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  #46  
Old 01-26-2019, 08:57 PM
MurderInParidise MurderInParidise is offline
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Would you like us all to do "thoughts on the other apps?" Looks fun, I see some have done that.
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  #47  
Old 01-26-2019, 09:02 PM
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I just would like each completed person to think of and come up with ideas about how they would connect to others in the village, are you friends, do you work together, things like that.
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  #48  
Old 01-26-2019, 09:17 PM
MurderInParidise MurderInParidise is offline
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Kapera View Post
I just would like each completed person to think of and come up with ideas about how they would connect to others in the village, are you friends, do you work together, things like that.
Okay, sounds cool to me!
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  #49  
Old 01-26-2019, 11:07 PM
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Kirna would get along well with Thomas, I think. She would love to have learned a "secret language" to talk to him in (Plus, I'm obsessed with sign language in real life.)
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  #50  
Old 01-26-2019, 11:09 PM
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She would also probably have a crush on Garidan Arasme, only because he has horses, and she loves horses, especially her own. Though she would spend a lot of time with him just to pet the horse.
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  #51  
Old 01-27-2019, 07:28 AM
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Pots Pantone
Thematic Music

Pots Pantone
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Appearance:

For Pots Pantone it is all about the perfect grimace or expression. You don’t have a standard array of smiles, frowns and rolling eyes, nonono... You stitch up a tailored grimace to every little interaction you end up in. These endless exercises towards perfection of his expressions along with long, hearty giggles and bursts of laughing, have given Pots a rather rubbery and wrinkled face, full of notches, lines and naturally carvings in his freckled face. In the middle of it all, over a small, button-tipped nose rests a pair of clever cinnamon-brown eyes with long lashes and a slight almond-shape to them. Pots often dyes his hair and beard, trim it in all sorts of interesting ways and experiment with the dyes that he grind out of the amarenths of his garden. These days, he has an orange glow over a berry-red base for his bowl-cut hair and his goatee matches his eyes, with the occasional white stripe mixed in.
White teeth aligned neatly on row behind [tt=thin lips]he’d liked his lips bigger and broader. They’d be better for mimicking, playing brass instruments and for kissing, but alas, there was nothing Pots Pantone could do about a thin-lipped heritage[/b] and whenever he open his mouth - which is quite often - the air is filled with the refreshing minty smell from the many mints he (also) grows in his garden.

Pots Pantone prefers clean, thyme-scented and loose garbs. He has two sets and use his tricks to make sure that they are rinsed, scented and pressed every day. He also has a pair of cool leather boots, with leaves embossed in the oxen skin and a rim of white rabbit fur. Lastly he wear his pendant on the outside of his shirt, hanging mid-chest and glowing against the light colours of his clothes.

And this is just Pots Pantone. You should see his garden!

Flaw:

Combine the near endless talking of Pots Pantone with a healthy appetite on helping his acquaintances to become prettier or more styled. Even while at it, Pots knows he had overstepped some unseen zone threshold, but then again... A moustache would make Thomas Miller shine.

Fear:

Well... In the dark, pretty much everything. The rustling in the reeds, a splash in the stream, a hedgehog hunting snails. All neat things with proper explanations, but when the Lightbringer does not shine, Pots Pantone opts to stay indoor. One thing is worse though... Being alone in the dark. Gosh!

Biography:

Pots Pantone is a dreamer. He have taken the unrealistic tales from visiting strangers to heart and breathed life into them with his own imagination, a lot of colour and fresh flavour. He dreams of elven communities in lush forest fortifications with little sprites flying around on glittery wings administering golden powder that allow the rulers to soar through the air, dwarven kingdoms all under ground with forges and smiths claiming craftsmanship over legendary, mythical weapons and grand savannahs with exotic beasts and dangerous nomad tribes that would eat their own babies if food became scarce.

All these dreams and the songs that drive from them need a place to be vented, so when the day is done, tending to his garden and preparing packs of vegetables and herbs for the other families, Pots Pantone head for the inn to sing, play, laugh and joke. Several of the people coming there are delightful listeners and Lillian, who most definitely not is a listener, is an expert on fields that Pots regards as essential. Like herbs for example. They all know him there and it doesn't take long from someone noticing their ale have gotten an acidic twist or their boots, at the entrance, have been stuffed with hay, before Pots Malone is called out as the prankster. Nothing new there, but Pots’ pranks and jokes doesn't carry maliciousness or ill intent. Just fun.

So while Pots Pantone worship the quality of his friendships in Rivair Hibbair, he dreams of long journeys under the striking sun of Sarenrae and the wonders the world has yet to show him.

The Char Run
left-aligned image
The firewood have died down to glowing embers which was perfect for the grilling. Pots Pantone had been up since very early preparing ingredients. Once the first rays of Sarenrae's blessing hit the upper part of his garden he had been out and down by the river landing to turn on the fire. He would be getting the first catches and making the traditional snacks for everyone to try how this year was tasting. Thymy, Sage, Rosemary and chard leaves in all thinkable colours were nearly arranged in a flat stone beside the flattened embers and the grilling iron. Pots himself were scouting up the river to where the children were beginning to mill around. He glanced over at Madame Briggs and, without her seeing it, copied her old, wrinkled expression to perfection. He smacked his tongue and called out to the village elder,

Dear Madame Briggs, come taste my mix
For Char be roasting soon; laid on chard with silver spoon
Oh dear old Briggs, they all be laughter, licks
When Pots’ fish, the morning dish
Skeddadle to this, the netty kiss
Splash, bam, hiss
Your highest wish:
Pantone fried fish!


The old woman had certainly turned to the gnome and he saw she smiled warmly, shaking her head slightly and giving him silent credit for his good mood. Everyone was in a perfect good mood - the greatest day to perform. Yep! Pots said, looking up with a breezy smile, Here they come. He lifted an arm, with the fish turning tool waving above his orange helmet of hair, Everyone, all thoughts begone. Nets at the ready, boots off the jetty, here comes the fish and a Pantone special dish!

For good measures, Pots threw on a carefully prepared juniper bark mix to the fire. The reward was instant. A luxury smoke smell, spilling all over the place, heralding the promise of a fat, fishy snack to go with the wonderful loaves of bread.


Race: Gnome
Class: Bard (Prankster)
Age: 28
Traits: Strength of the Sun (religion), Excitable (combat) and Rapscallion (race)
Drawback: Cowardly

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Last edited by Dressedtojazz; 01-28-2019 at 04:25 PM.
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  #52  
Old 01-27-2019, 03:46 PM
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@Thedragonqueen: Thomas uses sign language to speak to Lillian, it is Lillian who is deaf.

@Jazz: Added you to the application list and will do a review shortly
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  #53  
Old 01-27-2019, 03:48 PM
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Well then she will talk to Lillian a lot to learn the language
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  #54  
Old 01-27-2019, 04:37 PM
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I expect anyone approximately 19 give or take a couple years will have learned the basics when Lillian was creating them, trying to play with her local friends after the illness/infection that took her hearing. Past that, I don't know who interacts with Lillian most outside her family, except probably Thomas. I'd be a little hesitant for it to be the sole reason she's interacting with anyone, though, because she's the innkeeper's daughter and busy. It's not exactly the kind of village where people have a lot of time on their hands, if they're subsistence living, right?
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  #55  
Old 01-27-2019, 08:06 PM
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  #56  
Old 01-27-2019, 08:12 PM
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  #57  
Old 01-27-2019, 08:18 PM
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  #58  
Old 01-27-2019, 08:22 PM
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  #59  
Old 01-27-2019, 09:27 PM
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GarlandName: Garland Witcombe
Age: 19
Alignment: Neutral good
Appearance: Human male, he is slightly pale despite the rough rural lifestyle. His scruffy, mid-length, dark brown hair is almost black, only recognisable as brown in good lighting, and he has kindly grey-green eyes that twinkle warmly under eyebrows that are so bushy, they look like they are trying to leap off his face. He sports a smattering of freckles over his slim cheeks, and a warm smile sits amid a sparse and frankly embarrassing attempt to grow a beard.

Flaw: Garland is a bumbling fool. He isn't exactly clumsy, but he has an uncanny knack for having appalling timing. If he drops a freshly baked pie, it will certainly land on a freshly cleaned pile of laundry. If he knocks over a hoe, it spooks the cattle. And if he trips and lands in the mud, the girl he likes most certainly will see the whole embarrassing affair.

Fear: Leadership. A kindly boy, he is always happy to help, but hasn't the faintest inkling of how to lead. It is no help that his uncle has spent the last three years teaching him to bless food, or the lyrics to several harvest hymns - if anything he is even more terrified. If put on the spot he can do no more than stammer and sweat, before completely losing consciousness, to the great disappointment of his mother. (He is pretty scared of her, too.)

Biography: Garland, the name speaks of ancient royalty, grand quests, and dragon slayers, if you asked his mother. One look at the tall, skinny boy said otherwise. A little timid, but ever so helpful, he follows in his uncles footsteps, on the way to becoming the unspoken spiritual leader (not that the job came with much in the way of pay or glamour, just perform a blessing here and there, tend to the sick, lead in some traditional songs. Nothing fancy, just what was expected to keep the gods of the harvest appeased.)
Training with uncle meant less time spent tending the fields, so a few years of study ensured he was little more than a stick, or so most of the farmhands liked to jest. He was happy to poke fun right back, inquiring over the smell (had the plowhorse splattered one all over them?) and laughs would be shared.
At home, he was banned from the kitchen, only allowed near food to bless it or eat it, after nearly burning down half the village trying to bake bread.
He dreads the day his uncle turns over his position to him. Thoughts of running away had crossed his mind, but hadn't the faintest clue where he could go, and frankly, he was too cowardly to go alone. Besides, it would be years before anything made uncle retire...


RP example:
"Coming, uncle!"
Sure, it was a little earlier than they would normally leave, but they had to prepare for the festivities. In six days, at the half moon, they would be holding the solstice gathering, the start of the harvest. There were whispers that the freeze would be coming early this year, but it was bad luck to start the harvest before the solstice. Garland murmured a quick prayer as he pulled on his boots. Don't want to offend any of the harvest gods, so close to the solstice.

Ducking through the front door, he was welcomed by a brisk morning breeze, and a lovely view of the village, draped in morning dew.
"What are we doing first, uncle? Burning incense at the granary? Making an offering at the mill?"
Uncle shook his head. "Young Prescot got himself kicked by the plowhorse. Daft fool thought he could brush the beast down without Sally there. He shoulda known better." With a grunt, he cleared his throat and hocked up some phlegm. "He'll be needing your 'soft touch', poor sod was howling when I left."
Sure enough, Garland could hear faint screams by the shrine.
"Poor Prescot, I'll meet you there uncle!"
With a spring in his step, he rushed off to see what he could do to ease the farmhands pain.


Application RP:The sun had begun to rise once more in the sky, rays of scarlet and dusts of salmon and violet danced across the eastern mountain range and lit the world in a rainbow of brilliant if not threatening colours. Red skies in morning... and yet it was the first day of the Char run and that meant that all hands were to be at the river's edge before the sun finished the banishment of night. Old Maudie Briggs was already there, firmly ensconced in her wicker chair to supervise while Trayner and Nona had already spread out fresh baked breads for breakfast. A soft murmur of the little ones as they waited along the rocks further down stream and then a shout. "They're coming!"

In many places and times, such a call from lookouts boded ill, but here in Rivair Hibbair, it was the sound of delight as the first edge of frothed waters indicated that the run beckoned. Soon everyone would be wet, scale marked and filthy, but as the catch was made, sorted, gutted and laid out on the drying racks, there was laughter and joy to be found in the annual tradition. Everyone worked, there were enough jobs to go around and in the evening there would be a great feast to celebrate the harvest which would provide meat for the winter months ahead.

Standing next to a rack, Garland looked on in excitement. He had missed the Char run last year, being stuck tending to the sick with his uncle. It had been a slightly worse year than normal, but everyone had recovered just fine. In fact, he saw several of the previously ill on the opposite bank, also anxiously awaiting the first Char.
"Eyes open, Gar!" The sound of his mothers voice was like a cold bucket of water being poured down his back, and he snapped to attention. The froth of water coming around the bend made his heart leap up in his chest, they were here!

In short order he was lost in the work, taking the gutted and scaled fish, arranging them on the rack, and briefly murmuring a prayer over each. Uncle was marching up and down the opposite bank, blessing each rack in turn, and Garland heaved a sigh of relief that his duties weren't quite that intensive yet. The hours marched on, and Garland found himself exhausted as the sun set, sweat, scales, blood and guts staining his once immaculate tunic.
"Time for a good bath!" He looked to his mother, who nodded and waved him away, and off he jogged, to bathe before the evening meal.

 




 

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Last edited by xenavire; 02-09-2019 at 01:28 PM. Reason: Complete, I think. With more alignment! And now with interactions!
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  #60  
Old 01-28-2019, 03:54 AM
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Looks cool, Kapera. I'm Sorry I don't have the time for it.
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