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Darth Lager

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Darth Lager last won the day on November 29 2019

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  1. The importance of a character is within identity, contribution, and causality within a story. That's definitely a generalization, but it layers with more complexity as you add in social, and consequential fundamentals into the aspect of the character. Where a character first becomes important in roleplay, is when they are first written about. This should make the character more important to the story than NPC's, with exceptions to that. They have identity. Personality, super strength, laser farts, whatev. They're a PC. You have them contribute, by serving a purpose that you determine, to aid the outcome of the thread. Contribution. They contributed x/y to achieve an outcome, for these reasons, serving this purpose, and with this as a result. Causality. I was expressing my idea of a knight earlier in that comparison, as a conveyance of how identity, contribution, and causality are crucial parts of actual importance to a story, and the characters. Tom the Normie knight has every right to be important in the story, in his own ways, as does Laser fart Leeroy.
  2. He still didn't understand it at all, saying nothing at first. 'What the hell?' The desperado wondered, gazing at the odd mask M'yr had given him. How had his employer known who he really was, and why had they fashioned this strange mask in the image of his face? Joshua cast it aside, or seemingly did so, perturbed; but remaining level headed. Everyone else just had some beaten up driftwood, the thought humoring him. He laughed at them while they yammered on some more, how they would seem so silly with their sturdy cardboard face guards on. Jack looked back down toward his face, which was not his face, but Josh's; grinding the teeth between his festered jawline. Jack cast the mask overboard, or seemingly did so. He still didn't understand it at all, saying nothing at first. 'What the hell?' The desperado wondered, not remembering boarding this wretched ship. He looked around, caught off guard, shuffled once, almost tripping in the puke he stepped in; splashing it on his poncho. He scoffed in bitter reminder of the last time he had gotten someone's vomit on him, hoping it would have been the last. Still, he was a proper, forgiving man; sometimes. His cheeks were a bit sore about it though. Jack kicked a bit from his foot, the spurs of his field boots jingling, looking awfully sharp. He wanted to stomp M'yr into a mud hole, thought about trying, but decided to tuck the devil on his shoulder away instead; back to whatever black city it had risen from. Instead he sighed, and pressed by, looking around a bit before trying to make small talk. "This is some freaky shit. I don't feel no wind.. And there Aint no Ocean in the jungle..." He pointed out, to no one particular. He moved his hat back, revealing his face in full so he could see. Aside from the burns, his face was rather handsome, with good complexion and carefree lines. It went against how one would assume a roughneck would look, especially a mean one. His face was stern, but not worn. He seemed thoughtful in nature, not ruthless. He was a disfigured pretty boy, that is, only to an observant eye of such.
  3. That's fine with me. I'll have a post ready towards the morning tomorrow to fill in after/before Zashii, whichever works.
  4. Elizabeth fumbled backward a bit, recoiling from Argi raising his tone at her. She watched as Cardinal had died beyond them, growing still, a bit distant as her words sunk in with everyone. She couldn't have prepared for this, truly. Retreat wasn't an option for her, being held accountable to a degree for what was going on. She should have handed them to the government, perhaps have been hailed as a public hero of sorts. Instead she had snuck them into the city, and decided now that she would go back on her word. Liz raised her brow curiously as Argi recommended they use the rider dragon's to proceed. She smiled, genuinely, impressed at how sharp he seemed in the moment. She nodded compliantly, and although unfamiliar with how to go about such, she did indeed approach and straddle the creature. It sensed her approach, hissing in a loud rasp from it's gullet, it's mouth open and neck extended. As she drew near, the beast began to calm, breathing deeply as she brushed it's rough face. It leaned it's neck toward the ground, allowing the scientist to take it's reigns. There was clearly some connection between the two thereafter, as if they shared purpose, but that thought must have escaped as they took towards the air. The ascension was rough, turning lopsidedly, almost throwing the one armed rider from the mount. She leaned instinctively into the dragon, causing it to level, and ascend higher as she peeked her head up, tugging the reigns in fright. This was insanity, she didn't know what she was doing, but, she was learning. It almost seemed natural, hereditary even, like flying was common within her lineage. To be truthful, it was, but not that she was entirely aware of. Still, the mount was well comfortable and responsive in her single hand. The beast clicked it's tongue, shaking it's head in discomfort, alerting Elizabeth to the presence of the blinders which covered part of it's face. She reached her hand forward, pulling one back, the creatures large eye spreading and staring at her. It turned below witnessing unrest, death, and seemed to grow warm in the face of it all now. The rider dragon breathed with sorrow too, closing it's eyes. E.P. would have sworn that it did, that it to could feel the shifting of balance, that it feared too for Dougton. She had opened it's eyes to this, and the two had an unsaid understanding there, above. The small fry felt something amiss, veering away from it's blind side and opening it's eyes in response, narrowly grazing a large stone slab which grazed below it's underbelly. Elizabeth could see below, the others, more dragons, equestrian men, her comrades, and a more structured amassing of troops near the granary beyond them. For miles disorder spread, the lights in the distance showing a panicked exchange of movement along the border. Reinforcements of sorts, those from outlying checkpoints and various sell swords and the like that would fight for Dougton. They were all the real heroes, the bystanders who wouldn't stand by, the innocent who had been led astray. Still, their fate rested with the one's at fault. Below they had neared the estate, with forces afoot no doubt. Another rider, this one striking Elizabeth as a more elite unit. It had avoided Peldun's disc, repositioned and went for another victim. They were sandwiched for the moment, but, there was an effort to help them this time. Not in assisting with the other rider, but rather to help them press on directly. Elizabeth had swooped low, suddenly, confidently. Her rider dragon stretched it's scrawny arms, reaching to grab something big, and sturdy. It made an effort to lift Peldun, Argi, and any who could cling on, and bring them upward. The creature fought it's hardest, struggling, even harder still as it's rider fueled it's emotion. "C'mon chicken legs! Lift!" It could not... At first. Then, it's effort tripled. A stone pen fell onto the ground, a Ventrix injection, perhaps truly, a smoking gun in the scheme of it all. A product which had not yet hit shelves, but would within the year, more Amp. Some could call her vile, detestable, and even inhumane but, her development with such drugs spoke for itself. The liquid enchantment intoxicated the dragon, causing it to swole with strength, and push itself to the very limit of it's will. A gust swept beneath it as it tugged, howling in defiance of it's size; thunderously.
  5. The longevity of useless struggles, such was the existence of man. To crawl beneath the stars, and lower still in death was the reality at hand; always. Still, there were those who fought further, defiant in the face of that which was, and what could never be; clinging to illusions of grandeur. Somewhere along the way, this one had forgotten such bitter taste, foregone it in acceptance of the world around him. He had been buried, his funeral held by the hands of those who had championed a hero among those moments. Entombed by responsibility and selfless ambition, he had fallen prey to a lack of self. It was no wonder why the very blood thirsted, wanting to ground itself and everything around him into the dirt. It must have become apparent to Sofia now, having drawn close to a source which suppressed her supernatural existence. She too was slab, beneath the footfalls of an ashen destiny. The assimilation at hand had allowed such vaudevillian muse, but that time had come and gone. This place itself had drawn one of ambition into it's halls, calling to them as some place of power. Power one had found, albeit remnant of man, and another of not. That is, both, or neither. It was barely graced by such before being cast aside, a handsome, lonely blade with a desire for the same cause as any other of it's kind; to draw blood. The flesh became familiar as it drew nearer, the mage approaching the two women. He couldn't resist, drawn by temptation away from the will of another and to the sword between. His burning arm surrendered in anguish, trembling as he felt for it. Joshua's nerve returned as he took the weapon, causing him to cry out in pain, a morbid causality of sorts. He turned it upon himself, ready to give it blood, and feed it to the flesh. The thought itself was sinister, clouding his mind within abysmal dwelling. He took control of it, enough to try and pull the blade away from his chest, struggling with minimal result. The flames subsided, revealing seared flesh, and burnt scalp along his left side. It had swept across his chest, his arm, his face; and taken the ear. His head rung like glorious brass, teeth cracking as they cooled, driving him into numbness as he hysterically ventilated the pain out of his mind. The desire to serve was still there, a curse of consciousness, he wanted to move forward. All it took was another to pull the string, should it choose too. His thoughts were wrought with a clouded, and hateful vehemence for those who had abandoned him, and she who had tried to use him. He despised them, the cowardice they displayed. He'd curse their damnable names for the act, not that he blamed them; but the instinct was natural. He developed a certain respect for at least the woman who had remained and fought. The Mistress seemed fit to put an end to Sofia, but still, he desired to rise and shed her blood too. Yes, blood it wanted, and would have, he decided. The mad mage turned the sword away, readying it as he approached from the side, behind Sofia. He was fully himself, only, no longer concerned with glory or heroism. He would betray her as the others had he, take more of her blood for himself. Joshua's eyes looked once over the mistress, noting how she riposted the rapier with her bare hands. The technique was solid, but she was overconfident, or perhaps catered more toward using the weapon she wielded. He was well familiar with martial combat, never favoring swords himself, but was well familiar with their use. The mistress finally began to mount an inevitable counterattack as the white haired one encroached the flank. She was no doubt aware of him, he no doubt expected as much. As she swung at Sofia, Joshua sped up the pace, tightening the flank toward the arm she had swung with. He aligned his footing about six feet away, parallel with her shoulder, facing toward her, and brought the gentleman's blade into position. It had finally gotten a taste of blood, slathered by the wounds of his left arm as he closed small distance. He tried a few steps toward her rear, settling for sound footing. The pressure he had gathered into his palms created a friction layer beneath his skin, internalized, prepared to go kinetic. The leather shifted against his right palm as he bent his right elbow, watching, waiting, setting his strike for when he was ready.
  6. I still like "Sacrifice the beard of a first born daughter" and "Be wed to a toaster on a leap year" as potential cures. I'm also in favor of a Condition being "After applying deodorant" as one would be forced to embrace said curse, or dwell within their own stench.
  7. The desired outcome is obviously not to try and choke her. I'd rather outright attack, but it was implied that Josh was walking towards her with his hands open, grabbing at her throat in Meraxa's post. Do I have consent to attack?
  8. To be fair, I'm going to need consent before engaging The Mistress, unless it's mandatory that Josh tries to choke her, in which case I'll approach the situation differently. Either way, my post is held up until I'm informed of consent, or discontent respectively.
  9. With most of the party, primarily Argi being absent, from Jason, I'd like to speak with him about a legend from Casper, in Caeceila's presence (or as present as she is, in her current state.) Would it be acceptable if I rolled for temporary fluency in old speak, through bardic arcana to do this?
  10. I'm on board with boarding the ship, getting a bit cozy, and the like before reaching the destination. I love making new frenemies IC.
  11. I think that the entire mix adds character of sort to the thread. Not many people have formed 'close' ties, nor sat down to get to the point of what the situation meant to each other IC. The escalating brevity fits the plot, the tone, and backdrop. Characters from various walks of life, most with their guard up in some way, reflecting that difference through perspective as they walk into a situation they couldn't have predicted from the start. It's a tale of internal conflict, in a time of political turmoil, against unknown odds. I see no problems as is, but success IC hinges on coordinating efforts as a group, rather than increasing effort to exert individual capability.
  12. I agree with your opinion. The IC chaos is rather relevant to their situation. That's the horror of it, a bid for power, among their realization that they are out of time and without definite plan. It's a different perspective.
  13. I mean, I was still aiming for the horror/action aspect but... Y'know. I've got a feeling you're just fueling fire. So much divine energies in play, and I'm over here like 'Aleth is probably going to just eat it and speed up the process of ascension.'
  14. I don't even want know how you plan on managing that. *Facepalm*
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