Yami Aku

No problem. If you need help with anything, ask anyone. I especially would be glad to help.

hey gais

Ohasi!

let do dis cmon

I actually hit on a character idea I like today so hopefully I will finish it soon :3

Okayherewego:

Name: Yazmin Beteg
Sex: Female
Age: Mid-thirties
Profession: Mountain guide
Appearance: Yazmin Beteg was born with no left ear. The distorted soup of flesh that replaces it is cast into full light by the absence of a curtain of dark red hair which would have been long and curly had Yazmin not hated the feel of it and taken to hacking it off with a borrowed knife whenever it would grow too unruly. Her head resembles a charred jungle, and her mind resembles the ashes, which are not truly dead as they blow in tiny clumps with the breeze and take a fancy to getting in one’s eyes and coating one’s lips with distasteful soot. Yazmin’s lips are puffy brands. Her complexion is dark enough to defy the natural heredity of a family living in the Falconpeak range. Her kindly burning eyes would like to see the world and rotate in constant circles to take in the planet’s unseen curvature. Her disproportionately large, dark hands fidget quietly in similar motions: first the right rubs over the left, lingering over each jagged fingernail, and then the smooth palms embrace for a brief instant before the left creeps over the right and squeezes it gently to make it twist back up to embrace once more and rub the left again and again and again. Yazmin’s feet stomp gently in place, one more highly than the other. Yazmin’s clothes are plain and drab and easily combustible. Her arms and legs and neck are mummified with band after band of ribbon and trinket. A mobius strip of a belt is tight about her skeletal waist.
Personality: Yazmin Beteg was born with no left ear. She has taken her half-deafness as permission to ignore verbal conversation. Her tongue does not like the feel of open air, but her face and her body are incredibly talkative to those who can listen. Yazmin is of the type who prefer to imagine the depth of a person rather than dip in and see for herself, and she holds her friends close behind curtains as her silhouette holds them at arm’s length. She is loyal to these people and treasures them in ways that they will never know, yet feels little guilt for the wrongs she may do unto them, for she does not believe in free will and thinks of life rather as a simple cycle that has always moved in its murky ways and will always continue to do so. Yazmin’s close observation of these patterns seem to approach clairvoyance to the ignorant, and are closely linked with her fascination for all continuous cycles. Lines in the sand are equally as fascinating to her as the way in which young green plants spring up and grow old and wither and die and lend nourishment to their comrades. She is infatuated with circles and fire, which seem at odds - the latter seeking to disregard the inevitability of the former and fighting fiercely with brilliant swords of red and yellow and spilling dark gray blood to the sky whenever it is given the chance to achieve a lifeless gray wasteland and halt the continuous nature of the world. Yazmin is deceptively intelligent. She is very fit and exceptionally stealthy from her half-life in the wilderness and possesses innate, wondrous magical ability that she has never realized and most likely never will.
History: Yazmin Beteg was born with no left ear. She has compensated ever since by tracing her life about circumscription after circumscription. Her head rotates smoothly to the right as if rafting down a muddy river, and her body rotates from chair to table to floor to north to east to south to west to a different room entirely whenever the itch gets too unbearable. Yazmin rolled about the interior of her crib as a babe, wandered endless loops through the house when she grew old enough to walk, and took the first opportunity possible to blunder an escape through an open door to the strange world outside. Her parents never trusted her apathetic silence or addiction to walking after finding her youthful body half dead in the woods, and they always removed from her walls the lines scribbled in whatever stuck and that never, never seemed to have endpoints. Yosef and Klara Beteg were not bad people, but they were finite, and that was enough to deter Yazmin’s affections. Her head lay in other, supermortal spheres, and her love would sit – unexpressed – in a corner of her mind, if only her mind had corners. Yazmin forged her parents into caricatures as stony as herself. They found it easier to love their daughter from a distance, and killed two birds with a single spherical stone by allowing her to indulge her love for the outdoors vocationally. Ever since, Yazmin follows diligently wherever her feet wander, and makes up for her eccentric silence as a guide with her unparalleled knowledge of the Falconpeak range area and beyond, and the utter certainty with which her clients may trust that she will lead them to their destination and loop them back if they so desire.

Sorry it took so long, lol ~u~ Anything I need to change? o:

Very interesting! You're good to go.

Yay! Thanks! ^^

Posting this for miss Noxi while she lays her head down.

*

Name: Sess Ilee, meaning Blind of Self Beauty
Sex: Female
Age: 220 in human years, 22 in wraith years
Race: Wraith

Appearance:

If one could capture a wraith’s image in just one still what could possibly be captured? Are they hoping to see a sinister, ominous and vile creature wrapped in black satin? Or perhaps a stunning siren with moon touched skin and eyes that shimmer like pools of tears, beckoning the man to come hither and drown in their depths? Alas Sess Ilee is neither of those entirely, but a combination.

Hidden beneath a tattered, weathered cloth is the petite frame of a girl. The cloth lacks any detailing. Perhaps a few blood stains here and there, some dirt and other naturally carried age spots but has nothing more. It was once a simple grey blanket turned into a cloak. It was the only thing available at the time to cover what she has left of a body in her current state of being. She has no other clothing, leaving herself barefoot. Rarely do her feet touch the ground though. She is always slightly hovering, the smoke gently billowing out of the cloak to give off the sinister float of a haunting specter.

Her skin is white as snow, cracked and withering like an aged rose. Dust is selflessly applied blush to her cheeks. Dirt graces the rest of her form to take away from the cracks that leak out black smoke and ash. It’s not enough to smolder anyone near but enough to give her cover when she is to reveal her true form.

Thanks to the hood of her cloak her face is often casted in a dark shadow as if she hadn’t possessed a face at all. This is what she feels to be the case. Sess is very protective over her facial features or lack of features. She wears the skull of a beast over her face. It is kept in pristine condition unlike the rest of her. In the light it has an odd, irking glow that sends shivers down the spine. What lies underneath the mask though? Those who wonder never get their answer but...all questions have answers.

Behind the intimidating mask of the beast is nothing at all. Sess lacks a face entirely. Instead the carvings of an ancient language replace the features she once had before her imminent death. If one understood the dialect of old language it would read ‘Grey’.

Now, what about the other forms she possesses? She doesn’t simply possess a creature and wear its face. That would make the game all too easy for her. When Sess possesses another creature, usually clad in fur, it gains the notable marking carved in her face on its chest. All colour is then drained from its body, thus rendering it entirely in greyscale. While this is quite the atheistic and personalized touch it’s really a curse to the trained eye.

A wraith is a master of disguise, being able to wear the face of any creature it can sink its soul into. In Sess’ case she is vulnerable in both her Wraith and disguised forms. She can easily be picked out in a grove or in the shade of trees. This requires her to survive in a much different way from the proud, loner wraiths that are able to survive by their strengths alone. This will be further discussed in the personality and history section.


Personality:

Sess Ilee at least lives up to her title in terms of being an elusive and enigmatic being when she wants to be. She is the individual that can always be seen but rarely heard. She has little voice to speak for the intelligence she holds. Her voice is soft, like the sound of a child’s music box. It has a slight echo, giving her a haunting appeal. Once heard it’s not easily forgotten. She uses this voice to get what she desires (which is often security of her survival).

She tries to cover up her faults by persuading others to do her bidding. She isn’t forceful but she is definitely a smooth talker. She can tell lies upon lies to the point she may actually believe them herself. She exploits the weaknesses of others, making them open targets to other enemies to escape the own bulls-eye on her back. She’s also privy to blackmail if it ensures her own survival. Everyone is a pawn to be used in the game of life and she intends to be the master of them.

While she appears in control, calm and collected in most situations she can actually be brutally critical of her actions. She is always thinking of the possibilities to every outcome, replaying the various paths in her mind until she is assured she is going to make the right decision. You could say she’s cautious to a T. She is loathing of inconstant variables and unpredictable creatures. Yet she is a hypocrite as she herself is a very indecisive creature.

Despite appearing like a socialite she actually despises interactions with others. If she could rid herself of the grey curse set upon her she would rely entirely on herself. Since she cannot be independent she’s forced into that particular state. When she just get the odd chance to be lonesome she definitely enjoys it. She enjoys the silence. It gives her time to reflect on her personal thoughts. It also gives her time to intake the scenery around her. She has a fascination with wildlife and foliage. When she is alone and you manage to catch a glimpse of her she is often sitting in patches of flowers, gently caressing the petals of forget-me-nots.

This interest in flowers leads to another interesting fault about Sess Ilee. She has a soft spot and high sensitivity. This may have been carried over from her past life. She has empathy for creatures, especially when they’ve fallen into a situation entirely out of their control. Powerless creatures pull at her heart strings, making her rethink the path she’s led up to this point. What is good? What is bad? What should she do? Should it be for the betterment of oneself? Should it be a gracious effort for others? They are thoughts taken by the breeze. Her survival instinct reminds her that the good in the bad comes second to continue living.

Her sensitivities open up a vast amount of other problems. While she can be empathetic with allies and creatures alike she can also be swayed like any woman. She may even develop emotions that she should have discarded a long time ago. It can also up a possibility of fears. Watching other creatures die is the biggest fear. She is a wraith that takes the time to morn a fallen comrade, especially if she grew fond of them. It’s unlike a wraith to be that caring but it’s something from her past life she can’t simply throw away.

Many things remain stuck with her but those will be revealed in due time. It’s not like a lady to lay all her cards on the table so carelessly.

History:

Many often wonder about where such a wraith gets a curse that turns what she possesses into a greyscale shell of its former self. It’s a reflection of a sin, the self indulgence of colour and vibrancy in one’s own beauty. In a past life the Wraith was a self absorbed beauty with everything ahead of herself. Wealth, power, curves, everything a prime female needed to get a prized suitor.

It had been taken away so quickly. The night of her demise had been a malicious act of hatred, something she can barely remember but carries the scar with her even in her new life – a peaceful sprite in olde. Grey had been carved into her face with a toothy dagger, leaving a deep and messy wound. It was the over abundance of pain that had sent her into a coma. It was the blade that had pierced through her skull and making direct contact to her brain that killed her. If it hadn’t she would have continued to live her life to its bitter end, an ugly hag with no eye sight and no identity to call her own.

Living as a Wraith has been no easy task. In today’s time the looming, suffocating thought of relocation to a new world plagued her. A new experience was never exactly something she was willing to jump into. However, when your own world is crumbling at your hovering feet what are you to do? To wait for death to take you in one swallow or try to survive in a world that holds promises?

Only time will tell if the risks pay off for her...

Writing Sample: Sent to you via PM as it is a sample from a novel I'm writing and rather not release it to the public just yet. Consider yourself lucky my dear.

Ooooh I didn't know she was writing a novel! o:

It's pretty neat.

Alright, so we have Crim, Mata, Ji, and Noxi which is enough to start. Eo can get in after we start, which is no big deal. I have a couple of questions first, however, before I start writing the opening post. Do we all want to write our own individual lines, or should I do what RCMidas does and write a little something something for everybody?

I've always done the whole intro post for your character thing, but I'm open to new things so whatever everyone else votes for.

Okay, I got a yes from Noxi. I'll see what I can do about a post in about... the next sixteen hours.

Either way works from me! I find that Midas' way is pretty darn genius as it keeps people engaged from the get-go so it's more difficult to not respond, but it's also probably pretty stressful to have to write that much for each person. XD

Name: Ahlat Thao
Sex: M
Age: adult
Race: Minotaur
Appearance: For the most part, Ahlat is pretty darn average for a Minotaur. Seven and a half-ish feet tall, hunched over a bit, calico fur all over, digitigrade legs with hooves four inches across, all that jazz. His horns are easily a foot long and curl sharply upwards; the left one is broken off and capped with iron. He’s got a nasty scar on his right pec, running vertically about three inches. He has a tail, but since he came to the human realm, he's kept it under his clothing. His eyes are black, which makes them very difficult to read, but generally his body language makes up for that. He looks a bit pudgy, but it's the same way that a sumo wrestler would look pudgy; he doesn't have much by way of definition, and sure he's got some extra weight on him, but that doesn't mean he's weak. He's just not very fast.
He generally wears rough-spun clothing: a linen tunic, plus baggy trousers tucked into winningas and belted over top of everything else with a piece of rope. When the weather is nasty, he has a dark green wool circle-cloak that goes down to his calves and a broad-brimmed hat made of an exotic leather native to Nede. He wears not one, but three bronze nose-rings, successively decreasing in size as they go up his septum. The biggest one was given to him by his father; it appears to be made of braided rope. The middle one was a betrothal ring; it fits tighter against his nose and is made of two linked segments. The top one is a gift from his former master as a token of a completed apprenticeship and is set with a garnet. He also wears a leather blacksmith's apron when he's working (or sometimes when he just needs the protection). For the moment, he doesn't have armor, as he didn't have time to grab it when his home was destroyed.
On his belt, he keeps a seax and a leather purse.  When going armed, he has an eight-foot halberd with a slightly oversized head and an iron point at the bottom.

Personality: Sure, he gets angry sometimes. Or a lot, depending who you ask. But as minotaurs go, he's a touch harder to set off than most. In fact, he's rather glum most of the time. Concerning humans, he'd rather integrate than otherwise, and he tries to act as friendly as possible. When you're a giant cow-monstrosity, this is harder than it looks and rarely succeeds. If you have him make a piece for you (since he's a blacksmith), you'll find that he works hard and takes both pride and care in what he does. He'd say he prefers it to fighting, but that may or may not be actually true. Inside, he misses the combat life, but that was suddenly less of an option when he had a wife to support, and it’s even less of an option when he’s trying to make himself a place in a new world where he’ll have to do friendly business with the populace. But if it comes down to torches and pitchforks, he’s not going peacefully.

His grand hope is that his wife will be found alive and be sent through the portal; otherwise, he'll never see her again. He's secretly deathly afraid that she didn't actually survive the most recent storm, and that she and his unborn child are dead. Barring that, he'd like them to have a nice place to come home to; a house, a livelihood, a population not trying to have their heads, and all that. 

History: Ahlat is no stranger to the skull-bashing, infighting, and general carnage that makes up minotaur culture. He's been there and done that for years, and he somehow managed to come out on top often enough to not die. (He attributes this to luck.) But then everything changed when the fire nation attacked ten years ago when he took a nasty stab wound to the chest. During his convalescence, he was tended to by a beautiful minotauress, with whom he fell in love and eventually married. Suddenly risking his life all the time wasn't the best idea anymore, and settling down with a stable life sounded better and better. So he took an apprenticeship to a smith and began to make preparations for building a new home. They married three years ago, once Ahlat had the means. They have attempted to have a child before, but his wife miscarried. The one in the oven is attempt number two. 

Ahlat's town was largely destroyed in a storm, and Madrid sent him through for his skills as a smith. However, his distance from the main force gets him left pretty well alone in that respect. That kind of sucks, though, because the local humans aren't terribly keen on going to see a demon assembling materials that could be used to make weapons. He doesn't have much by way of raw materials after having finished restoring an abandoned cottage (with a new, raised roof) just outside of town, building a forge, and creating a new set of tools. 

Writing Sample:

"How much will it cost to have it fixed?" Ahlat hunched over inside a tailor's hut, with his tunic off. He felt exposed without it, as though the cloth hid some underlying monstrosity that earned him the fear of the locals. Clothes were, after all, a sure sign of civilization, and without them, what was he but a common barbarian?

"Ah, er, um..." the pencil-sized tailor stammered, investigating the hand-sized broken seam in the left armpit-gore. "10 coppers? Couldn't you fix this yourself?" It was an outrageously high price, intended to just make the minotaur go away.

Ahlat shrugged, bumping into a line of hanging clothes with his shoulder. "I was never much for fixing clothes. You want some leatherwork done, sure thing, I’ll have it done in no time, but I’m not so good with this."
He checked his purse, counting the few coins he had. Only 8 coppers, and he wanted that to buy flour the next day. He frowned and thought for a moment. "I don't have that much money," he started slowly. The tailor sighed in relief and began to hand back the garment. "But we could work out a trade."

The tailor stammered. "Well, that might be all well and good where you come from, but I don't see anything you could do for me that I could-"

"Your shears look dull."

"Pardon me?"

"Your shears. I saw you trying to cut that fabric when I came in; you were having quite the time of it. I'm a blacksmith by trade, and I can sharpen them for you."

"Well, they're not that bad..."

"And I'll make you some pins too, good ones. Does that sound equitable for a minor repair?" It really wasn't equitable at all, and Ahlat was willingly throwing more resources at this than would have been necessary under different circumstances.

"I suppose..."

"Good! Then we have a deal. Do you mind if I wait here? I don't want to be walking around town naked like an animal, you understand." Ahlat's tail swished, finding a more comfortable position on the stool.

The tailor sighed, defeated. "Yes, just try not to knock anything over."

You're accepted. I'll put it up later.

The IC thread is up in High Fantasy, my friends. Not sure if I should move it to Fantasy or not though.

So are we doing the midas way or just regular intros?

I'm doing it the GM way, which is how Midas is handling Illidia.

We debated and decided it was best that I made a sheet as well....

...but until that day comes, please be satisfied with this lazy ass, rushed excuse that I have decided to give you.

Name: Oscar Gene
Sex: Male
Age: 27
Profession: ex-magical jester and drunken minstrel
Appearance: Oscar would be a rather sharp, handsome, 5'11" tall man for the most part if he hadn't crawled inside a mead bottle and died there. His ratty, unkempt dark hair would be soft, shiny and clean if he had bothered to clean himself up anymore and his shining amber eyes contrasts with the bags drooping beneath them and under-eye crow's feet. His pronounced cheek bones work in unison with his thin face and laugh lines, and dimples adorn his cheeks when he smiles revealing teeth that appears, while once well taken care off, to be neglected over a gradual amount of time. A thin layer of stubble, not nearly grand enough to be considered a true beard, coats the bottom half of his face. Oscar's Adam's apple isn't particularly pronounced or even so much as notable, but it is more pronounced than your average man's.

His unusual attire is displayed exclusively as a jester, and has little else in the means of alternative clothing. He has a thick, faded red jacket that fits snugly around the waist and has a red trim. In a lighter, albeit still faded shade of red is a floral pattern on it wherever it goes. Along the shoulders are leaf shaped black strips of fabric with a red trim with a brass bells at the end of them, total at about five bells on each shoulder. The center of jacket has has about four large buttons going down, knitted into a folded over piece of the jacket with different, softer fabric, alternating in a black and brown square pattern all the way down the center of the jacket. Underneath this jacket is a white linen shirt with maybe a sweat stain there or a mead stain here with sleeves that are cut off at the elbows. Over them are two suspender straps, both colored red with brass buckles near the shoulders, carrying pants that match the jacket. They are baggy around the thighs and are made of a strong, stiff material and gradually gets closer to the skin the further down his leg it goes. Over the end of these pants is a pair of strong black and red boots - black being the primary, red, the secondary, only complimenting it.

He has little scars to speak of, only a couple of marks on his hands. His pale skin and fine complexion reveal few skin imperfections besides the wrinkles on his face or the cuts and calluses on his hands and choppy fingernails. His eyebrows are thinner than you would expect, but his eyelashes are dark and thick. He has little by the means of jewelry besides a gold band on his right middle finger and a silver spike piercing on the far side of his right eyebrow. He weighs at about what you would expect from someone of his lithe frame, 161 lbs.

Personality: If I could use one word to describe him, what would I use? Selfish? Careless? Self-destructive? Lazy? Pitiful, talented, waste, poor, drunk, they all apply. Oscar is the manifestation of what you get when you were at once at the top of the chain and then stripped away of everything, being left nothing. When that happens, you don’t shrug it off and start anew, you’re more likely to experience a crap ton of self-loathing and alcohol far from home. While he stands around at a tavern all day entertaining various people and walking around with his cap full of coin in his hand, he’d rather be sitting at the barstool alone shooting down various shot glasses of random alcohol. Naturally, although being the best as what he does, drunks and customers aren’t one to spend a bunch of money on a guy that performed in front of you, when all you wanted was a bite or a drink, or even a cozy bed.

Naturally, the man is brilliant. He adept in the art of magic and has the potential to cast spells that most scholars would only be able to achieve with many, many years of practice – and without taking the magic already flowing through his veins into consideration, that’s exactly what he did. He had read many books in his youth and it taught him many different ideas and philosophies and facts. This given, he could be walking encyclopedia if he were sober most of the time, but unfortunately, his knowledge hasn’t been put to much use and thus has become rusty as the days go by.

He tries hard to avoid sobriety, as it leaves him thinking about what happened to him that caused him to fall so low. But on normal circumstances, Oscar can be very flirtatious and has, to some extent, an impressive charisma that is able to appeal to most people’s personalities. A frightening combination of intelligence, wit, and cunning, he is a real charmer and there’s little doubt how he got so high upon the social scale in the past. These aspects of him compensate for his smaller physique, and helps allow him to avoid confrontations altogether.

Despite on how deep he immersed himself in his studies, he doesn’t put much faith into religion. The miracles that holy magic is able to perform are mind-boggling, yes, and the powers that priests have are great, of course. He does, however, have trouble immersing himself so deeply into something that appears to be next to impossible to find: enlightenment. If anything, he puts more faith into the priests than the gods themselves.

All in all, Oscar is a tough nut to crack. You’ll find trouble getting him to open up or tell a thing about himself, or even getting a chance to be considered his friend. Although he is selfish and is likely going to take a route that serves him best, he does has his insecurities regarding himself, and he isn’t one to leave his true for dead.

History: Born into a noble family, he started his training young at the early age of 8 years old, being tutored by his grandfather, and head magistrate of the Caprest College. It was very hard work and he was mostly left reading his days away until the age of 10 when he casted his first spell, emitting a gush of wind that had chaotically blown away most of the paperwork in the room, that took several hours to recollect afterwards. Despite starting so young, Oscar doesn’t know as many spells as he should given his age; he was brilliant, and was full of potential, but his versatility was limited. He traded his time learning different spells reading books and studying, thus increasing his potential at the cost of his “move pool”, so to speak.

His youth wasn’t all about reading however. He picked up little games, tricks, and skills along the way. He learned to juggle, play the lute, and learn card tricks – illusions, messing with the mind. His youth had little in the ways of a social life and spent most of his time with his grandfather, who died when he was fifteen. The only one that his grandfather would trust to train him was the man a rank below him, who adopted the title head magistrate after his passing. The man, whose name is Vince, or Mr. Son as he recalls, was known to be a little jealous of Oscar’s potential, but respected the dying wishes of his superior. He taught the boy until he was 20, and Oscar dismantled the apprenticeship, figuring he could learn more by reading books at this point. He led an easy life, living in one of the college dorms by himself for free and did services around the library in exchange for food and dinner.

Came the time he was 25, he signed up for a position in the king’s court. While he did get accepted, he was appointed as a jester to amuse the nobility and royal family as well. It was slightly discouraging, but soon learned that he was pretty damn good at it. Tricks such as juggling amused them and all, especially when dangerous objects were involved. The jokes were fine, he worked his charm, but one thing that other jesters didn’t have? The fact that Oscar was a sorcerer at heart. Not only did he perform dexterous feats and send whimsical tunes and jokes, and as soon as he broke out the spells, he had won over the court. He done this for two years, and while he didn’t exactly get paid large amounts of coin, all of his needs and commodities were provided for and was offered a room in the castle. Naturally, he accepted and stocked the room full of books.

Two years passed, and that bit of “power” (if you could even call it that; he was a court jester) got to his head. He was always charming and flirtatious (never with the queen though), he was getting over confident and forgot his place. He had his eye on one of the ladies of the court for a while, and upon the chance of meeting with her alone in a hallway and he stepped over a few boundaries to. To put it simply: in the end, he was banished from the castle for the unlawful seduction of the court’s ladies, and, immediately stricken with grief, self-loathing, and regret, fled Caprest out of embarrassment and took northward towards Maplefrost and staggered into a tavern a month prior to the current setting, making just enough to keep himself drunk the entire time he’s there except for when he’s performing.

Yaay! I will post soon! Thanks Patches :3

If anybody needs help with anything or needs to talk to me about anything regarding the RP, feel free to ask

Okay I was bursy yesterday and the day before BUT NOW I AM NOT AND WILL GET MY BOOTS IN GEAR.

I won't be around for the weekend. Maybe on the evenings, maybe, but don't count on it.

Shoot, okay D: