((Absolutely fantastic idea and execution. I haven't seen an RP this thought out and organized since 2012. Consider me interested, good sir. App to follow.))
((Absolutely fantastic idea and execution. I haven't seen an RP this thought out and organized since 2012. Consider me interested, good sir. App to follow.))
PLEASE DEAR GOD PLEASE BE ELBRIAN. We need one more elbrian to start
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<- Corporal Jade Iren Buckley
"You don't get to be in charge of a group dedicated to taking down titans, by fleeing from the targets. You get them by staining your best pair of pants and killing. The only problem I have is, The stains aren't blood."
Personality: Marcus is an arrogant, self-centered fellow, and rightly so. His loud boasts and declarations, although aggravating, are nevertheless true. He is quick to tease and sharp with his tongue, and a self-diagnosed narcissist. In battle, these characteristics carry over, as he enjoy playing with his opponents, or performing otherwise ‘showy’ or ‘flashy’ displays of his combat mastery. Personally, Marcus is always looking for a challenge, something to test his skills on.
Appearance: Although thin, Marcus is also incredibly well-muscled, lean and taut like a steel cable. He has no scars to speak of, a source of his frequent praises. His face is long and narrow, almost elfish in a way, with two emerald eyes set above a sloping, pointed nose. His mouth is ringed with laugh lines, yet has a hint of determination set in the way he purses his lips when faced with a difficult situation or particularly skilled opponent.
Birthplace: Ornav
Biography: Although he was born to the nation of Ornav, Marcus never had any fascination with the clunky, flawed machinery of his homeland. While others found beauty in the form of the machine, he found grace within the order and potential of natural things, specifically the human body. Striving to unlock the power he knew could be harnessed by his form, Marcus began training, first to harden and shape his body, then to perfect all it could accomplish.
In order to continue his ‘studies,’ as he called them, Marcus joined the Ornavian Army, progressing through the ranks with unparalleled speed and ambition. As a reward for his tireless service, Marcus was allowed to join the Musketeers, mastering the sword, the gun, and airship combat within record time. But even that was not enough. Obsessed with perfecting himself, Marcus sought the only other thing which he knew would improve him farther than he had already improved himself. Magic. However, he realized that the Ornavian understanding of the magical arts was restricted by ignorance and prejudice. He needed Elbria to fulfill his goals.
And so it was, one night on patrol aboard the airship Goliath, that Marcus made his move. Crossing over into Elbrian territory, he caused one of the Goliath’s engines to stall, sending the ship into a slow, but noticeable decent. Despite the Ornavian engineers’ best efforts, the Goliath was apprehended by the Elbrian military. Marcus was nowhere to be found. Instead, he had jumped ship once they were close enough to the ground, using a sophisticated prototype flight harness called the Icarus. Gliding safely to the ground, Marcus continued on foot his infiltration into Elbria.
Several months later, a major engagement at Black Rock Pass, a crucial source of coal, was being fought between the two nations. Elbrian numbers were low, their moral even lower. Thankfully, the arrival of a battalion of mismatched Warsworn soon joined the fight, grinding against the Ornavian behemoth. However, it was one man that turned the tide of the battle. Soaring through the air on a marvel of technology, one of the Warsworn could be seen picking enemy soldiers off with practiced, calculated precision, almost predicting the movements of the Ovarian forces. When he was finally brought to earth, the Warsworn was reported fighting with such unbelievable grace and speed that the Elbrians simply stopped their attack and watched. In a beautiful, gruesome dance of death, Marcus had carved through man after man, routing the Ornavian forces.
When asked how he had managed to accomplish such a task, Marcus simply laughed, allowing the tenuous hold he had on the magic bound to his body to slip free.
Faction: Elbrian
Faction Group: Warsworn
Strengths: Marcus is a master of combat, able to fight with sword or gun with incredible proficiency, while also efficiently operating inventions such as the Drakestomper or Gatling gun. His strength supersedes that of a normal soldier, as does his agility and intelligence. He is a tool meant for death. In addition, Marcus also possesses a very limited hold on magic, using it mainly to bolster his combat abilities.
Weaknesses: Marcus is an extreme perfectionist and egotist, and as a result, will put himself first and foremost. This runs the consequence of putting the group in danger, and leaving him stranded against hordes of enemies. Marcus also has the obsessive desire to win and improve, constantly searching for bigger and better things to take down or kill. Eventually, he will meet his match, and die as a result of his overconfidence. In regards to his magic, he has only the faintest hold on it, and while he can use it to boost his combat prowess, it does take a toll, effectively ‘eating away’ the fibers in his muscles. Should he use the magic for too long, the magic would potentially erode his muscles away to dust, leaving him helpless and most likely dead.
Other: Drakestomper. But besides that, a quick note; The Gatling gun was named so because of its inventor, Richard Gatling. It may be more realistic for the Ornavians to call it the machine gun, rather than by the name of a man who does not exist. (Unless this is in an oddly futuristic universe, in which case, I apologize.)
"You don't get to be in charge of a group dedicated to taking down titans, by fleeing from the targets. You get them by staining your best pair of pants and killing. The only problem I have is, The stains aren't blood."
Personality: Typically loose, and calm. Enjoys making others laugh, or confusing/tricking others out of their money, but extremely (sometimes over-) protective of girls/women (explained in bio)
Appearance: Tall, but thin, (compare his likeness to that of Slenderman), pale blonde hair, nearly white, green eyes. Never seen without a deck of cards.
Birthplace: Elbria
Biography: (This May end up terrible, because I'm not going to plan it out... I'm just gonna start writing)
Willow was born in Ebria, to a mixed family. His father, Kalem, was Ornavian, and his mother, Eunit, was Ebrian. They had gotten married before the beginning of the war, but waited awhile to have children. Because of his mother's heritage, he has the blood of a Mage, even diluted as it is by his father's, who's only merit to magic is the claim that he invented the DrakeStomper when he encountered a magical dragon, which everyone knows is total crap. He lived out a simple life as a child, until one day his father disappeared, supposedly across the border back to his home of Ornav, leaving Willow alone with his mother and sister. Willow spent the rest of his childhood caring for them, until he got the chance to go to the University in Ornav. He took the opportunity immediately, in the hope it would get him one step closer to finding his father.
He spent his time in school, until his mother caught a mysterious sickness, sending word for Willow to come home immediately. Though he was worried, his mother was one to overreact, so he ignored the message. Within the month, his sister had caught the sickness, and died. With nothing left to do, Willow continued with his school, and was enlisted into the Ornavian Fleet. He now lives his life in regret of his mistakes, and can often skew reality with his own odd visions, relating closely to his grief over the loss of his mother and sister. This causes him to be extremely protective of women.
Faction: Ornavian
Faction Group: Ornavian Fleet
Strengths: Small mana pool, primarily used for sleight-of-hand, but can heal minor (very minor, more for show than anything), fast and agile, exceptional skill with knives and other blades
Weaknesses: not very strong, not very much skill with ranged weapons, relies too heavily on others, can easily become controlled by his emotions (<<this kid needs some serious counseling I'm serious his anger issues are uncalled for its scary man)
Other: I usually try too hard to put myself in the center of things, and it's a bad habit. I'm making this character as a (sort of, but not really) side character, he probably won't be of huge impact to any plot development, and is mostly around to support the other characters, and maybe provide a bit of relief from the heavy feeling that typically comes alongside war RPs.
I do have a question though... I prefer RPs with a lot of character interaction, so how does that work if were in huge military forces, and were split into factions?
Also, ZixUni, AoT is the best.
Also also, ignore the fact that I put this up at 2:05-2:20-2:40 AM... This thing took me 40 minutes and it probably is crap. I'm going to sleep now.
Name: Willow Cross
Age: 16
Personality: Typically loose, and calm. Enjoys making others laugh, or confusing/tricking others out of their money, but extremely (sometimes over-) protective of girls/women (explained in bio)
Appearance: Tall, but thin, (compare his likeness to that of Slenderman), pale blonde hair, nearly white, green eyes. Never seen without a deck of cards.
Birthplace: Elbria
Biography: (This May end up terrible, because I'm not going to LAN it out... I'm just gonna start writing)
Willow was born in Ebria, to a mixed family. His father, Kalem, was Ornavian, and his mother, Eunit, was Ebrian. They had gotten married before the beginning of the war, but waited awhile to have children. Because of his mother's heritage, he has the blood of a Mage, even diluted as it is by his father's. He lived out a simple life as a child, until one day his father disappeared, supposedly across the border back to his home of Ornav, leaving Willow alone with his mother and sister. Willow spent the rest of his childhood caring for them, until he got the chance to go to the University in Ornav. He took the opportunity immediately, in the hope it would get him one step closer to finding his father.
He spent his time in school, until his mother caught a mysterious sickness, sending word for Willow to come home immediately. Though he was worried, his mother was one to overreact, so he ignored the message. Within the month, his sister had caught the sickness, and died. With nothing left to do, Willow continued with his school, and was enlisted into the Ornavian Fleet. He now lives his life in regret of his mistakes, and can often skew reality with his own odd visions, relating closely to his grief over the loss of his mother and sister. This causes him to be extremely protective of women.
Faction: Ornavian
Faction Group: Ornavian Fleet
Strengths: Small mana pool, primarily used for sleight-of-hand, but can heal minor (very minor, more for show than anything), fast and agile, exceptional skill with knives and other blades
Weaknesses: not very strong, not very much skill with ranged weapons, relies too heavily on others, can easily become controlled by his emotions (<<this kid needs some serious counseling I'm serious his anger issues are uncalled for its scary man)
Other: I usually try too hard to put myself in the center of things, and it's a bad habit. I'm making this character as a (sort of, but not really) side character, he probably won't be of huge impact to any plot development, and is mostly around to support the other characters, and maybe provide a bit of relief from the heavy feeling that typically comes alongside war RPs.
I do have a question though... I prefer RPs with a lot of character interaction, so how does that work if were in huge military forces, and were split into factions?
Also, ZixUni, AoT is the best.
Also also, ignore the fact that I put this up at 2:05-2:20-2:40 AM... This thing took me 40 minutes and it probably is crap. I'm going to sleep now.
I just saw your guys' need for an Elbrian... Crap!
I may rework my character tomorrow if that helps... Figure out a way to keep the same character but make him Elbrian, but the problem is that my whole idea for this character was that he's a Ornav soldier with a tiny bit of magic in him...
Right, since I cant be bothered (or rather don't want to), I will just answer each of your questions and/or applications.
Ampulugator, yes, there is electricity in this RP, it has been discovered(Advanced electricity by the Ornavians, but basic electricity is also learned by Elbrianians(but seldom used)). But a newer, more efficient energy, restricted to Ornavians, has been recently discovered: CE, or Crystal/Crystalline Energy. If you plan on tinkering with something, Basic electricity is provided for in the workshop, but if you want to work with CE, you need to file a request(in RP, of course) to the Ornavian Engineers.
TheCyanTortoise, thank you for the remarks. I hope I don't disappoint, seeing as this is my first RP(as in, first I ever made and lead). As for your app, I'm impressed by the amount of depth you've placed into it, and as such, you are accepted.. And yes, now that I think about it, it does make more sense to call it the machine gun rather than the gatling gun. Thank you for pointing that out.
For some strange reason, you made a double post, KiddEagle. Nonetheless, your application seems relatively sufficient. However, you are missing one thing. Reread the rules and place it somewhere/ incorporate it into your app. Nevermind, dealt with. Also, character interaction is planned to be done before, during and after battles, seeing as, coincidentally, the people's divisions will be moved close to each other.
And, with enough characters, I now declare this RP in motion(finally)! Rp'ers, wait for me to write out the background scenes for your characters, then post.
If I do not reply to my posts, I either have no internet connection, or am busy with college work. Alternatively, I may be writing up the post now. It all depends on the situation.
"You don't get to be in charge of a group dedicated to taking down titans, by fleeing from the targets. You get them by staining your best pair of pants and killing. The only problem I have is, The stains aren't blood."
~Elbria~
-Rowan
As you lie in your bed, the tolling of can be heard from the distance, signalling the you, and the rest of the army to wake up and prepare for the daily routine of combat training. Having your own private tent, a privilege of the Elite Vanguard, feels even more welcome today of all days. Your crossbow, some bolts, your blade and claw lay on the table next to you. An almost-filled glass of water rests upon the same table.
-Keaton
You wake up from a long slumber, rangers were allowed to sleep earlier(but get up at the same time as the others) to retain their focus. Some nights, you would volunteer to be a sentry, and watch for anything, but find that it is uneventful. You are in a lower level of the ruined fortress of Fort Guardian; the place being deemed safe to sleep in only a few nights ago. The bed you lie upon is soft, padded with whatever extra wool and tufts of grass they could find. Your bow and quiver a slung upon a weapon rack on the far side of the wall.
-Marcus
You awake with a start, the perpetual hum of the airships engines were disrupted by some turbulence and several dropped cannonballs on deck. Some other Warsworn pass by, glaring at you as they walk, I suppose they never really respected you for using guns, rather than the traditional Elbrian weaponry, but as they walk up to the main deck, you decide to let it slide. The large airship you are on was transporting you and several other Warsworn divisions to the old fortress of Fort Guardian. Your weapons, and the Icarus, lay in the magically warded and locked footlocker beneath you. The key to the footlocker was attached to a length of string which you placed around your neck as a precaution. If someone wanted to take your stuff, they would either have to get the key from you or break the lock while you were sleeping, both of which, would probably reside in their death.
~Ornav~
-Scarlet
The Ornavian fleet is transferring you and several others to Dead Man's Reach, an extremely fortified position upon a plateau overlooking the Ornavian/Elbrian border. Anything within a 50 mile radius of that border was No-Man's-Land. You had gotten up early, already dressed, Your weapons still lay on the table next to you. The window next to you had reinforced glass, to prevent any accidents. From up here, you could see clouds, and when you saw breaks in the clouds, you saw the lush ground beneath it.
-Erick
You wake up, attempting to sit up from your bed, but almost hit your head in the process. You were among the lucky few who would stay in a re-purposed ISEV that was created specifically for transport. Looking back on it, ISEV's were cramped, tight, and dangerous, but at least you didn't have to walk. Your utility belt, tools, and improvised weapon of your choice was among the small shelves that lined the back of the ISEV.
-Adder
Viewed by several Musketeers as "paranoid", you ignore the remarks. Your rifle was with you in a lot of things, and you wouldn't let your eyes off of it. Even when you were sleeping, it lay beside you. Whether or not you keep it loaded when you sleep though, is unknown by others. Back to your surroundings, you were in the private Musketeer airship, the Phoenix, and you were granted a whole room, or rather, half a room. The walls split the two rooms, to provide space for other musketeers. However, you still have space to change clothes, eat, or even clean your rifle here.
If I do not reply to my posts, I either have no internet connection, or am busy with college work. Alternatively, I may be writing up the post now. It all depends on the situation.
((So this is under the assumption that Scarlet isn't the only drop fleet member))
Scarlet:
She snaps the straps from her uniform to her chest, quivering as she looked down to the harsh ground below. "I have seen this too many times before. My comrades flood into battle, Eager to take down Elbrians, But when they get down, half of us go missing. the other half killed or taken prisoner by the Elbrian army."
She tried telling herself that everyone was going to be fine. That the soldiers would get a grip this time and be able to hold their own, Because though the soldiers were disciplined, They were not as disciplined as the Drop Fleet squad was, A group where Scarlet stood in. Low casualties due to professionalism, Always an injury, But the person can usually shrug it off long enough to do the mission
Scarlet looks to the soldiers ready to drop along with her squad.
She looks to one of her squad members and shrugs, Knowing today might be the day he died, He was probably thinking the same about her.
"Too many casualties per mission for me to be happy about..."
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<- Corporal Jade Iren Buckley
"You don't get to be in charge of a group dedicated to taking down titans, by fleeing from the targets. You get them by staining your best pair of pants and killing. The only problem I have is, The stains aren't blood."
((Yeah, you aren't the only one, however, the other drop fleet members are NPC's. I'll give you control of them(actions and in speaking). Your current objective is to secure a landing zone, most preferably on one of the airship pads, to clear a way for the other soldiers to enter.))
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If I do not reply to my posts, I either have no internet connection, or am busy with college work. Alternatively, I may be writing up the post now. It all depends on the situation.
((Now I am gonna get into my Elitist RP mode and Scarlet is getting into her Lead of the drop fleet mode))
Scarlet:
She signals for her drop fleet to stand before her, and As they line up, she groans, dreading the inevitable deaths and casualties.
She looks none of them in the eye, For if she grew attached in any way, It'd hurt her to know that one of her men died again.
"Men that stand before me, Saluting me, Honoring me. I am not going to tell you all that you're going to be fine. In fact, My calculations over this tell me that more than half of you will die"
Each of her soldiers grew worried, Many of them looked nervous.
"That being said,Statistics can be changed. And my prediction is also a statistic. Prove me wrong."
She then loks to the ground, And looks back at them.
"Now our job is to help the little guys out by taking the fight down there, clearing the zone of Elbrian forces so we can have a landing area. If we fail to do that, then we won't even get the chance to land, and we'll all be killed. I've heard what they do to woman prisoners..."
She looked at all of the woman in her fleet. One in particular, Her most elite soldier.
"Dericka, You and I are going to be taking the LZ from the back, The rest of you will be pushing through the front. DO NOT let any of the Elbrian forces Take the middle, Or we start over. And if you run from battle, I will hunt you myself. And I will personally give any of you the rightful penalty for cowardess. NOW. Grab your weapons. We drop in 5."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
<- Corporal Jade Iren Buckley
"You don't get to be in charge of a group dedicated to taking down titans, by fleeing from the targets. You get them by staining your best pair of pants and killing. The only problem I have is, The stains aren't blood."
Rowan awoke, the sounds of the bell still ringing in his ears. He had hated getting up before, but he got relatively used to it now. He somberly rose from the bed, stretching his arms and legs as he did so. He nudged the glass of water next to him with his left wrist several times before realizing that the phantom limb syndrome is kicking in again. "Damn it" he mumbled, as he reached for the glass with his other hand and drank it, spilling a small amount of water on his chin as it trickled down his neck. "There's no time to waste" he said, reaching for his shirt and trousers. He puts on each article of clothing before putting on a thin layer of enchanted ringmail(similar to chainmail but... with ring links instead of chain links). He straps each piece of supporting armor: the pauldrons, the chausses, the armguards to their respective places before equipping the final layer of some basic leather armor. While he wasn't as protected as the other Vanguards, he didn't plan on getting hit, or, at least, not trying to. He grabs his claw, crossbow, and sword before stepping out into the morning daylight.
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If I do not reply to my posts, I either have no internet connection, or am busy with college work. Alternatively, I may be writing up the post now. It all depends on the situation.
Scarlet:
At the 5 minute mark, she looks back to the squad.
"Now, How you're all going into the battle, You jump from the ship, And from your waists you press the button on your belt, AFTER you turn and face the ship. It'll allow you to drop from the ship slowly and carefully rather than my prefered method that Dericka and I use."
The soldiers salute her valiantly as she signals to drop.
When all of the soldiers drop, Dericka and Scarlet drop from the other side of the Ship.
The two jump, and continue heading down, attaching themselves to the large trees below by grapplehooking the branches, they hung from the trees and dropped off slowly.
Dericka:
"So we're at the back of the battle front?"
She says running beside her captain Scarlet
Scarlet:
"Only way I can keep you alive. Also, The fate of the men and women in our squad depends on our position in battle."
They continue running through the forest until they hit the LZ they need to clear, The soldiers are already fighting.
"Damn... Alright, Weapon ready."
She unholstered her pistol and unsheathed her sword.
She and dericka run at a wall near by and jump onto it, Grappling to one of the several taller buildings, And the two effectively Jumped from their positions and down into the heat of battle.
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<- Corporal Jade Iren Buckley
"You don't get to be in charge of a group dedicated to taking down titans, by fleeing from the targets. You get them by staining your best pair of pants and killing. The only problem I have is, The stains aren't blood."
Adder awoke after hearing the unmistakable crash of steel hitting steel outside his room. He quickly donned his garments and grabbed his gun, ready for a fight. He steppe outside with fire blazing in his eyes, just to two of the other musketeers were standing there with sabers directly outside the door to his room. Adder realized that he had missed the wake up bell. Adder ran to the lower decks to get food and then he went into his room and began to work on his rifle, waiting for the first sighting of the day.
Keaton woke up paralyzed with fear from a odd dream, he stepped up and out of his bed, scratching his head and wiping a layer of sweat from his brow, he strapped on his chest plate, the straps at the top notched perfectly into his neck and shoulder brace, after two tries he was able to sling his quiver over his shoulder, sheath his short sword and grab his custom fit bow. He opened the door in the far side of the room and stepped out into the chilling morning air. ((This is amazing so far. :D))
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Click please, +1 jelly beans for you,
BUT only if you click them.
Marcus groped at the enchanted key around his neck, still groggy from sleep. With a yawn and a shake of his head, he cleared his mind of dreams and nightmares, refocusing on reality. Kneeling, he unlocked the footlocker at his toes, revealing his most prized possessions: Bellum and the Icarus. Grabbing Bellum's scabbard, he buckled the sword to his waist, allowing it to hang from his left hip. After briefly inspecting the blade of his weapon for rust, Marcus returned it to its protective sheath, grabbing next for the Icarus. Buckling the harness around his torso, he decided that it needed to spread its wings once more. It had been too long since he had experience flight, true flight. He wanted to feel the rush, the wind on his face, the blood pounding in his ears. Retrieving the last two weapons in his locker, a standard issue Ornavian pistol and rifle, Marcus made his way above-deck
Atop the carrier-ship Tortoise, Marcus greeted his fellow Warsworn with brief nods of the head. He did not particularly care for them, nor they, he. They found his use of guns cowardly. Marcus let them. It wasn't his fault they couldn't figure out how to aim properly. Shoving past the last few of his 'companions' near the bow, Marcus glanced toward the horizon. Fort Guardian was plainly visible, a bastion bristling with cannons, catapults, and various magical contraptions. Its walls were pitted and scarred, courtesy of the Ornavian siege. Still, after months of brutal fighting, the Fort still stood, proud, squat and ugly. Marcus loved it like a home. Ironically, he was one of the few who had fought and lived through that particular campaign, toiling to bring down those imposing stone walls. And now all he had to do to gain entrance was knock. Not for the first time, Marcus chuckled at the thought, at the same time allowing the wings of his Icarus to expand, revealing two mechanical wings, marvels of Ornavian engineering. Ignoring the dirty looks given to him by the other Warsworn, he gauged the distance to the Fort, took a step back, and jumped.
Leaping from the bow of the airship, Marcus allowed himself to plummet like a rock to the earth, laughing with glee as tears streamed down his face in the deafening wind. Keeping his wings tucked, he waited for the perfect moment, always perfect, to pull out of his nosedive, opening the wings of the Icarus, gliding parallel to the ground. Still laughing, Marcus caught an updraft, soaring above the now-near parapets of the Fort. Circling the ancient stone fortress, Marcus finally alighted atop one of the building's towers. Chuckling at the expressions of the startled guards, Marcus raised his hands, saying,
"I know, I know. Spectacular. No need to thank me." With this, he sauntered past the confused men, making his way to the landing pad. By the time the Tortoise had docked, Marcus was practicing his swordplay, bathed in sweat. Glancing at the muttering battalion of Warsworn disembarking from the ship, he merely grinned. Jealousy was unbecoming of mercenaries.
Click please, +1 jelly beans for you,
BUT only if you click them.
PLEASE DEAR GOD PLEASE BE ELBRIAN. We need one more elbrian to start
Click please, +1 jelly beans for you,
BUT only if you click them.
Age: 27
Personality: Marcus is an arrogant, self-centered fellow, and rightly so. His loud boasts and declarations, although aggravating, are nevertheless true. He is quick to tease and sharp with his tongue, and a self-diagnosed narcissist. In battle, these characteristics carry over, as he enjoy playing with his opponents, or performing otherwise ‘showy’ or ‘flashy’ displays of his combat mastery. Personally, Marcus is always looking for a challenge, something to test his skills on.
Appearance: Although thin, Marcus is also incredibly well-muscled, lean and taut like a steel cable. He has no scars to speak of, a source of his frequent praises. His face is long and narrow, almost elfish in a way, with two emerald eyes set above a sloping, pointed nose. His mouth is ringed with laugh lines, yet has a hint of determination set in the way he purses his lips when faced with a difficult situation or particularly skilled opponent.
Birthplace: Ornav
Biography: Although he was born to the nation of Ornav, Marcus never had any fascination with the clunky, flawed machinery of his homeland. While others found beauty in the form of the machine, he found grace within the order and potential of natural things, specifically the human body. Striving to unlock the power he knew could be harnessed by his form, Marcus began training, first to harden and shape his body, then to perfect all it could accomplish.
In order to continue his ‘studies,’ as he called them, Marcus joined the Ornavian Army, progressing through the ranks with unparalleled speed and ambition. As a reward for his tireless service, Marcus was allowed to join the Musketeers, mastering the sword, the gun, and airship combat within record time. But even that was not enough. Obsessed with perfecting himself, Marcus sought the only other thing which he knew would improve him farther than he had already improved himself. Magic. However, he realized that the Ornavian understanding of the magical arts was restricted by ignorance and prejudice. He needed Elbria to fulfill his goals.
And so it was, one night on patrol aboard the airship Goliath, that Marcus made his move. Crossing over into Elbrian territory, he caused one of the Goliath’s engines to stall, sending the ship into a slow, but noticeable decent. Despite the Ornavian engineers’ best efforts, the Goliath was apprehended by the Elbrian military. Marcus was nowhere to be found. Instead, he had jumped ship once they were close enough to the ground, using a sophisticated prototype flight harness called the Icarus. Gliding safely to the ground, Marcus continued on foot his infiltration into Elbria.
Several months later, a major engagement at Black Rock Pass, a crucial source of coal, was being fought between the two nations. Elbrian numbers were low, their moral even lower. Thankfully, the arrival of a battalion of mismatched Warsworn soon joined the fight, grinding against the Ornavian behemoth. However, it was one man that turned the tide of the battle. Soaring through the air on a marvel of technology, one of the Warsworn could be seen picking enemy soldiers off with practiced, calculated precision, almost predicting the movements of the Ovarian forces. When he was finally brought to earth, the Warsworn was reported fighting with such unbelievable grace and speed that the Elbrians simply stopped their attack and watched. In a beautiful, gruesome dance of death, Marcus had carved through man after man, routing the Ornavian forces.
When asked how he had managed to accomplish such a task, Marcus simply laughed, allowing the tenuous hold he had on the magic bound to his body to slip free.
Faction: Elbrian
Faction Group: Warsworn
Strengths: Marcus is a master of combat, able to fight with sword or gun with incredible proficiency, while also efficiently operating inventions such as the Drakestomper or Gatling gun. His strength supersedes that of a normal soldier, as does his agility and intelligence. He is a tool meant for death. In addition, Marcus also possesses a very limited hold on magic, using it mainly to bolster his combat abilities.
Weaknesses: Marcus is an extreme perfectionist and egotist, and as a result, will put himself first and foremost. This runs the consequence of putting the group in danger, and leaving him stranded against hordes of enemies. Marcus also has the obsessive desire to win and improve, constantly searching for bigger and better things to take down or kill. Eventually, he will meet his match, and die as a result of his overconfidence. In regards to his magic, he has only the faintest hold on it, and while he can use it to boost his combat prowess, it does take a toll, effectively ‘eating away’ the fibers in his muscles. Should he use the magic for too long, the magic would potentially erode his muscles away to dust, leaving him helpless and most likely dead.
Other: Drakestomper. But besides that, a quick note; The Gatling gun was named so because of its inventor, Richard Gatling. It may be more realistic for the Ornavians to call it the machine gun, rather than by the name of a man who does not exist. (Unless this is in an oddly futuristic universe, in which case, I apologize.)
((Hopefully your characters match will be mine))
Age: 16
Personality: Typically loose, and calm. Enjoys making others laugh, or confusing/tricking others out of their money, but extremely (sometimes over-) protective of girls/women (explained in bio)
Appearance: Tall, but thin, (compare his likeness to that of Slenderman), pale blonde hair, nearly white, green eyes. Never seen without a deck of cards.
Birthplace: Elbria
Biography: (This May end up terrible, because I'm not going to plan it out... I'm just gonna start writing)
Willow was born in Ebria, to a mixed family. His father, Kalem, was Ornavian, and his mother, Eunit, was Ebrian. They had gotten married before the beginning of the war, but waited awhile to have children. Because of his mother's heritage, he has the blood of a Mage, even diluted as it is by his father's, who's only merit to magic is the claim that he invented the DrakeStomper when he encountered a magical dragon, which everyone knows is total crap. He lived out a simple life as a child, until one day his father disappeared, supposedly across the border back to his home of Ornav, leaving Willow alone with his mother and sister. Willow spent the rest of his childhood caring for them, until he got the chance to go to the University in Ornav. He took the opportunity immediately, in the hope it would get him one step closer to finding his father.
He spent his time in school, until his mother caught a mysterious sickness, sending word for Willow to come home immediately. Though he was worried, his mother was one to overreact, so he ignored the message. Within the month, his sister had caught the sickness, and died. With nothing left to do, Willow continued with his school, and was enlisted into the Ornavian Fleet. He now lives his life in regret of his mistakes, and can often skew reality with his own odd visions, relating closely to his grief over the loss of his mother and sister. This causes him to be extremely protective of women.
Faction: Ornavian
Faction Group: Ornavian Fleet
Strengths: Small mana pool, primarily used for sleight-of-hand, but can heal minor (very minor, more for show than anything), fast and agile, exceptional skill with knives and other blades
Weaknesses: not very strong, not very much skill with ranged weapons, relies too heavily on others, can easily become controlled by his emotions (<<this kid needs some serious counseling I'm serious his anger issues are uncalled for its scary man)
Other: I usually try too hard to put myself in the center of things, and it's a bad habit. I'm making this character as a (sort of, but not really) side character, he probably won't be of huge impact to any plot development, and is mostly around to support the other characters, and maybe provide a bit of relief from the heavy feeling that typically comes alongside war RPs.
I do have a question though... I prefer RPs with a lot of character interaction, so how does that work if were in huge military forces, and were split into factions?
Also, ZixUni, AoT is the best.
Also also, ignore the fact that I put this up at 2:05-2:20-2:40 AM... This thing took me 40 minutes and it probably is crap. I'm going to sleep now.
Name: Willow Cross
Age: 16
Personality: Typically loose, and calm. Enjoys making others laugh, or confusing/tricking others out of their money, but extremely (sometimes over-) protective of girls/women (explained in bio)
Appearance: Tall, but thin, (compare his likeness to that of Slenderman), pale blonde hair, nearly white, green eyes. Never seen without a deck of cards.
Birthplace: Elbria
Biography: (This May end up terrible, because I'm not going to LAN it out... I'm just gonna start writing)
Willow was born in Ebria, to a mixed family. His father, Kalem, was Ornavian, and his mother, Eunit, was Ebrian. They had gotten married before the beginning of the war, but waited awhile to have children. Because of his mother's heritage, he has the blood of a Mage, even diluted as it is by his father's. He lived out a simple life as a child, until one day his father disappeared, supposedly across the border back to his home of Ornav, leaving Willow alone with his mother and sister. Willow spent the rest of his childhood caring for them, until he got the chance to go to the University in Ornav. He took the opportunity immediately, in the hope it would get him one step closer to finding his father.
He spent his time in school, until his mother caught a mysterious sickness, sending word for Willow to come home immediately. Though he was worried, his mother was one to overreact, so he ignored the message. Within the month, his sister had caught the sickness, and died. With nothing left to do, Willow continued with his school, and was enlisted into the Ornavian Fleet. He now lives his life in regret of his mistakes, and can often skew reality with his own odd visions, relating closely to his grief over the loss of his mother and sister. This causes him to be extremely protective of women.
Faction: Ornavian
Faction Group: Ornavian Fleet
Strengths: Small mana pool, primarily used for sleight-of-hand, but can heal minor (very minor, more for show than anything), fast and agile, exceptional skill with knives and other blades
Weaknesses: not very strong, not very much skill with ranged weapons, relies too heavily on others, can easily become controlled by his emotions (<<this kid needs some serious counseling I'm serious his anger issues are uncalled for its scary man)
Other: I usually try too hard to put myself in the center of things, and it's a bad habit. I'm making this character as a (sort of, but not really) side character, he probably won't be of huge impact to any plot development, and is mostly around to support the other characters, and maybe provide a bit of relief from the heavy feeling that typically comes alongside war RPs.
I do have a question though... I prefer RPs with a lot of character interaction, so how does that work if were in huge military forces, and were split into factions?
Also, ZixUni, AoT is the best.
Also also, ignore the fact that I put this up at 2:05-2:20-2:40 AM... This thing took me 40 minutes and it probably is crap. I'm going to sleep now.
I may rework my character tomorrow if that helps... Figure out a way to keep the same character but make him Elbrian, but the problem is that my whole idea for this character was that he's a Ornav soldier with a tiny bit of magic in him...
Ampulugator, yes, there is electricity in this RP, it has been discovered(Advanced electricity by the Ornavians, but basic electricity is also learned by Elbrianians(but seldom used)). But a newer, more efficient energy, restricted to Ornavians, has been recently discovered: CE, or Crystal/Crystalline Energy. If you plan on tinkering with something, Basic electricity is provided for in the workshop, but if you want to work with CE, you need to file a request(in RP, of course) to the Ornavian Engineers.
TheCyanTortoise, thank you for the remarks. I hope I don't disappoint, seeing as this is my first RP(as in, first I ever made and lead). As for your app, I'm impressed by the amount of depth you've placed into it, and as such, you are accepted.. And yes, now that I think about it, it does make more sense to call it the machine gun rather than the gatling gun. Thank you for pointing that out.
For some strange reason, you made a double post, KiddEagle. Nonetheless, your application seems relatively sufficient.
However, you are missing one thing. Reread the rules and place it somewhere/ incorporate it into your app.Nevermind, dealt with. Also, character interaction is planned to be done before, during and after battles, seeing as, coincidentally, the people's divisions will be moved close to each other.And, with enough characters, I now declare this RP in motion(finally)! Rp'ers, wait for me to write out the background scenes for your characters, then post.
If I do not reply to my posts, I either have no internet connection, or am busy with college work. Alternatively, I may be writing up the post now. It all depends on the situation.
-Rowan
As you lie in your bed, the tolling of can be heard from the distance, signalling the you, and the rest of the army to wake up and prepare for the daily routine of combat training. Having your own private tent, a privilege of the Elite Vanguard, feels even more welcome today of all days. Your crossbow, some bolts, your blade and claw lay on the table next to you. An almost-filled glass of water rests upon the same table.
-Keaton
You wake up from a long slumber, rangers were allowed to sleep earlier(but get up at the same time as the others) to retain their focus. Some nights, you would volunteer to be a sentry, and watch for anything, but find that it is uneventful. You are in a lower level of the ruined fortress of Fort Guardian; the place being deemed safe to sleep in only a few nights ago. The bed you lie upon is soft, padded with whatever extra wool and tufts of grass they could find. Your bow and quiver a slung upon a weapon rack on the far side of the wall.
-Marcus
You awake with a start, the perpetual hum of the airships engines were disrupted by some turbulence and several dropped cannonballs on deck. Some other Warsworn pass by, glaring at you as they walk, I suppose they never really respected you for using guns, rather than the traditional Elbrian weaponry, but as they walk up to the main deck, you decide to let it slide. The large airship you are on was transporting you and several other Warsworn divisions to the old fortress of Fort Guardian. Your weapons, and the Icarus, lay in the magically warded and locked footlocker beneath you. The key to the footlocker was attached to a length of string which you placed around your neck as a precaution. If someone wanted to take your stuff, they would either have to get the key from you or break the lock while you were sleeping, both of which, would probably reside in their death.
~Ornav~
-Scarlet
The Ornavian fleet is transferring you and several others to Dead Man's Reach, an extremely fortified position upon a plateau overlooking the Ornavian/Elbrian border. Anything within a 50 mile radius of that border was No-Man's-Land. You had gotten up early, already dressed, Your weapons still lay on the table next to you. The window next to you had reinforced glass, to prevent any accidents. From up here, you could see clouds, and when you saw breaks in the clouds, you saw the lush ground beneath it.
-Erick
You wake up, attempting to sit up from your bed, but almost hit your head in the process. You were among the lucky few who would stay in a re-purposed ISEV that was created specifically for transport. Looking back on it, ISEV's were cramped, tight, and dangerous, but at least you didn't have to walk. Your utility belt, tools, and improvised weapon of your choice was among the small shelves that lined the back of the ISEV.
-Adder
Viewed by several Musketeers as "paranoid", you ignore the remarks. Your rifle was with you in a lot of things, and you wouldn't let your eyes off of it. Even when you were sleeping, it lay beside you. Whether or not you keep it loaded when you sleep though, is unknown by others. Back to your surroundings, you were in the private Musketeer airship, the Phoenix, and you were granted a whole room, or rather, half a room. The walls split the two rooms, to provide space for other musketeers. However, you still have space to change clothes, eat, or even clean your rifle here.
If I do not reply to my posts, I either have no internet connection, or am busy with college work. Alternatively, I may be writing up the post now. It all depends on the situation.
Scarlet:
She snaps the straps from her uniform to her chest, quivering as she looked down to the harsh ground below.
"I have seen this too many times before. My comrades flood into battle, Eager to take down Elbrians, But when they get down, half of us go missing. the other half killed or taken prisoner by the Elbrian army."
She tried telling herself that everyone was going to be fine. That the soldiers would get a grip this time and be able to hold their own, Because though the soldiers were disciplined, They were not as disciplined as the Drop Fleet squad was, A group where Scarlet stood in. Low casualties due to professionalism, Always an injury, But the person can usually shrug it off long enough to do the mission
Scarlet looks to the soldiers ready to drop along with her squad.
She looks to one of her squad members and shrugs, Knowing today might be the day he died, He was probably thinking the same about her.
"Too many casualties per mission for me to be happy about..."
If I do not reply to my posts, I either have no internet connection, or am busy with college work. Alternatively, I may be writing up the post now. It all depends on the situation.
Scarlet:
She signals for her drop fleet to stand before her, and As they line up, she groans, dreading the inevitable deaths and casualties.
She looks none of them in the eye, For if she grew attached in any way, It'd hurt her to know that one of her men died again.
"Men that stand before me, Saluting me, Honoring me. I am not going to tell you all that you're going to be fine. In fact, My calculations over this tell me that more than half of you will die"
Each of her soldiers grew worried, Many of them looked nervous.
"That being said,Statistics can be changed. And my prediction is also a statistic. Prove me wrong."
She then loks to the ground, And looks back at them.
"Now our job is to help the little guys out by taking the fight down there, clearing the zone of Elbrian forces so we can have a landing area. If we fail to do that, then we won't even get the chance to land, and we'll all be killed. I've heard what they do to woman prisoners..."
She looked at all of the woman in her fleet. One in particular, Her most elite soldier.
"Dericka, You and I are going to be taking the LZ from the back, The rest of you will be pushing through the front. DO NOT let any of the Elbrian forces Take the middle, Or we start over. And if you run from battle, I will hunt you myself. And I will personally give any of you the rightful penalty for cowardess. NOW. Grab your weapons. We drop in 5."
If I do not reply to my posts, I either have no internet connection, or am busy with college work. Alternatively, I may be writing up the post now. It all depends on the situation.
At the 5 minute mark, she looks back to the squad.
"Now, How you're all going into the battle, You jump from the ship, And from your waists you press the button on your belt, AFTER you turn and face the ship. It'll allow you to drop from the ship slowly and carefully rather than my prefered method that Dericka and I use."
The soldiers salute her valiantly as she signals to drop.
When all of the soldiers drop, Dericka and Scarlet drop from the other side of the Ship.
The two jump, and continue heading down, attaching themselves to the large trees below by grapplehooking the branches, they hung from the trees and dropped off slowly.
Dericka:
"So we're at the back of the battle front?"
She says running beside her captain Scarlet
Scarlet:
"Only way I can keep you alive. Also, The fate of the men and women in our squad depends on our position in battle."
They continue running through the forest until they hit the LZ they need to clear, The soldiers are already fighting.
"Damn... Alright, Weapon ready."
She unholstered her pistol and unsheathed her sword.
She and dericka run at a wall near by and jump onto it, Grappling to one of the several taller buildings, And the two effectively Jumped from their positions and down into the heat of battle.
Click please, +1 jelly beans for you,
BUT only if you click them.
Atop the carrier-ship Tortoise, Marcus greeted his fellow Warsworn with brief nods of the head. He did not particularly care for them, nor they, he. They found his use of guns cowardly. Marcus let them. It wasn't his fault they couldn't figure out how to aim properly. Shoving past the last few of his 'companions' near the bow, Marcus glanced toward the horizon. Fort Guardian was plainly visible, a bastion bristling with cannons, catapults, and various magical contraptions. Its walls were pitted and scarred, courtesy of the Ornavian siege. Still, after months of brutal fighting, the Fort still stood, proud, squat and ugly. Marcus loved it like a home. Ironically, he was one of the few who had fought and lived through that particular campaign, toiling to bring down those imposing stone walls. And now all he had to do to gain entrance was knock. Not for the first time, Marcus chuckled at the thought, at the same time allowing the wings of his Icarus to expand, revealing two mechanical wings, marvels of Ornavian engineering. Ignoring the dirty looks given to him by the other Warsworn, he gauged the distance to the Fort, took a step back, and jumped.
Leaping from the bow of the airship, Marcus allowed himself to plummet like a rock to the earth, laughing with glee as tears streamed down his face in the deafening wind. Keeping his wings tucked, he waited for the perfect moment, always perfect, to pull out of his nosedive, opening the wings of the Icarus, gliding parallel to the ground. Still laughing, Marcus caught an updraft, soaring above the now-near parapets of the Fort. Circling the ancient stone fortress, Marcus finally alighted atop one of the building's towers. Chuckling at the expressions of the startled guards, Marcus raised his hands, saying,
"I know, I know. Spectacular. No need to thank me." With this, he sauntered past the confused men, making his way to the landing pad. By the time the Tortoise had docked, Marcus was practicing his swordplay, bathed in sweat. Glancing at the muttering battalion of Warsworn disembarking from the ship, he merely grinned. Jealousy was unbecoming of mercenaries.