HenrytheV wrote:I don't do RP, but I think your characters are pretty great Dragoman. I can't wait for the next part of the story by the way.
Formendacil wrote:As to the original question, Dragoman, I guess the characters are formed from the soil of the mind, which is probably well-fertilized by the creations of others (real novelists, movies, historic figures...).
Formendacil wrote:Thomas is sort of a generic young man at the moment. Basically your typical young Luke Skywalker/Frodo Baggins/Garalt nice good guy young person, who I can mould into whatever I choose.
Formendacil wrote:By the way, great thread, Dragoman!
“Are you a Forestmen?” asked Reno, noted the elk on the shield.
“Once.” said Bjarn.
Wow, a complement on my characters and my role playing, thank! At least I know I don’t totally suck at this.HenrytheV wrote:I don't do RP, but I think your characters are pretty great Dragoman. I can't wait for the next part of the story by the way.
Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:*pictures Frodo wielding a light saber and shouting at Formethian: “You killed my father!”*
Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:Whoa! I can’t believe I just spent all that time writing this post! I’ll stop for now and tackle some of my other characters later!
Location: Crusader/Forestmen border
The storm was huge, a god of storms. It was a storm that made the freak blizzard created by BloodVaine look like a morning frost. It was the Perfect Storm, a deadly mixture of magic and precise natural weather conditions. Rain in the west, snow in the north and a warm tropical front combined into flurry of sleet and snow that consumed all of upper Dametreos.
No one in there right mind would have been out in a storm like this. But there was someone out in this storm. Someone who had no choice.
Viktor Okzskcarouldghf probably should have considered his options before attacking three men in a crowded in tavern in a forgien territory, but Vikor rarely paused to think at all when someone insulted his noble native land of Eastern Knight's Kingdom, also called Knight's Kingdom II by the uneducated layman. Breathing the word 'Jellybean' would send him into a rage, and don't be around when someone starts singing "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" in Viktor's presence.
Now, drenced to the bone, with icicles starting to form on his scratchy beard and up to his chest in snow, Viktor's temper was considerbly cooled and his mind of capable of rational thought. Now, however, instead of comtemplating a plan to save himself from pnemonia and lost of limb due to frostbite, Viktor was content to curse anyone and everyone back ten generations for his ill luck.
"Tyco megabloked jack stone son of a shifty-brick intellbloxed buildit timmy..."
This tirad continued until Vikor's feet (and the air around him) was blue. At last, when the realisation of imminate death hit Viktor, he got a grip and attempted to get his bearings. He concluded he was in the middle of a snow storm (which was right), somewhere in Dametreos (which was also right), and probably a hundred miles from any town (which was wrong).
These mental processes aided him little, and he was left to only to options; to die now, or to continue onward and die later. Neither option was pleasing.
Location: Varlindale, a Classic border town
"A flash of steel. A rustle of cloak. Bows grow taunt, spears are readied. They are coming. The legends of Dametreos, the underdog heroes. The men who were outcasts, betrayed by friends, assassins, empires and lies. Nothing can stop them. Armies flee from them, whole nations tremble. Ships are hijacked, dragons tamed. Pirates defeated, kings shamed. They are the Misfits!"
The drone of the bard's blurred into the distance as Viktor downed another pint.
"You'd better get rid of that fool before he scares off customers." the scruffy warrior advised the bartender.
The bartender, who was a fat, bald man with a grin wide as his girth chuckled deeply.
"Ol' Scribbles isn't t'aint no 'arm to no one."
Viktor's eyebrows rose. "If I'm not mistaken...what you just said was a...let me see...and quadruple negative."
Viktor signed and downed his burgundy and wiped his lips before explaining.
"What you are saying, literally, is that this Scribbles is a harm to someone."
Viktor turned away from the bartender, who was still grinning, and let his eyes sweep over the dingy interior of the The Bestest Inn In Varlindale. Truely, that was the inn's name.
"I tell 'e, this storm can't get any worser!" piped up the bartender, reffering the raging winter snowstorm outside.
"Worser isn't a word." mumbled Viktor. He was tired of this grammer-impared town. Just his luck he would get stuck in a town where the most exciting thing that happened was the rumor the mayor slept with the baker's daughter.
Formendacil wrote:[My other characters were generally created to fill a specific NEED in the story. Eg., I needed a Cavalier officer, bang! I get Quorandis. I needed a victim for the Wizardsbane, so Elwen was there from the beginning. Thomas needed a family, so I got Harold Brakespear. And while I have tried to flesh out the characters somewhat, and while some (most notably Elbadar and Quorandis) have taken on lives of their own, their original function was to fill a certain role.
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