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  #16  
Old 03-19-2019, 08:31 AM
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Friedhelm
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Name: Friedhelm Wesler
Race: Human (Stirland, Leicheberg)
Class: Courtier, Artist

Description: Long, dirty blonde, dirty-in-general hair frames this young man's rather thin face. His skin is as pale as his eyes are pale blue, marred by a thin scar running from his left brow to his right cheek. Like many Stirlanders Friedhelm is short, at just over five feet tall. Unlike his compatriots, however, his frame is lean, with the exception of his broad shoulders and strong arms- signs of a youth spent working the fields, performing hard labour for little nourishment.

Leaving behind his humble origins, Friedhelm's attire is more opulent (for Stirland's standards, if nobody else's) than anything his poor parents could afford. Proud of his Stirlander heritage, he wears a green cloak over a faded yellow tunic of remarkable craftsmanship (for Stirland's standards, if nobody else's). Underneath, he wears black trousers, and brown leather boots. He wears a simple necklace of what appear to be animal bones and black beads around his neck- no doubt considered a tasteful curiosity in Stirland, and garbage anywhere else. A simple yet elegant white belt completes his look.

As a result of his adopted vocation, which often has Friedhelm bending his head close to canvas, the young artist is prone to slouching. His shoulders are at most times somewhat raised, from a tension he himself is hardly aware of. Overall Friedhelm leaves a calm, almost tired impression on those who meet him.

Personality: Friedhelm is a quiet young man, usually quite content to be left alone with his thoughts. While not devout, he has been instilled with proper respect for both Rhya and Morr from a young age. Rhya, as his parents were simple farmers, offering praise to the goddess for a good harvest. Morr, as worship of the god of death and dreams was encouraged by the count of his hometown, Leicheberg. Close to accursed Sylvania, Friedhelm had been taught to live in the moment, for one could never know when undead horrors would come to claim the living.

Like many Stirlanders, Friedhelm is very superstitious, as is evidenced by the thousand and one little habits and rituals he performs at almost every occasion. His cautious nature, stemming from his fear of the unnatural, make him slow to trust strangers. Those who have not yet proven their trustworthiness are treated with cordial, sometimes nervous respect, but little kindness.

Despite his reluctance in dealing with new people, the young artist is always looking for new towns, new landscapes. Everyday life bores him, and as such he is always looking for a new adventure. This attitude made him something of an eccentric among the people he grew up with, who were always content with what they had, and with the ways things had been. Not so for Friedhelm, who is always looking for a new horizon...

Background: "That boy ain't right in the head," is what they used to tell me. Can't say I blame them- in Stirland, you do the job your dad does, and his dad before him, until eventually you have your own kid and teach him your trade. That's the way it's always been. So when one day I took a sheet of parchment, took my dad's ink and quill, and drew a picture of the hills surrounding our farm, the people acted as if something wicked had been whispering in my ear. When I told my parents I wanted to go to the city and learn about being an artist, he damn near beat those voices out of my ear. Said he needed me to work on the farm, to bring in money, so I'd best put those silly thoughts out of my head.

I didn't, of course- wouldn't be here if I had, would I? I worked the fields like my father wanted, but every penny I saved, I used to learn more about drawing and painting. While my friends were drinking at the inn, I'd be in a dark and quiet corner, sketching landscapes and portraits. Oh, there was a painter in Leicheberg- a ghastly old man by the name of Hagen Braune. Foul-mouthed, and quick to smack you with than cane of his. But he taught me some techniques about painting, and sold me some supplies- at double the going rate, stingy beggar that he was. But I'd take those supplies- quill, ink, sometimes even a brush and some watered-down paint, and I'd practice.

And one night in the inn, a soldier approached me. Said he was impressed with my painting, and that the militia's scout department- the Aufklaerer- could use my talents. See, count von Stolpe, he was a cautious man, always sending men into Sylvania to map out the land. In case the von Carsteins ever came back, he said. They never did, mind you, but he paid good money to men who were willing to go into those evil lands, and bring back information. I didn't believe all the tales about the von Carsteins, though, so I happily joined the Aufklaerer. How naive I was, back then...

Anyway, like I said, before long I signed up, because the Aufklaerer could use someone who knew how to draw a map. And that was my first brush with being a cartographer. I loved every moment of it, seeing new places beyond Leicheberg's borders, seeing how different life was for people just a few villages over. Although even on my first day I could tell something was off with Sylvania. It would take me some time to find out exactly what that was...

The first time we encountered the undead, I was horrified, but the men of my squad said they'd dealt with them before. Sure enough, I watched as my fellow Aufklaerer pushed both cadavers- zombies, they were called- to the ground with their long spears, then chopped them to bits, and then burned the bits just to be sure. It was a horrifying experience for sure, but we soldiered on. The next night, we met four of the buggers. Then seven. By the end of the week, I'd "killed" my first zombie, but there were maybe three of us left. We ran for it, all the way back to Leicheberg, and delivered our report to the military. I thought we'd get a reward for killing those monsters and returning to tell the tale.

I was wrong. We were sent back into Sylvania the next day, with more Aufklaerer in tow. And every week it was the same- go somewhere new, find undead, see half your mates get killed, then come back to receive your next assignment,

In the end, I deserted. I know it was wrong of me, but I just couldn't take it anymore. Count von Stolpe, however, he doesn't take too kindly to deserters. Sent the guard after me, to take me back in chains- or hang me on the spot, I don't know. Never did stick around long enough to find out. My parents likely think I'm dead by now- probably for the best. It's not like I can ever go back, anyway.

Eventually I made my way to Averland, then made my way across the Black Fire Pass. New horizons and all that. I figured, if the Empire's willing to pay good money for a cartographer, then maybe the Border Princes would pay even more. After all, who has more uncharted territory than them?

Other Race View
- Dwarves: I went most of my life without ever seeing a dwarf, and then suddenly, I saw enough to last me a lifetime. They took me past the Black Fire Pass alright, I'll give 'em that. Gave them my money, and they honoured the deal. But they're so stern, and get angry for no reason. And besides, it can't be good for them, living under the ground like that for most of their lives. Kinda makes me think of those ratmen from the children's stories- never did I imagine anyone actually wanted to live like those fairie tale monsters. Maybe that's where the ratmen stories came from in the first place? With those beards, they certainly seem hairy enough to be mistaken for some sort of furry beast...

- Halflings: Greedy little beggars, the lot of them. They're not welcome in Stirland, and for good reason. Turn your back on them for a minute and they'll rob you blind. I've heard tell they're good cooks, but I'd never try anything their thieving little hands made. I'll take good old-fashioned Imperial cuisine over whatever outlandish poison they're brewing.

- High Elves: I've never seen an elf, but from what I've heard, they're arrogant, and way too clean. Like, proper clean, like even the dirt can't stand being near them. I've heard tell their big ears make them more arrogant, and the only way to make them act less like a snob is to take those ears away. No idea if there's any truth to it, though. Not that I'm gonna try, mind you- besides, I heard they're filthy rich, every last one of them. Maybe if I meet one, I can get him to pay me for one of my maps? I mean, everybody needs a good map, right?

- Wood Elves: Wait, there's more than one kind?

Helpful NPC: When I first arrived in the Border Princes, I had no clue how anything worked. You think there's roads, and signposts, telling you where to go? Think again. Half the time, the closest thing two towns have as a trade route between them is a mile long briar patch, by virtue of all the other routes being poisonous briar patches. Luckily, I met this fellow early on. Leonid Toporov, he calls himself. Apparently he's from Kislev, which he tells me is somewhere up in the north. Crazy fellow- walks around half naked most of the time, saying it is way too hot in this region, even at night. Says his homeland is covered in snow, always freezing. I told him Stirland has some months of winter, too. He laughed when I said that.

But he knows the land, and he's happy to help you find your way in the region. Without him I'd gotten lost on my first day here, but instead he took me to this small town. Four, maybe five houses- one of the larger cities in the Border Princes, he assured me. And he doesn't just know the land- he knows the people, too. After all, a lot of souls coming to the Border Princes looking for glory and power need a guide to keep them alive for the first few nights. When I told him I was a cartographer, he seemed very interested- I think he'd be willing to accompany me on one of my treks into the wilderness, as soon as I can find a sponsor, that is. But if I could put Leonid's knowledge of the land on canvas... I'd earn a pretty penny, I reckon, enough to be set for life.

Unfortunately, it seems that he only shows up when he wants to- if you go around trying to look for him, you're bound to end up disappointed. Still, when he does show up, he's good- if loud- company, and he's never too stingy to share that strong liquor he's always carrying with him. A taste of home, he calls it, which makes me think his home is a burning hellscape like the ones the priests of Morr warned us about.

Unhelpful NPC: See, one day, when I was back in Sylvania making maps for the count, we ran into something a little different than zombies. We were walking down the road when suddenly, we saw lights in the distance. We approached quietly, because well, by then we knew enough about Sylvania to be cautious. As we approached, we heard chanting. It sounded a bit morose, but well, how bad can a group of people singing around a campfire be?

Pretty bad, it turned out. A group of nine men in dark robes stood around a big stone, on which they had this young woman, no older than twenty, tied up and gagged. When they brought out this wicked looking dagger, three of us just sprinted forward- they couldn't watch this girl being sacrificed to whatever dark gods these people worshipped. Me, I went in last, because I'm an artist, not a soldier, see? And good that I did- while everyone was busy fighting, I spotted one of those buggers picking up that wicked dagger- apparently his mate had dropped it in the fight. He was about to stab the girl, but then I threw my spear at him and killed him. I raced over to the girl, and I saw this, this thing here, tied around her neck. Funny little thing, no? Made of bones, and beads. I thought it was perverse, giving a pretty girl like that such an ugly necklace, so I ripped it away from her.

She died on the spot. I don't know if I pulled too hard and snapped her neck or something, but she was dead in an instant. Weird thing is, though, she seemed happy. When she was alive, she was screaming and terrified- and who wouldn't have been? But the moment she died, she was just lying there, with this blissful smile on her lips. Weirdest thing I ever saw. I kept the necklace- at first, I just wanted to take it as far away from home as possible. But now... who knows? Perhaps if I keep it close, I'll die happy, too.

Thing is, though, we only killed eight of those cultists. One ran off before we could catch him. I've always wondered what happened to him- probably died in some bog somewhere in Sylvania, right?

... Right?


 
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Last edited by DemonSlayer; Today at 05:47 AM. Reason: Added in ambitions
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  #17  
Old 03-19-2019, 11:34 AM
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I am going to keep it as 4th as we have had a lot of interest in short bit already for 4th edition.
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  #18  
Old 03-20-2019, 04:41 AM
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Keridan Gladewarder
Name: Keridan Gladewarder

Race: Wood Elf of the Laurelorn Forest

Class: Peasant-Scout/Guide

Description: Keridan stands 5'10" and is sinewy and wiry of build. His somewhat handsome face has green eyes, whom look at the world with a determined stare. His tawny colored hair falls halfway down his back. A good portion of it in a fighting braid that helps to keep the rest of it out of his eyes, at inopportune moments. He is dressed in finely tanned green dyed deerskin clothing, leather armour and light boots(moccasins). With a green/black reversible woolen hooded cloak. With Elfbow and a quiver of arrows over his shoulder. Belted at his waist is a plain but serviceable longsword in it's scabbard. Along with a large sheathed hunting knife. Along with a circular shield across his back. To use with his longsword in hand to hand combat. That is if any foe still living can get close enough to do so!

Personality: The Wood Elf is the quiet observant type. Usually only speaking if he has something worth saying. Not just to fill the silence. Though once in awhile, when he is with those he likes and in a festive situation. He'll let his hair down a bit, so to speak.

Background: Keridan hails from the Virnehn Clan that lives in the Misty Hills of the southern Laurelorn Forest. As fate would have it, Keridan, the second eldest son of the Clan's Waywatcher Commander, and Neithorn, the Clan Chieftain's eldest son, had vied for the affections of Ashila, the Clan's most desirous young elfess, with Keridan winning her hand in the end.
But Neithorn would not except Ashila's rejection of him. Thus he and some of his cronies framed Keridan for a crime he did not commit. Thus he was exiled from his clan as well as all of Laurelorn Forest for a period of 10 years. Thus for a little over a year has been on his own.
Learning how to survive and perhaps prosper in the lands of Empire. His wandering path has drawn him steadily southward. During those first three months, he scratched out a living selling wild game he's has hunted or trapped to innkeepers in the small villages and hamlets along side the main trade road that at it's southern end is called the Old Dwarf Road. Which he took over Black Fire Pass into the Border Princes. During the next nine months he familiarize himself with the highways, byways and most every game trail in the region. Now he is able to hire himself out as a Guide. To those who are in need of such services,

Other Race View: Keridan see's most humans as big children and most halflings as small children. Thus one should take care not to be around when they throw a temper tantrum. He knows he suppose to have some sort of animosity with Dwarves. Because of the ancient War of the Beard. He realizes that mistakes were made by both sides. He doesn't go out of his way to antagonize those of that race.

Notable NPCs: Forthcoming.

Last edited by Valornor; Today at 02:22 AM.
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  #19  
Old Yesterday, 01:04 PM
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App In ProgressName: Ulrich Eichhorn
Race: Human (Reikland)
Class: Ranger, Road Warden

Description: Light brown hair kept short, slightly taller than the average Reiklander at 5'10", the blue-eyed stockily built Ulrich Eichhorn wouldn't really stand out much except that he has a truly magnificent beard. One that a dwarf would be proud of. He wears clothes of a reddish-brown shade and a simple brown cloak. He watches his surroundings with caution and keeps his crossbow handy.

Other Race View:
On Dwarfs
Solid people, very reliable. Bit hard headed though and a touch too dour but once they start drinking, they're a lot more fun to be around. I'd trust anything they build to last through the ages. Give excellent tips on beard maintenance, too.

On Halflings
Great cooks, better sneak-thieves. Nail down anything valuable when their around only to turn around and find it's gone and the nail with it. Only makes it worse that they don't see anything wrong in it. And they smile all the time, what's that about?

On High Elves
Sure you could say they look all dignified and elegant, I'd just call it being a bit too conceited. Living that long can't be good for the head, either. Think they're better than us.

On Wood Elves
Dunno much about them, except they like to stick to the woodlands. May have seen some on my patrol. or it could just have been shadows in the trees. Probably not missing out on much, not having met them.

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Unhelpful NPC:

Last edited by g047br41n; Yesterday at 01:05 PM.
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  #20  
Old Yesterday, 08:00 PM
mightymconeshot mightymconeshot is online now
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I don't see any new apps so I am going to close this soon and take those who have finished. Work up those apps for me and I will start putting you in the game thread this weekend. Everyone else if you want to get in on this, you got till Sunday night Pacific Standard time.
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