New Isra
Committed
Roleplay posts: 71
Biography: This account represents the NPCs and locations associated with New Isra!
Allegiances: Isra
Registered: Mar 16, 2021 22:30:20 GMT -5
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Post by New Isra on Mar 21, 2021 10:15:54 GMT -5
The upper decks of The Depravity are abuzz with activity!
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Norman Cleats
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Appearance: Norman is a tall and strapping young lad. His hands are calloused and muscles toned from several years of hauling lines. He appears to be in his late 20s.
Equipment: 2 sets of sailing cloths
1 set of land clothes
1 rigging knife
1 razor
1 set of sewing and splicing gear
1 medium leather drybag
Skills and Abilities: During his time as a cleat makers apprentice Norman learned to carve, cast metals, and work a forge, though he only ever made one thing. Since taking to the seas he as worked on the decks and as a yardsman. He someday wishes to learn to chart maps and become an accomplished navigator.
Biography: Norman's father was a cleat maker. As was his father's father, as was his grandfather's father. So it was with some contention from his family that Norman because a sailor instead. While the making of cleats was a safe and dependable job, Norman had never understood how someone could be content with such a monotonous existence. Sure, there had been the occasional order for an ornate bit of carving or gilding, and there was some skill involved in casting or forging larger gear, but mostly they just made plain old wooden cleats.
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 15:13:41 GMT -5
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Post by Norman Cleats on Mar 21, 2021 16:50:16 GMT -5
Polished, yet with a matte finish so as not to reflect the sun, this cleat had been crafted expertly. Such was to be expected from the imperial shipyard. Despite its relatively small size the cleat had been forged, not cast, so that it could hold more weight. It had been years since Norman left the cleat making trade, but still he couldn’t help but notice such things. Unhitching the halyard, he felt the bottom edge for the etching he expected to be hidden there. Sure enough it was his fathers work. The proud man always stamped the piece he knew would sail to distant lands.
Looping the line around the mast winch and holding it taut he called out, “Ready at peak!” However, instead of the expected command to trim the gaff there came a loud crack and a scream as the line he held groaned with an additional weight. Seconds later a shout came down from the mist that obscured the yards, “Perkins fell! Ease that halyard, Cleats. Slowly, now.” Other sailors were already scrambling up the ratlines. As Norman eased the line drops of blood splatted on the deck around him, accompanied by a fresh set of screams.
Soon, the injured sailor was placed in a harness and Norman gently lowered him to the deck. Trying not to look at the broken leg, one look was enough to tell it had been caught in the gaff block, he helped carry the man to the sickbay. It was not the blood or the thought of falling from the rigging that filled Norman with fear, but rather Perkins’ wavering voice saying he had been pushed. Sailors whispered as they passed. Tales of some kind of “mist terror” would be told tonight. Such superstition would be preferable to the alternative…
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Whiskers
Established
Roleplay posts: 28
Appearance: A grey and white cat with piercing blue eyes. He sports a pirate outfit fit for the finest of crews. A large black captain's hat with crossbones, a caution to others. Is he a captain? No one really knows. Whiskers wears a black shirt as soft as cotton. The black sleeves embroidered with gold accents give way to white ruffled sleeve ends. The shirt has a cute white collar that Whiskers prefers to wear up. Did Whiskers dress himself, or has someone put him in it? No one truly knows.
Equipment: Whiskers takes with him a small pouch used to carry fish, papers, and other oddities.
Skills and Abilities: He does cat things since he is indeed a cat. In addition, he does occasionally deliver letters, but he himself is a true and through pirate.
Biography: meow meow meow meow meow. Meow meow! meow? MEOW!? Meow meow mrrrrr Meow.
Allegiances: anyone with a can of tuna
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 17:01:56 GMT -5
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Post by Whiskers on Mar 21, 2021 18:07:51 GMT -5
Whiskers had been on deck taking an afternoon catnap. The feline stretches his paws waking from his slumber. His curious eyes looked around at the bustle of the crew as they all catch the glimpse of land. He will hop onto the railing on the ship to look off at the sea. The sea a terrifying entity, some call it a beauty others call it relentless. Luckily for Whiskers, he finally got his sea legs and way more fish than any cat could ever dream off.
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Scarvy little Courage
Established
Roleplay posts: 27
Appearance: Scarvy is a small four foot red kobold. He’s fairly young, and still growing. Scarvy is about the full height he’ll grow to. He has amber eyes and scarlet scales. Scarvy is a strong kobold, able to lift stuff about twice his size.
Scarvy has two silver scales under his left eye. They appear to be attached to him permanently. He also has two big horns protruding from his head.
Equipment: Scarvy is nicely dressed in a green hood and cape. He has a dark blue vest with a grey wool shirt underneath. He has brown wool pants that are tightened right below his knees. His lower legs are wrapped in cloth. Probably acting as temporary shoes. Scarvy carries a short sword, but for him it’s about the size of a bastard sword, and a dagger. He’s very experienced in making traps and will often make traps to hunt his food.
Skills and Abilities: Scarvy is a skilled trapmaker and was taught to be a swordsman by his dragonborn father named ‘Darg’. He prefers to use his sword and dagger in a fight, rather than any trap. Scarvy's body language is perhaps the most telling thing when he communicates.
Biography: Scarvy is a young kobold around the age of seven. By his own words he is an orphan as his father was killed in the 'other place' wherever that was. He doesn't know where or even how he ended up here, but he wants to be like his father and be a strong warrior.
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 13:17:02 GMT -5
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Post by Scarvy little Courage on Mar 21, 2021 20:51:27 GMT -5
A kobold child could be seen running neat the edge of the ship to look towards the sea. His scarlet tail waving back and forth in rhythm to the waves and his eyes open with excitement. Scarvy sits down crossing his legs. He leans forward and braces himself by pressing his hands onto the wood floor. He smiles for a few moments, until a tear leaks from his left eye passing over two silver scales. "Dad would've loved this" these words silently escaped his lips as he stares further down the horizon across the rolling waves.
The child pushes back off the planks and stands up stretching as he arches back. His dad would always do this after resting for long periods of time, he told Scarvy that stretching help keep the body for the warrior. He would also tell Scarvy that no matter how small he is, he could always grow. That last one didn't make much sense to Scarvy, because he hasn't grown in height for the last year now. He lets out an exasperated sigh, before turning and seeing the hint of land. A new light his his eyes as excitement fills his body once again. The child scurries over to the other side of the ship to get a better view, ducking under obstacles and maneuvering around people as needed.
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Wah Doobie
Established
Roleplay posts: 17
Age: Adolescent
Appearance: He's a Kobold with brown scales and seems like a girl with how he acts and dresses.
Equipment: Wah carries with him a mixed bag of various stones he has collected in his life from before the flood.
Skills and Abilities: Wah has great power within him and can control rock and earth in various ways. His first major feat came when he was a younger child and his powers manifested for the first time and he created a landslide that carried him miles away from his home.
Biography: Wah Doobie is a young Kobold who lives with his father and sister, they used to have another brother but he left home years ago and they haven't seen each other since.
For a while, Wah has been training with Ralf Valgard but Skarlet has come to bring him back to New Isra and recruit him for her plans.
Wah must now learn to use his powers in ways that he has never tried before.
Allegiances: Doobie Family, Dux Skarlet
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 15:41:20 GMT -5
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Post by Wah Doobie on Mar 21, 2021 22:42:47 GMT -5
After passing by the Sick Bay, Wah came up to the deck to maybe do some sunbathing when he heard some commotion going on.
"Uwaa? Is that really land? Wowie!" He ran over to see if he could get a good look. Some people were in his way so he looked around to see how he could get a better look. The sailors might get mad if he were to climb on their ropes again... He hops and climbs onto a barrel but it doesn't help him see much else. "Hmph!"
Wah pouts and thinks while swaying left and right trying to get a better view. He thinks of a way he could get a good view! He reaches down and unties his special rock bag from his hip and holds it above his head both hands clasped around the bag. He adjusts his breathing and summons his power and all the rocks in the bag start levitating upward like a balloon, slowly Wah is lifted higher until he can actually get the view he was looking for. "Haha wow it is land! Uhh, I'm kinda high up... Hooo, okay... calm my breathing, I can set myself down carefully..."
THUD
"Ow! Almost..." The Kobold gets up from the floor, straightens his outfit, and ties the bag back onto his belt.
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Cevraya Kirske
New
Roleplay posts: 3
Appearance: Kirske is a strange woman, and her clothing tends to accent that. She rarely wears corsets, garters, or heels, avoiding the trappings of traditional feminine clothing. Instead, she dresses in a similar manner of an early victorian-era gentleman, despite being obviously female. She is often seen with a tight black frock coat, dark green cravat, white undershirt, and black breeches. When less formal occasions call, her calf-length frock coat is replaced with a norfolk jacket, with the rest the same. She holds an unimpressive body type, having feminine curves that lack pronouncement. Her mousy brown hair is cut at her neck, and she has a dark green tattoo that appears almost like a sheen of wet paint on her pale face. She almost always has a bowler hat upon her lithe frame.
Equipment: Cevraya has all of the equipment listed above in regards to clothing. She also carries a formal walking stick, as well as a bag of herbs, salves, antivenoms, poisons, and other natural medicines. A mortar and pestle can often be found on her as well, as well as a mostly-ceremonial dagger. She also carries a large jar, for Georgy Enrique Leonard, or Gel.
Skills and Abilities: Cevraya is an experienced medicine-woman, as well as a former mage of notable ability. She was once capable of creating beings made of caustic slime up to a cubic meter in size, but now struggles to make anything as large as three cubic inches. Her favored creation is Georgy Enrique Leonard, or Gel for short, a three-cubic-inch gelatinous cube that obeys her command. She can use what little arcane ability she has left to recognize and cure toxins, as well as replicate them, but she can only replicate toxins that she has on her. She is immune to toxins.
Biography: To Be Finished
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 13:51:01 GMT -5
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Post by Cevraya Kirske on Mar 21, 2021 23:58:48 GMT -5
A faint smile danced across the young woman’s face as she ascended the stairwell to the afterdeck of the “Depravity.” A strange and untraditional name was the name of the vessel, yet these were strange and untraditional times. A few months ago, she could create a bottle’s worth of liquid acid, yet now she could barely make a few drops. A soft sigh escaped her lips, to free her lungs of the stale air of belowdecks and breathe in the salty air of the open sea. The open see that suddenly was much less open, as she found out, her footsteps gently echoing across the wooden hull of the vessel. She slowly made her way to the bow, or the front, of the Depravity, the smile on her face spreading. Her hands gently rested against the taffrail of the ship, staring down at the churning blackness below her. A murmuring sigh escaped her lips, before the victorian gentlewoman paused, her eyes caught by a ruby-hued ichor aboard the deck. She knelt down, baring her back to the inky depths that a weak guardrail protected her from sliding into if the Depravity were to rock. As her fingers pressed against the blood of Perkins, her eyes narrowed, and they flashed upwards towards the crew of the barquentine. A whispered curse escaped her lips, before she reached into her pouch to pull out a large glass jar, in which a strange cubic colloid rested.
In the jar, the Honorable Georgy Enrique Leonard rested, awaiting his mistress's commands. Suspended the pellucid cube was all that was left of a very small being, a fully intact skeleton still locked in the death throes of its owner. Georgy Enrique Leonard had simply dissolved the flesh, he had eaten away at the skeleton's lifeblood until all that was left was the bleached bones of a faerie. Monsieur G. E. L., Sentient Jell-O Cube, had claimed his first victim, and many more would come. But until then, he was trapped by the confines of a nautical barque. Cevraya pried the jar open and turned it upside down, allowing the gelatinous cube to smack against the deck with an audible "plop." A whispered command gave the mighty hunter all the autonomy he needed to complete his noble quest, as assigned to him by the Lady of Glass. With a squelching leap, the magnificent GEL dove into the puddle of blood, wobbling and jiggling like the mound of jello that his beautifulness was, and quickly sopped it up.
As her noble servant toiled at her feet, Madam Kirske returned the jar to her pouch. The thought of traveling to the sickbay crossed her mind, but she pushed it away as she carefully climbed over the taffrail, her feet touching the bowsprit. Perhaps recklessly, she used one hand to grip the bowler hat on her head, the other to hold onto one of the forestays as she allowed herself to lean off of the vessel, one foot on the spar and the other dangling before the water below.
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Thrand Rangvaldrson
New
Roleplay posts: 7
Appearance: Thrand stands at 6' 2", although his once burly build has become considerably more lean during his travel upon the seas. Thrand's orange beard remains unkempt, despite his attempts to contain it somewhat. His eyes are colored a muted blue, not far from grey. The blue tattoos that adorn his body have faded and in some places are barely visible, the magic sustaining them all but gone.
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Equipment: All that Thrand carries with him as he travels is a finely crafted sword, containing a murky blue crystal embedded in the hilt.
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Skills and Abilities: While his body may have deteriorated during his journey through the mist, he still possesses much of the strength he once had. The magic abilities he once had have faded, although he can temporarily restore them using the residual magic within the sword. Using that power, he can temporarily increase his strength, speed, and durability, as well as allowing him to survive otherwise fatal conditions and wounds. However the cost of such magic leaves Thrand exhausted, and overuse could lead to collapse or worse.
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Biography: Thrand used to be the King of the nation of Iskaldur, yet before he knew it the flood had taken that all away. He's carried with him the one relic from that land that he has left, and has set out in a search to find a new purpose in this new world.
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 13:04:12 GMT -5
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Post by Thrand Rangvaldrson on Mar 22, 2021 13:25:22 GMT -5
Carried by the bustling crowd eager to see the end of their journey, Thrand emerged from below deck for the first time in several days. After days spent below deck, and a much longer time spent trapped alone on the misty seas, the warmth of the sun and a clear sky were a welcome change of pace. However the coast outlined in the distance was where Thrand's attention was immediately fixed. He was no stranger to sea travel, but the even he had his limits and the allure of being able to stand on solid ground was certainly captivating.
Intending to get a better view, Thrand began to push his way through the crowd of people towards the front of the ship. His size certainly did him well here, as few others could easily resist him, but against such a crowd he soon found himself unable to progress further. Yet there was an opening over there, an unoccupied area where a more opportune path may present itself. After shoving throw a few other people and ignoring the subsequent insults, he soon found himself in that clearing below the rigging.
However he soon found that he was not alone in this clearing, and that it had been left clear for a reason. Amidst the pool of blood in the center of the pool, lay a small cube consisting purely of slime. An oddity aboard this ship for sure, and even odder that it seemed to be scrubbing the deck of the blood. Thrand's grip on his sword tightened slightly, remembering more than a few stories of warriors dissolved within the bodies of such creatures, and the pool of blood was by no means reassuring.
But then why was everyone so calm. Surely there'd be quite the commotion if this slime had just eaten a sailor alive. Even if it was a dead sailor, he was sure that someone would find the thought rather repulsive. Thrand gave a quick look around, trying to discern what could explain the bizarre situation. Perhaps a handler of sorts, or a mage who could conjure such a creature? But then what of the blood.
Thrand raised a hand to his temple, finding the present situation stranger and stranger the more he gave it thought. Finding prolonged thought not helping much, he addressed a question to whomever in the area may care to answer, pausing only as he considered what to call the slime: "What's the deal with this... creature here?"
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Post by Francois Nicolet Montcalme on Mar 23, 2021 12:30:03 GMT -5
It had been a strange time for Francois. He was a writer having read whole libraries for inspiration on works fictional and not, but the demand for this had died down. He was likewise a chef, but there was not too much to work with, and he believed that the military chefs could make more efficient uses of the supplies that were had. With that was left being an odd job man of sorts. Though his best years were behind him he could still work with his hands and back helping sailors with rigging, carrying boxes, tending to those what couldn’t help themselves, and the least glamorous: hunting rats.
But recently his attention was taken by a matter that once had been his lifeblood on the mainland that once was. Fears of eventually running out insured that food began to be rationed, which of course was a wholly logical course of action. The problem however was that it appeared that said rationing did not apply to everybody. This made him raise an eyebrow so high that its follicles merged with his hairline. He held out a distant hope that in this new world the waters would wash away the immorality of unjust society but alas, it seemed that this was more hopeless idealism.
Naturally, he would not be silent. It took him quite some time to assemble the prerequisite paper, stationery, and adhesives, but once he had them he worked very fast. Pamphlets and posters were made that thoroughly reiterated his belief that the ship was run in an unfair manner. There was some variance in each one as the idea of phrasing the matter and how to rouse emotion developed in the mind of Francois. But the all shared the same core message with flashy words like “grievances upon all people”, or “a betrayal of all our values”. At some point he got carried away speaking in a manner he knew might have been just a little too unpalatable for the ordinary man, and these papers he promptly crumpled up.
Eventually he was satisfied and went about spreading this material. After enough were about he began to speak to people he came upon about the matter. He did not insist upon their time, but he was happy to take as much as they would give to perhaps organize… well, something. He wasn’t sure what, but something had to be done.
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Cevraya Kirske
New
Roleplay posts: 3
Appearance: Kirske is a strange woman, and her clothing tends to accent that. She rarely wears corsets, garters, or heels, avoiding the trappings of traditional feminine clothing. Instead, she dresses in a similar manner of an early victorian-era gentleman, despite being obviously female. She is often seen with a tight black frock coat, dark green cravat, white undershirt, and black breeches. When less formal occasions call, her calf-length frock coat is replaced with a norfolk jacket, with the rest the same. She holds an unimpressive body type, having feminine curves that lack pronouncement. Her mousy brown hair is cut at her neck, and she has a dark green tattoo that appears almost like a sheen of wet paint on her pale face. She almost always has a bowler hat upon her lithe frame.
Equipment: Cevraya has all of the equipment listed above in regards to clothing. She also carries a formal walking stick, as well as a bag of herbs, salves, antivenoms, poisons, and other natural medicines. A mortar and pestle can often be found on her as well, as well as a mostly-ceremonial dagger. She also carries a large jar, for Georgy Enrique Leonard, or Gel.
Skills and Abilities: Cevraya is an experienced medicine-woman, as well as a former mage of notable ability. She was once capable of creating beings made of caustic slime up to a cubic meter in size, but now struggles to make anything as large as three cubic inches. Her favored creation is Georgy Enrique Leonard, or Gel for short, a three-cubic-inch gelatinous cube that obeys her command. She can use what little arcane ability she has left to recognize and cure toxins, as well as replicate them, but she can only replicate toxins that she has on her. She is immune to toxins.
Biography: To Be Finished
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 13:51:01 GMT -5
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Post by Cevraya Kirske on Mar 23, 2021 13:21:51 GMT -5
The wobbling cube took great offense at the called out words. He, Georgy Enrique Leonard, some creature? Surely Thrand jests! The cubic colloid shifted slightly in the puddle of blood, before the ship rocked, sending him sliding across the puddle. Like some strange reverse-slug, he left a trail of spotless planks behind him, a stark contrast to the dark red splotches across the deck. Despite the noble servant being so far away from his goal now, by some three feet, to be exact, he merely leapt into the air, heading back to where Perkins fell. He hit the ground with a wet "splat" noise, before repeating this motion several more times. In a desperate attempt to prove himself, Georgy Enrique Leonard began rocking back and forth against the ground, occasionally becoming unbalanced and tipping over.
Meanwhile, Cevraya was still staring at the land, still partially dangling from the forestays. Her vibrant eyes repeatedly traveled across the several-miles-of-open-sea between herself and this body of land still so far away. The sound of the crowd brought a frown to her face, and she pulled herself to the middle of the bowsprit, walking back down it with elegant balance, climbing over the taffrail, and only then looking up. Her eyes flitted over sailors and civilians, dressed in all manners of outfits, before falling on two men. One of them, featuring an impressive moustache, was speaking about some injustice among the officers. Another one, however, was raising the question of a certain creature, in a open patch of the deck.
Pushing through the cheering crowd, she cursed as her foot was stepped on by a taller entity, before reaching the open patch, very nearly stepping in Jenkins' spilled blood. She glanced down at the colloid happily cleaning, before looking up at Thrand. "That is Georgy. Don't worry about him, he just cleans up messes." She said simply, watching the three-inch cube jiggle as it worked. "He isn't harmful unless you touch him, which I don't suggest if you enjoy your flesh being intact." She murmured dryly, looking up at him.
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Whiskers
Established
Roleplay posts: 28
Appearance: A grey and white cat with piercing blue eyes. He sports a pirate outfit fit for the finest of crews. A large black captain's hat with crossbones, a caution to others. Is he a captain? No one really knows. Whiskers wears a black shirt as soft as cotton. The black sleeves embroidered with gold accents give way to white ruffled sleeve ends. The shirt has a cute white collar that Whiskers prefers to wear up. Did Whiskers dress himself, or has someone put him in it? No one truly knows.
Equipment: Whiskers takes with him a small pouch used to carry fish, papers, and other oddities.
Skills and Abilities: He does cat things since he is indeed a cat. In addition, he does occasionally deliver letters, but he himself is a true and through pirate.
Biography: meow meow meow meow meow. Meow meow! meow? MEOW!? Meow meow mrrrrr Meow.
Allegiances: anyone with a can of tuna
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 17:01:56 GMT -5
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Post by Whiskers on Mar 23, 2021 15:14:40 GMT -5
Whiskers jumps down from the railing and walks along the deck. The strange cube catching his attention. The cube makes Whiskers oddly hungry, hearing the warning from the tall lady by the cube he thinks maybe this is not for eating. He circles the cube sniffing the surrounding air from it, oh how he wanted to pat the cube with his furry paw. He will then look up at the tall lady by the cube and meow.
His sapphire eyes wide and curious and oh so painfully adorable. Who could resist bending down and giving this feline a few scritches. There seem to be a lot of new faces aboard and the newer the face the more likely they might be to crack open a can of sardines or feed him a hot dog. Whatever the case he enjoyed being the center of attention and like all cute and cuddly animals, people loved to coo at him.
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Norman Cleats
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Appearance: Norman is a tall and strapping young lad. His hands are calloused and muscles toned from several years of hauling lines. He appears to be in his late 20s.
Equipment: 2 sets of sailing cloths
1 set of land clothes
1 rigging knife
1 razor
1 set of sewing and splicing gear
1 medium leather drybag
Skills and Abilities: During his time as a cleat makers apprentice Norman learned to carve, cast metals, and work a forge, though he only ever made one thing. Since taking to the seas he as worked on the decks and as a yardsman. He someday wishes to learn to chart maps and become an accomplished navigator.
Biography: Norman's father was a cleat maker. As was his father's father, as was his grandfather's father. So it was with some contention from his family that Norman because a sailor instead. While the making of cleats was a safe and dependable job, Norman had never understood how someone could be content with such a monotonous existence. Sure, there had been the occasional order for an ornate bit of carving or gilding, and there was some skill involved in casting or forging larger gear, but mostly they just made plain old wooden cleats.
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 15:13:41 GMT -5
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Post by Norman Cleats on Mar 23, 2021 22:53:07 GMT -5
[Any one can feel free to respond to this] Norman stumbled and not from the rocking ship. During the walk, up from the storerooms the alcohol had seeped into his brain making him drunker then he had been since before the voyage began. He had never been to the captains quarters before and the twists and turns of the giant ship were too much for him to navigate in this state. But he had to move fast, he would surely be followed. Grabbing the first person he saw he slurred beligerantly, "The capstain! I mush ssee da ... the captain. Where she at?"
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Captain Gothmog Bloodsail
Established
Roleplay posts: 11
Appearance: Gothmog stands at an intimidating 8'2" with a weight of almost 400lbs of solid muscle. He is pierced or tattooed over nearly every inch of his green body. The tattoos depict his numerous seafaring adventures, from leviathan slaying to mermaid seduction.
Equipment: He is clothed in the uniform of an Isran ship's captain with a hint of piracy, a wicked looking cutlass and a hand crossbow on either hip. A fearsome looking harpoon is slung across his back, and a patch covers one eye. The patch is enchanted, aiding him in seeing the patterns of wind and water.
Skills and Abilities: He is a peerless sailor, and an excellent navigator, able to use landmarks, celestial bodies and time to complete navigation. He is also a fearless and ferocious fighter, his entire existence having been one long fight.
Biography: He is a heavy drinker, and a strict Captain. He cares for his men, and shows it in his actions, but not his words in typical sailor fashion. He is also daring, willing to take on any challenge with the motto: "Bigger is Better"
Registered: Mar 22, 2021 10:07:11 GMT -5
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Post by Captain Gothmog Bloodsail on Mar 23, 2021 23:38:11 GMT -5
Fortunately for Norman Cleats , the Depravity’s first (and true) Captain had just stepped on deck. The Perseverance had pulled up as Norman ran to get help from a Captain who was at best an hour row boat ride away. Behind the intimidating bulk of Captain Bloodsail was Centurion Analiese Hael and a dozen Legionnaires. The rest of his fleet’s legionnaires and marines stood in ordered ranks and at attention upon Perseverance’s deck. A few happy greetings to sailors he hadn’t seen in months was interrupted by the panicked approach of Norman, who shook the sailor next to Gothmog rather vigorously. Gothmog grinned and rested one massive hand on his cutlass, the insignia of his Commodore ranking clear upon his shoulder. “Easy there fella, take a seat and calm down. No cause to be getting drunk and shouting for the captain, good way to end up in the brig.” He said, staring down hard at the man. She? Gothmog only knew of one woman who would claim command of the Depravity, and that meant the Empress lived.
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Thrand Rangvaldrson
New
Roleplay posts: 7
Appearance: Thrand stands at 6' 2", although his once burly build has become considerably more lean during his travel upon the seas. Thrand's orange beard remains unkempt, despite his attempts to contain it somewhat. His eyes are colored a muted blue, not far from grey. The blue tattoos that adorn his body have faded and in some places are barely visible, the magic sustaining them all but gone.
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Equipment: All that Thrand carries with him as he travels is a finely crafted sword, containing a murky blue crystal embedded in the hilt.
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Skills and Abilities: While his body may have deteriorated during his journey through the mist, he still possesses much of the strength he once had. The magic abilities he once had have faded, although he can temporarily restore them using the residual magic within the sword. Using that power, he can temporarily increase his strength, speed, and durability, as well as allowing him to survive otherwise fatal conditions and wounds. However the cost of such magic leaves Thrand exhausted, and overuse could lead to collapse or worse.
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Biography: Thrand used to be the King of the nation of Iskaldur, yet before he knew it the flood had taken that all away. He's carried with him the one relic from that land that he has left, and has set out in a search to find a new purpose in this new world.
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 13:04:12 GMT -5
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Post by Thrand Rangvaldrson on Mar 24, 2021 12:17:06 GMT -5
Thrand looks at the women who provided him an answer, giving a glance between her and the Georgy. She did not seem to have the physical capabilities to tame such a thing, especially if it was as deadly as she claims, so was she some form of mage then? Regardless she appeared to be confident in Georgy's relative harmlessness, and the crowd didn't seem unusually perturbed by the small slime cleaning the decks.
He let his hand fall from the hilt of his sword which, in retrospect, would likely not have been terribly effective. "So I take it you're this, ah, Georgy's master?" He asked, stumbling a bit as he remembered to address Georgy by name. Despite his uneasiness regarding the potential danger such a creature posed, this lady had named it, so he figured it'd be best to address it as such. "Are you a mage then?" Thrand asked, only then noticing the well dressed cat that had come to her feet. "Or maybe small creatures just take a liking to you." He added on, with a slight chuckle.
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Norman Cleats
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Appearance: Norman is a tall and strapping young lad. His hands are calloused and muscles toned from several years of hauling lines. He appears to be in his late 20s.
Equipment: 2 sets of sailing cloths
1 set of land clothes
1 rigging knife
1 razor
1 set of sewing and splicing gear
1 medium leather drybag
Skills and Abilities: During his time as a cleat makers apprentice Norman learned to carve, cast metals, and work a forge, though he only ever made one thing. Since taking to the seas he as worked on the decks and as a yardsman. He someday wishes to learn to chart maps and become an accomplished navigator.
Biography: Norman's father was a cleat maker. As was his father's father, as was his grandfather's father. So it was with some contention from his family that Norman because a sailor instead. While the making of cleats was a safe and dependable job, Norman had never understood how someone could be content with such a monotonous existence. Sure, there had been the occasional order for an ornate bit of carving or gilding, and there was some skill involved in casting or forging larger gear, but mostly they just made plain old wooden cleats.
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 15:13:41 GMT -5
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Post by Norman Cleats on Mar 24, 2021 18:18:29 GMT -5
Looking up at the big man released a burst of adrenaline that sobered Norman up, if only for a moment. He reflexively clasped his hands behind his bank and stepped out to a parade rest. This was a legend made flesh, the previous captain of the Depravity who had commanded the ship in the war against Goraia, the man who seduced mermaids and had captured a sea monster with his bare hands only to prove he could out drink it. This was Captain Gothmog Bloodsail.
As a swell rocked the ship and Norman lurched backwards. Keeping some dignity he managed not to fall overboard but came to rest on a deck box. Doing his best not to slur his word Norman related what he had seen, “I’m Able Seaman Norman Cleats, sir. I was below decks at a… Uh,” There was no use lying, not to this man, “I was visiting a bootleg still, sir, in the lowest store room. ‘cept I don’t think they ‘spected no visitors. Ya see, I saw it, sir.”
The drunken sailor spoke faster as he went, losing the finer necessities of pronunciation, ”I saws what dey had written. Names ‘n blood. Everyone who’s wit ‘em. I didn’ wanna sign, shir. But dey made me. It was dat or my life. An’ I like it, sir. Livin’ that is, deshpite what happin’ ta Perkins. I didn’ wanna die an’ ‘ave Dr. Vulpin take out my organs…” Norman abruptly realized he was rambling and shut his mouth before taking a breath.
“It’s a mutiny. They tried to lather me up an’ keep me quiet. I knew some of ‘em an’ don’t think they wanted blood jus’ yet. I can ‘old my drink though, sir. Don’ think they ‘spected me ta do nothin’ before it was too late. But I can ‘old mah drink, si-hic, a bit.”
He had gotten it out. The captain would be able to take care of it now. No one would have expected Captain Bloodsail to be on the ship and Norman doubted they would have been so bold had the mutineers known.
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Captain Gothmog Bloodsail
Established
Roleplay posts: 11
Appearance: Gothmog stands at an intimidating 8'2" with a weight of almost 400lbs of solid muscle. He is pierced or tattooed over nearly every inch of his green body. The tattoos depict his numerous seafaring adventures, from leviathan slaying to mermaid seduction.
Equipment: He is clothed in the uniform of an Isran ship's captain with a hint of piracy, a wicked looking cutlass and a hand crossbow on either hip. A fearsome looking harpoon is slung across his back, and a patch covers one eye. The patch is enchanted, aiding him in seeing the patterns of wind and water.
Skills and Abilities: He is a peerless sailor, and an excellent navigator, able to use landmarks, celestial bodies and time to complete navigation. He is also a fearless and ferocious fighter, his entire existence having been one long fight.
Biography: He is a heavy drinker, and a strict Captain. He cares for his men, and shows it in his actions, but not his words in typical sailor fashion. He is also daring, willing to take on any challenge with the motto: "Bigger is Better"
Registered: Mar 22, 2021 10:07:11 GMT -5
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Post by Captain Gothmog Bloodsail on Mar 24, 2021 20:00:08 GMT -5
Gothmog listened with intent at the seaman’s story as he drunkenly slurred through the whole thing, noting the awe with which he was kept. Clearly the man had never served under him, he did not tolerate such drunkenness while on duty. Off-duty? Absolutely. “First of all sailor, if what you say is true you should be commended. Second of all, sober up. You’re coming with me to solve this. No one posts a mutiny on an Isran ship. Centurion Hael, stay up here, if you hear...violence, come back me up.” He ordered, grabbing Norman Cleats by the shoulder and facing him towards the ladder. “Lead me to the mutineers.”
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