Sword of Corruption [Fantasy/OOC/OPEN]

[Agadar]

So, what about the demons? Do they have a strict hierarchy or is it quite chaotic and do some if not many do their own thing as opposed to directly working for the Great Corrupter?

Demons are, essentially, just monsters bound to the Corrupter. There aren't any real ranks.

What do you mean exactly by 'bound'? To take Ubalohr as an example, can he have a will of his own? The thing I was going for is that he is one of several powerful and ancient independent demon 'lords' who just do as they will unless the Great Corrupter tell them to do or not to do something, in which case they obey out of fear of getting wrecked. That alright?

[The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness]

Accepted.

Demons are, essentially, just monsters bound to the Corrupter. There aren't any real ranks.

What do you mean exactly by 'bound'? To take Ubalohr as an example, can he have a will of his own? The thing I was going for is that he is one of several powerful and ancient independent demon 'lords' who just do as they will unless the Great Corrupter tell them to do or not to do something, in which case they obey out of fear of getting wrecked. That alright?

Yes.

[The Starlight]

Accepted.

There's a lot of potential in interaction between Elvedui and Aerian.

Yep, I'll be your mentor perhaps? Or something like that. Thanks for accepting by the way, Dutch.

[Ulvenes]

Hmm. I wonder if anybody would want to talk to a wolf girl.

[Setinel]

Can I make an artificer?



PWEEZE?

As in the D&D Class? Don't go all OP.

Application form
Name: Surgha Xnurl
Race: Orc
Age: 52
Gender: Male
Appearance: Surgha
Personality: Surgha is a warrior. His mind is either focusing on the battle at hand or preparing for the battle to come.
Personal belongings: Surgha typically wields a large hand-and-a-half sword, his brute strength and surprising agility protecting him more than any shield could. His armor is mostly leather straps and loose bands of cloth with several plates of actual armor on the left shoulder and thighs. He carries typically ten potions of healing and five of strength (whenever he drinks a potion of strength, he gains strength equal to that of ten Orcs, which is saying something).
Bio: Surgha Xnurl was raised by an Orc legend; Ghorlorz the Splintered Edge. Ghorlorz was known for his severely brutal tactics, and no one else knew that fact better than Surgha, who was regularly beaten senseless for the smallest things; he would let out a grunt of pain as he pulled a cart filled with boulders or he would slow down to a jog while sprinting through a mountain pass. After ten years of this living semi-hell, the Orc outpost where the two lived was attacked by an army of humans and burned to the ground. Only two Orcs survived; Surgha and Ghorlorz. That battle was Surgha's first, and it did more than give him a few scars; it planted a seed of hatred in his heart. A hatred for humans.
The two made their way to a nearby mountain range, where a large cave-city of Orcs was. They settled there for a decade, Surgha finishing his training and becoming a full-fledged Orc warrior. Ghorlorz died a year later, and Surgha was named his sole heir. Taking his mentor's sword, Surgha left the cave-city. He became a mercenary, his loyalty going to the highest bidder. His hatred of humans diminished over the years to a deep mistrust. He has served in every race's military, including the humans', over the years and has studied the different tactics of each. Having done so, Surgha has become a master tactician. He has been contacted many times by the Eternal Council's Knightly Order to join their ranks, but he has refused all until now. Two months ago, the cave-city where Surgha's mentor died was destroyed by monsters. Surgha wants revenge. The Knightly Order might just be his only way to get vengeance.....

Wewubsyoudutch <---- Don't delete, it's for finding apps (and for making me feel better).

Accepted.

As in the D&D class, but toned down. Like the golrms would take about a week to build. Not just instantaneous.

[Firstaria]

Application form
Name: Daniel Mercury
Race: Human
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Appearance: Brown haired, light brown eyes, slim build, wears brown adventurer clothes and a pair of black boots. Always with a smile.
Personality: A free spirit to the core, likes to think everything can be solved without a fight...or at least without involving him in a fight. It's very rarely serious, but when people get in the way of beautiful stories, he feels it's his job to intervene. Although he knows how to fight, he has never killed anyone willingly: not surprising at all, seeing how fast he runs.
Personal belongings: A lute, a rapier, bow and arrows, and a backpack full of various things (rope, compass, torches,magic books...) enchanted with a spell to contain almost ten times his normal weight without problems.


Bio:
"As long as I run faster, this is gonna be fun."
This would be a way to quickly describe Daniel, but what bard would not like long and complicated stories.

It all started in the little village of Arbus, near the Darkwood Forest, where this little problem would find his birth from an hunter and her lady, one of the most compassionate girl of the village. It was quite a surprise, as he was born with white hairs, but then they changed to match the color of the father during the years; the sage of the village however took this as a sign, as the boy was destined to cross the path of magic, no the one of the hunter. The father didn't agreed so much, so before sending him at the age of 12 to the magic school of the capital, he taught everything a man needed to know: get up early, go hunting, wasting a lot of arrows, catching at least some prey, sell it, spend half the money in the tavern, go home to your accomplice-wife, and then do it for the rest of your life. I'm still surprised there are people who cannot comprehend how this boy grew into what he became.

So, at 12 years old he went to the magic school in the Capital, where he failed the entrance test by setting fire to all the examiners and the headmaster's heads in a single fireball. He proclaimed several times he didn't hear the "on the target" part, but believe me, that was the best bank shot I've ever seen. Tossed in the middle of the street, he managed to befriend one of the magician who passed the test, a girl called Gwen, and the two went to the local tavern to celebrate their encounter; sealing the fate of the brown haired pest.
He quickly showed to have his father prowess at not getting drunk, probably even surpassing him, and then fate came in the form of the angry keeper, demanding a crazy sum for payment. Daniel quickly countered with an offer: to work there as a Bard, no payment, just enough to drink and sleep. The keeper offered him the podium, ready to toss out the drunkard, but suddenly a suave voice filled the air, as the tale of the "one leg paladin" was spoke for the first time.
And the laugh that ensued was more than enough to pay the keeper, but he decided to fake a mere acceptance of the offer, ready to gain money from the golden goose.

After setting that Daniel became quite a vengeful guy, using the information wizards would give to him once drunken and fascinated with his songs to pull every sort of prank possible at the magic school. Some students started even to believe he was a student there, so much the time he spent there running from the teachers. Fortunately, running and hiding were his true talents, as no one managed to catch him in 8 years of teachings, no matter how much they tried; some says the headmaster took him in sympathy, helping him from time to time even, but he denied everytime someone asked.
In the meantime Gwen taught him even enough magic to be versatile into it, although far from the witch level of course. She was surprised the boy never tried to hit on her, but surprisingly the one thing that Daniel took from his mother was to be gentle with the girls...not that this stopped him to fascinate his female public or when he filled a witch's cauldron with urticaria and exploding powder. Some are still feeling the effects of that one.

When the 20th birthday come, Gwen was about to become a full-fledged witch, except that one professor, namely Mr. Celretan, was aware of the friendship between the two and gave Gwen an hard time at the final course. When Daniel heard the guy was planning to not promote the girl for revenge, he decided to avenge her with the a last prank...except that the wizard finally caught Daniel red-handed while in his office. Daniel started to run around and around all the tables, an angry wizard behind him causing tons of school propriety damages trying to catch the pest once and for all; but the bard, desperate, raised an open scroll to defend himself. The impact of the magic with the scroll activated it, opening a portal that sucked in the teacher and then closed. The term "porca peste" was invented when, reading the scroll, the boy found the words "another dimension".
Knowing he finally found a reason the guards (and Gwen) would hang him, he pulled off his biggest prank, faking the presence of Celretan at the final exam of Gwen and promoting her. Since only I know this tale, I cannot say how he did it, but I can assure you, the flying penguin was not part of the ruse; even he still wants to know who threw it. And so, the prank done, he cleaned up the scene of the crime, but fate was not on his side: due to a coincidence, Gwen and the rest of the magic council believed the last task of the girl to be recognized as a magician was to find the professor! All Daniel could say to her was that he stopped at the Tavern before going north, looking at his best friends going to a quest that even by exploring all Hone she would never complete.

With grave heart, and sure that his only hope were to find Celretan in some way, or at least to put as much land as possible from Gwen the day she would figure out, Daniel departed the next day, ready to explore Hone. At the party that night, once he was gone, only the keeper would not stop crying...over the immense amount of beer consumed by the entire guard and school adults for the joyous event.
Where he would stop I still don't know, all I know is that "As long as I run faster, this is gonna be fun". Did I mention Gwen was the only one to run faster than him?

[Asyir]

Hey Dutchy, I have 2 questions:

1.) When is the IC starting up?
2.) Who's Co-op

[Warpspace]

Application form
Name:Lord Lysander the Wanderer
Race: Human
Age: 33
Gender: Male
Appearance: He is never seen outside of his armor.
Personality: There are cats that are less moody and more sociable than Lysander. He's jaded and miserable, stuck in a vain personal war against the tainted that he lost years ago when the fight destroyed him as a person. He has no personal life, no friends, and no living family, and is fully dedicated to "winning" although he fully admits that he as already lost, and he is just as lost as those he fights.

Personal belongings: He owns one primary set of plate armor used for all travel and questing due to its much lighter weight. At the family he stores an additional set which is far heavier and not capable of being used for travel at all, due to its bulk and complicated assembly that requires a squire or armorer. Thus it remains in the manor unless he desperately needs 100% protection from nearly every imaginable weapon.

Both armors are composed of the typical multi layered steel, steel plate on top, a layer of maille underneath, followed by leather padding. The heavy set however has an additional layer of leather before the chainmail in the vest, and is made of much thicker steel plates and greater joint protection.

As for weapons, he has nearly every type of weapon imaginable stored in the manor, although single pieces occasionally do leave the collection due to bandits raiding the dilapidated and unoccupied building. On his person and the back of his horse he can always be found with a Zweihander, arm-mounted shield, a lance, and a short bastard sword. Equipment-wise, he typically caries a sack full of ailment and wound curing potions and mana, the only spells he knows are those focused on healing, and those he prefers to use out of battle to ensure nobody sneaks up on him while he's wearing an armet. He also owns a horse, for obvious reasons.

He also owns the deed and key (although there's no door) to the Gwyn Manor, an ancient building housing the Gwyn family, which were among the earlier families dedicated to serving the Order. The Manor and family have seen better days however, with Lysander being the only surviving member of the family and employing no servants at the small mansion, thus causing it to fall into decay for over fifteen years. The manor is situated outside most civilization, lying a way's away from Rueparath in the forests- making it a wonderful target for bandits while Lysander is out (and he almost always is). The only thing he owns that has remained a constant part of the house is his heavy armor, probably because it's so heavy.

Last counted, several flintlock pistols, a rifle, several polearms, a lot of salted meat, a couple maces, multiple greatswords, and a couple bastard swords were in his ownership, although it's quite likely they'll all be gone or replaced with something else when he returns.

Bio: The House of Gwyn lies on its deathbed, and has for over a century. Doomed by location and occupations, many of its sons have been taken in the defense of its own property and the cause of the Order. While this has been a problem since its inception, as time went on the violence the family faced climbed higher, until it started to painfully affect the very continuation of the house as more knights were being claimed before they could even sire a new generation. By the time Lysander's father had been born, he was the only one left as both of his uncles had been killed before they could ever take wives, and his father died before he was even born.

Servants saw the bell tolling for the family and split soon after the death of Lysander's great-grandfather, leaving only the grounds-keeper and the family itself to take care of building. Eventually the grounds-keeper died of old age and Lysander's father died shortly after his birth, leaving only his mother and the toddler child. His mother staunchly refused to leave the manor, believing doing so would kill the honor of the Gwyn Family and its legacy. So when Lysander finally came of age for training as a knight of the order, his mother remained to tend to the manor as best as she could.

It was this combination of thick-headed honor and remote location that led to him finding his mother dead upon his return from the fortress. Understandably for his age of seventeen years he went on a rampage in the house, destroying weathered paintings of long-dead family members with an axe and chopping up furniture before collapsing from exhaustion a night later.

Recovering from the enraged state, Lysander spent over a month grieving the loss before leaving the house for a period of time that would span over two years in the forest. He went on a personal crusade without any support, spending the time either hunting down the tainted spawn or hunting down meals for himself. Emerging from the forest two years later at the age of 21, he was unrecognizable, wearing a short beard and broken armor. He returned to the city to be refitted for two new suits, and since then has spent several months at a time hunting the warped spawn of the traitor god, only returning to the city for a week at most to resupply and repair gear.

Wewubsyoudutch <---- Don't delete, it's for finding apps (and for making me feel better).

Might add or re-write the bio in better detail later. Also, is there a map? I'd like to be able to write the location of the manor in an asinine location, but not too far into the wilderness.

"When you fight something for so long that you forget your life, you start losing, even if you're winning. It seeps into your blood, then flows into your mind, bit by bit with each action you dedicate to fighting it- each time you return there's less of you. Finally when you decide to look in the mirror, you're no longer there. You've become the enemy. I've been fighting for fifteen years. I don't fight because I'm a hero. I'm scared. I leave the helmet on not because I'm frightened of what others will think. I've frightened of what I will think. I don't want to look into the mirror, I know I won't like what I'll see. Not physical corruption, but internal. When people look into my eyes, I don't know what they think. But if I look there, I know what I see. Nothing. Hollow. I exile myself because I don't know if it's safe for me to be around people anymore. I might snap.

Even the Veterans in the Order haven't done what I've done. No partner. No human contact for months in woods so thick you can't even see the sun. I don't go on quests, I go on campaigns which I stay on until my bloodlust is satisfied. And when I come back.... everyone's so... happy. They laugh, sing, smile, I can't enjoy it. It's torture, like a child penniless to the name gazing at a store filled with candies and chocolates. I want it, but I can't have it. When I laugh I feel the dust rising in my lungs and coughing out of my throat because there's nothing in there. I have nothing to laugh about. I have nothing to feel happy about. No relations, and any friends I would make would inevitably wish to come with me, and there's no point making friends with dead men walking, just save yourself the pain. Don't end up like me. Don't let it take you. The corruption isn't physical. It's mental. I've become the crusade. I don't live, I fight, nothing else. I don't spin tales of my conquests like a proper knight, I don't enjoy the celebrations of mead and maidens. When you're all dead, I'll still be fighting in the woods. A couple centuries from now they'll find a withered corpse in the woods still waging its personal war, that either forgot to die or in pure irony, the god it fought finally took its soul and preserved its life in some cruel mockery.

When you look into my sunken sockets boy, do you see a fire? Does a light burn behind them, or am I empty? I ask because if you come to me with a vendetta against those abominations, do yourself a favor and forget about it. It doesn't matter if they took your mother, your father, your brother, your lover. The hate. It'll consume you in a fire and leave a corpse. If you truly want to honor their deaths, don't waste your life. They wouldn't want it. They'd want you to be happy, not destroy the personality they loved in a vain quest for revenge.

Don't follow my path. It leads only to suffering. If you want to join the Order so desperately, seek a master that hasn't lost the war.

[Czeckolutania]

I have an app in the works, but writers block is taking it's toll on my bio.

[Skaldia]

Tag for interest.

[Warpspace]

Also, expect everyone wearing dumb fantasy armor to be berated endlessly by my character with sensible armor.

[Diabolus Thronus]

Also, expect everyone wearing dumb fantasy armor to be berated endlessly by my character with sensible armor.

My Orc is wearing something more along the lines of an actual Orc; bits and pieces of armor that he's looted from dead corpses)

[Warpspace]

Also, expect everyone wearing dumb fantasy armor to be berated endlessly by my character with sensible armor.

My Orc is wearing something more along the lines of an actual Orc; bits and pieces of armor that he's looted from dead corpses)

Huzah for sensible armor!

[Diabolus Thronus]

My Orc is wearing something more along the lines of an actual Orc; bits and pieces of armor that he's looted from dead corpses)

Huzah for sensible armor!

I know, right?

[Asyir]

Also, expect everyone wearing dumb fantasy armor to be berated endlessly by my character with sensible armor.

My dwarf wears steel plate, much like the dwarves from LOTR.

[Czeckolutania]

Application form
Name:Samuel "Rock-Jaw" Jackson
Race:Human/Dwarf
Age: 19
Gender: male
Appearance: Samuel is about the average height for your typical malnourished human peasant. However the young man is neither a peasant, nor a human. Standing at 5'2" Samuel towers over his Dwarven father, and is almost an entire foot shorter than his Human mother. As far as his outwardly appearance went, Samuel took after his father. Just like his father, Samuel's head was topped with dark red hair, and he was already showing the signs of one day matching his father's beard. The short young man weighed in at 180 pound of mostly muscle. However, as is true for many dwarves, he had enough fat on him to ensure his muscles did not have much definition.
Personality: Samuel is a strong independent young man. Outwardly he does his best to project the imagine of a moral upstanding citizen. On the inside, Samuel struggles to control his greed and his short temper.
Personal belongings: 1 Dwarven steel short sword
1 small Dwarven crossbow
1 quiver (15 bolts)
1 leather chest plate
1 leather chaps
1 small steel buckler
Bio:Samuel is a bit of a rarity. There are very few human/dwarf half breeds. Even fewer the spawn of a loving relationship. Miraculously Samuel is both. His father received some ridicule early on for spawning the halfbreed, but as Samuel grew, his height have him physical advantages over his peers. Samuel dominated the other boys his age in sports, and in fights. The ridicule died down and Sam, as his friends called him, earned his fathers affection. His father taught him the family trade, blacksmithing. Sam was an excellent black smith, but his human side prevented him from truly mastering the art as his father had.

Sam is a young man just starting his journey into life. At 19 years old Sam has yet to feel the warmth of a woman, partly because he didn't like Dwarven women, partly because Dwarven women didn't like him. That alone was enough of a reason for Samuel to leave home. When you couple that with the fact that dwarves make their money either by mining, or by smithing, Samuel had little choice. While he was an excellent blacksmith for a human, he could not compete with the dwarves. Likewise, his taller stature gave him a disadvantage in the mines as well.

Sam traveled to the nearby town of (waiting for the map to be filled out). On his first night in town, Samuel headed to the local tavern, after an I eventful few hours of sipping his stout, Sam paid off his tab and left, hoping to get to the next town by daybreak. Fate had other ideas, not far from the tavern, Sam noticed some movement outside the local general store. "THIEVES!" Samuel charged at the men "stop, Thieves!". The thieves underestimated Sam and within moments they were beaten. Before long the guards arrived and hauled the would be thieves away. The shop owner arrived shortly after the guards left. He was appreciative of Sam's work, and before Sam left, the shop owner gave him a small bag of gold as a reward for his service.

As Sam traveled farther from the town he considered the possibility of becoming a sell sword. It wasn't the most glamorous, or the most noble line of work... But he certainly had talent and secretly he had a great thirst for gold and the spoils of war. As he ponder this possibility he wandered into a Forrest about a mile outside of town.

(I had to fight writer's block through most of my bio... If it's not up to par, would you mind giving me a few pointers? I'd appreciate it, thanks!)

Wewubsyoudutch (no homo)<---- Don't delete, it's for finding apps (and for making me feel better).

[Ulvenes]

Also, expect everyone wearing dumb fantasy armor to be berated endlessly by my character with sensible armor.

Sounds like a buzz kill.

[Czeckolutania]

Also, expect everyone wearing dumb fantasy armor to be berated endlessly by my character with sensible armor.

Sounds like a buzz kill.

Lol nah, I like a slightly higher level of realism. (At least as real as fantasy gets)

[Ulvenes]

Sounds like a buzz kill.

Lol nah, I like a slightly higher level of realism. (At least as real as fantasy gets)

That's the whole point of fantasy. Break away from realism to have more fun.

[Czeckolutania]

Lol nah, I like a slightly higher level of realism. (At least as real as fantasy gets)

That's the whole point of fantasy. Break away from realism to have more fun.

I said slightly... magic, dwarves, demons, fallen gods, elves, resurrection, health/mana potions... Not too realistic to me lmao.

[Ulvenes]

Which is why I think it's rather rude to make fun of other people simply because of their armor. Not like anybody is wearing bikini armor.

[Warpspace]

Lol nah, I like a slightly higher level of realism. (At least as real as fantasy gets)

That's the whole point of fantasy. Break away from realism to have more fun.

Just because it's fantasy doesn't mean those spikes suddenly don't allow somebody to grab your head and snap your neck, or drag you down to the floor.

[Ulvenes]

Also doesn't justify making fun of somebody for wanting to be free of the confines of reality.

[Warpspace]

Also doesn't justify making fun of somebody for wanting to be free of the confines of reality.

And then a monster grabs your horned helmet and gives a satisfying *SNAP* and we're down one player.

You can have perfectly fine, functional armor that still looks like it came from an epic, but does not involve terrible design.

[Ulvenes]

This still does not justify making fun of other people for using armor that they like. If someone finds armor that they like, they should be able to use it without being made fun of for it.