Marineking

Registration is closed. Except for those of you are currently in pending, no more sending me posts, unless you really think you've come up with a great character, then go ahead and PM me and I'll think about it.

Alright, I'm going to try something different this time. Instead if making a storyline and trying to make the RP follow it, I'm just going to give the blandest rules for a world and see where this breeze blows. PM me your character (Use a character sheet if you must, though be sure to include an opening post with it. Otherwise just describe your character in your opening post) so I can check for any discrepancies. (Don't sweat it on this guys, Like I said, the rules are going to be pretty open, I'm just going to filter people with horribly bad grammar and god-mode characters and such)

*Setting*

The world is a mix of fantasy and sci-fi (Yeah, think 'Phantasy Star,' to an extent). One day several thousand years ago, a space-ship from another planet crash landed into Varia, a medieval world where magic rules. Not having the technology to fix their ship, the otherworlders established themselves in a fairly uninhabited forest at the north of the continent, building a fortress of sorts. Since then, their technology has slowly spread throughout the world, intermixing with magic, creating the backdrop for our story. (I did say "blandest" didn't I?)

Basically, you have nearly full creative license when making your characters. Just a few rules, though. If you are a technological character, then make sure you don't have anything too powerful (Lasers and plasma pistols are okay, but no rocket launchers or tanks, though you can go ahead and make a buggy or some sort of vehicle for your character if you want. Just be prepared to lose it if the story eventually calls for it). Same for magic characters. Fireballs and shields are a must to even the odds with techno guys, but no mind-control, or doomsday spells, please.

We will begin in the city of Glefargis, a temperate harbor-town located on the west-southwestern tip of the continent. It has become a melting pot of sorts, seeing all races (Yeah, be a dwarf, or an elf, or anything you want, within the limits of reason) there at some point or another. Architecture, then, varies from the simple wooden shacks of the poor to the magically carved mansions of the elves to the steel-plate towers of humans and dwarves. You can start out anywhere in the world, really, but RP's tend to be boring without a little character-interaction.

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Sarrisan walked down the street of Green Glass Avenue, vacantly observing the pristine white buildings with their tall, shining green windows, breathing the fresh and cool morning air. He wasn't really seeing the fine elven craftsmanship, though. He was just enjoying the beginning of the day, something more people should get the hang of doing more often. He wasn't a young man, but he could move with the best of them, as proved by the flowing way his titanium power sword moved at his hip, or the smooth way he walked, not showing the usual difficulties of age at all. More then a few fools in this city had taken the sight of his knotted white hair and wrinkles on his face and decided to try their luck. They would not be trying again.

He turned at an intersection and found himself facing Lake Aidaur, his destination. Fenced off and lined with beautiful tree's, it was one of the elves proudest creations, the water itself having magical properties to it, making it forever clear and pristine. He stepped up to the perfect water and looked at his reflection. His silver revolver, sitting on the opposite hip as his sword, didn't look its years, though it was truly ancient. He even had to craft his own bullets for this thing, though he wouldn't give it up for the world. His clothes were typical for his race, humans, a clean, black suit with a black shirt beneath. His hair was pulled back into a knot behind his head, pure white, though not from age. His face was thin and angular, with high check-bones, and his gray eyes glinted in turn with his lips as they smiled their usual grin. He had more then a few wrinkles, most of them merry ones. Finally, he turned and sat down beneath a fig tree, leaning back on his elbows and letting his eyes drift closed.

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Lefos

Elias sat at the bar, listening to the gentle piano music. Shortly after draining his glass, he placed his glass down. "Hey barkeep, gimme somethin' stronger! Don't care what, just make sure its cheap," he said, glaring down the bartender. Elias had too drink cheap these days, money was getting tight. He was a wandering gunman, doing whatever odd-jobs came up for money. "Damn these Glefargians...cheap ass bastards. Nobody'll even pay me to watch their damn kids," he thought to himself. He ran his hand through his long silver hair, turned such by an unfortunate magus a few months back. He was sitting at a bar near some lake or another, he'd forgotten the name.

Looking over at the bartender, he noticed that he wasn't being heeded at all. "Fine, I get the message," he said. "Damn elves," he thought, "just because I'm a human they show me no friggin' respect..." Checking his wallet, he noticed that he was, in all respects, poor as dirt. It had been a full two weeks since he had any real work. "Guess its time to get some work. I'm sure somebody around here ain't as cheap as everybody else...must have SOME kind of job for me." He left enough money to cover his tab and got up from his stool. His flak jacket made a slight noise as he stood, his pants(a pair of camouflaged shorts.) dropped down just past his knees. Grabbing his gun, an old semi-auto laser rifle, from against the bar, he started towards the door.

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x_king

Cycladese was a Hopolite - a heavy infantryman. In one hand, he bore a long spear with a iron tip and in the other, he brandished a shield that sported numerous decorative engravings and glittering gems. A billowing jade-coloured cape hung from his shoulders upto his leather-shod feet, while a glistening breastplate of steel was strapped tightly to his chest. He wore a metal skirt around his waist. A sheathed Gladius dangled precariously from his hip. Cycladese was heavily built, and had only a smattering of facial hair on his chin and above his lips. His hair was dark and curly, and his complexion fair.

((Imagine a Spartan, basically))

He ambled down the avenue, spear slung across his back. The pedestrians would often veer and give him queer looks, but Cycladese did not care. He disliked the Elven City and its towering marble edifices. He prefered the stone hovels of his own township to the brilliant white plazas and palaces of Green Grass Avenue. He was many miles from home, but the fire in his sinews had not yet been doused. A long scar ran along the length of his arm, a faded souvenir from a war that was now mere antiquity. His eyes looked like painted glass - they remained dull and emotionless - as he walked along the cobbled thoroughfare. He saw a man reposing beneath the far reaching boughs of a giant fig tree (After all, the plant drew its nutrition and water from the enchanted lake and was blessed with preternatural robustness).

"Figs are deemed sacred in my land." said Cycladese, trying to initiate a conversation. "But even there, with wanton care and provisioning, they do not grow to such monstrous proportions."

He smacked the rugged bark of the tree with his palm, as though demonstrating the sturdiness of its trunk.

Marineking

(((Eh, X-king, you're really supposed to PM me for confirmation first, but I'm gonna let this pass because your grammar is fine and your character looks good. Welcome.)))

Sarrisan let an eye flit open and focused it on the hulk of a man above him. His clothes were strange - Sarrisan had never quite seen their like before - but the armor looked well made for speed and protection, and the man himself looked as if he could use the spear on his back. That was enough for Sarrisan, and he appraised his hands' position in relation to his weapons. The man did not look antagonistic, but few men survived long in this world without being a little wary of free-talking strangers.

He opened his other eye and let his typical grin grow into a friendly smile, "Then I presume your people are not too familiar with the careful arts of nature magic," he replied in a jovial voice, to take any presumed sting away from his words. He himself had dabbled a bit those same arts, though not to very successful ends. That had been the day he'd learned the value of a good, solid gun. "The elves are quite the masters at it, themselves," He continued. "They seem to have a natural talent for it, more then other species. This lake, and presumably the trees around it, are cared for night and day with it's gentle touch."

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x_king

((Apologies!))

"Fascinating." lied Cycladese, running his partially callused hands along the Fig bark. A thousand little grooves and cracks ran through every inch of the tree's impenetrable rind, sheltering entire populations of aphids and ants. "I myself have never seen a culture so deeply entwined with its arcane arts."

The last two words of his sentence simply dripped with condecension. He glanced at the silver revolver that was suspended from the man's belt, and then at the titanium blade. Rather impressive armaments he thought to himself.
Cycladese's face broke into a smile. After a lengthy spell of dull inactivity, his eyes suddenly livened and sparkled in the sun. His cheeks flopped up and down as he spoke:

"I see that you too are a practitioner of the combative sciences." he stated, pointing at the pair of impressive weapons that hung from the man's sides.
"I am Cycladese."

Deselin

Dashal woke up with a start. He had been leaning against a tree near Lake Aidaur, watching a group of children play amongst themselves, and apparently had dozed off. He found himself now lying down beside the roots of the trees. Brushing off his shirt as he got up, he noticed an older looking man just on the other side of the tree drifting off into his dreams.

Dashal sighed quietly and headed for the lake, hoping to drink some water out of it. He had heard people carried water in bottles or capsules, for quick drinking, but he was never cut out for even adequate technology. "Never liked it, probably never will." he thought to himself. Absorbed in his thoughts, Dashal hadn't realized he had gotten so close to the lake, and almost walked right in. He stopped abrubtly and knelt down, cupping his hands underneath the water. As he brought his hands near his face, some of the water spilled out onto his light brown shirt, and trailed down to his plain, brown pants. He was a simple man, wore just the barest clothing he needed, save his elven mother's golden cloak, and used his magic to aid him with nearly everything he did.

The cloak itself stood out, in any crowd and on any person, but moreso did it stick out on him. His clothing was barely of a peasant to wear, and yet he had a cloak woven out of pure gold cloth that had a silver insignia in the middle, that of his ancient families magic.

Before he lost himself in thoughts again, he took a gulp of the water in his hands, wiped his mouth, and started off again in search of people who needed his help.

Marineking

Sarrisan just barely kept his eyebrow from lifting. The man was in a largely elven district of town, yet he clearly disdained the arcane arts and then only gave his name when he realized Sarrisan was able to fight? An interesting person, indeed, if a bit strange. Raising slowly, as if he couldn't move any faster, Sarrisan stood with his back straight and faced his new, well, friend, and extended his hand. "Then it seems that we have a common hobby. My name is Sarrisan." There was no reason not to be polite.

But he still kept his left hand near his sword.

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Fieren

Baek gulped a bit of his cantine, wiping a bit of the beer off his pointy green nose.

"Nothing better for a goblin than a cold one on a hot day," He muttered to himself, "Glad the the last customer had a knack for ice."

His last customer happened too be a frost mage, all too willing to deep freeze his cantine a bit for a discount. He tilted his head down for a moment, checking his attire for any spills. Baek had desperately challenged himself to stay top of the line in the fashion influenced by the ones that fell from the sky, consequently leaving him painfully unorthodox compared to most of the middle to low class. He wore what humorously had a stark resemblance to a zoot suit, minus a hat. The tailor didn't have the heart to tell Baek that clothing became unpopular among the skyfallen centuries ago. In the habit of merchants, Baek quickly focused his attention on the cloth mat laid before him, eying to see if all his accounted goods were still there, save for one. He turned his eyes to a young elvish woman, examining a necklace Baek had up for sale with gleeful eyes. A young Elvish man, not too far from Baek, tapped his foot nervously. His eyes that were fixed on the Elvish woman for quite some time, turned away as he knelt down to Baek's puny Goblin stature (The tip of a typical goblin's head would barely make it somewhere between a grown human's thighs and hips). Before he could utter a word to Baek, the goblin's merchant wit had him shoot a comment first.

"The lass seems to like that piece right there. Can't blame her, now can we? Gorgeous thing, made me forget where I got it a day after I nabbed it. If you want in bed with 'er you'd buy it."
The Elvish man snapped his head back, his cheeks turning to embers. His voice quivered.
"N-no, no. I would never-, I mean. Just, it's just a gift you see. Her birthday is coming up. An elf w-would know better my friend."
His voice was a bit louder than he intended it to be. The elvish girl turned to look at him affectionately, still holding tightly to the necklace.
Baek kept a wide smile, the poor elf's face was priceless.
"How much.."
Baek clapped the man's knee, stood up, and got a bit close to his ears, whispering. The elvish man's face turned pale.
"No.... Please.. its a fascinating necklace in all it's worth, but can't you make it a bit cheaper?" He quietly pleaded.
"No can do my pointy eared friend. It's either that much or a heartbroken girlfriend."

Moments later, Baek was shaking his left hand with the delighted elvish girl, who was furiously shaking with both hands as the necklace jingled around her neck, slightly causing Baek's now fat pocket of money to join in as well. The right hand shook with the elvish man, who was stuck between a boundary of happiness and financial despair. The comical moment was broken (At least to Baek's thinking) when a clattering of trinkets and curios were heard behind Baek, where his mat of goods was. Baek had made the beginner's mistake of turning his eye off his merchandise for far too long. A skinny, unshaven man covered in a cloak of rags held his goods all bundled and wrapped in the mat. After a few seconds of awkward silence between the four people, the man bolted off to the direction of the intersection to Green Glass avenue. Baek whipped his hands away from the two elves and darted after the thief. Though Baek was fairly fit and skinny for a goblin, his height kept him at a disadvantage.

"Stop! Come back here you sad shit of a thief!" Baek screamed at the man.
He checked to see if his rapier was still attached to his belt, and sent his other hand down his suit, reaching for the silenced las pistol, only to hesitantly stop. He didn't want to risk shooting his goods. Baek had set his shop by a side of Lake Aiduar, so the chase had the two running by the coastline of the lake, passing by many trees. The thief was facing an opening view to a fig tree. A few men we're around it, going about on their business. He intended to hop over the fence farther down and disappear into the crowds of Green Glass avenue. Baek was desperate to the brink of tears.

"One of you, any of you, stop that damn thief!"

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Lefos

Rifle slung over his back, Elias started down the coastline of the lake. He took in the sites around him as he walked. There was a man getting up from under a tree, looked as though he had just awoken from a nap. Children were milling about near him. "Kids...never much cared for MY childhood," he thought too himself. His childhood wasn't exactly a happy one... Parents wanting to keep him out of the world. One day, he simply ran. He hadn't stopped yet.

Snapping his head away from the scene, he noticed two men standing under a fig tree, talking about something. They were both armed, that much was for sure, so they probably wouldn't need his help. One of them was a giant of a man, adorned in enough armour to scare off any brigand. The other man was much smaller than the first, but Elias could spy a well-used blade by his side. "Nice blade."

Looking around a bit more, Elias noticed something strange. There was a man, dressed in rags, running down the coastline. Behind him was a small Goblin, dressed in some ancient garb or another. "One of you, any of you, stop that damn thief!" he heard the Goblin yell. "Heh, doin' things this way ain't my style, but who knows. Nothin' better to do with my time. There may even be reward money in it for me."

Elias knelt down to a single knee and pulled his rifle over his shoulder and into his hands in a single, deft motion. He slowly pulled the weapons scope over to the man running, and then just a bit ahead of the man adorned in rags. "Can't kill him...don't know whose right and whose wrong, here." Taking this into account, he lowered his sights a bit and let off a single crack, sending a bolt of energy sailing into the mans lower-right leg.

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Fieren

"This is it.." The thief thought to himself in a glimmer of hope ," Once I get these valuables sold off, I'll finally be rid of those moneylenders! Free at la-"
The hope was short lived, as the pressure of the traveling round and the surging laser heat from it tackled the poor man's right leg, tripping him and digging his face onto the floor. Holding back the much needed scream of agony bottled up in him, the thief desperately balanced himself to a limping stand, holding his fists in a peculiar manner. Baek caught up, stopping out of slight confusion in front of the man's fighting stance.

"I warn you goblin. I may be a thief, but I've been trained in the formidable martial arts of-" A puncturing sound was heard, followed by a sharp stinging pain in his right foot. "Gods preserve me!" The man fell to the floor like a rag doll, letting out the said bottled up scream. Baek blew off a slight stream of smoke from the silencer attachment on his pistol. "There is fresh livestock tissue in that bullet. Diagnosed with Cholera if I recall. Might want to hurry to a doctor." Baek considered that one of his less creative bluff's, but in the brew of adrenaline and fear the man took it as reality. Using what strength he had left, he brought himself up and began limping away in a hurry, wailing like a wraith the whole way, oblivious to the startled passerby. He apparently forgot about the bag, which lay a foot or two away from where he fell. Spinning his pistol in an impressive fashion, the sweaty Goblin slid the pistol back into his suit, picked up the sack, and turned to the marksman. "My good man, you just saved a months worth of bartering and bidding."

"Got to have a good word follow my name.." Baek muttered to himself, regrettably thinking the man would expect a sort of reward. Besides, if luck shined upon him, Baek could kill two birds with one stone. He dusted off his pants, politely snatched the man's hand, and placed some money in it.
"I go by Baek Revilgaz. Hope this is enough for your troubles." Patting the man on the knee, Baek opened his bag to check up on his goods, faking a conversation with himself. He had been eying the men around him in the past moments, feeling a different flavor of hardboiled mercenary in each of them. His purposely loud voice began.

"Made a satisfying amount of dough in this Elf convention. Shame, might head out to another spot to get a bit more variety in my trade and sell, but bandits have been a real pain in the ass lately, eh? Barely scraped away from a group of dune bandits on my last trip. Who knows, you might as well tag along with some traveler for paid protection, Baek."

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