Aerion [OOC + SU] Rated M

It's an estrogen party in the mercenary's camp! That Varian guy is sure to be happy with a personal brothel following him around everywhere. XD
 
I had no idea that other people were going for half-elf as well; I always intended to make a half-elf and I thought I'd be somewhat unique with that but I guess that failed, then :p Thanks for accepting me. I might change some things in the history later on because I did want it to be more of a mystery that I could puzzle together after some time in the story, really... But we'll see.

@ Dan, get Maddy to show you how to do backgrounds and stuff ^^ Or just "quote" a nice looking post and poke around with stuff until you learn what's what.
 




The Meek Mage​


Name: Tamor Bellfiend

Age: 27 | Gender: "Male" | Race: Half-Dwarf/Half-Elf | Country of Origin: Raelus |
Side: Knights of Ekilore | Weapon Preference: Divine Magic → Healing Magic |
Other: A Hawk named Niolas follows her around |

Appearance:
Spoiler:


Personality:
Spoiler:


History:
Spoiler:


RP Sample: Clicky​

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FINALLY, WE HAVE A DWARF (even if he's also a half-elf)!

Seriously, backgrounds, I don't understand. .-. I've finally learnt how to make my SU like sorta-kinda fancy and then people throw backgrounds.
 
*Gulp* I always get nervous when posting new SUs... I hope everything is okay, please let me know if it's not. I'm so stressed over getting the details right so as not to clash with anything in the world's background. Ack...

Name: Bofvar Blyr

Age: 38

Gender: Male

Race: Dwarf

Country of Origin: Mindirion

Appearance: As with many of his kind, Bofvar retains his people's thick, stocky and stout build. His small stature and impressive musculature lend him what looks to be a great center of gravity. In all his best attempts at great posture, he still stands no more than five feet tall. He recognizes this as a curse of his people, and has slowly come to accept the fact over the years. So much so, that he often jokes that good things come in small packages. Even though not much height rests on his body, his legs are thick and powerful, just like the rest of his densely packed being. Although most of his weight is muscle, he would be remiss in not stating that some of the bulge in his midriff came from a bit..ok...a lot of a beer belly.

Possessing a rugged and stern face, one could see that it had been crafted over many years of hardship and battle. It could not be said, however, that Bofvar was handsome, not that many would say so in regards to Dwarves anyway. His bright, deep green eyes seem to pop against the suntanned tone of his skin, an obvious giveaway to many hours of hard labor. The faint traces of a now long healed wound can be seen running across his left eye. This vertical slash is slightly different in color than the rest of his face, being just a shade paler. A stubby nose sits just above a grandiose mustache and beard. This facial hair, crimson red in hue as to match the medium length hair on his head, comes braided all the way down to his waist line. Long enough, that if he so chooses, it could be tucked into his belt. He takes great pride in his beard, keeping its naturally thatchy appearance well groomed and free of any disgusting particulate.

His battle attire, a source of great pride for the mercenary, is well maintained and a reflection of his own persona. A thick, sturdy helmet, sits squarely on his head. Its sides come securely over his ears and a thin strip comes down to rest over his nose. Two bone horns run from the top, curving slightly to opposite sides the higher your eyes travel. These bright white bones contrast neatly with the rich, dark metallic coloring of the helmet and gold inscription of the Dwarven words: "Hard as stone."

In regards to body armor, a light interlocking chain mail is seen just peeping out from under the thick plated armor of fine, handcrafted, dwarven heavy armor. A small, rectangular buckler is seen attached to his right shoulder, providing further protection for his offhand. Although his heavy armor serves its purpose and protects the vital organs of his chest, his muscular and rugged arms are left free from its services. Where the silvery, ornate armor ends, only two fur straps serve as clothing for his wrists. In the center of his armor, there stands an engraving of a great mountain, many think this depicts his home, but he never seems to give a clear answer when pressed about it. Just above his hips, a wide band leather belt, with numerous pockets, holds whatever he may need to carry. It also doubles conveniently as a beard holder when things get...hairy...

If one could sum up his armor, his furry bear clad shoes and leather pantaloons included. Most would describe it as practical. Where he lets himself be distinguished from most dwarves and really most others, is his weapon. In his left hand, can typically be found a long, gleaming golden trident. This three pronged weapon has served him well over the years, its thick shaft giving it freedom from easy breakage and sufficient weight so as to serve as a decent enough projectile. Each prong is serrated and quite vicious in appearance. Where as many dwarves would be seen with heavier weapons, Bofvar did not underestimate the importance of versatility and speed. When not in combat, this weapon can be seen strapped across his back, a proud symbol for all to see.


Personality: A rogue, rebel, meticulous, honorable, blunt, greedy. Just a few adjectives many use when they speak of Bofvar in passing. Like most living beings, however, one is never who they are in fleeting first impressions. Granted, bubbling on the surface are all these things, a surly rogue who values honor and a good bust line, but beneath the layers, something more lurks. Something that causes this warrior's heart to beat with a lifetime's worth of determination and steely resolve. A childhood of his father's constant disapproval has planted in him a desire to prove his worth, to others, or maybe really to himself. Deeper feelings are usually masked by a flamboyant and sometimes overbearing facade. One that keeps people at arms length and never lets them see the "real" Bofvar.

Flashes of the real "man" within can be seen once and a while. When he is not drinking away his life or regaling others with his obviously exaggerated stories, one could probably see the tinge of insecurity that creeps into his complexion. That one little glimmer in his eyes that happens when he really starts to care for somebody and is scared of losing them. He is profoundly protective, like a ferocious little papa bear if anyone were to come after people he considers "family". This protection might not be seen in noticeable ways, because his fake personality prevents it.

Bofvar values verbal banter, in fact, he seeks it. He often jokes that there is nothing sexier than an angry woman. Petty debates about religion, politics, even the weather. It matters little to him. If there is an opportunity for him to get into a verbal sparring match, he'll take it. The same goes for real sparring. Viewed as an opportunity to prove himself, he'll never back down from a challenge, ones issued or otherwise.

Severely stubborn and set in his ways, he'll die preaching that he was right. (Even if he secretly admits to himself he wasn't.) He's also a bit spontaneous, but not so much as not to weigh the costs of his actions or prevent his meticulous attention to detail. The devil is in the details after all.

Despite his attraction to petty bickering, he flees from any form of deep conversation or drama. When conversations get heavy, he grows more and more uncomfortable. If somebody were to pour their soul out to him, he would most likely attempt to make light of the issue and brush it aside with a joke or two. It is this fact, that sometimes leads others to believe he is unintelligent or insensitive. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Although not a genius, he is sharp as a sword and it only gets smarter as his BAC gets higher. And underneath it all, he does care, he just doesn't know how to express it. Unsurprisingly, he shies from father figures, even if he unknowingly were to become one himself.

Overall, he appears cheerful. A stupid smile plastered on his face that tells the world: "All is okay, and that's the way it's going to stay." When the going gets rough, Bofvar always tries to stay positive. 'Scared', isn't in his dictionary, not that he would read one. Physical pain and even death have no hold over him. His lack of faith keeps him grounded, free of the worry that eternal torment might bring, or whatever else the religious types might preach about. Everybody dies, no use being scared about it.


History: The son of a blacksmith, as many Dwarven children can claim, Bofvar grew up in a semi-traditional Dwarven manner. From a young age, Bofvar was accustomed to the heat of a forge. His father always encouraged him away from such things that were deemed trivial or of no use to a "real" Dwarf. Powerful muscles and a fascination for riches were instilled in his heart from a young age. Tradition, if he had to remember one thing from youth onward, it was the beating drum of tradition in a Dwarf's life. One did not go against tradition. In his family, were one to go against tradition, they were better off dead to them.

Everyday, scrupulous attention was given to the crafting and design of numerous pieces of armor and weapons. It wasn't uncommon for many hours to be spent hard at work, only for his father to come by and deem it a travesty and cast it away. Days like those, only turned into night and even day once again before he was allowed to leave the smith. Bofvar was not permitted to leave until something was done right and that took time. Lots of time. This attention to detail did carry over into adulthood. As many who are raised in such a domineering and overbearing manner, Bofvar came to resent the many tasks assigned to him by his family.

Bofvar did not long for an existence at a forge. To be shackled to the fiery embers and clanging of steel. He wanted adventure and glorious tales of battle. But his family did not come from warriors, the caste system of Mindirion was quite stringent this way. He probably would become and always would be a smith. Toiling away making weapons and listening to the harrowing tales of the many warriors at distant taverns. He was enraptured with the tales, every conquest of these warriors, both of battles and foreign women, gave him further love of such a life.

There had been stories of Dwarves who were called "Surface Dwarves", unlike those who dwell in his home of the mountains. They spread throughout the lands, taking with them the culture and spirit of Mindirion. How he longed for such a life, but there was a catch. Surface Dwarves were banned, shunned from ever returning to their motherland. Could he ever bring such dishonor to himself and family, even if he considered himself an honorable Dwarf at heart? Apparently, he could.

After many months planning, a night came where he could depart from his home. Cloudwalker mountains, his home for twenty four years, still quite young for a Dwarf, was finally left behind. A tumultuous journey brought him down from the mountaintop. Including a tumble from a cliff that now forever marked his face, that was previously free from blemish. To this day, when asked, Bofvar will claim the scar across his eye to be from a great battle, him and an orc wrestling between life and death. Never would he let people know it was from a careless misstep that ended with a face-plant to a rock.

For years he wandered the expanses of Aerion, his journey for discovery, glory and riches carrying him from one corner to the next. It wasn't until he had been resting at a nearby port, that Bofvar found the path he had been looking for. Deep in the night, pirates assaulted where he had been slumbering, the port ripe for their pillaging. The crew, mainly composed of Highmen, made quick work of many locals, taking for themselves countless prizes. They were not prepared for Bofvar's surprising strength, honed from years spent with hammer and anvil. He dispatched three of the pirates with nothing but a fire poker, when they came to his inn. Bofvar refused to lose. He still remembers the sharp whistle that ceased the attacks on him, the one that issued forth from the captain as she strode into the room and eyed him curiously. She had been watching him without his notice, impressed by his strength and determination. Captain Amma Egileif, of the pirate ship "Aifor".

It was unusual for a Highman to take interest in another from outside their culture. They had a stigma of being elitists and refusing to lower themselves to the stature of others. In reality, not a great deal separated Highmen and Dwarves in Bofvar's eyes. Both desired glory and respected tradition. And as a pirate crew, well, they always desired riches. He must have made an impression on the captain, because he was quickly offered a spot in her crew. A rare exception that she didn't make for many others. He accepted hesitantly, but it turned out to be one of the best and worst decisions he ever made.

Turns out, the pirates had their own moral code and really acted more like mercenaries when the time called for it. The sea was an odd place to see a Dwarf, there was no hiding that. But, his sea legs quickly came to him. It was here, that he developed an affinity for the trident. Not unlike the fire poker with which he dispatched those pirates, the weapon's speed and multifaceted capabilities quickly made it his favorite. It was an oddity for even the ones on the ship, who favored more traditional weapons.

Many years passed again, the years passing more enjoyably this time. Fighting, conquering, pillaging, looting, riches, glory and tales worthy of a brew every now and then. Never rape, his ingrained morals prevented such a thing. Sure there were "conquests", but never in such a way as to what -he- considered dishonor. Maybe this trait is what gave him such high esteem in the Captain's eyes. That and his excellent attention to detail and battle prowess. She surprisingly promoted him to first officer, even above equally qualified others. He was taken aback, never thinking he would be more than another mate on the ship. Some came to accept his position, but others secretly loathed him for it. They deemed him unworthy, that a Highmen should have received the promotion. One night, after an abundance of drink and debauchery, Bofvar was stabbed in his sleep and cast overboard by his former "mates", pajamas and all.

He lay adrift at sea, his consciousness coming and going like the tide. It was fortunate for him that he was cast not far from land. Bofvar had already known over the years that Dwarves did not make skilled swimmers, this further cemented that belief. Washing up on the shoreline of Cape Falcon, he was found by a group of a well educated lot. The people of this peace loving and artistic nation, brought him back from the brink. Upon waking, after several weeks of being removed from the world, Bofvar refused to linger there long. This was not a place for him. His desire for adventure, and riches was unending. With nothing to his name once again, he fled from the savior nation only to arrive in Eveamoor.

Here, he laid low. Rehab and plotting was his game. It was also that here, he finally reentered a forge for the first time in over a decade. The memory of his father playing through his mind as he begrudgingly picked up a hammer again. There simply wasn't decent enough armor for his kind around. His current attire and weapon, the pieces he so proudly bears, were forged in a smith that had long been deserted on the outskirts of Curilan. The materials were not easy to come by, but he persuaded the few traders that came along to see things his way. Reequipped and lust for glory still in his heart, Bofvar reemerged on the mercenary scene, but with a new group, a wandering band if you will. This was his new home, a home for glory and riches.

Weapon Preference: Trident

RP Sample: From RHCP's very excellent RP, MAO.
Spoiler:


Other: What's up, Doc?

Side: Mercenaries​
 
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The abundance of half-elves is funny because, in D&D, they're notoriously bad. There's only one way to play them without being squashed by the other races, and that's through a ridiculously overpowered class.

Meanwhile, Elves are generally disliked for being overused and frail, and Dwarves are loved for being hardy and generally awesome.

@Raikiri/Supervegeta: What are the restrictions on the equipment our characters can carry? It's probably meant to be left vague, but that can easily lead to arguments about what is and isn't reasonable for the character to have at any given moment.
 
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@Retro Bug: Your SU looks pretty good except for a few minor changes. Firstly, Rolsten is more of a small continent/region than a country. So pick one of the countries there (Raelus seems to be the one she is actually from) and that change is done. Also, more of a suggestion than a necessary revision: you did not fully explain why the Monks would select her as a representative. We could probably glaze over that since everything else is great. I especially love how you explained why a Dwarf would do anything with an Elf and then have a child out of it. You are pending for now. Just change up the country of origin and we can formally accept you.

@Claire*: You are accepted! Excellent SU. I love Dwarves. Welcome to Aerion!

@Lilizuki: I always played human or Dwarf in D&D myself, so if I remember correctly playing Half-Elf was almost the same as playing human, but I could be wrong. It's been a while.

Anyway, on to your question. Generally speaking, I do not see why we need put limitations on equipment, as I expect everyone to be fairly reasonable. Obviously, everyone will be carrying their preferred weapon and general traveling gear that their character would bring. If that character is a mage, perhaps a few books. An experienced wanderer may bring a bedroll or camping gear. A dwarf may bring alcohol.

Personally, one of my characters Cass will be bringing lots to drink and a lot of weapons, because I can.

If Supervegeta has any preferences, he can and should bring them up, but off the top of my head, I have no limitations in mind. I will keep it vague for the time being and if I to bring in any rules or restrictions, I will.
 
Nah...half-elf is very different from Human. Humans get an extra skill point per level, and a bonus feat (Which are scarce for every class except Fighter), while half-elves get a static bonus to two skills, the Skill Focus feat, and some meager racial abilities. I learned optimization, though, so that stuff probably doesn't matter to casual players.

And gotcha. I tend to have my characters carry around chalk and marbles, if that's okay?
 
Yay! I'm accepted! Now I can finally be crass and drink my troubles away vicariously through my dwarf. ;)

Bofvar is also going to like the current gender balance of the mercenaries. Lol
 
My characters tend to have knives tucked away because hey, Rule Nine. x3 I can limit those knives to 1-5 depending on what the masters' opinion is. One hidden on her ankle, one in plain sight on her hip, one hidden inside both of her sleeves, and one of her shoes usually has a hidden blade that comes out. >>; <<;

Okay, so my characters (and therefore me) are paranoid. Let me know which blades to take out. >>; (feels like the shoe blade is about to leave)
 
MichaelaTheUchiha said:
Okay, so my characters (and therefore me) are paranoid. Let me know which blades to take out. >>; (feels like the shoe blade is about to leave)
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Heheh. One of my characters had hidden blades everywhere.

Daggers on each elbow, punch daggers at each wrist, daggers on each foot, and shortswords at each knee. Being paranoid doesn't mean that somebody isn't about to jump out of the corner and eat your face!
 
Lilizuki said:
Being paranoid doesn't mean that somebody isn't about to jump out of the corner and eat your face!
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I always eat faces. ALWAYS.
 
I did as you asked plus added to the history a little bit.
 
heretostay123 said:
It appears as if all the spots are filled. Is this true?
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There are two spots available for mercenaries and knights I believe.

Lololol don't listen to me. :3
 
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Sorry for the sudden drop off the face of the Earth, but I had some "gatherings" to attend. Anyway, Happy New Years to everyone and I hope everyone had some fun and eased into the new year well.

Moving on to business!

@Retro Bug: I am going to go ahead and accept you as you made all the changes. Good SU and welcome abroad.

@Miss Doronjo: I like the SU and you are accepted as far as I am concerned, however I have to review it with Supervegeta to make it official. I do not foresee any issues with it, however.

@Everyone: While I need Supervegeta to update the OP in this thread, I do believe with the recent number of SUs that following Miss Doronjo the mercenaries will be full, but the Knights have one spot open as I believe their total is at 6 (including Supervegeta's and my SUs). I could be wrong since I fail at math and only got 4 hours of sleep *shot*.

So any prospective knights should go ahead and finish up their SUs so the manly Supervegeta and I can review the SUs. I do believe we will start shortly though. So get excited!
 
Yes, Retro Bug and Miss Doronjo are now officially accepted, which leaves one spot on the Knights remaining!
 
COOL.

Very estrogen heavy RP, especially on the mercs side. Varian and the dwarf will be happy! :P
 
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