- Joined
- Jan 21, 2011
- Messages
- 48
Why not YOU first?
Name: Bit the police
Race: Wood elf
Age: 10
Gender: male
Character Path: Police
Description: looks like a hologram
Equipmentolice baton.
Biography: He was part of the police force.
Weapon of a Champion: Mop of the world. Mops all noobs out.
P.S. Why is zamy banned? I love his godsword. Just joking, I mean, have he violated any rules or do you hate him and found a way to bribe a mod?
wouldn't you mean to say his character is overall eh, not silly but... retarded? no offense but... it wouldn't even fit in a modern RP. you can't possible expect me to accept it, BTW I'm sorry i didn't see your character before.
Just shut up you retarded freaks, i am making this RP for you and all you do is wine, wine, wine. you're bitching around and pissing me off, if you freaks have nothing useful to add just get out i don't care who you are but i will NOT let people play around whit me, i just need about one more post about this retarded bullshit all of you are causing and i QUIT.
Uncyclopedia said:Name: Bit the police
Race: Wood elf
Age: 10
Gender: male
Character Path: Police
Description: looks like a hologram
Equipmentolice baton.
Biography: He was part of the police force.
Weapon of a Champion: Mop of the world. Mops all noobs out.
|
hmm, so now we still have to wait for Mid, Glycine and thats it, right?
Name: | Calatine Silmar |
Race: | Human |
Age: | He lost track of his age, but is young. Still sprightly. |
Gender: | Male? Has been confused with females and other things people would better term "it". |
Class: | Better fits the bodytype of a vagrant, but will slowly learn bits of magic, here and there. In other words, weak physically, but with snappy reflexes and an adept mind. |
Description: | When you think of a human who lives in a noble house, you think of someone who at least looks respectable. Not so much with Calatine, nicknamed Cala by his owners. Though an objective observer would call them rags, Cala's clothes suit his duties well. As a messenger, he has freedom of movement to weave and dive through the crowds. Of middling height and width, he could be considering handsome, if you could get the layers of caked dirt and soot off of him. At first glance, his hair and skin appear to be darkish, but in reality, he's fair-skinned and with hair the color of quicksilver. A shame, really, that he looks so normal, if but a little dirty. In terms of clothes, he wears anything he can find, but prefers simple things. These articles range from pants of fur and leather to bits of towel sewn together to form some sort of cloak. What he treasures most, however, is a pair of gloves recovered from the ashes of his past by his maid. These gloves, sewn of silk and mithril, would be considered priceless and are nigh indestructible. He keeps them hidden away, in the darkest of places, for they represent the only tie to his past and to what he once was. |
Equipment: | Whatever he has on his back, a pair of mithril and silk gloves, and his own two feet. All he really needs are his wits, which have gotten him in and out and then in again of events he really shouldn't have been dallying in. |
Biography: | Due to an unfortunate tragedy, Calatine found himself orphaned at a young age. You see, it was during one particular incident that two mages, one of legendary talent and one of years of experience, duelled for honor (And the reward of a title, at that!). While it may be inconsequential who won, a stray fireball essentially immolated his parents, who were having a chat, and the house. Cala only escaped being turned to ashes by the fact he was in the bath with the human maid. So the two of them started a new life and the maid soon found a suitor, who loved her dearly. He, however, did not love Cala one bit, viewing him as a threat to his next of kin, but put up with raising the child. Several years passed in this manner, and Cala gained an aptitude for books and knowledge, devouring anything he could read. Even the husband had to admire a little bit the effort he put into learning about the world. Fate was to bestow a harsh blow to Cala, though, as a sudden and deadly illness took the maid out of the blue and into the hands of death. With her parting words, however, she bestowed upon a pair of soft, yet firm gloves and his name, Calatine. Though the two shared a common grievance, the husband could not bear the sight of Cala; for him, it was a constant reminder of his lost love. And though he knew in his heart it was not right, he made the decision to sell the child into indentured servitude, because he would lose his mind if he did not. With honeyed words and a bit of anesthetic, Cala thus left his current dwelling and entered the life of a servant. After much wailing and the occasional beating, Cala adjusted to his new life rather quickly. Realizing the key to his survival lay in his wits, he learned the basics quite fast and rather impressed his captors with how well he could speak and how much he knew of the outside world. Seeing his potential as a servant for the noble class, his owners decided to invest in him the skills and knowledge that such a servant would need. Eloquence in speech, a cool head under fire, and the ability to surreptitiously disappear or come up with the right item for any job were just a few of the skills he learned while in captivity. It was not long before a family of renowned wealth took interest in the boy while they perused the servants' quarters and they acquired him for a princely sum. Though Cala was more than competent at his duties, he was still too young to be considered for a role among the nobility, so they assigned him duties that would be considered rather mundane, like serving as a message courier or helping to maintain the gardens. In time, their rationale was, he would become a fine servant, but it was not his time yet to shine. They were not a particularly cruel family, but moreso pragmatic; only the fittest and brightest servants live on, hence the lack of possessions, equipment, and clothes Cala possesses. They provide ample nutrition and make sure their servants are healthy, so Cala was fortunate to end up in such a place. As for how Cala ended up in the Tournament of Champions... A mere clerical error, but not one that can be taken back. Noble families, you see, were expected every so often to field an heir fit for competition in the tournament, which served to rank the status of houses from time to time. It was well known that the Silmars did not have an heir at the time, due to the wife's inability to carry a child to term, so they were not expected to field anyone. It was merely by accident that Cala's name ended up on the invitation, which was mistaken for scrap paper used for writing practice. Once written, however, his name was enchanted onto the invitation permanently, highlighting perhaps the most prominent blunder Cala has gotten himself into. There was much arguing, a little bribery, and perhaps a little alcohol on the side, but the Silmars eventually settled the matter with tournament officials. Cala would still be required to participate in the tournament, but would not be connected in any way, shape, or form to the house which he served at. Perhaps on a whim, the Silmars have offered to give him his freedom should he impress in the tournament. With no formal weapon or magic training, though, they find the wager rather amusing. While gossip and secrets shadow him wherever he goes, as a mystery entrant in the Tournament, Cala cares not. He is but a child, with a mind well beyond his years, and the reward of a new life awaits him, should he complete this next challenge. Compared to dodging through the traffic of a convoy or sneaking into the chambers of a rival house to "borrow" something, Cala has the naive faith of a child who could take the world on and win. Maybe it'll get him far or maybe he'll end up nothng but dust, but there's only one way to find out. |
Weapon of a Champion: | Djinn's Brush: Besides serving as a handy brush for painting or dusting off old antique relics, this brush of gnarled driftwood and human hair has served many a master over the ages as a focal point of magic for those who earn the right to use it. Let not its grizzled appearance fool you, however, for there are far greater secrets locked away in its wrinkles. To tell its story, however, requires a little more knowledge. There are many myths to describe how magic became widespread and this is just one of them. Long ago, in a far away and barren land, people thought of magic differently. Not everyone could use it, for one, and only those blessed by a spirit could do so with any certainty. In this land, there was a man who wanted to meet one such spirit, so that he could bring back magic to his people, but he knew not how to find one or how a spirit looked like. Imagine his surprise, then, when he encountered a lady, clad in a white gown that seemed to be made of starlight on the shores of a sea no man had ever visited or will ever visit. Overwhelmed by the sight of such a presence, he fell into a swoon, much to the bemusement of the lady. She took a fancy to such a man and took care of him, tending his wounds and feeding him what she could find on the seashore. When he awoke from his rest, only love remained in his heart, and his quest lay forgotten, buried in the sands of his being. For a time, they lived happily on the seashore and even had a daughter, who would sometimes walk on the beach and pick up seashells to adorn their clothing. Yet to live by a star is to often live too close to one; one will only burn up in the radiance of such a thing. Such was the man's fate and all he could do before passing into the shadows was whisper his love in hushed tones to the two he left behind. In his dying moments, she saw into his heart and what lay there saddened her even more. In his quest to find magic, he had married the embodiment of it. What pointless irony, she thought, and no matter how great her powers were, she could not save him from herself. When the Elves sing of the sorrows of old, how the gods suffered through loss and torment, such tales echo the lament of the Lady. Her spirit extinguished, she sang songs of such poignant sadness that the winds still carry her plaintive voice in that land around the world for eternity and beyond. Though her daughter grew and left for faraway lands, the lady remained on the shore where she met the man, haunted by a mixture of guilt and love. Over time, it is said she grew roots and became a plaintive willow on the shores of the sea and there she remained, until recent times. With time, though, comes change. People evolve and adapt to their circumstances and even remodel the fabric of nature to suit their will. Nature has long swallowed up that lonely beach into the sea, and the willow disappeared in the currents and gyres of the ocean only to turn up as splinters and pieces of driftwood around the world. It is said these splinters took root and imbued the world with greenery, while the pieces of driftwood became the great forests that hum with life and a mystic power. In these areas, people were able to control magic and bend it to their aim, which allowed them to expand and explore new areas of the world. Over time, the forests grew and the land became lush and verdant, creating an environment where any being could harness magic, if they had the gift and the talent to master it. In this way, the man's quest was achieved and magic appeared in the world. It is a mere foot in length and made of wood made seemingly indestructible by the elements. Though wrinkled and rough, it is not entirely uncomfortable to hold or to swing, being very light. A curious thing about the Djinn's Brush is that it adjusts for each person who holds it and influences their magic in different ways, if it allows them to cast magic at all. The hairs that make up the Brush are known to be human, but how it gets there is a mystery. They shorten and lengthen at will and transmit the artist's thoughts and dreams onto any canvas or work. Many an artist has created a masterpiece with this tool and say it is a blessing of nature that such a brush exists. It is rumored that this piece of driftwood comes from that very myth, but any rational person would dismiss it as impossible. From owner to owner, people do say it helps with focusing magic power, but no more than any simple wand bought second-hand. The occasional person says there are voices from the gnarled piece of wood, but such people invariably go missing or insane or both. These people say a spirit resides in the wood, talking to them, challenging them to prove their worth, and taking from them their sanity when they cannot. From these reports, a rumor has emerged that the piece of driftwood is cursed by a malicious spirit who preys on magicians and takes from them all but their lives. As for artists, the fame won by their masterpieces soon falls to ruin and in many cases all that remains of the artist is a painting. Though in different styles and patterns, the subject always hauntingly remains the same: A tree on a beach and a man and his daughter lying under the tree. This infamy, however, has resulted in it having great value to collectors or members of the nobility and it has passed through many, many, many hands. As for whose hands currently hold it, no one knows or cares, but with the right price, any bit of information can be found, especially in the city. |
i made the thread but i ran into some comp problems thanks to some idiot who send me a corrupted W3X file... it turned all my desktop shortcuts into WE shortcuts and i couldn't do anything anymore... making the story now.
EDIT: Prologue is added, start the RP.
Name: | Nátulcien Èlensar |
Race: | Imperial Elves |
Age: | 193 |
Gender: | Female |
Character Path: | Path of the Ranger |
Description: | An elegantly dressed female whom has long, blonde flowing hair. Her clothes are elegant rangers clothing, which is made from the most expensive of materials, and thread that can be found. She has tribal tatoos on her arms and legs, and one tatoo flowing from the back of her head, around to the front, and curinv around her left eye. She stands about five foot eleven, and has a peaceful look to her. |
Equipment: | A long made from the strongest wood known to the Elven race. A short sword, tucked at her waste, for tight spaces. A backpack which she carries some money, food, a sleeping bag, and a change of clothers in. |
Biography: | Little is known about this small individual, except what she has told about herself, and what she has told about herself is only things from her past. He life story goes a little like this. "A long time ago, in my home city, I once knew of an old man, whom showed me the way in which my life is destined to be lived. This man, I know not if he was psychic, or if her just had gut feelings, but he told me of things that would happen to me in my future. He taught me of what to do in those situations, and whom my enemies and allies would be. This man knew a lot more than people gave him credit for, people thought he was just some homeless, stupid man. But I saw differently. I saw deep down inside, the love and want for a friend he wanted, and needed to have. So I befriended him. And he helped me on my quest to my true self. He taught me my skills in archery, and in using a sword. He said that he had lived a lifeof a soldier, before he became homeless, after being thrown out, because of an injury he had taken. I felt sorry for the man, and gave him sympathy, until the day he disappeared, and left me alone. This makes me wonder if he actually existed, or if he was a figment of my imagination. Either way, I answer this call, the Call of the Champions, with great wants in my heart, and a gret need to finish my task that I began long ago." |
Weapon of a Champion: |