How did you find this server?: GoBoom82 (i think thats his id)
IC
Name: Crichquol, The Great Prophet
Race: Skaven
Age: 8 (mind you skaven are fully grown at 2 years old and die of very old age before 20. Most die from other causes before they're 5. They're remarkably childish for obvious reasons).
Personality: Eccentrically friendly when he wants to be. Egotistic, self-righteous, and grand. He has his dense moments though.
Appearance: Tall, gangly Skaven (5'7" + hunch). Back problems as he develops the Pestilencesque arch and hump. Thick, black, overgrown fur. Yellow eyes. Wears a clanrat loincloth. Carries his slave pickaxe as a totem.
Ambitions: To gain the prestige of Clan Pestilence and its thralls, who are ironically trying to hunt down and kill him every day.
Likes: Homely comforts. Skaven boardgames. Missionary work. Feasting on the flesh of others.
Dislikes: Opposition. Also, he F*&#%$^ hates panthers.
Roleplay Example:
"Crichquol, your most excellent-greatness, most foul-holy, most -" "STOP!"
The advisor trembled and the drums quit again, for all feared Crichquol's retribution.
"Not you."
The advisor, actively squirting pee down his thigh, pointed a shaky finger at himself.
"Continue, little one."
He gulped, and bowed his head, rambling out complements faster than his tongue would allow.
"Your most beautifully-ugly, horrifically-amazing, unspeakably-compassionate, your cruel generosity show-shows no bounds. Most loved and hated, Crichquol!" The advisor quaked in a puddle of his own urine.
"Crichquol, the what?"
"Crichquol, the Great Prophet!" the skaven whined, snout planted firmly in the dirt.
"And what, do you want, peon?!" Crichquol shrieked from his altar.
"I want little, my master, Plague Priest and Lord! I only wish to remind all others that if performed outside of combat, the conversion from human flesh to skaven may only be done on a willing thrall. This girl is neither willing nor in any position to fight, but surely you already know…"
Crichquol scratched his chin and mumbled, "crap..." He sat down atop the altar and thought for a moment. The other skaven were looking at each other, wondering what would happen next. The girl continued to writhe in pain as the half-formed skaven fought unsuccessfully to be spawned from her flesh. A few minutes passed, and finally the Great Prophet rose from his seat. He exhaled and stretched his neck. One, by one, by one he cracked his knuckles, wincing when he pulled a pinky too far. He coughed, puffed out his chest, and continued shouting at the advisor.
"Of course I know that, you insgnificant weasel-dropping!" He gestured to the audience and addressed them directly. "Skaven! I, your great leader, I, champion of plague, I, disciple of the Horned Rat, have bestowed upon you a great feast!"
Aside from the human sacrifice and failed spawn, everyone enjoyed lunch that afternoon. They knew well that the Great Prophet likely had no idea what he was doing, but on the offchance he did, they respected him. It takes a great leader to tell great lies.
Notes: Crichquol is effectively a comic relief. Crichquol sporadically shifts from a menace to all things holy, to a one-man cast of Pinky and the Brain. He's the nuisance that everyone loves to hate. He never seems to die (specifically from executions and angry mobs), and always ends up as a thorn in the ass. He spreads plague and madness, magically reduces people into withering husks, manipulates the rest, and always gets away with a slap on the wrist.
Welp, the texture pack is execellent, but it is not that I am acknowledging you for. I tried, on and off, for years, to get a texture pack to work. Even with tutorials, I failed hardcore.
With the instructions given, I have finally broken the losing streak. You, sir, have made my day.
To be honest, we were both wrong, seeing as the original ruling caste was usurped by a so called unknown subterfuge. And besides, I read the lore, and my little rp skit can prove it. I clearly noted that Visahelm was inhabited by mainly farmers, as well as that elves were hunted, especially the Orai'stanne, and held as slaves. Sorry that I was a little lazy and took what I thought was a rather good answer and used it, but I believe you are being a little overzealous on pointing it out. BTW, thank you for bringing this post to my attention, there are some grammatical errors in it that I just had to fix. ^.^
eh, it's just that it happens enough to get under my skin. Anyway, i'll see you on the server. :3
OOC INFO:
IGN: ocelot117
Age: 21
Skype Name (optional): silentnomad117
Location (Optional): Green Bat, WI
Why do you want to join the server?: Looking for a good server to call home.
What do you want in a RP server?: Just a thrill and a chance to act out a little.
IC INFO:
Name: Ishtael
Age: 21
Town: Visahelm
Caste/Ethnicity: Halfling
Appearance: 5'11, always clothed in a traditional garb of his father's people, with his face hidden behind a bone mask.
Skin (Optional):
Backstory (More than 5 sentences): Ishtael has always lived in Visahelm, working in the fields with his human father, his elven mother being long since dead. He is an odd case where he has grown up hating the elven blood from which he came, knowing that it has made his live far more difficult than it rightfully should be. His father knows the turmoil in his soul, and always tells Ishtael that he is worthy of so much more. But behind his fathers back, Ishtael is often searching for employ to hunt down and return fleeing elves back to their captors. He feels this is the only way he can redeem himself in the eyes of the humans he regards as his equals.
RP Example: The winds swept slowly across the tall grasses around Visahelm. They waved and coaxed like the sea underneath the waning moon. The grass even parted and frothed upon the forest edge that was perhaps a dozen miles out from the cities borders. And there, where the grasses just began to give away, shadows hugged the ground and flew silently towards the boughs of the trees that stood just before them. One by one, elf after elf darted from their safe haven among the grass towards that envisioned freedom just beyond the first wave of trees. But even as the last of the elves left Visahelm's grass seas behind, so did the first begin disappearing into traps set for them. And the last any of them would hear before they were back in the hands of the humans, would be the air whistling around Ishtael's hand as he delivered a blow to the back of the necks, freeing from the embrace of the world for a time.
Q&A: Lore
1. Name each of the Elven ethnic groups in their native tongue.
Cezdemorii, Barkuarrefe, Licentia, Boeraenne, Varvas’kii, Dezmorii’, Orai’stanne, Halflings
2. What happened to the old ruling caste?
Despite the collapse of the Elven Kingdom, the casting system continues to exist within the society of elves, which in turn hinders advancement of elves as individuals, as such preventing them from rising in social status.
3. What is the taxonomic term for Elves?
Varvas’kii
4. What is the average wind-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?
African or European Swallow?
Licentia & Locatio
I was about to say I loved your app b/c of the awesome rp I saw that could have happened between my and your chars ic. Then I see that you plagiarized answer #2 to the lore questions, and possibly the others. You actually plagiarized off of what I wrote.
so f*** you
I will totally come and be a nurse in Visahelm. I was kinda waiting for a Free-Elven State to pop up, but I will live in Visahelm instead. She does after all have a history with healing, it is even in her backstory. lol.
You don't know how awesome that is! We JUST got a doctor, and made the doctor's office in Visahelm. There's gonna be an ER type thing in the basement, and a place for recuperating patients on the 2nd floor.
Only downside is that he wants to live there, BUT if you have half a brain, which is half a brain more than him ;), we have small apartments ready that me and Lauren made last night.
and yes i am exited : P
Dammit, everyone wants to live with the taints in Paisley =3=. What's wrong with living in Visahelm? We actually have a HUGE list of full-time jobs we need.
NOTICE FOR ONCOMING APPLICANTS: The City of Ashburton is highly underpopulated and much is obliged to applicants of this city. In addition, Visahelm is in need of field-hands, a gardener, and a cattle rancher. Thank you for your time :U
IGN: leblondieee .... 2. What happened to the old ruling caste?
Despite the collapse of the Elven Kingdom, the casting system continues to exist within the society of elves, which in turn hinders advancement of elves as individuals, as such preventing them from rising in social status.
@Everyone: You see, I quote this because Magneus copy & pasted it in his own app. It pisses me off even more because I actually helped leblondieee write her app. Maybe if the rest of Magneus's application wasn't cliché, insulting, and/or otherwise unlikable, I wouldn't be on the verge of ranting.
@AnarchyReigns: He wasn't lying about being lazy and he posted that the lore is s***. Do you mind pulling out a permaban on this twerp? Also, how much do you wanna bet he changes his app so he can say I was lying?
Of course, you could let him stay and repost. If you did that, I would counter it with rage comments; my expertise.
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IGN: abinness14
Age: 17
How did you find this server?: GoBoom82 (i think thats his id)
IC
Name: Crichquol, The Great Prophet
Race: Skaven
Age: 8
(mind you skaven are fully grown at 2 years old and die of very old age before 20. Most die from other causes before they're 5. They're remarkably childish for obvious reasons).
Personality: Eccentrically friendly when he wants to be. Egotistic, self-righteous, and grand. He has his dense moments though.
Appearance: Tall, gangly Skaven (5'7" + hunch). Back problems as he develops the Pestilencesque arch and hump. Thick, black, overgrown fur. Yellow eyes. Wears a clanrat loincloth. Carries his slave pickaxe as a totem.
Ambitions: To gain the prestige of Clan Pestilence and its thralls, who are ironically trying to hunt down and kill him every day.
Likes: Homely comforts. Skaven boardgames. Missionary work. Feasting on the flesh of others.
Dislikes: Opposition. Also, he F*&#%$^ hates panthers.
Roleplay Example:
"Crichquol, your most excellent-greatness, most foul-holy, most -"
"STOP!"
The advisor trembled and the drums quit again, for all feared Crichquol's retribution.
"Not you."
The advisor, actively squirting pee down his thigh, pointed a shaky finger at himself.
"Continue, little one."
He gulped, and bowed his head, rambling out complements faster than his tongue would allow.
"Your most beautifully-ugly, horrifically-amazing, unspeakably-compassionate, your cruel generosity show-shows no bounds. Most loved and hated, Crichquol!" The advisor quaked in a puddle of his own urine.
"Crichquol, the what?"
"Crichquol, the Great Prophet!" the skaven whined, snout planted firmly in the dirt.
"And what, do you want, peon?!" Crichquol shrieked from his altar.
"I want little, my master, Plague Priest and Lord! I only wish to remind all others that if performed outside of combat, the conversion from human flesh to skaven may only be done on a willing thrall. This girl is neither willing nor in any position to fight, but surely you already know…"
Crichquol scratched his chin and mumbled, "crap..." He sat down atop the altar and thought for a moment. The other skaven were looking at each other, wondering what would happen next. The girl continued to writhe in pain as the half-formed skaven fought unsuccessfully to be spawned from her flesh. A few minutes passed, and finally the Great Prophet rose from his seat. He exhaled and stretched his neck. One, by one, by one he cracked his knuckles, wincing when he pulled a pinky too far. He coughed, puffed out his chest, and continued shouting at the advisor.
"Of course I know that, you insgnificant weasel-dropping!" He gestured to the audience and addressed them directly. "Skaven! I, your great leader, I, champion of plague, I, disciple of the Horned Rat, have bestowed upon you a great feast!"
Aside from the human sacrifice and failed spawn, everyone enjoyed lunch that afternoon. They knew well that the Great Prophet likely had no idea what he was doing, but on the offchance he did, they respected him. It takes a great leader to tell great lies.
Notes: Crichquol is effectively a comic relief. Crichquol sporadically shifts from a menace to all things holy, to a one-man cast of Pinky and the Brain. He's the nuisance that everyone loves to hate. He never seems to die (specifically from executions and angry mobs), and always ends up as a thorn in the ass. He spreads plague and madness, magically reduces people into withering husks, manipulates the rest, and always gets away with a slap on the wrist.
TUK-TUK
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With the instructions given, I have finally broken the losing streak. You, sir, have made my day.
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so f*** you
@everyone else: not erp you perverts.
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As far as the building goes, you didn't really make it like I expected, at all
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Only downside is that he wants to live there, BUT if you have half a brain, which is half a brain more than him ;), we have small apartments ready that me and Lauren made last night.
and yes i am exited : P
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The City of Ashburton is highly underpopulated and much is obliged to applicants of this city. In addition, Visahelm is in need of field-hands, a gardener, and a cattle rancher. Thank you for your time :U
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@AnarchyReigns: He wasn't lying about being lazy and he posted that the lore is s***. Do you mind pulling out a permaban on this twerp? Also, how much do you wanna bet he changes his app so he can say I was lying?
Of course, you could let him stay and repost. If you did that, I would counter it with rage comments; my expertise.