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About Wanderlost

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    King of Swords
  • Birthday 02/29/1996

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    Lost in History

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  1. I have no eye and I must blink

    With his weapons finally reloaded and otherwise maintained under the scrutiny of his heavy brow, Lamistadt found himself mouthing inaudibly over his giant-companion playing in the soil. He wasn't out to make mistakes--he'd dealt plenty in the work required to maintain his father's farm, and had somewhat fond memories of playing in the mud in his youth, but what good did rubbing the dirt in do? It was very fundamentally dirty, and therefor unpleasant. So it baffled him that one would want to rub the stuff between their fingers. Sure, he'd heard of the sort who could connect with the earth and "hear" through it. Mostly, Gaians were known for their affinity for such things, but he didn't know the giant to be such a man, and he had no basis for understanding the gesture, but he filed the strange mannerism away under barbarism and gave his attention to more important things. He had no sense of people around him or eyes on them. He had powers that helped him augment things, but improving his hearing came with more trouble than it was worth and expended too much energy to boot. He'd hear the bugs in the whistling grass just as well as someone far away, so it was good that Starken passed it off. He just agreed and said, "Yeah. They should hope not to have to fight us." And they walked. As ever two warriors walked, with straight backs that met each threat with a threat. Near-synchronous, or at least rhythmic sauntering led the two into Bi'le'ah. Deeper into the no-man's land that had once been Biazo. They walked until they came to a small courtyard seemingly led into by old alleyways. It was hard to judge what it must have once looked like by all the rubble, but it was a place where even sundered as they were, the buildings on either side towered over them. There was a fountain in the middle, inexplicably pristine if dry as the bones of a lost city. Being human, Lamistadt lacked the advantages of supernatural senses, but any man would have recognized such an uneasy atmosphere as the one that hung in the empty courtyard. That sort of too-quiet that told you the ambush was already upon you. He thumbed the ring that hung behind his fingers and drew forth the knife that laid upon his wrist, working it into his fingers expertly without showing any sign that he was doing such a thing. He tapped the giant's arm with the back of his hand only as their assailant was upon them. Not Serre--though they knew no Serre--but a similar mutant came out of a hole in the side of one of the ruined buildings at the other end of the courtyard. One with wild eyes and dry cracks and gashes from lips to chin and crazy wiry black hair. He had his arms to either side, gesturing in the culmination of some diabolic incantation. And indeed, Lamistadt felt the echoes of the power the man-of-sorts tried to eschew. Whatever it was was enough to annihilate them, but no massive flow of flame or obnoxiously large laser came forth. Instead, they were assailed with a spray of pebble-sized balls of demonic energy. Like a massive shotgun blast, it slandered the purity of the fountain, leaving it as nothing more than a smoking mound, but by the time those little balls got to the two warriors, they were nothing more than hot embers, sticking to them and smoking as they fizzled out. Lamistadt was so heavily clothed that none landed on his flesh, but perhaps the same was not true of the other. That was not the summation of the spell's unintended effects however. Larger pieces of the energy he had surely intended to direct differently had streaked off in strange curves, trailing smoke and exploding against the ruins, showering everyone and the courtyard itself in a downpour of stone. The Shield boy, in his alarm, was able to avoid the more lethal parts of the shower, and ultimately found himself behind a large piece of rubble by the time it was all over, looking at a face slowly filling with rage across the courtyard. The look in Lamistadt's eyes was not vengeful, nor angry. The intent to kill was identifiable as pure intent, not bearing of animosity. He wasn't thinking about having been attacked. He was thinking about how he could kill it, and it was not long before he was dashing through the rubble to get to the mage, who was descending into an arcane debacle. He tried to fling fire and produced only a bird corpse. He tried to call lightning from the sky and strike his approaching foe, and while the result was more successful, the pillar of flame missed, and that only drove the surprisingly powerful madman further into his fury.
  2. Are you a mercenary or what?

    Okay. I know I'm days behind, but I plan to post tonight.
  3. Are you a mercenary or what?

    Yeah. Sorry... Working two jobs and doing school leaves me exhausted by the time I get free time.
  4. Valucre Holiday Special

    I might make a brief appearance if it turns out to be an open thing. Otherwise, good luck and have fun.
  5. Are you a mercenary or what?

    Not going to be very fast on this. Started two new jobs and have friends in town who want my free time. Give me until Monday and I'll get that done.
  6. Are you a mercenary or what?

    I can go with the flow
  7. Heyo, I've returned!

    Welcome back. Let me know if I can help you get readjusted here at all. Happy writing.
  8. Are you a mercenary or what?

    I'm okay with waiting unless you object, Supernal.
  9. On heroes, villains, and their antis

    Well, my addition to this conversation is likely reiterative. I haven't read all the other responses. I agree that hero is a restrictive term in the modern era because it is often seen as thus: A hero follows the rules to do the right thing. An anti-hero breaks the rules to do the right thing. Now, "the rules" can be anything from laws to a common moral code, but it's what is commonly conceived as good. And the truth about that is, in almost everything, following the rules is boring. It's harder to write a character who abides the law and does everything as they are expected to do and keep it interesting. They have to do something different in some way for it to be more than what feels like an every day experience. With an anti-hero, they are actively doing that by default. Now often in your examples, we're dealing with super heroes and conflicts which are already abundantly archetypal. Even kinds of heroes have archetypes. So do villain types and even conflict types. So whether you're saving the world or the city, there's not a lot of potential variation outside of the writing and the art. In role play, however, we're dealing with a fantasy world with its own (similar) set of rules, unique locations, and limitless ways to vary our characters from the norm (note that this is just the "writing" that is equally available to comics). In fact, I'd go so far as to say that the hero or anti-hero archetypes don't always apply to characters who are good aligned. Without risking mentioning other archetypes, I'll just say that while the types of the subject are restrictive, the things a character can be are not, and the most restricting thing a writer can do is create a character thinking "this guy is a hero." Not to say that it's a bad thing to do, but to tick the boxes that make a character a hero, and not just someone who is heroic sometimes, they have to do a lot of things a certain way. When I think of my characters, there is not a single one I would call a hero or anti-hero. I've created personalities that I haven't wanted to confine to one way of thinking. Antique won't always rise to the occasion, and won't always side with good. She tries to be good to people, but she's imperfect and makes mistakes, and I think the difference in the two approaches is when it comes time to figure out my characters' decisions, it comes down to, "What would they do?" And not, "What would a hero do?" The decision is made based on that character's way of thinking. Not the archetype that they belong to. And you can still have a character who thinks in a way that leads them to be describable as a hero, but I feel like even if you did with that sort of approach, you would wind up with a far more interesting character than one who simply acts as they are supposed to as the type of character they are. But who knows. Maybe other people don't feel the same. Those are just my disorganized thoughts on it. Edit: More concisely--a hero can be interesting, it's just harder. A hero can kill in a world where killing evil people is not condemned in any way. Anti-heroes are easier to make interesting. Avoiding catering to archetypes is ideal.
  10. Derrin Shield

    The following is a list of role plays including Derrin. Visitors
  11. [The Shield Farm] Visitors

    With only a buckler and a warhammer, Derrin Shield caught his opponent's thrust, turning their rapier aside. He went so far as to loose the shield from his grip and grasp the thin blade as he came in with a strike. There could be no mercy in it. The sword was cutting through his glove and surely it would draw a little blood, but those weapons were made for the thrust, and he had overcome that. His opponent tried to stop his swing below the elbow, but he feinted, his second intent crushing the man's ribs despite the chain that protected him from the steel. His third intent landed too, right on the bridge of the nose where the man's helmet hardly protected. Such a satisfying crunch led the man reeling, and all he had to do was give his strongest swing to knock him to the ground, and there it was. That satisfying feeling of victory. He looked past the corpse at an oddly close horizon, as though the field they were fighting in ended only a few feet away. The sun rose in astounding brilliance, blinding him and even calling his hands over his eyes with disregard for his weapons, and he woke. With a gasp, Derrin propped himself up to the creaking of his bed. Wet must and candle wax helped confirm he was in the same room he'd woken to for so many years now. Light of the dawn was pouring through the window over his bed, which was really only big enough for him to lay on, which was fine. He sought little comfort in his old age. It would only weaken him, lacking the youth and vigor of the days he lived in his dreams. He wasn't one for the trappings of technology, hence the many candles he kept and the wooden farmhouse, but he kept a picture that they'd taken on the whim of his lost lover. Earlisle and Faegin seemed happy enough to work with primitive farm tools compared to what was available to them. They still had irrigation and horses, but they kept things simple on the Shield residence. The others they employed were their business. They shared half the profits between them, and Derrin got his piece and quiet. Still, she looked so happy in that picture that even to this day, it baffled him that she was gone. Every morning, he sat up just as he was, looking it over and trying to figure out what his life had come to before he put it back on the desk and stood up, ready to put on his clothes and see to the smaller tasks he claimed for his own doing. He chose a red flannel button up, jeans, and a very old pair of boots by now. His routine had him checking all the horses and pigs and cows and chickens. He fed them and spent time making sure they were well. He made sure they were all in their right places, and saw to the progress of his crops. Years had entrusted him to be lax in that, however, as they seemed as invested in the harvest as any farmer would have been. Still, they had a lot of land and much that could have been overlooked. Even with the unlikeliness of them doing a poor job let alone vandalizing things, they still had the chance of overlooking signs of things that could do much harm. Infections, diseases, and plagues on their plants were all possibilities no matter how unlikely people insisted it was. And sure enough, that day as any, he had nothing to widen his eyes over, and by the time the sun was at its height, he was settling in his chair on the porch, flapping open the paper delivery from Hell's Gate. But unlike every other day, he didn't get very far in before frowning and setting his paper in his lap. A man with white hair was leading a younger man along the path by the collar, wrists bound. It seemed Faegin was trying to convince him to turn away, but he just kept on walking, ensuring that it was something for Derrin to deal with. So he set down his paper and drank from his canteen, then made his way down the steps as stiff as a weathered elder would. There was anger in the older man's eyes. He had his facial hair sorted into a thick braid, giving him a thin look in light of his narrow face. The hair on his head was loose at the top, but also pulled into a braid somewhere around the nape of his neck. He threw the boy to the dirt, and the elder Shield recognized one of his nephews, blubbering with tears. The youngest one: Halstadt. After him was Falstadt, Lamistadt--who'd been excised from the family--and Yelstadt, who was the eldest. Halstadt was bigger than he last saw him. Twenty-something now and wearing the sort of wear he was used to seeing around military camps. Derrin had creases in his skin that, on his already rough hands, were somewhat hard to distinguish from the scars. He used that hand to point, working his jaw over his question. "What's this?" "This is a thieving little runaway!" There was age hanging in rasps from the sage-like strangers voice. "Came with his friends to my home pretending to have interest in learning from me, only to try to take my valuable possessions!" He was shaking an accusatory finger at the boy now trying to sit himself up while weeping. Derrin still hadn't gotten a good look at his face, but the old man continued. "Now I recognized that square face and sure enough he said Lucas was his father, and I knew Lucas was good people because he was raised by his father! I did not realize he had raised a petty brat! Now I had to march him down from my mountain--well, I don't want payment. Just take him. Send him back to the military camp in Hell's Gate. Ship him off to wherever Lucas has retired to, I don't care! But if I see him near my home again, I will not be so kind as today! Understand?" He did understand. Derrin understood that word of his brother's death had not reached every acquaintance he had ever had. Hell, it had taken a few months for word to reach him, but that was some ten years ago. The math of it was simultaneously confusing and frustrating. He waved his hand in the air, frowning. "Okay, what's your name?" He asked the stranger. "Aerys!" "Aerys... What?" "Master Aerys." "Okay..." Derrin hung on that last vowel. "Well, sir Aerys--" "Master Aerys!" "And what are you a master of?" He inquired. Your mind if you don't wise up! Master Aerys's voice echoed in his head as a thought that could not be ignored, and that certainly surprised the old soldier. He held his index fingers up, staying the stranger. "Look, I'll take young Halstadt here off your hands and you can be on your way." He said, wanting no business with psionicists or mages of any kind. Especially not the angry kind. And, "Good!" Was all the old fellow said before marching back East and disappearing past the fence of Derrin's farm, leaving him to take out his knife and cut his nephew's bonds. He wiped the tears from the boy's bruised face and frowned at him. "This isn't how my brother raised you." He told him. "Now what the hell business did you having stealing from some psychic old man huh?" Halstadt's crying was dying down. Now his was just whimpering and trying to get his words out. "I'm sorry Uncle Derrin. There was a locket, like the one dad said you had spent ages trying to track down for that lady of yours and all I could think was how much you might appreciate it if it was the real one, but man..." He shuttered. "I took a beating, Uncle Derrin. Licks worse than Lammi gave me when I called him a traitor, and Master Aerys didn't even hafta touch me to do it." He glared down the road of his own farm, knowing there was nothing Derrin could do about a psion beating his relative. Still, if he had had some of the gear he'd had so many years ago, he would've marched right up that hill and shared the love. Today was today though. He could only wrap his arm around his brother's son and lead him up the steps. "I don't care about that anymore." He lied, but he also doubted that her actual pocket watch would have been in the hands of a weird old man like that. "Uncle Derrin's living out his days fine here on his farm, okay? You've got your own life to live, and you're not living it right getting your ass beat by crazy old mages. Now, you're old enough as it is finally getting around to your service, so you'll run back to that camp in the morning and get on your knees, take your licks, and get to training, hear?" He said as he got Halstadt inside. "But everything hurts. If they hit me for running off, I might die!" "You're not gonna die from something like that. And if you do, you're not a Shield. Let's just have you rest. Onto the couch here. There we go." Derrin tended to his relative, still perplexed that Master Aerys had known he had a farm so nearby. He made him tea and soup and had him lay down. Gave him a book to read on the history of steel weaponry, and settled nearby to finally get to his paper after they finished their talk. Other than all of that, it was a normal day for Derrin. He went to bed when the day threatened dusk, and woke the next morning with his nephew gone, save for a thank you note containing a promise to see his training through and make his brothers and the spirit of his father proud.
  12. I have no eye and I must blink

    Wherever it had come from, Lamistadt had produced a small, guardless dagger to press to the giant's wrist when his fingers tightened around his throat. His not-apology, however, came with the release of his throat and a sudden talkativeness that put the mercenary at ease, in a way. He liked not having to talk, and other people seemed to enjoy going on without interruption. So he let the man talk and fumbled with a mechanism in his sleeve. He took a pause in that to wipe some of the black blood from his hair, and followed Starken only after retrieving his axe from the corpse and wiping it on his long coat. Starken said there would hopefully be more to kill, but Lamistadt felt otherwise. The fight had been quite a thrill--it had made him feel something, but it had been totally unnecessary. They had a job to do, and expending their energy on meaningless fights before the ones that counted was simply illogical. "Yes..." He said in response to his declaration of sharing a drink. But he mentioned women, which made Lamistadt tense up. He didn't like women. Not that he was sexist or anything. Only that they came with a whole lump of social expectations he still didn't fully understand, and sex didn't quite interest him. They served no purpose to one so solely dedicated to his work. Except perhaps to drive him mad with anxiety. It had not been such an issue with Evelyn the other day, admittedly. Talking with her had been doing business. He'd learned the ins-and-outs of that well enough, and knew what would be expected of him. He had control of that situation. But mountain women ready to jump on top of him and break his bones for some wild desire he didn't share lacked appeal. "We'll have a drink before we part ways." He assured the giant. And they were off, as they already had been by Starken's lack of relent, and not long for the edge of Bi'le'ah.
  13. Evil vs evil

    Well, personally, I haven't been involved with much that's blatantly evil, but from what I've seen come up in the Water Cooler and such, it does not seem like evil often fights evil on the forum. It would be an interesting dynamic though.
  14. Wanderlost's Characters

    The Story Thus Far See character profiles for more details and role plays. In the year 590 (WTA), Derrin Shield performed his last mission as a soldier of the Terrenus military, and made home of his farm and manor. His lover disappeared on him and he has fallen to misery and loneliness in her absence. He had had the pleasure of two years with the woman before she became absorbed in a conflict she refused to even involve him in, and even now, she is gone. In 591 (WTA), Qin crash landed on Genesaris and has been adventuring since. He met and employed Antique and Avvercus in the salvage of his vessel four years later. With the goods they recovered, he is making his way to Elendaron, having found the company of another traveler. One Gremrer Ironclad, who took a particular interest in him and his body, as well as that of Buckram Woodsworth. The three of them have arrived in Telvarnu, looking to start a business and see about tending to their doomed bodies. In 591 (WTA), Red Itil left home and joined up with Kana Joutenryu, who eventually left the world of Valucre and him behind in her struggles against a force which also receded from the world. He was left stranded in Genesaris, fearing to return home with nothing to show for it and possibly to ill news of his father. He took a job as a waiter and continued his practice in swordplay, and has recently appointed himself as chaperone to Cia Sha. He plans to leave her in the hands of her master and return home, begrudgingly. Again in 591 (WTA), Cia Sha crawled her way across the desert and found solace within a Gaian church and learned the ways of regenerative healing magic. She tried and failed in her adventures and sought more teachings. She ended up in the hands of Master Aerys and learned a psionic method of sensing life forces around her from him, as well as sign language. Unfortunately, she is learning that even having ways to make up for her debilitations, it's not enough to make up for her lack of sight or ability to speak, and she is learning that she is vulnerable and endangered in the greater world of Valucre, and is thus traveling back to continue her tutelage under Master Aerys along with Red Itil. In 592 (WTA), Gremrer Ironclad adventured in Iselyr. A year later, he left for other continents, and some years later, with the intent to return home, he heard the news of the loss of the sequestered continent. Stranded in foreign lands, he made a wanderer of himself, studying artifacts in the hands of adventurers and profiting off of identifying their like to them. More recently, he's joined company with Qin and has been able to work with him in learning his alien "language." Qin, Buckram, and himself have all recently arrived in Telvarnu. In 592 (WTA), The Witch's Trilogy began their adventures separate from their mother in Genesaris. In the years since, they grew to bear a negative mindset to how the world received and perceived them, and they chose to make a home for themselves where they would not be harassed or shunned. They met with Master Aerys during the time that he was training Cia Sha, and they stayed there briefly and studied with them, but Master Aerys bore no tolerance for their practice of taboo magics, and refused to continue to teach them his ways so long as they continued their own arts. As a result, the three sisters took up residence across the valley. Now, they keep in sporadic contact with Master Aerys and his group, holding to the terms of a somewhat stand-offish acquaintanceship. In 592 (WTA), Antique woke before the gates of Palgard as an amnesiac and began her (mis)adventures. Those adventures led her on a meandering and narratively incomplete path to Genesaris, where she met Avvercus. She fell in love and traveled with him, fighting those feelings for various reasons. They arrived in Terrenus together and went their separate ways. Antique found herself in Tia during a rather troubling time, then traveled back through the Great Pine Barrens to Yh'mi, where she fell into a peculiar escapade. After those events, she returned to Inn'sth and met a man named Larque, with whom she ventured into the Spires in Yh'mi. Together, they met Lunns'ilth, who restored her memories. The question remains: At what cost? In 593 (WTA), Halitus found his way to Valucre. He adventured and honed his skills as an elemental martial artist for a few years before coming to a state of apathy with fighting and combat. Since then, he has reformed his ways into a more pacifist idealism and wandered into the company of Master Aerys. There, he's chosen to live a simple, recluse life where he can practice his spiritualism in peace, and share his ways with Master Aerys, even despite the conflicts between their practices. In 594 (WTA), Soris had a conversation with a very powerful entity in the Shawnee Glacier as a representative of The Order of the Faceless's Valucre branch. Later, as a way to scrap this concept, he slew his brethren as was made necessary to escape their service and gain his freedom. Later, he forged a ring to suppress his powers and had a brief interaction with an interesting woman. The ring was part of his effort to elude repercussions from the force of The Order of the Faceless sent after him to exact revenge. He also stole the soul of Gruche the minotaur. After that, he spent time in Umbra and met a number of people before attending the Port Caelum Festival. After that, he swore fealty to the Red Queen and was later elected as regent of Baaj Island. In his study in his manor there, he had an encounter with the very founder of the Order of the Faceless, and was made aware that he would suffer consequences if he left the island at any point. In 595 (WTA), Alarin showed up in Terrenus searching for Antique. She encountered Thelan and made a pact with him, as they were both searching for the same woman. She also ended up on a jaunt of a quest with some others in a rural city. In 595 (WTA), Thelan appeared on Valucre, somehow delayed in his search for his mother. He has been adventuring and searching for her. Driven at some times more than others, he found himself entangled in a pilgrimage, leading a swath of different people West across the Cold Mountains, and has finally encountered her after about 1000 years of chasing her in Western Genesaris in the company of Avvercus's daughter. After he does, and after he splits up from his long time friend Tora, he'll end up in the desert in Genesaris and lose his Eternal Ivy, being forced to face mortality. In 595 (WTA), Niphriis appeared on Valucre as well. He has been wandering about Eastern Terrenus since then, decidedly aimless and resigned to his fate trapped in the body of a dragon whelp.
  15. [Baaj Island] The Golden Coronation

    "Well." Soris waved his hand over the crowd. "As you can see, your charge's charge is seen to." There was more on the man's plate, but he set it to the side of his chair. He'd eaten enough to tide him over until he could entertain a proper meal in private. Further, the food was more for the guests, as he could dine on such things on his own time. "At least, we're doing our best. You gave me a rather quiet... Charge." He was talking, but hadn't gotten to the point he wished to bring to bear. "I have a foreign noble staying. Interested in a trade deal--food for fuel or something. Should I send them your way, or have you any interest in the first place? I sent a messenger, but I'm guessing they didn't get to you before you got to me." He'd been thinking over what to say to her, but it seemed he was busier running his island than pleasing his queen, though the former should ensure the latter. There were many affairs on his mind that were not worth busying the mind of the Red Queen. Things he would take care of. Foremost was the condition of the relationship between the Scarlet Region and the natives of Baaj. This coronation would help sate many of those who were upset. He hoped some of the more adamant protesters might come to see that they truly were there to help, but again, none of that needed to be spoken of. Not until it was a problem, and he would root out and crush the resistance before he went whining for help, which was something he was sure his advisor would approve of. Good too that he had little to discuss with her at the time, since the plan was still to leave her be soon as was polite. His eyes followed his newly appointed officials through the crowd as they made their way to the buffet. People congratulated them as they passed, which pleased him, and they seemed to be getting on well enough. He just hoped they would be open as they should be to conversation with their citizens, newly deigned subjects, as that was a large part of the intent of the coronation. Though he supposed, they would have plenty of time in their shifts on their thrones.