OOC - Character Workshop

[Templar771]

Gunner if that is ok

[Sareth]

Sure.

[Templar771]

Am I allowed to start?

[Sareth]

Sure.

[Garlock]

Okay, it seems that discussion of characters and profiles are all here, so I can do one and the other as one. Good! I like that. Lemme try to work this and see how it stands. (This will probably get wordy since I've gone to stricter sites.)

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Name: Garlock (No last name given.)

Age: You can't actually tell by his appearance, but he has the stature of a mid-20s male.

Race: To be revealed in the History section.

Occupation: A freelance mage of some sort.

Appearance(s): Reports of Garlock's features vary. Either it's a curse of tolerance gone wrong or a deliberate act towards looking...well...wrong. He is seen most commonly in dark leather traveling gear with gloves and boots on, a hooded cloak of black (with sleeves) keeping the weather and the sun out of his face, as well as keeping that face of his out of the public eye. Other times would see him wearing a dark mage's armor and black gauntlets with a horned helmet and eyes of fire. Some say that Garlock is a human being, while others suspect he's an elf or even half-elf. To be sure, none of these are actually true. They're illusions and fictions and false impressions made to either impress or creep out people on purpose, although...there is another reason. Anyway, there has to be some truth to the thing about the gauntlets, because Garlock's favored method of non-magical attack is to tear into things with claws, as his live opponents can attest to. (More on all this later.)

Personality: You'd expect someone who gives off a creepy vibe to pretty much act that way always, but this is not the case. It is a matter of fact that the choice of looking dark and untrustworthy or dangerous is a joke, and that it's only when he's being dangerous that there's a delivered punchline. Despite appearances, Garlock is not so much as evil as an unrestraining amoral jackass. Causing trouble for fun appeals to him because then he can laugh when people shout about consequences. But then again, he seems to know of the rules or else he wouldn't think to be careful at times. It's hard to tell which part the act is, really. Deep down, he has a certain loathing of all humanoids, which is why he wouldn't mind smacking one around, but there are things that Garlock wants that only other people can provide, and not by trying to blast them. So, this is the life he leads to try and work his way towards his goals. One part clever, two parts painful, and a dash of I-don't-trust-you-people.

Abilities: Well, he's a mage, so he's clearly able to cast things. Spells vary, but he likes the deadly ones the best. That and his memory messer-upper. His actual physical strength is about human-normal, but it is theorized that he uses some form of magic to deliver extra harm to those of whom he attacks. For reasons that may be attributed to style or an actual fear of it, Garlock does not use light in his spells.

Likes: Messing with magic and all things associated, messing with people for...no apparent reason, breaking into people's houses to use the bathroom, meat, and catnip.

Dislikes: Being exposed, being contradicted, bright lights (including spells), humanoids, and anti-magic defenses.

History: Here we go, the reason for all this ado about Garlock.

It's not that he's famous or anything, but he'd like to be...in some way or another. The best way seemed to be by causing a stir, so the world first became aware of his presence in a small isolated town which doesn't exist anymore. It was just one of those little rustic places that wouldn't stand a prayer against anyone with even rudimentary skills in the arcane. That was why he chose it. You see, this is still closer to the beginning of his awakening. The truth here is that Garlock is entirely not like any human being, elf, half-elf, etc. He's a bit more familiar than that.

Garlock's life began...as a cat.

A familiar. He was suppose to be a familiar sold at a shop. Not a winged cat, but a classic black cat with red eyes. He started out, completely normal (or as normal as a talking familiar gets), and then BOOM! Literally, boom. It happened while he was in the back room and the owner of the establishment was working with some sorcery. On what? Garlock didn't know. He didn't even know the name of places or how to read at the time. But...there was an explosion of energy, and the store had a number of escapees who were distorted, talking the wrong language, or even the wrong species. Garlock emerged with an understanding of sorcery, though he himself was unharmed. Maybe it was because he was at ground zero or maybe it was because he was just different. We don't know. The accident took a severe toll...on the owner. It was as though his mind split and leaked into whatever else was nearby and alive. Understanding and capability went into Garlock's head. Personality, memories, and choice bits of knowledge entered a nearby canary. You can see where this is going.

From here, the line between pet and potential threat blurs.

As a cat with human intelligence, he knew two things. First, he was small and vulnerable. And second, this could be rectified. These humanoids could be very cruel. Some of them might even eat him, he suspected. Out of a certain fear of being known as a walking freak of nature, Garlock fashioned...a persona to work under. His original name wasn't Garlock, but Mittens, so it had to go. No one would listen to the dread magus Mittens. So, he came up with the life, the form, and the personality...of Garlock The Destroyer. It helped that he had a spare meat puppet to work with. The owner of the store was a nobody, average all the way around. So, when a scrawny mage incognito first stepped into a conglomeration of simple homes, he torched them all and let the people go, saying "Spread my name as far as you can!".

Of course, that time he actually forgot to tell them his name.

Garlock travels, using this humanoid to learn the world of these people and understand it more. (He managed to trim up its physical characteristics somewhat, forcing it to exercise a good deal.) Because he knows nothing for certain, he is uncertain about his goals...which range from obtaining power and infamy to just a really good time. His continued act of hiding behind this form is to throw people off, because who would ever suspect a cat? All they see is the man in the cloak with the hood.

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Garlock is one of those weird ideas that popped into my head a long time ago. The real Garlock is a black cat named after a fault-line. You can look him up on Youtube. My friend and I just figured he was a great name for a villain. Now then, I promised a bit of roleplay fun, just to get things started. Some boards ask that you show them a sample of your writing just to see how you get on. I'll do it for free.

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Several years ago...

That isn't the way the shop was suppose to smell.

On most occasions, it was suppose to smell like the flatulence of half a dozen species, but that is not how it smelt right now. The nose was active first because the rest of his senses had been momentarily scrambled. You live in a place long enough, you get to know the scents and the sounds associated with it. No less true could be said of Zan's Familiar Emporium. Zan was the owner, up until three minutes ago, when the back room exploded. He could see the man working on something with his back turned, plain as day, but didn't care. 'Twas busy washing, you see. It was that time of the day. You ask any cat - provided he can talk back - of the importance of being clean and, well, you never hear the end of it. Most felines view human beings as unwashed savages.

That was what the cat thought, up until the explosion. Now, he's thinking... Wow, that hurt.

The blast wave was a magical one, something gone wrong with the binding of intelligence to an animal that didn't ask to be made aware in that fashion. Debris flew, cages were thrust open, the wall blew out, and animals escaped. So, it was either due to the explosion or a damage to his nose that everything was coming up burning ions, scent-wise. The scene he opened his eyes to was bizarre. Lighting gone out, table wrecked, some animals dead, a stunned canary (Fortune smiles tonight.), and human being walking into a brick wall, bumping its head repeatedly. Seeing this, the cat's mind sprang into action.

This is stupid. How could he screw up a simple intelligence dump? All he had to do was dip in a spark of brain-power and- Wait, I didn't know or CARE about this before. And HE'S a zombie now.

There was something wrong with all this. It was as though the man had lost his mind, literally. He could just about feel the human's empty-headedness, for real this time. It almost seemed to beckon to him, draw in his senses, like... He had no idea, but the repetitive head-bonking was starting to get on his nerves.

"Will you stop doing that?!"

Surprisingly, he did, and just stood there. This surprised the black feline so much that he nearly forgot the canary, which was beginning to come around. It got up in the groggy manner a man would, giving off classic signs of disorientation like asking where he was, swearing, and rubbing his head. It took him a full minute to realize he was rubbing a feathered wing up there, by which time there was a red-eyed furry thing behind him.

"Don't turn around."

Naturally, the canary did, just as the claws descended, disabling the wing in one strike. What followed was a minor struggle, followed by...

"No, don't! Please! I'm begging- YAAAH!! My god, please help m- EEEAAAAAGGGHHH!!!"

Clearly, Zan was a follower of the Emerylon church, and that he had just been unexpectedly made a canary, or rather his mind had. Shortly thereafter, a man and a cat escaped out the back way of the shop, the cat all the while musing to himself about what must have happened while talking to the dead-head.

"Whatever he was doing, you...were doing, it couldn't have been legal. I'm living proof. No one would allow it... I need some way to exist, safe from inevitable persecution. You might come in handy for that. But not like this. You're a disgrace, and someone might recognize you. We- I...need to hide behind a fake identity, something with a mask or...something else besides that pet store outfit. And I can't use my real name either. Why the hell did you call me Mittens? I could've been something clever, like Sarevok. No wait...that's taken. How 'bout...Garlock? Yes..."

[Porcelain Fish]

I just have to say, after this description and the intro post, I already love this guy! The very idea of a Tsuirakujin Beau Brummell wannabe hanging out with the rest of this crowd is just... it makes me giggle so very much!

^-^'

Thank you Imp-chan! I'm thinking he's going to be fun to play. I am looking forward to shocking, confusing, and dismaying him often.

Templar, I think Garlock has great potential for being hysterical.

I have an idea for another character, but I'm thinking he wouldn't work very well as a main character. Too strong for one thing and too stereotypical. He might be useful as a plot device later on down the road though.

Name:Lantos Mormael
Race: Elf
Age: 1727

Physical appearance: Short blonde hair (basically crew-cut), cobalt blue eyes, muscular, 6'7”, usually dresses in sleeveless shirt and dark loose trousers belted at the hips.

Personality: Morality is not one of Lantos's strong points. He tends to apply whatever solution he thinks will yield the best results to a given situation (i.e. if stabbing the damsel in distress in the face will get the job done better than rescuing her, she'd better know a good plastic surgeon). To Lantos, the world represents opportunity, an opportunity that must be fought for and won through whatever means necessary.

His face tends to be calm and relaxed under most circumstances, but his crooked grin tends to pop up both at a funny joke and when he's gutting an opponent.

Background: He left Praenubilis Astu (he called it a “dark hole full of buried corpses who just don't know they're dead yet” at the time) in disgust about fifty years ago and has been making his way in the outside world ever since.

General Info: Lantos believes the elves still hiding in their dank little hole are destined to be forgotten by history and die out sooner rather than later. In his opinion, they simply aren't strong enough to live. In his eyes, it's time and past for the Elven Nation to reemerge into the outside world and once again become a power to be reckoned with, a political force openly present on the world stage. He doesn't think that resurgence will come from Praenubilis Astu however. It's going to have to begin elsewhere.

He was a member of the Viriadior from the day he turned three hundred until the day he left, and he's had quite a bit of training in both battle magic and martial arts. The past fifty years in the rough outer world have helped him to build on those skills and hone them by putting them to actual use.

He's indifferent toward half-elves as a people for the most part. He's slept with some and fathered a few, and as long as they don't get in his way, he sees no real reason to persecute them. He views humans as useful and a source of pleasure, but he's not overly worried about according them any sort of dignity or respect. He has mixed feelings about the elven peregrins, despises the elves in Praenubilis Astu, and hails as friends those who he believes have disowned it as he has. He hates the Ensigerum with a passion.

Combat: His favored weapon is his hand-and-a-half sword, Sin Caidh, though it's not particularly magical or even ornate. Its only real enchantment is a charm against rust, but he's been using it for nearly three hundred years, and it has fond memories. It's been reforged on several occasions during its lifetime, and is beginning to show its age again. He's also acquired a pistol, and after a decade and a half of use, he's getting to be pretty handy with it.

In a fight, he favors a heavy metal cuirass that protects torso, shoulders and thighs, and for all its weight and bulk, his opponents have learned (almost inevitably too late to save themselves) that it doesn't slow him nearly as much as might be expected.

[Templar771]

Ermmm.....I didn't post that.

[Arreksu]

Ermmm.....I didn't post that.

I made that mistake too; it's just that you had posted twice checking if it was okay to post a character and then suddenly one appears. Assumptions are silly things, but they happen. >.>

[Graybeard]

I just have to say, after this description and the intro post, I already love this guy! The very idea of a Tsuirakujin Beau Brummell wannabe hanging out with the rest of this crowd is just... it makes me giggle so very much!

^-^'

Thank you Imp-chan! I'm thinking he's going to be fun to play. I am looking forward to shocking, confusing, and dismaying him often.

Templar, I think Garlock has great potential for being hysterical.

I have an idea for another character, but I'm thinking he wouldn't work very well as a main character. Too strong for one thing and too stereotypical. He might be useful as a plot device later on down the road though.

Name:Lantos Mormael
Race: Elf
Age: 727

Alas, this clashes with canon. We know that Misa is the youngest elf in the Poe-verse, and she's nearly 1500.

[Reavey]

*raises hand* I wish to join in on the fun.

Name: Reyn Argan
Race: Human
Age: 27
Occupation: Travelling entertainer

Physical appearance: Shoulder-length brown, wavy hair; grey eyes; slight almost skinny build; stands at just under six foot tall; he prefers to wear pretentious almost foppish clothes when performing or just whenever he can get away with it though he does keep heavier such as a long coat for travelling however even these tend to feature almost arrogant nuances such as silk lining.

Personality: The two loves of Reyn's life are gambling and music. All he wants from life is that it interest him and that he have fun along the way. This has lead to a flippant almost careless attitude serving as the face for a personality that can only be described as selfish in the extreme.

Background: Originally hailing from a small town near the north-western border of Veracia Reyn's life changed the day a wandering performer came to his home. Reyn convinced the man to teach him to play Violin and left with him when he moved on. However the two constantly fought and argues and before long Reyn was left alone in an unfamiliar city. When his money began to run out he turned to a gambling den in desperation. After a slow start he soon discovered that not only was it possible to actually earn enough to live on there he really enjoyed himself. After a few mishaps involving some pretty heavy debts he soon had enough money to buy his own violin and he no longer needed to solely rely on gambling to provide his income. His crowning achievement though was once when gambling a man desperate to win back his heavy losses on what he thought was a winning hand offered his repeater rifle as a stake against everything Reyn had won. Reyn won that too.

Currently he is wandering the world after waking up one day and deciding he wanted to get out of the city he had been left in so many years ago. He packed up his most important possessions, sold the rest and set out determined that somewhere there had to be something worth dong and seeing.

Equipment: Rucksack with violin case attached, repeating rifle, pair of daggers.