Jump to content


  • Content Count

  • Joined

  • Last visited


About ChaoticanWriter

  • Rank

Profile Information

  • Gender
  • Location
    Minneapolis, MN
  • Occupation
    IT/Tech Support

Contact Methods

  • Discord
    ChaoticanWriter (Matt)

Recent Profile Visitors

536 profile views
  1. Humble beginnings. First foray into the port city, a bit of alcohol and conversation with patrons and tavernkeeps, learning the dialogue, eyeing the sights, and a bed to lie and let the burns of the sun heal. Years of wandering between petty kingdoms and fighting useless causes led to his exodus from the home continent, and now, he found himself in a city the likes of which he never laid eyes on. The locals certainly had interesting customs. A mesh of people who claim to be from all over the continent, but the locals in particular were exceeding the bounds of normal hospitality,... that is... the level of hospitality Gavin was used to. Frankly, he was used to fighters in the wilds, the seedy parts of cities, and the bigoted reception of high-class snobs, monarchs, and their armed entourage. As harmonious and relaxing as the first day was, the midnight crow cawed in his mind. At once, the comfort of the bed suddenly felt like quicksand beneath him. The peace was deafening. Where some reveled in the comfort, something else nagged at him. A sense of misplacement. A thirst to fend off the simplicity of it all. Damn it all! What is this feeling? It is... is it... Yes. Boredom. Too little recklessness. Too little danger. In the moments that followed, his feet touched the ground, and like a terrible wind, he grabbed for his equipment, shuffled out the door, and proceeded down the street. Carefully laid, aged brick spoke of history, but it was a heralded, grand history which spoke nothing of the toils of social decay. It was like an open-air museum, and the taste in his mouth soured. He needed a different place to spend his time until the witching hour, a truer test of the cities nature; the kind of environment which bled intoxication like the dew off a barrel of whiskey. The type of place where the air was thick in the schemes and laments of the seedy. His eyes judged the make of the bricks beneath, as if seeking their every flaw, counting them as he wandered the streets, his ears tuned to find the candor of loud, anarchic chorus that made weaker wanderers turn boot. As luck would have it, after twenty minutes of this urban tracking through narrower and narrower streets, he heard in the distance of an open alley the sounds he was looking for. Coming to and from the alley, a cackling entourage of scoundrels, sailors, pirates, and brigands,... each obvious of their station yet unrelated to each other by Gavins collection, wandered the narrow street much the same way patrons several drinks into a binge would. The scent was one of smoke from a nearby pit, the salt of the sea wind, the breath of drunks, and the refuse of ill intention. Just my kind of people. At the far end of the alley, beyond the flicker of ominous torchlight, an iron banded door marked the epicenter of their comings and goings. On its face, lie a rough carving of a dagger and a chalice. A tavern with no name. Something to give him the lay of the true face of Port Kyros, at the time of the night when the watch were dozing to sleep, and the locals dreamed of black swifts... or whatever they dreamed about at night. ... Study of his drunken street specimen grew into familiarity eventually, which drew him into the street light, his stride finding the correct tempo. Granted, it didn't prevent any gawking looks from some of them, but it didn't attract any wrongful attention. As he reached the end of the alley, and pushed open the door, a cacophony rushed past him, the shouting and cheering and singing and angry yelling and glass breaking coming upon his senses at once. He moved down the stairs into the underground bar, where he came face to face with the menagerie, drunken animals of all stripes and colors, of various roars, and sharpness of claws. The scent billowed in a mixture of smoke, spent powder, spilled drinks, sweat, bad breath, and that oh so beautiful smell of sentient refuse. Blackjack smiled. My kind of place alright!
  2. I should probably add that I've released a couple new articles at my site as well! =D A listing of 36 different types of governments. A small snapshot as a world-building resource! Worldbuilding: 36 Types of Government (Part 1) Worldbuilding: 36 Types of Government (Part 2)
  3. [Note: This RP is an open thread candidate for the Become Somebody quest for Port Kyros.]

 -------------------- Dead wood beholds an aging lamp post, standing tall at the top of the incline from the pier. The cage shifts back and forth, as much as heavy iron could in the sea wind. Facing against the sea, six legs crawl eagerly, a copper-red body seeking out its future nest. The wharf borer, a tiny critter known to burrow itself into old docks and ships, prods the tall pole with its antennae, tasting the wood as it climbed higher. Near to the metal ring that beheld the lantern, seeing the bits of crevices underneath, it begins tearing at the fibers of the wood grain.
 A sudden blow cracks its exoskeleton. Its front legs barely holding on before its torn from its grip, its body crushed under beak. ... The black bird, having watched from the end of the lanterns arm, leaps with wings spread to grasp the top of the pole, and proceeds to devour the borer in a swift motion. Its meal eaten, it takes flight from the pole, soaring over the docks

. -------------------- The heavy thunks of boot steps resound along the ramp coming down from the now docked trading ship, as sailors and mercers with crates and marked barrels shuffled to and from the vessel. Blackjack's feet land on the pier. His eyes caught the flight of a black swift floating high above the port. Its wings glided on the breeze, as if to make its presence known. Gavin figured avians couldn't give a shit-covered feather over the thought two-legged ground dwellers, but Gavin would take a symbol of fortune any day. May it be known by the lady of luck that today was a special occasion. It was a new land; a new morning. Against the gleam of the sun, a city lied before him, it's towering spires and rolling sea of baroque dwellings, some fine, others ramshackle, laid thick on his curiosity. 

 "I wouldn't be walkin' too far from the ship before the bill has been paid, Mr. Nobb." the bosun called from the ship. Gavin turns and looks up to the red-bearded man in uniform.
 "Aye. Could have sworn that barrel the crew finished off the other night was payment enough." Gavin shouted back. The bosun chuckled at him, his voice taking a reproachful tone.
 "Now now, Mr. Nobb." he said. "Whiskey's always welcome aboard my ship, but travelers pay the toll. Last we spoke, I only got half of the lot from you. If every land-hopper paid me in barrels, this ship would be liverless as a floatin' cadaver under the gulls." Gavin grinned, pulling the strap of his pack For how snake-tongued Gavin was in his trade, the wit of experienced sailors was disarming even to him. For a moment, he was tempted to play at the mans patience, but decided against it. 

 "Sounds like you got bit by the barrel yourself. You don't remember? I gave you the other half!" ... Before the bosun could protest, Gavin took his hand and pointed to his vest, midway up the left side. The bosun blinked, interpreting the gesture to open his jacket. His eyes lit up in confusion upon realizing a pouch of coins was sitting in his inside pocket; the pouch that Gavin slipped into his jacket just before he had stepped off the ship. ... "Safe voyage!"

 Sometimes, you have to use your roguery for entertainment. Can't risk the setting in of rust, now can we?

 Without a look back, Gavin turned and made long strides towards the interior of the pier, casual and careless as the wind.


The people were donned in various degrees of dress, from couples with finely tailored frock coats and dresses with corsets wearing gleaming jewelry, to dull grey rags with one too many tears. An eclectic sort, while present altogether, not intermingling. A city of open doors, with a class divide. Seems like a town where a man like him can find some opportunity. A swindle here, a pick-pocket there,... and then perhaps move on to some serious sell-sword work! 
 First, one needs to know the place of operation.
 Get the lay of the land. Know the locals. Know who to make friends with, who to avoid, and... if you're feeling like a complete charlatan,... who your marks are. 

 Months it had been since he left the old coast, a withered heap of war-torn landscape, worn out welcomes, and more than coins worth of regret. Sometimes, Gavin figured, if you found yourself hanging from a ledge with too much baggage strapped to you, your best off cutting the rope and going elsewhere.

 His first few hours in the city composed of short conversations with mercers, tavern keepers and the like. A few drinks and some "manually" acquired funds later, the most important details of the city were established, which placed Gavin on course towards the Old City, to an inn that was mentioned to be a distance from the Nova Citadel, but within sight of it, an old tavern known as the Wretched Worm.


As the fine brick turned to old stones, and color began to gray, the older parts of the city exposed themselves. Nestled amongst the more ancient stonework and winding, narrowing roads, the Wretched Worm sneered across the way, its overly gothic decor spilling a sort of alluring yet novel atmosphere. The wood panel, iron-banded sign hung from a dragon-shaped arm, its letters drawn in an extravagant serif calligraphy.

 Stepping into the establishment, he eyes its interior. If one could imagine a collection of features which a normal person would call rich, but a noble turned down due to the lack of detail or the number of imperfections, it may go on to describe what the inside of this tavern and inn looked like. A fireplace with a chipped mantle. Fine chairs with worn coverings. Onamented wood panel with plenty of cracks and pieces missing. A long, polished bar with mahogany stools, all scratched or stained. The room seemed to suggest honest attempts at luxury, without being anything luxurous. Hand-me-downs from some uncertain donor. Perhaps several, over multiple hands. There were few patrons within the place, being mid-day. The true alcoholics, as it were. "Merry morning, sir!" a dark skinned woman in a simple, short-sleeved, black corset dress spoke in a courteous and song-like tone from behind the bar, having finished sorting bottles in the cabinet behind her. A pinch of proper accent for addressing guests, over a genuine city-dweller voice, and busy undertone as not to draw out the courtesy too far. "Are you looking for a drink? Our drinks are distilled right here in the Old City. Or perhaps is it a room you're looking for?" Blackjack stepped to the bar, declining a stool, with his palms on the bartop, eyes rolling across the top of his gaze as if pondering to himself, before flashing a clever smirk. "All of the above, lass." ...
  4. Thanks!! Though, it seems like the Quest Center is a bit of a lottery. Only a handful of places represented, and uncertain if everyone offering is still active in quest tracking. (But I understand. Only so many mods to go around).
  5. Looking from the first thread, I don't think I noticed anything against self-promotion, but I have a few things I've written, specifically as worldbuilding and writing resource content. Seems like it fits into this theme of the thread. Hope it's fine if I drop em here. (Feel free to DM me if not, and I'll remove.) Articles I've written about world-building: Hard vs Soft Magic: A Fantasy Spectrum Worldbuilding: 36 Types of Government (Part 1) Storybuilding: Save the Cat! Beat Sheet Random name generators I've built: Fantasy NPC Name Generator Fantasy Landscape Name Generator Fantasy Nation Name Generator Other writers resources: Writers Resources
  6. | Name: "Gavin Nobb's the name!" | Alias: "Blackjack. No relation to the cards. Referrin' to the other kind." | Sobriquet: "Gavin the Jack" is what some call me. Blackjack'll do fine." | Title: "Hah! Not the kind of man for titles. Maybe someday. Everyone needs a dream." | Age: 28 | Race: "Human, as far as anyone can tell, myself included." | Gender: Male (He/Him) | Height: 6ft. 0 | Weight: 225 lbs. | Dominant Side: "Right by birth, ambidextrous by trade. Comes in handy in my line of work." | Physique: Toned | Eyes: Green (right), Blue (left) | Hair: "Brown as sodden dirt. A mop of medium length hair, thrown to my right. I keep things high and tight. Might be the type who gets dirt underneath his fingernails, but I keep a level of... 'respectability' in public. Can't risk the city watch givin me too much side-eye to and from work, know what I mean?" | Skin Tincture: "Light tanned. I get a bit o' sun e'ry now and then." | Affiliations: None | Occupation: Sellsword / Thief / Rogue. Former soldier. ... "but don't ask me who for. Bunch of bright-eyed princes and petty lords. Either horribly paying or too suicidal to matter. Their kingdoms crumbled in the end. Life always seemed better as a hired hand. ... I get to charge me own rate! Imagine that!" | Nature: Down to Earth, Cautious, Sarcastic, Trusting (Deceitful), Timely Humor, Spiteful | Alignment: Chaotic Ambiguous | Diety: "Yes. The "god" question. Honestly, never had any like for them, but the spirits came though for me on a few occasions, so that book has yet to be written really. Send me a pretty gal with dark hair who lives by the grace of a cloud-borne mother or father figure, and I'll hear her sermon any day!" | Soft Spot: "A pretty face. Promise of coin. Something to bite my teeth into and come out with a scar or two. Bit o' fame. All of the simple things in life." | Likes: | Dislikes: Attire -- (To determine mid writing) | Shoulders: | Torso: | Arms: | Hands: | Hips: | Legs: | Footgear: Gear -- | Blade: Alias: Length: Hilt: Blade: Recognized Owner: Rumors -- ________
  7. Hello All, My name is Matt, and I'm an aspiring writer who used to dabble in roleplay here at Valucre. Engaged in a small number of quests and whatnot, usually on the Genesaris side. I own a website where I talk about world-building, writing, etc. I've had years of roleplaying experience, but I've been away for quite some time. Did most of my roleplay in an older account. Decided to revive this one. Now is a better time than ever to jump back in. ______________ Oh Genesaris, my eyes are set upon you again... ... but what form of quest shall I entertain, ... and which avatar will take up this mantle?
  • Create New...