[Characters] Besmara's Locker

[Aosaw]

The Root of the Matter Name: Nemat Cailean Race: Human (Heart of the Fields) Class: Paladin Tropes: For the moment, Nemat fulfills an ectype of Chosen One. He has a destiny, which everyone around him assumes will be something spectacular and great. The prophecy itself, however, is less than optimistic. Nemat is a good person, but largely because he is young and has not yet been jaded by exposure to the world. "Give him time," says the Lord of Darkness (whoever that is). "In the end, he'll turn the world to ruin - and he won't even realize it was him." Trait Post: Besmara's Blessing The journey to Port Peril was long and somewhat less exciting than he had hoped; but then, Nemat had been expecting nothing but adventures and sea monsters when he'd boarded the Murkblade. Merchant vessel or no, there was no reason to hope for anything less than constant swashbuckling on his first trip at sea. The relatively easy passage from Varisia, the calm waters and clear skies, had bored him almost to distraction. He couldn't wait to get off at Port Peril and find a ship that would guarantee more interesting adventures. "Port Peril is a dangerous place," the captain told him as they were disembarking, carrying crates of goods from the ship to the dock on their way to the Fairly Maid. "Keep your wits about you, and don't make friends with the wrong sort of folk. Pirates make frequent stops here, and they'll sooner skin you alive than hire you onto their crew." "I'm sure it's not as bad as all that," Nemat replied. He had, of course, heard stories of pirates setting sail from Port Peril. If he was being honest with himself, it was part of what made him so excited to be there. The evening was full of drink and song, some less savory than others; but before long, the captain was asleep in his chair, and Nemat was alone at his table. The wench passed by and smiled at him, as if to say, Looks like you're free to do as you please. Nemat smiled back, as if to say, Why yes, yes I am. A night in a bed was a delightful and unexpected luxury, and sharing it with a woman whose name he couldn't remember was an extra piece of luck. They tossed about in the sheets for a bit, then lay in each other's arms for an hour, Nemat talking about his hopes for the future, the wench not talking at all. It was strange; although he had just met her, and although he wasn't sure if her name was Nancy or Isabel, Nemat felt comfortable in the wench's presence, as though he could tell her anything and she would hold it in the highest confidence. He should have realized that something was amiss when she suggested tying him to the bedpost; even as young and unworldly as he was, Nemat was familiar with stories of sailors being robbed by prostitutes. It was a financially viable tradition, and one that he was inclined to support, at least in spirit. But Nemat had come to Port Peril without any money, and his only belongings were a cutlass that was a gift from his foster father, and a deck of cards that he had apparently always possessed. He didn't think there was much money in old harrow decks, and swords were easy enough to come by in a town that serviced pirates. It was when the other five men opened the door and surrounded him, each armed with a billy club, that he started to think that maybe this wasn't such a good idea. "I don't suppose you're here to turn down the sheets?" he said, attempting to sound more flip than he felt. The thugs didn't answer; but one of them grinned, as the other four beat Nemat senseless with their clubs. When they were done, and Nemat was feeling sufficiently 'roughed up', the grinning thug spoke. "Congratulations," he said through a tragically severe underbite. "You've been recruited. Welcome to the crew of the Wormwood." Nemat looked for the wench; but she had already gone. Taken his sword with her, too, although she was kind enough to leave his harrow deck. At least with his cards he wouldn't be bored. "So, you're not here for the sheets then?" Underbite grinned wider. Then he brought his billyclub to bear, and the world disappeared. Thoughtless Ramble: As a follower of Cayden Cailean, Nemat's devotion is to the wind, and the world, and the sea. He also gives offerings of drink to the Accidental God, and never turns down a good dare if he can help it, so long as the terms of that dare endanger only Nemat and no one else. He believes in "going where the wind blows", which more often than not means walking dead into a trap for the sheer adventure of it. Whether it's his personal charm, or the favor of his patron, Nemat always seems to come out on top. Unless we're including the incident with the tavern wench and the bedpost in this summation; but we're leaving that part out, right? Nemat grew up on the coastline with a foster father who ran a tavern catering only to sailors. The "Heart of the Sea" alternate trait reflects this nicely, granting a bonus to Profession (Sailor) checks that scales with his level - which means that despite his relative inexperience, Nemat will eventually become such a skilled (I dare say "talented") sailor that he might be a smart choice for captain. Of course, that same concept could be demonstrated with Skill Focus (Profession [Sailor]), or just by using his bonus skill point per level to take ranks in the skill. Heart of the Fields (which I translate in my mind to "Heart of the Sea", in this case) just makes it that much simpler for him to be not only skilled, but talented. Particularly with a low Wisdom score, I'd like it to be clear that his talent for sailing is despite his relative shortsightedness. Of course, this might also be a good use of Besmara's Blessing; but "Heart of the Sea" has a nice ring to it, too. Nemat is a sailor at heart, and in fact it's this devotion to the sea and Hemlen's religious affiliation that makes him a good paladin of Cailean.   Well, that was...different. Nemat never knew his parents - from his earliest memories, the only family he knew was Hemlen, the owner of the Grateful Vine, a lone tavern on the coast of Varisia. What Hemlen was doing building a tavern on an empty coastline only Hemlen knows, but for whatever reason the business was steady, as sailors and landlubbers alike made their stops on the way north, south, or seaward. Hemlen always told Nemat that he'd found the boy floating among the driftwood of a wrecked ship, and took pity on him. Besmara's child, he called him; and in fact the only thing that kept Hemlen from calling the boy "Bessie" for the rest of his life was that Nemat seemed to know his own first name. He had no family, however, and so Hemlen let the boy use his own. Nemat Ralfern wasn't the catchiest of names, but it suited the boy just fine. Growing up, Nemat held a deep interest in the sea, and every chance he could get he would climb up onto the roof of the Grateful Vine and hang from the chimney as though standing in the crow's nest of a great clipper. He drew sketches of rigging in the pages of his journal, and practiced knot-tying whenever there was rope to be tied. Hemlen was beginning to think the boy might have some sort of "thinking sickness"; but when the lad used his knowledge to outsmart a pirate passing through, Hemlen decided it was time he gave Nemat a proper education. He started with the simple things: sailing, fishing, and carpentry. What kind of wood was best for building a ship's mast, and where the trees grew that could be harvested for stronger hulls. He showed Nemat the best fishing spots, and how to recognize the difference between a fishery and a deadly reef. He brought the boy out on his small sailing ship, and showed him how to keep the sails from tearing in the wind, how to keep the ship going straight, how to tell the difference between a cloudy sky and a storm about to break. The boy learned quickly; and so Hemlen moved on to more advanced skills, like how to tell which way a ship had gone based on the patterns in the waves, or how long ago a person had drowned based on how bloated their body was, or why it was always important to sleep facing the door instead of away from it. By the time he was eighteen, Nemat had learned everything there was to know about being a sailor, except for the things he would need to learn by doing them himself. Hemlen embraced his foster son, then set him on a ship bound for Port Peril to seek his fortune, find his destiny, and otherwise learn what it meant to be a sailor. Of course, Hemlen didn't know where the ship was headed when it left; if he had, he might have waited for the next boat. As it happened, that one was going to Absalom; a much safer place to be, if you were the sort of person who didn't like being press-ganged. Editing: As long as you let me know when you're doing it, I don't mind as much. You can view the change history to see what's been changed (in your own posts, at least), so there's some transparency there; but if you don't let us know that you've made changes, we don't know to look. Further, I would say typographical correction is one thing - but content changes I would definitely have a problem with. Massive Damage: Sounds interesting - but it also sounds like it could very easily ruin someone's character build. If you've got something in place to compensate or account for that, then I'm fine with it.

[kenneth]

Aydan   Name: Bahadır "Aydan" Hakan Race: Human Class: Ranger (Guide) sword and board two-weapon specialist Tropes: Blood Knight and Anti-Hero, maybe? Trait Post: Besmara’s Blessing Young Aydan stands on an uneven pair of bird-stained pilings, facing the sea. His broad, flat nose flares as he breaths in deep the smells of Port Peril. He spreads his arms wide and crows like a gull, not caring who looks or what they think. He is home and he wants to celebrate. As a boy, he'd gone to sea with his father. It was a short trip, only four months, on a brig called the Truesilver Tortoise. His father served there as midshipman. He didn't get much in the way of pay, as is the custom for young trainees, but he earned an invaluable education from the crew. They'd called him Aydan which means "Little Fire", for his spunk and swagger and adopted him as the ship's mascot. The trip was eventful and left the boy craving more. Now, Aydan hops down from the pilings and saunters down the pier. He's unsure of where he's going, but sure he'll make the best of it. It felt great to be alive. He runs his hand over the fresh, pink rope scar round his neck and thinks on the good and bad fortune that left it there. A feral smile draws his lips tight. As a pirate, he'd been hung. That was the price for not dying on your feet when they catch up to you. Whether Besmara had plans for him or fate simply has a sense of humor, the post he'd swung from broke. Not right away, of course. He was allowed all the exquisite agony of slow suffocation. If fact, the hangman said that if he hadn't hit the ground so hard, he may not have come back at all. He is alive now, though, and his throat burns with thirst. The Formidably Maid seems as good a place as any. He shucks his battered metal shield and pulls his scimitar from his sash, casting about for a place to stash them. Spying a half-empty table he calls out, "Ale for me and my new found friends!" Thoughtful Ramble:Aydan dances around his enemies, slashing and smashing with sadistic glee. He works best with a battle buddy who he helps protect with his shield or helps by flanking enemies. He is generally not well regarded by those he meets as he is painfully blunt, openly bigoted and insufferably cocky. This is not to say he is disliked by his fellows. Well, yes, OK, they don't usually like him, but they do, usually, respect him. For him, that is all that matters. He's not just blunt, he's honest, in both word and deed (at least to his fellows). He doesn't question his own opinions and prejudices, but can disagree with you completely and not take it personally. You also will always know exactly how he feels about you. And, while he struts and boasts and swaggers, he can back it up or he wouldn't do it. Aydan respects competence in any form, honesty from those who lack competence and having the respect he shows others returned in kind. Unfortunately, if you are highly competent, but he still thinks he can beat you, you've just made yourself his first target. Aydan Likes to hunt. Aydan likes to win. Aydan likes it when there are enough victims targets that he can work up a sweat. He doesn't mind wounds and while he's greedy beyond reason, he never takes more than his share. Flaws: None. Aydan is perfect. Massive Damage: Yea, Nay, AND Maybe! Editing: Sure

[cyranojoe]

Naethin Brown   Name/Race/Class: Naethin Brown / Human / Class TBD       The images above are a little young and a little soft for Naethin. He's 16 now, growing a light goatee and distinctly more muscular (if still scrawny) than he was in his youth. Alignment: Chaotic - Individual: Wild Man now, and probably growing into Chaotic - Neutral: Egotist. Appearance: Swarthy-complected (e.g., Mediterranean), brown-haired, smallish 16-year-old, Naethin bears a tough, stubborn look on his face, giving off the sense that he expects the world to be against him. Occasionally, his youthfulness will break through the world-weariness and reveal an energetic optimism sparking in his large brown eyes. (He tries, desperately, to slough off such childishness -- it only brings you pain and disappointment, he thinks -- but sometimes the boy just gets caught up in the moment.) Dedication to hard labor and long hours has left his body well-formed and tan, though slim due to a lack of nutrition and favorable genetics. His clothing is ratty, though not as dirty as you'd expect, thanks to Naethin's inexperienced attempts to keep clean. Tropes: Naethin is a gloomy, cranky, proud and passionate teen. In small group theory, he usually fills the role of Central Negative -- probably too much so for him to become the Silent Observer much. In an anime, he's probably the Emo Hero's Emo Rival, LOL. The Abused Runaway, I suppose. EDIT: Also, Jade-Colored Glasses and The Cynic. But if I fall into tropes for very long, just kill me. Or maybe 40 lashes would be better. Trait Post: Buccaneer’s Blood. Buccaneer's Blood Discovered (a little longer than my usual) Naethin's father had been a sailor, or perhaps a pirate, depending on who you ask. "Shore ain't from 'roundere," that much they knew, eyeing his ruddy brown hair suspiciously. He'd been gone since Naethin turned five, but his name hadn't disappeared: his mother had taken it and wouldn't let go, and so that was part of him, too: Naethin Brown. A dull name, but one that the boy's irrepressible storytelling uncles refused to let go about. "Yer a PIRATE!" would go the refrain. "Cap'n Ellsbury Brown, 'e gave 'em 'ell!" and they'd snicker. "Bury 'em!" and the laughter would explode into a dribbling riot. It wasn't until Naethin walked into the Formidably Maid and gave his name to the curiously forward gal with the leather belts every which-way that it occurred to Naethin there might be something to it all. An old sea dog -- so anciently oceanic as to have salt flaking from his grey beard -- overheared the exchange, and his one good eye went wide with gummy shock & horror. ~^~ "No! NO! Cap'n, no! I swears, on me life, Cap'n, weren't me! They tied me to tha mizzen, they-they were goin' ta cut me throat if I called out, Cap'n!" Naethin steps toward the trembling old man, attempting to show him via the nearer candlelight that he wasn't any sort of captain at all, let alone one to be so afraid of, but the terrified blubbering only grew louder and more incoherent, and the man stumbled from his bar stool perch. From the ground, he begged, "Naw, Cap'n Brown, I've lived me life too long ta be no mutineer, sar... please, please, Cap'n Brown, cantcher let an ol' dog die in his rum... cantcher... you... don'twannadie... I didnwanna...." Finally, mouth agape, Naethin is rescued by the same leather-bound lass who'd triggered all this drama. "Well now, Black Jack, if ya want the Captain ta give ya yer leniency this black eve, then yer better be payin' off yer debts now, eh boy?" The "boy" is aimed at Jack, but she follows it with a happy wink to Naethin. "Come on, now, Jackie, pay yer tab an' lay off the gutrot... at least fer the night! Now g'won! Git!" Foreign gold clinks into the woman's rough hand, then disappears. She spanks the old man on his way, all the while keeping Naethin from interrupting or closing the distance enough to allow proper recognition to dawn. Abruptly, she spins, in such an out-of-control way that her intimidating feminineness comes at Naethin in a disconcerting rush. He blushes, despite himself. His ruddy cheeks deepen further as anger at himself sinks in. "Now then, Captain Brown..." the maid chuckles throatily. Her body wobbles and jiggles; either she's tipsy herself, or she's doing a marvelous imitation of the act. Now that she's this close, Naethin also notices that she's much older than he thought. "Naw, yer 'bout forty years too young, matey, and not near dead enough. His son, eh? Could be, could be. He did sow 'is seeds all 'cross tha seas, an' I should know, eh!" She cocks her head, in a "thoughtful drunk" post Naethin knows all too well from his family. "Naw. Grandson, you is. But one HELL of a 'semblance, boy! Hoo, a handsome 'semblance..." Without warning, she sweeps Naethin close and planted a sloppy-but-rock-hard kiss on his lips. His eyes rolled... in much the same way as they would a few hours later, when a pair of brass-wielding thugs set upon him in the alley. His last vision was of the corsair blowing him a kiss goodbye.... Standard Trait: FYI, I'm considering Suspicious (+1 Sense Motive, SM is class skill - You discovered at an early age someone you trusted had lied to you, and often, leaving you to question the claims of others.) or Resilient (+1 Fortitude - Violent neighborhood, unforgiving wilds forced you to subsist on food & water from doubtful sources. You've built up your mettle as a result.). Thoughtful Ramble: Statistically, Naethin has no strong point, unless perhaps it's his Constitution or Fortitude. He's an average kid who's achieved what tiny scraps of success he's found in life through hard work and absolute bull-headedness. But most of those gains have been lost due to misfortune and miscreancy, landing him at the bottom of the heap again. A jaded teen, Naethin is more likely to keep up his dukes than his hopes. He expects to suffer, and to endure. What will come to him at the end, he doesn't rightly know; hopefully wealth, and a chance to "show them", and the opportunity to take care of his half-mad mother, make up for having run away from her just over a year ago. He's small, and not especially strong, yet rooted with an iron will that makes him seem tougher in a fight than he really is.   Naethin the Original http://rpgcrossing.com/showthread.ph...46#post4506446 Naethin's Updated Background The fatherless teenager Naethin has long been free-roaming, yet chained to a family and a life he couldn't seem to escape. His extended family is made up of ne'er-do-wells and the desperately poor, a people who might otherwise be called gypsies in another world. They tell tall tales and drink heavily to get by, providing cheap labor or midnight services to any who call, unless they can get out of the work. Poverty and hunger is rampant for them, and they do all they can to endure it. Among the families' many mythical stories is one that claims buccaneer blood flows through their veins: they sometimes call themselves landlocked pirates, down on their luck thanks to a foul enemy pirate's curse. Stories of buried treasure and drama on the high seas might have excited a younger Naethin; today, they stand as naught but bitter reminders of his family's false hopes and empty promises. Three years ago: With his jaw set, Naethin bulled his way into the local schoolhouse. Because his family had never paid the taxes that fostered the place of learning, there quickly arose questions as to whether the child had a right to attend. Meanwhile, the other children soon grew to dislike the sullen, slightly undersized boy, whose attitude seemed to invite trouble and disdain (though inwardly, he simply expected it -- a fine distinction). Before the teacher could decide what to do about the strange creature who had embedded himself in the back of the room day after day, darkly staring at teachers, students, and blackboard with grim intent, the situation exploded into a physical confrontation. Ultimately, when they were pulled apart, Naethin, the larger boy, and the boy's cronies told stories that were impossible to sort out. After a moment's thought, the teacher wondered if he could use this incident as justification to remove Naethin from the classroom... but Naethin resisted desperately, crying that he would do anything, "I'll pay, I'll pay!" Whatever the motivation -- pity for a lost, filthy child, pride in the boy's determination, or simply appreciation for the potential financial rewards -- the teacher decided to hire Naethin as a classroom gofer. Later, the boy began picking up extra work elsewhere, though there were soon mutterings that he must be stealing in order to produce the kind of money he was seen with at times, especially since his money was often taken from him by his abusive uncle Jeorge. Through his work and the ad hoc lessons he'd gotten from family members -- some of whom really are former sailors -- Naethin has become relatively handy, though perhaps only somewhat more so than those children his age who also appreciate the meaning of hard work. Now, he doesn't *like* to work, nor does he like studying, reading, etc. They're all just means to an end, a very, very important end, and so he pushes himself through it, often with furrowed brow and a slight snarl, thinking about how lazy his family is, how some day he'll buy his mother a real house, someday he'll leave them all behind, some day, some day.... This conviction that wealth will buy happiness stems from a night when Naethin observed his uncle Jeorge and several other members of his family drinking and carousing their way through town. They seemed well on their way to the prison stocks, with violent overtones growing and growing at each pass, when suddenly, abruptly, they all went quiet. The older men took off their caps; the horn players and the drummers ceased their racket; the women coughed and brushed at tattered dresses. What was it? Naethin looked: just an old man. "Ev'nin, Misser Grimloy," said Uncle Jeorge. "Good day, sir," said the others. "Ahh, shaddap!" growled the old man. There were a few other words, but that was the gist of it that Naethin understood at that age. "Yessir. We will sir," said Uncle Jeorge, bowing and standing, bowing and standing. Muted, the rag-tag family shuffled homeward, or at least to where they'd last set up camp. Since that day, Naethin knew he needed money to get his way... to make himself better than Uncle Jeorge... to shut them up, to shut them all up. Naethin's father was a sailor, or perhaps a pirate, depending on who you ask, from outside the community; he settled down in Greenvale (or whatever the town's name was) for just a few years -- long enough to conceive Naethin, get roped into a marriage, buy a small shack on the outskirts of town, and rack up enough debt from business partners and gambling to send him scurrying out of town when the collectors came calling the second time. Naethin was five then. He's been told his father was the son of a great pirate captain, but this, like all the other ridiculous stories told by his drunken family members, no longer carries any weight with Naethin. If only he could find somewhere to go where they'd just shut up. Since birth, it seems, Naethin's been running away. Maybe he got it from his father, an idea Jeorge would go to great pains to impress upon him. A loser, a runaway, a scoundrel. As an infant, Naethin was once found fleeing on all fours down the dirt road out of town (coincidentally, perhaps, heading toward the ocean). He grew up hating and loving his extended family, whose freewheeling laziness brought them equal parts scorn and pity from the townfolk, sickening Naethin and driving him to seek validation and hope elsewhere. Today, the teen's relationship with his mother is wrought with complicated feelings. She's frail, easily rattled, and full of impossible dreams. She's proud of her boy for his fight over the school, but fearful that he'll get in trouble; amazed at his learning and jealously spiteful, too; seemingly never satisfied with anything he does, yet constantly assuring him (or herself?) that he's the best thing this family ever had, best thing she ever did. Once, she turned on him, accusing him of thinking he's better than her (he does, he bitterly realized then). She was drunk; it was the first time she'd really tried to beat him, first with her hands and then with a switch. He'd pushed her down in the mud, then ran away. He didn't come back for a time, either. He'd run away before, to be sure, once getting so lost stumbling through Whitewood Forest (or whatever it's called) that he unexpectedly came upon the crags in the dark and nearly fell into nothingness. Since then, that's where he'd go each time he couldn't take living in Greenvale anymore. Sometimes he'd stay for a few days, once for almost a fortnight. Ever since that confrontation with his mother, she'd faded. Naethin has wanted to reach out to her, bring her back from wherever her spirit's gone to, but words catch in his throat and his hands don't know what to do. He's helpless. The one freedom Naethin has is when he plays the drums; his favorite cousin, more talented than he, taught him after noticing his attention during one of the family's drunken revelries. Naethin avoids playing with the family, though sometimes they drag him into it; he'd rather just close his eyes, close his mind, and open himself to the rhythm beating on the drum. When he first heard the ocean, Naethin felt its rhythm in his chest, and it shook him to the core. What was this feeling? What was this place? Flaws : I can't find anything about flaws re: Pathfinder except for their $2 PDF. Probably something I'd dig, but I won't hold a candle for them if you nix 'em. I saw a lot of folks interpreting this query as asking for character flaws, not a mechanical "Flaw". OK then, for starters, Naethin is mildly addicted to Aeroltweed; almost violently opposed to alcohol, due to being abused by alcoholics and seeing his extended family flounder under its weight; highly critical of others' childishness, despite his own youth and occasional proclivity to foolish behavior; mildly suicidal, with urges that come and go, although they had originally been driven by a fear he would never leave home, now it may be driven by a fear he'll never return, etc; desperate to earn enough money to save/protect his impoverished mother; deeply angry/broken about that need; horribly afraid that he's not good enough to amount to anything -- his uncle called him Nuthin' instead of Naethin, for example; inexperienced on the sea, although he may have experience with lakeboats and swimming; very deep down, he's sexually conflicted, having expressed a "love" for his (male) best friend that he is unsure how to interpret; etc etc etc. Massive Damage: Aye. Why not? Editing : For grammar and spelling, yes. I will commit seppuku afterward, but you understand. If, on the other hand, you edit me for style and tone, I will commit murderku. You understand. In Sum: You know how I do. The role-play is all. There is no perfect person or character. There is perfect grammar. If we all strive to engage one another's characters, it'll be that much more interesting and fun. Doesn't mean always agreeing or going along, especially if that's just so you can get to the next fight/dice roll. I can role-play in the starting bar room until the cows come home, as long as somebody's going along with me. Post length depends on how much fun I'm having. Arrr. Naethin's drums: the doumbek. Here's a table of Naethin's reactions toward the other characters for now. Past relationships TBD...   Character Relation Thoughts/Feelings Johnathan 'Jack' Stormchild Polar Opposites Naethin probably finds Jack's violent, thoughtless, free-spoken ways pretty repulsive. He may have found himself on the wrong end of one of Jack's more "communicative" expressions, and will continue to nurse the hurt for an unnecessarily long time. Selene Ordano Too Much Alike Naethin will surely be attracted to Selene, then pity her for her eyes, then be pushed away strongly by her abrasive personality. He's just as abrasive, but he won't see the parallels, not right away at least. I think over time they'd become friendly/sympathetic, but initially there will be conflict. Oh yes. The Great Melinko Suckered In I could play this a couple of ways, but given the mess of people Naethin doesn't like so far, I'll go with Naethin being completely sucked in by Melinko's act. He thinks Melinko is hot sh*t, and brilliant for being able to get out of work the way that he does. Naethin may even go so far as to be an unwitting pawn/spy for Melinko at times. I don't know how he'll react if/when he discovers the manipulation, though. Maybe he won't... plenty of people in real life like that, who don't realize they're being manipulated. Nemat Cailean Sense of Superiority Nemat's cheerful blindness to life's sorrows and troubles reminds Naethin of his dearest friend, Darius, whose innocence & ignorance verged on some form of mental retardation. Depending on his mood, this may appeal to Naethin greatly, as he was attracted to Darius in a number of ways. It may also disgust him. Given the state of affairs when the two blokes meet, and the fact that Nemat is a few years older than Naethin and still unable to recognize life's brutal vagaries, Naethin's liable to begin with disgust, or disapproval, at least. He may or may not end up being protective, too. William Stormchild Meh I don't see much personality for Naethin to grab hold of and react to. This is a secondary app, anyway. Withdrawn. Caitlyn Brennan Near-Nemesis The girl will remind Naethin far too much of Autumn Stoudt, the stuck-up rich girl from his hometown. They weren't enemies, per se, but it might turn out so well with Caitlyn. That said, as a sylph she may have tattoos that will complicate his reaction to her -- Naethin loves tattoos. Mar Bleeds-the-Waters Quiet Appreciation Naethin would probably see something of himself in Mar's bulldoggedness and sullen nature. On the other hand, he might fear becoming the target of the larger, stronger man's ire. Probably appreciation from a distance. (Sense a pattern yet? You will.) Jondera's character Damn Drunks Character is STILL secret, but the fact that (s)he's a bottle fairy/drunken master suggests that Naethin will be greatly repulsed, at least superficially. He did have affection/attraction for his family members who were *fun* drunks, but he's at a point where anyone who touches alcohol makes him rage. Yeah, gonna be tough for him on board a ship full of raging rum-aholics. Bahadır "Aydan" Hakan Probable Loathing Greedy, proud, egotistic... oh yeah, Naethin'll LOVE this guy. </sarcasm> Bart McCarran Admiration/Learning Naethin is quick to appreciate Bart's thoughtfulness and knowledge. "Where'djoo learn 'at?" He might actually approach the surgeon, with a guarded curiosity revealed by his words and body language. How he handles the booze side of the equation is a little up in the air, but at least he respects Bart's age, skill, and experience, somewhat. Maybe he recognizes the toughness brought on by life on the streets? Hewitt Balgerson Potential Friends Not threatened by the gnome's size or macho behavior, Naethin may find a fellowship in their ambitions for gold and wealth; while Hewitt's lack of wisdom *could* sink this relationship rapidly, I think Naethin may like being the wiser one, while appreciating the mage for his talents and reasonableness. Ulfgar Stormchild Respectful Distance Naethin respects Ulfgar's age and suspicious nature. The fact that he's a dwarf and a man with holy powers adds a layer of awe that taps into the teen's deeply hidden wonder for such things unknown, but by and large he'd probably give the older man a wide berth, as is his nature with most people, even those who attract/interest him most. The drinking will turn him off and disappoint his growing admiration. Withdrawn, sadly. Jacqueline DeLacey Hotchee Momma-wow! Holy crap, Naethin will just about lose his sh*t over Jackie! The scar on her face might turn many a man off, but for Naethin it's an amazing, fascinating addition to an otherwise beautiful, mysterious face. Women are distant, confusing, strange beings, and Jackie is no less these things; indeed, she may represent their apex in his mind. He may not approach her much, but he will stare a lot, and talk about her a LOT when she's not around. His affection/interest in Morrie may be significantly impacted by all this... Jalute Friendly Fascination Naethin will be absolutely no-fear interested in Jalute. He'll approach the frog-man with something akin to friendliness, at least for him. I'd hope the two would be at least amiable with one another, if not even friends. Lash Fearful Admiration Absolutely terrified of the older man's dead-eyed toughness, while also fantastically jealous of his relationship with Jackie. Naethin would probably love to grow up to BE Lash, but he can't imagine how he's supposed to behave around the man. Fear and these other emotions may drive him to confrontation, though, rather than silence or avoidance. Don't know what happens after that...! Jeviah/Aria Potential Crush/Friends & Opponent I think Naethin would very much like Jeviah, whose charm and attractiveness could sweep him off his very grounded feet. Naethin might be afraid of being associated with the maniac/idiot weakling, too, though. Aira's violent, drunken nature would push him away -- but it could very well make the appeal of Jeviah that much stronger. Kingmonkey's char Boss Like a Boss Well, obviously Naethin just kicks around whoever kingmonkey's playing. It's inherent in our natures. (Durr, he's still under construction. Hope we get something soon!) Alluria Long-Long Kin Naethin will probably see kinship between himself and the gnome, though how much she'll endure in terms of his grouchy pessimism and needling will go a long way in determining their ultimate dynamic. Liam Flintsmith Stay Away Not a lot of personality described here, but I'm guessing he's talkative and combative, liking to prove himself in fights. Naethin no likey. Brandon Potential for Good Friends Depending on exactly how they meet, Naethin & Brandon could readily discover a spiritual kinship in one another. He seems sensible & practical, and the selfishness probably won't upset Naethin, depending on circumstances.

[kingmonkey]

Name: Hyrald
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Tropes: I'd prefer not to categorize at this point, and let my roleplay characterize Hyrald instead. I'm not trying to be contrary, but I don't believe in specifically aiming to fill archetypal roles. I'm the kind of guy who would prefer an unbalanced party instead of the thief/fighter/wizard/cleric standard combo pack. If anything, I hope to avoid falling neatly into any given trope.Two cents.

How did I get here? Opportunity. It's always been about opportunity. In some ways, that's been a problem. Life in Port Peril is... well, perilous, frankly. Ma and Fa were poor, but they were honest and anyone will tell you that an honest man in The Shackles is a poor man. So I've always been hunting for opportunities to advance. It's been hard, but it seemed like I was making headway... until recently. I am not a boastful man, but I'm pretty smart. Fa left his materials to me when he died. I lacked his gifts with wood. He was a cooper by trade and a carver by desire. I was a capable salesman and an adequate assistant in the shop. Ma had long since passed from red fever. I was alone. No, don't worry. It's been a long time and I've grieved my losses, but thank you for the offer of sympathies. So what could I do? I sold what I could of my father's tools and materials and whatever remaining stock we had, finishing the last barrels by myself and even pawning some of Fa's art. I used the money to buy up the stocks of a sea captain who had some hefty gambling debts and a need to get whatever money he could as fast as he could. It worked out well enough. I sold the captain's haul for far more than I bought it. I had enough to afford rent for a small shop just off the docks. I won't bore you with the business details but I made out okay. It was a good couple of years, then. I turned a fair profit, made a bit of a name for myself, though I'm surely forgotten by now. All it took was one night of bad judgement. I've been five years in prison and would have seen more years inside that damned place if not for these pirates. And it was all over a woman. Isn't it always? Her name was Inga. She was a fine woman. Hair like honey silk, tall, and a mind as keen as a paladin's sword. She was the daughter of an iron monger. Inga had caught my eye long before but I only got hers after many months of trying to be noticed without being noticed at the trying, if you catch my drift. I can't tell you how many chance encounters I orchestrated with her before I finally got up the guts to even talk to her. She was nicer than I'd imagined. Kinder, more... inviting. We became friends quite quickly, and then soon more. To think of her now, keeps my heart afloat as surely as this tub keeps my body from the cold, black depths below. Inga's father did not approve of my advances, but we were young enough not to be overly concerned by that sort of thing. Who thinks of marriage at that age? My intentions may not have been entirely wholesome, you understand, but I did like Inga and hoped there would- could be more between us. What I failed to understand was the depth of the vitriol Inga's father held for me. One night, at a bar, I had a few too many drinks. I had met some new friends and the night was warm and festive. It's no crime to have fun now and then, hmm? My new friends were also fairly generous, but not so much that I was tipped off to their ultimate, sinister intentions. It was only when the sun began to rise and we decided to make our ways home, and a glancing blow of a sap across the back of my damn fool head dropped me to the ground that I began to put the pieces together. In my stupor, I only understood half of what they said, but their beating spoke ample volumes far more clearly than I might have preferred. When I came to in that filthy alley, I was mortified. My clothes and hair were soaked with blood. What terror filled me that day I cannot even relate in words. There were many days since when I wished it were my life's blood spilled across that damp street, and not that of some prostitute that I had never laid eyes on in my life. I was framed. My business was closed up and seized by a merchant's association which just happened to include Inga's father, of course. I went to jail and there languished for five years. It has been hard and I've had many dark days but I've never given up hope for my freedom. My plan was to walk free and march right to Inga's father, confront him with what I knew and then show him that I'm the better man by walking away without laying a finger on him. I made my way up from poverty before; I would leave town and do it again somewhere else. These pirates, though, have other plans for me, though. I suppose you know this part from your own experiences. You drink something foul and wake up here, in this hold? Or maybe they knocked you out in the dark, like cowards. That I was taken from a prison is the only odd part of my story, in that respect. They must have known a jailor and had arrangements for recruiting felons now and then. And now I'm in another prison. My grey walls have been replaced with the sea, bars with cutthroats and thieves. But I'll do what I can, find an opportunity, make my way up. You'll see. Maybe I'll even take you with me.

[Mal Radagast]

Characters lost to old Bess, and others lost to time, which she might have found and kept.

[Mal Radagast]

Characters lost to old Bess, and others lost to time, which the Wench might've found and kept.