deep within the earth. And she prayed. Oh, how she begged her little goddess to wrest her family's fate from the rut of misfortune. Yet in her soul, she knew that prayers are meant to supplement action, not replace it. She redoubled her efforts. Marten knew nothing of her activities, and when he was taken from her she had nothing left but her work. In fact, her revenue had begun to exceed his own, in those final days. Eustacia dismissed the few remaining servants and moved her chambers into the catacombs. No raiders or assassins would find her there, she reasoned, let alone look for a lady living in a cave. With enough money, perhaps she could start a new life for herself elsewhere. She only needed a little more coin to secure her safety. She only required a little more time. It was not to be. Gerrig himself came with the King's Guard to arrest her. He had orchestrated it all, of course, though his position as Lord Commissioner of Greymoor gave him a pretext to attend in person. He sneered as they took her away. When Eustacia was cast through the portal, she could not help feeling that she was being reborn. What new creature would she be, if not a child of cunning and vengeance? Roleplay sample:   Drip....drip....drip. The doplets fell from a ceiling beyond the meager light of her candelabra, splattered onto the tip of a stalagmite, and then seeped along its edge to the still pool beneath. The sound had become a comfort, as familiar and unnoticed as the rhythm of her own heartbeat. The tall cavern held her remaining accoutrements. A four-post bed, a large armoire, a workdesk, plus various personal items and objects of her underhanded trade. She was currently crouched behind the armoire. In point of fact, Tashia noticed the dripping because she was silently holding her breath. She had heard determined voices descending from the upper tunnels. They had entered at the worst possible time, after she had already passed the intersection that could have branched into endless looping passages and treacherous caverns. Had their arrival been plus or minus a few scant minutes, they might never have found her. Now, though, she was cornered in her den and like the proverbial rat, she was feeling rather desperate and combatative. Still, her true strength was her mind and not her right arm. There would be no fighting her way out of this. Perhaps if she could persuade whoever was in charge... “My lady Eustacia!” called a horribly familiar voice. “Come come! You may as well give up. We've been scrying your criminal essence for half an hour. You have been hiding behind that same out-of-style armoire for far too long. I pray you'll spare us all any more time in this dreadful hole.” The voice chuckled. “I knew you must have 'gone to ground,' but really. You have done so in assuredly a more literal sense than I had anticipated, my lady.” “Gerrig,” said Tashia, standing up from her hiding place and walking to meet the approaching torches. Lord Gerrig was flanked by two burly guardsmen. A robed figure stood behind them, a woman whose hands held a broad silver mirror. “What a distinct displeasure. Why am not I surprised to find you here? I imagine you have manufactured some dubious claim for which I am to be implicated? Or, am I here to meet with a tragic accident, as you have arranged for each of my family members in turn? Is that not your modus operandi?” The guardsmen eyed each other uncomfortably. “Oh no, my dear girl. Cease your paranoid ramblings, I beseech you!” Gerrig smirked warmly and spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “I'm afraid we have several independent sources who have already testified in regards to your little blackmail ring. Sloppy work on your part, oh yes, but I suppose it's hard to find good help when you have no help at all. Your last servants left months ago, did they not? I recall hearing something to that effect.” Tashia glared, standing absolutely still for a moment. Then she spoke in a rush. “My mother was right not to marry you. More right than she could have imagined! One romantic spurning, and you have become this wretched admixture of banality and jealous cruelty. She was grace where you were grotesque! In your arms, she would have grown to hate herself as much as your...” “ENOUGH!” bellowed Gerrig. Quickly, Gerrig's face transformed from rage back to smugness. “I shall be brief since you cannot keep a civil tongue. The charges are fourteen counts of extortion, seven counts of blackmail, and...” he looked around the damp cavern, “...behavior unbecoming for a proper lady. I've no doubt you will join your brother in Krakengard. Although, hmm...last I'd heard from the colony, your dear brother Marten had gone missing outside the walls. A shame.” Gerrig whisked his hand. “Take her away.” Character Goals: 1. Find her brother if he still lives, or learn of his fate if he is dead or missing. 2. Acquire some measure of security and agency within Krakengard, through wit, magic, or use of the crimes that placed her there. The first step would be to get out of mining duty, since she considers herself quite unsuited to that task. 3. Some time in the future, return back through the portal and take her revenge on Gerrig. She expects this will require her to grow in power and trickery first. Bonus:   Adelai Nelson was brought through the portal four years ago to be a guard at Krakengard. His assignment was the product of his own expendability. He was neither brilliant, well-regarded, well-connected, nor self-promoting. He is a tall, lanky man, with gray streaks of hair in his beard now that middle age lurks around the corner. Everywhere he goes, Adelai wears a rumpled leather hat with a wide brim, doffing it to women and superiors alike. After four years on the graveyard shift, patrolling the walls back and forth each night, Adelai is arguably insane. Nowadays most call him “Addled” Nelson. Few will lend an ear to the far-fetched stories of what he has seen outside the walls at night. Nor will the other guards listen to his conspiracy theories surrounding the demons and their strengths, weaknesses, or predilections. He offers charms to ward against demons for any who will take them. Only some of the new arrivals take him up on the offer, wearing the trinkets made of feather, bone and twine for a time before discarding them. Adelai also claims he can read some of the ward language on the ancient ruins. When pressed about what they say, however, he either babbles nonsense or goes all shifty-eyed. These days, there is pressure to revoke Adelai's guard duty and render him a prisoner instead. It is unclear what value he has as a sentry anymore. Yet if this were to happen, the toll on the morale and loyalty of the other guards would be too high, in the judgment of the guard captain, and so that step has not be taken yet.

[ManicMonky]

I feel complete with Victor. I decided to wrap part of the background in with the RP as well as the "important people". I hope that is alright.


If you would like to review my application prior to selection, that would be most appreciated; however, I know it got a little bit long and time is precious.

[Sassafrass]

Aaand Torum is now complete, and awaiting my own review. When that's done, I'll PM you about a review, Inem.

[Tiax]

Casts secret page.

OOC within OOC There is no secret text here. All you see is a recipe for shepherd's pie that has the baking step out of order with the mixing ingredients step.

[Eviltedzies]

So I'm not sure if anyone has mentioned this yet but does anyone else see this as a much more awesome version of Minecraft?

"Demons" coming out only at night
Magical "ore" only harvestable only the floating isle
Need said weapons made of ore to even do anything to the demons
Floating isle is literally only accessible via a single portal

Am I just crazy and stretching connections thin or is there a legitimate connection here?

[Sassafrass]

Nothing to see here. Move along.

Move Along.

[Humble Athena]

*is not moving along. so there*

[Tiax]

Added additional info to my application--if a second round of feedback is available, I'd like to sign up for it!

You know, since I'm sure you don't have your hands full, right Inem?

[SonofSamWich]

Character Name: Lan Bierstadt Gender: Male Race: Human Class: Bloodrager Crime: Murder (Second Degree) Appearance:With an angular jaw, and a smile that doesn't quite reach his intense sapphire eyes, Lan is of average height and athletic build. His skin is fair and lips soft. His finely cut clothing is disheveled, and his raven hair is now shaggy and unkempt. He has fresh scars around his wrists, evidence of his current incarceration and the tight bondage of manacles. His toned muscles show the beginning stages of malnutrition, hinting that his body has seen better days. But the most noticeable feature is the haunted look in his eyes. The look of a guilty man, tortured by his sins.

Background Background: The son of a painter, Lan was mostly a carefree individual. The young man wasn't irresponsible, just unworried. He would often help his mother's husband, Kord, by running errands for him, arranging commissions, and picking up supplies from various vendors, and in return, Kord gave him a generous allowance, especially considering how most of the kids he knew his age weren't as lucky. He also apprenticed as a painter under Kord's tutelage, and became an skilled (if inexperienced) painter in his own right. But when Lan was fourteen, the kingdom went to war. With the nation's troops being mobilized and luxury goods being rationed, paintings and other forms of art became a frivolity, and so his master's business began declining. What little money the painter made went to alcohol. He began slipping into a deep depression, and began bickering and arguing with his wife, Allessana. The drunk artist would insult and degrade her, and accuse her of infidelity. What Lan didn't know was that the accusations were true. Unbeknownst to him, Allessana had fallen for a traveling bard, an aasimar with sapphire eyes. The angelic man had left soon after their passionate night, leaving Allessana with child. Lan was equally unaware as to the potential powers his sire had gifted him, and the potential curses, as well. The conflict would come to a head when Allessana's husband snapped and struck her in a rage. Realizing what he had done, he apologized profusely. Despite his contrition, his violent outbursts crept closer and closer together. Kord's moods were more often than not dark and unpleasant, and his rage became unpredictable, so Lan tried to avoid home when he could. Kord's decline over the last four years was slow, but steady. Each time he attacked his wife, his rage grew. And each time, he held back just a little less than the last. Lan felt guilty that he couldn't stand up to his master... but he was built more like his mother, slim and lithe. Kord towered above him, his wide shoulders and thick arms an impressive and intimidating sight to behold. Lan helped his mother however he could, though. He tried to aid to his mother by treating her injuries when her husband went on his brutal drunken frenzies. But it wasn't enough.

Role-Play Samples   Numbness coiled around Lan's limbs like pythons constricting their prey. He sat, covered in sticky, almost-dry blood. The constable stood with a town guard, remarking on the scene. "Neighbors report to the town guard a loud disturbance coming from this domicile. You and I are dispatched to investigate. Open and shut case, really. The boy here goes off the deep end and kills his parents. Probably couldn't take the pressure of inheriting a dying business." The dispassionate voice of the constable drifted to Lan as if from a long distance away, carried to his ears by the wind. "Do ya think the boy kill't both of 'em though, constable? I doubt he could put those kinds o' bruises on his ma, if'n you un'erstan' my meanin'." The guard, kept an attentive eye on the motionless Lan. "Regardless of the state of his mother, he obviously killed his father. The knife in his hand and blood all over him is evidence enough. Go ahead and bring him in, Boggs. I'll file all the proper papers." The constable waved a dismissive hand and walked out, leaving Boggs, the guard, to arrest Lan. Sighing, Boggs walked forward and asked, "Am I gonna need ta clap ya in ir'ns?" He waited for a response Lan was too dazed to give. "Boy?" "I didn't do it." Lan's voice was a discordant rasp. It sounded like gravel being ground into a pane of glass. "Answer the question. Am I gonna have ta clap ya in ir'ns, or are ya gonna come quiet-like?" The man folded his arms. "I-... no. I'll come quietly." Lan said, too tired, too numb to restate his argument. He wanted to tell Boggs he was right. The knife in his hands slipped from his grip as he was helped firmly to a standing position. He hadn't killed his mother. But that didn't mean he wasn't a murderer.   It was freezing in the cell Lan was confined to for the next couple of weeks, and the clothing he was brought from his old house to change into didn't stave off the cold adequately. He spent most of his days there huddled on the straw pallet in the corner of the cell. He moved only to despondently crawl to the food they pushed into the cell through the bars, and only when the pangs in his stomach intensified to the point where he couldn't ignore them anymore. The young man ate little, so the hunger never really went away, but it didn't matter. He was eating the slop his warden had brought dejectedly when he heard footsteps down the hall. It sounded like someone who had a purpose. Lan looked up just as a figure rounded the corner, swathed in a fine cloak, navy with a gold trim. The king's insignia was sewn onto the man's tunic, and he had a helmet tucked underneath his arm. He inspected each of the inhabited cells, and then nodded. Lan bowed his head, and ate the last of the slop in front of him. It was a couple days old by now. The warden didn't believe in wasting food that wasn't going to be eaten, so when Lan hadn't eaten, he simply left the untouched bowl until it was empty. It's not like the food was any better hot. Then again, it's not like Lan received the tasteless, soupy substance hot anyway. "Aren't you the Bierstadt boy?" The king's man had stopped in front of his cell. Lan looked up and saw the older gentleman's face more clearly than he had before, and a spark of recognition ignited in his brain. "Damn, boy, it is you. You look like hell." "I remember you... You're Sir Halvard. You commissioned a few paintings from my-" Lan's voice caught slightly, "father." Lan shifted, setting the bowl down, "A landscape you had requested to be done in water colors, and a portrait of you and your wife that was done in oils." That had been right after Lan turned twelve, when he was still in the novice stages of his apprenticeship. "Hm, yes. Your father does fine work. What did you do to land yourself in here, boy?" The man didn't seem concerned about the answer, just sating a minor curiosity. "I-" Lan's voice caught in his throat, and he swallowed. He whispered, looking down, "I killed my father." "Damn, boy. I suppose I should say he did fine work, then." The man shifted his weight, and folded his arms across his chest. "At least his art will be worth more, now." Lan grit his teeth, a tempest of emotions roaring to life in his chest. Anger, grief, guilt, disgust, all clawing to get out. Tears welled on his eyes. "I suppose you should be thanking me, boy." His voice was indifferent, almost bored. "And why's that?" Lan muttered, still looking down. He didn't want Halvard to see his tears. "Well, you would've been given the death sentence; hanged by the neck until dead. I've come to give you a chance at life. Have you heard of Krakengard, boy?" Lan's blood chilled and his head whipped up, not caring anymore that Halvard could see the water running down his face." I see that you have. Well, you won't be executed. I'm gathering prisoners to send to the mines. And you're among the chosen ones. The wagon is outside, and we're prepping the horses for the journey. I'll come and gather you when it's time to depart." As Sir Halvard walked away, Lan began trembling. Krakengard. He had heard of that place; had heard of the horrors that lurked there. He couldn't decide if this was a better fate than a quick death by the hangman's noose. Curling up, cradling his head in his hands, Lan began to sob in earnest.   The wagon creaked and swayed as it crept inexorably towards the capital, and Lan struggled against the manacles binding his wrists to chain that ran the length of the vehicle. A small trickle of blood ran down the back of his hand as he tore open the fragile clots beneath the shackles. He let out a growl of frustration. He didn't know what he'd do, even if he did escape his bonds. The young man leaned back, resigned, at least for the next half-hour or so. When Lan had learned of his fate, to be exiled to the prison colony of Krakengard, he was paralyzed with terror. Now, his fear had receded, leaving a creeping dread, lurking in the back of his mind. It was more manageable, but still straining his psyche, leaving him exhausted, physically and mentally. But as evidenced by his futile struggles against his fetters, his fate wasn't changing. Hey, are you okay? He turned to his right to look at the woman he had been seated next to. Her large, blue-green almond eyes looked concerned. She smiled disarmingly. He scowled, and snapped, "What do you think?" Immediately regretting his outburst, he sighed, averted his eyes, and mumbled, "Sorry..." "It's alright. I know, it was a stupid question," she admitted, laughing wryly. He lifted his eyes back to her face, really looking at her this time. She was beautiful, with slightly angular features, and shoulder-length burgundy locks that fell in and around her face. Her ears tapered to a slight point, peeking out from underneath her hair. She looked young, maybe Lan's age. She offered her smile again. Lan returned the smile hesitantly. "I'm Lan." "I'm Amaranthe. I'd shake your hand," but, she lifted her manacled hands, "I'm a little indisposed at the moment." She lowered her hands again, leaning back. "Yeah..." Lan looked down, the smile retreating. After a long, awkward pause, he whispered, "I'm not okay. I'm scared." Amaranthe looked down at Lan. She hesitated, and murmured soberly, "Me too." They were quiet for a few more minutes, rocking back and forth with the bumps in the road. "How'd you get here? What'd you do?" she asked, breaking the silence. "I ki-... I killed my father." He was still whispering." Why? If you don't mind my asking?" Her voice was gentle. Lan felt his heart twist up at her kindness. This was the first time since the... incident that someone had treated him with any warmth. "He... killed my mother. They don't know that, the guards. Or they just don't care. He tried to kill me, but I-... I had a knife. I don't remember what happened, I just remember the blood. "He felt sick. He could swear he smelled iron in the air. "I'm so sorry, Lan..." There was another pause as she looked to the roof. "Makes me feel a bit ridiculous. I'm here because I slapped a nobleman. He pressed charges, and was close with the magistrate." Perking up a bit, Lan turned back to Amaranthe. "Why'd you slap him?" She smiled cynically. "I was tending to his daughter. I was a healer in my village, and he wasn't satisfied with my results. She wasn't recovering from her fever fast enough. I had only been treating her for a day!" She huffed, annoyed. "Well, I guess regardless of how we got here, we're both doomed just the same," Lan grumbled. "The pretty half-elf shook her head. No, I don't think we're doomed." She flashed that caring smile of hers, and Lan felt a flutter in his chest. "Sarenrae will protect us." "But we're on our way to the depths of hell as we speak. How can She protect us there? How can any god protect us there?" He cradled his head in his hands, despite the manacles making this action difficult. He felt despair creeping into his voice. She leaned on him, then, her warmth feeling nice against him. "I just... know. And if you're still worried, then maybe you'll feel better if it's me protecting you." She sounded so certain. He blushed, and looked down, but he did feel better. Her conviction was comforting, her resolve reinforcing his own. He didn't know what he was going to do, but at least he wasn't facing the unknown future alone. They shook back and forth like this for a long while, quietly seeking the strength that they provided to each other. The sun dipped almost to the horizon and the air grew muggy in the twilit hour. Lan stiffened, and Amaranthe stirred. It seemed as if she had dozed off while she had rested on his shoulder. "We have to escape," he whispered, not wanting to alert the guards to his plans, no matter how undeveloped they were. "That's crazy, Lan," Amaranthe whispered back, rubbing her eyes. "We're surrounded by guards, and manacled to the wagon." "Not now. Once we get there. We wait for the guards there to lower their... uh... guard, and then we slip out. We find a way back to the portal, and then we escape. Maybe flee the country if we get back here!" It was hard to keep his voice low when his excitement grew. Amaranthe shook her head, "I dunno, Lan..." "Just trust me, Amy, I'll find a way." He beamed, a bit of his old self shining through, then blushed again, "Er, sorry. Amaranthe." She couldn't help but giggle at his sudden turn of confidence. "Amy's fine. Just don't get yourself killed trying any harebrained schemes, got it? You're going to be my only friend at this place." Her silent strength had given Lan courage, and her friendship had given him something to fight for other than himself. He'd make sure that they both escaped whether it did kill him or not. But aloud, he said, I won't get myself killed. We'll be free again soon. I promise. And he intended to keep that promise, dead or alive. Okay, preferably alive.

Bonus Prisoner   Non-Player Character Name: Amaranthe Eventhyme Gender: Female Race: Half-Elf Class: Cleric or Adept (Healer of some sort or another) Crime: Assault Appearance:Amaranthe is an attractive young woman in her mid-twenties. She has an angular, heart-shaped face, and shoulder-length burgundy hair. Her almond eyes are blue-green and she has a gentle, caring smile. She has a small scar on her upper forearm, a small souvenir from a childhood accident, the one that took her father's life. She has a full womanly physique, but not much in terms of actual muscle. Since her incarceration, she has small rings under her eyes from lack of sleep. Background: Growing up in a small village on the edge of a dense forest, Amaranthe was the child of a human father and elven mother. Her father Keldric Merillin was a soldier in the king's army, retired due to an injury to his leg, and her mother Ilyena Eventhyme was a healer in the village she grew up in. The couple had two children, Amaranthe being their firstborn, and then her younger brother Kaladin Eventhyme. Her brother grew up to enroll in the army and serve in the king's cavalry. When she was seven, only a couple of years after her brother was born, their house caught fire, and her father died in the blaze. To this day, Amaranthe is terrified of fire. Being a follower of Sarenrae, this fear is a struggle for her. Despite this challenge, her faith in the Dawnflower is strong. Amaranthe apprenticed with her mother at a young age, learning the craft of healing with herbs and salves, and when she turned thirteen, with the permission of her mother, shifted her apprenticeship to the local priest of the Healing Light. Her studies were extensive, but she excelled at most of them, becoming an accomplished disciple of Sarenrae. The Crime The man before Amaranthe was a pompous buffoon, but at least he cared for his daughter. That was the mantra she repeated to herself as he berated her and blamed her for the girl's lack of a speedy recovery. What did he expect her to do? She was only a low-level acolyte, and could only treat some simple wounds with divine grace. Everything else came down to her extensive knowledge of herbs. In fact, in Amaranthe's professional opinion, the girl was making a very good recovery. Her fever would break by the end of the night, she was sure of it. The buffoon in question was the local lord, Baron Edward Tudor. His most prominent feature was his large, red nose, followed by his not-quite-but-almost-as-large ears. His round cheeks puffed out as he puffed with frustration, whining and moaning about his daughter's state of health. "I mean, are you really trying everything you can? She's still warm to the touch." "Yes, my lord." She tried not to let her exasperation show through. "I've brewed her a tea from feverfew and chamomile to bring down her fever and settle her stomach, as well as treat her diarrhea. She's not eaten much, but I've fed her what she could eat, and the tea I've brewed has improved her appetite signifigantly." "Harrumphing" discontentedly, he folded his arms. "Well, she should be better by now. It's been two days." He jabbed an accusatory finger at her, "I brought her here because I heard you were the best in the area. I have yet to seen such!" "I'm sorry, my lord, I am trying my best. She is showing a lot of improveme-," her explanation was cut off by his waving hand. "I've heard enough. I don't think you're as competent as I've been told. It's a shame. I knew your father, he was stationed with me. Good man. Shame he couldn't raise his children to be adequate." He stood, straightening his coat. "I shall not pay for your insufficient service, so don't bother asking. I will find someone who can perform their duties capably." At the mention of her father, a rage ignited in her chest, and her fists clenched. She felt angry tears gather at the corners of her eyes and her voice trembling as she said, "My father passed away, my lord. I would appreciate you not sully his name." Baron Tudor sniffed disapprovingly. "An even greater shame, then! You can't even honor his mem-," it was his turn to be interrupted mid-sentence. However, this time, it was a more forceful cut-off. Amaranthe, in a moment of unbridled fury, stood and struck the man across the face. She was panting, tears slowly falling down her face. "Don't talk about my father!" Stunned, the man stumbled back a couple of steps. "You... you... I'll have you arrested for that, girl!" He turned and called out, "Guards! Guards!" Two men burst into the door, swords in hand, a dangerous glint in their eyes. "Apprehend this ruffian! She attacked me!" They hesitated only momentarily before moving forward and seizing the woman between them. "Don't struggle, girlie," one of them growled. "Yer gonna come nice and easy. Got it?" Amaranthe's anger had simmered down, leaving her glaring daggers at the baron as the two guards dragged her, none too gently, outside to be taken to the constable and charged with her assault. She knew she had made a mistake, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She huffed and turned away, sniffling slightly, stalking down the street to her sentence. She didn't realize that she would be condemned to the worst prison the country had: the prison colony of Krakengard.

[Inem]

@Everyone: Tentative deadline is going to be the 29th of January. It's not fixed yet, and depends upon a few developments at work for me that will determine whether that even makes sense. It definitely won't be sooner than that, but I'm also going to do my very best not to let it be any later.
Answers to questions below, and a few more reviews all the way at the bottom. I hope to get through the rest of the requested ones over the course of this weekend.

Originally Posted by Gylther

I have a character in mind, but I'm not sure if all the stuff is available to run him. I saw you mention that you weren't allowing stuff from Occult adventures,

I'm guessing this is also true of the archetypes for the other classes from the book? I was wanting to using the Promethian Alchemist Archetype for the Alchemist class, and maybe multi-class into rogue (using the Poisoner archetype).

If your not down with that, I'm also playing around with the idea of an entirely less subtle style character... an improvised, dirty fighting Brawler.

Yeah, I think to keep it simple and fair, I'm going to say no to everything from Occult adventures, including archetypes for other classes.

Originally Posted by Squeak

"I feels like an empty-headed numptie fer not asking fer a review earlier... I'd like it if ye could give mae app a keek or three and cry me yer thoughts."

Don't worry, given what I've had going on at work, you would most likely not have gotten one sooner even by asking sooner.

Originally Posted by GeoAvanti

I don't know. It just sort of happened. Like, really. Woke up, realized that I'd go crazy unless I wrote this out. So I wrote it out. Now I feel better.

I'll be curious to read the result of what was pressing on your mind so much it was driving you insane.

Originally Posted by Eviltedzies

So I'm not sure if anyone has mentioned this yet but does anyone else see this as a much more awesome version of Minecraft?

"Demons" coming out only at night
Magical "ore" only harvestable only the floating isle
Need said weapons made of ore to even do anything to the demons
Floating isle is literally only accessible via a single portal

Am I just crazy and stretching connections thin or is there a legitimate connection here?

Well I don't know whether there are connections there, if so, they are purely by chance. Never having played Minecraft, I can say that that (unlike so many other things) was not one of the sources I stole inspiration from

Originally Posted by Tiax

Added additional info to my application--if a second round of feedback is available, I'd like to sign up for it!

You know, since I'm sure you don't have your hands full, right Inem?

We'll have to see about a second round of feedback. It will really depend how things play out at work, but I'm certainly not making any guarantees.

 

[Sassafrass]

Well fine Athena. I guess I know who Torum is killing first in the thick of things.