In Memorial of the Fallen [RWBY RP|OOC 3|Open]

[Atrilan]

I'm probably not going to join, but I just wanted to leave this here... Damn, this is impressive. Nice work, OP!

[Former Citizens of the Nimbus System]

Hold on just a moment, though - once we're through the tournament arc, we'll be in Volume 4. Surely we can wait for a matter of a few months, likely half a year at most, rather than starting a whole new roleplay? I for one am thoroughly looking forward to the fights.

Pretty much, if you leave out that one detail where Grimm invade the school towards the end. :P

I'll have to warn you tho, if the Battle of Beacon Arc comes, your character(s) might die, most especially if they fuck up.

I always thought of the Battle of Beacon (Battle of Vale?) as an extension of the Tournament arc rather than something else entirely... Anyway, I welcome the aftershocks that will result from roleplaying the battle - no good roleplay has no in-universe consequences.

[Stormwrath]

Post might be delayed, just got struck down with the flu. Maybe I'll be able to post one if my body wasn't hurting all over.

I'm probably not going to join, but I just wanted to leave this here... Damn, this is impressive. Nice work, OP!

Thank you!

[Former Citizens of the Nimbus System]

Post might be delayed, just got struck down with the flu. Maybe I'll be able to post one if my body wasn't hurting all over.

Remember our mantra, Stormwrath: real life comes first. If you need time to rest, take it. We're rooting for 'ya!

[Sonitusia]

I'm sorry I have not been posting. I had promised a post on Friday since my schedule was (at first) free, but then got filled by other things, and I've used the weekend to work on homework (and draw, because that's one of the things I can still do even if exhausted).

Whoever needs it can (hopefully, really hopefully) expect a post tomorrow or so.

[Parcia]

THis still open, might resubmit my app.

[Stormwrath]

THis still open, might resubmit my app.

Welcome back. It's still open.

[Former Citizens of the Nimbus System]

Welcome back. It's still open.

Hi, Stormwrath! Are you alright? Has your flu receded to any degree?

[Stormwrath]

Welcome back. It's still open.

Hi, Stormwrath! Are you alright? Has your flu receded to any degree?

Somewhat. I still have asthma, but I think I can come up with a post now.

[Former Citizens of the Nimbus System]

Hi, Stormwrath! Are you alright? Has your flu receded to any degree?

Somewhat. I still have asthma, but I think I can come up with a post now.

That's good to hear. Again, don't push yourself if you don't feel up to it!

[Altito Asmoro]

I probably took a step back and rethinking about my character. I haven't post anything for this past few months aside from 1 short post. And I feel out of touch, literally.

[Parcia]

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CHARACTER INFORMATION
Name: Jackson Violer
Age: 17
Sex: Male
Race: [ ] Human [X] Faunus
Animal Traits (Omit if human): Vulpine Ears, canines, eyes
Biography: Born in Vacuo, he lived the life of a nomad with his parents. They were part of a band that acted as mercenaries for other governments and private owners. He learned how to use a gun at a young age, becoming pretty damn lethal with it. by the time he was 10, he went on his first mission with his father, only for their group to be ambushed and all but him killed. He walked home, wounded and bleeding, only to find his home raised to the ground and his mother dead, his sister and friends (mostly other faunuses) sold in to slavery.

He would wonder at first, eventually finding a disgraced noble from Mystral in exile. The man, being a traditional man who upheld the old ways of Mystral. He, having no hairs, took the boy in and taught him from that young age in the ways of his fathers. He taught him the value of honor and integrity. he also taught him how to handle the traditional sword of Mystral and its own traditions. At 16, he left the man, with only the clothes on his back, the sword on one hit and the gun on his other. He had a mission, to find the group who slaughtered his family and his home.

He, after wondering for some time, has arrived at Beacon with the intent to join.
Personality:(WIP) Gruff, soft spoken, headstrong with a good heart in his chest.
Appearance: Dark brown hair, violate eyes with grey around the fringes, his hat hides his ears and his canines are hidden behind a black bandanna that covers his face. His hat has a long, purple sash that wraps around its width.
Reference Image(s):

COMBAT INFORMATION
Weapon: "Lucile"
Appearance:

Capabilities: 6 Shot revolver, firing high velocity dust shards.

Weapon: "Lola"
Appearance: http://casiberia.com/img/prod/2x/sh1070.jpg
Capabilities: Katana style blade of Mystral origin, reinforced titanium blade.

Semblance:Semblance: Terror Gaze

Powers: The user can manifest their collective hate, anger, fear, and other emotions in to a stare that is capable of making the most heartless, cold people fear the sweet cold kiss of fear in their minds.

Limits: Can only be used up close and must look directly into the enemy's eyes. Those of particularly sturdy minds, (those with say, a Hunter's level of stability) can resist this ability, while those less disciplined will not, with some even being frozen in place from the terror.
NOTE: This, due to the nature of grim, has a substantial risk of attracting any creatures of grim in the immediate area due to the influx of negative emotions.

OOC INFORMATION
RP Activity: Most of the time.
RP Example (link or one shot):

The slave market was an interesting place. The interesting combination of sights, smells, and sounds that would normally overwhelm the unprepared traveler. Still, the Imperial Slave market was one of the less horrible markets in the land. The Slaves on sale were mostly women, a few men, most were human and most were pleasure slaves.
Which is why the normal clientele were of high standing and wealth. Most of the lesser noblemen payed him little mind, a few of the women, likely sisters or even wives of the men who were buying the poor girls, gave him a mixture of admiration and loathing. Bartrell disliked slavery as a practice, the act of taking another human under lock and key rubbed him the wrong way. Perhaps it was his own experience of being in shackles under the Elves that made him like this.
He caught a few stares and continued with his slow stroll through the market. He was no noblemen, nor a merchant. He was a soldier of his majesty’s Empire, a captain no less. He had been conscripted at 12 to be a porter to a colonel Tallius. The man had taken him in and taught him everything he knew about battle, warfare, and the art of killing. Now he stood there, a stocky lad of 18. Most conscripts stayed in for the mandatory 3 years, he chose to stay after his first taste of combat, fighting an Orc Warband, and had been fighting in the legion ever since.
Now he was a freshly promoted captain and had been given command of the unit he had fought with for so long. He eyed the girls, and frowned. Most were battered, broken things with empty eyes and little life left in them. Some bore the telltale scars of whips, others had bruises and cuts. Each held the same mark on their neck, a small bird held with in a cage. This was the binding spell, the spell that marked them as a slave.
He stepped in to a building labeled “Exotics”. It smelt faintly of scented candles and was misty inside. One hand stood ready on the hilt of his blade while the other held on to the bag of heavy gold coins. Most slaves went for 3- to 50 gold pieces each, due to them being pleasure slaves mostly.
Exotics were those that weren’t Human. Orcs, Wood Elves, the occasional High Elf Prisoner that had finally broken under the master lash. The ones up for offer were held in individual rooms, shackled to the floor in a keeling position. The few Orcs he saw, mostly female, wore thick heavy chains of steel while the smallest of them, a pair of wood elves on sale, were bound only in thick rope.

He had passed through most of the rooms and was about to give up when he caught a glimpse of ash grey through some curtains. He stopped and pondered what creature could have such a color and decided to peek in. He was greeted with the sight of a particularly rare creature: A dark elf.
Her skin was an ashen grey, her hair raven black with a tinge of dark blue, her eyes held pupils of red over glassy orbs of black. She was…beautiful in every sense of the word, at least, he thought so. His sight of her was mostly obstructed by a rather fat man who stood directly in front of her, his trousers in a puddle around his ankles as he held her head.
He was annoyed, annoyed that the man was blocking his view of this rare flower just to be serviced. He guessed that was why the curtain was closed. He recognized the man as a spice merchant, a wealthy yet ignorant fellow who looked down upon those under him. Pulling the curtain close behind him, he approached the man from behind and put a gloved hand on his shoulder. “I do think your time is up.”
The man spoke before he looked, a mistake. “Who dares interrupt me, do you know who I am? Piss off back to were ever you came!” Bartrell smiled, his ignorance would cause him to pay.

Imperial regulars were mostly conscripts, meant to fight in small skirmishes on the boarder or to put down peasant rebellions, which meant they held a particularly bad reputation. Imperial Legionnaires, however, were world renown for their prowess in fontal combat and assault. This garnered them a level of respect and admiration that also gave them a bit of authority. Few had the Gaul to stand against a Legionnaire, let alone a captain.
He dug his armored fingers in to the man’s shoulder and pulled him back roughly. The man disengaged with a plop from the Dark elf, leaving the girl coughing and wheezing. He pulled him back, placed his other hand on his collar and roughly threw him in to the hall, in plain sight of roughly 20 or so others.
The man kicked and screamed. “How dare you, I am a noblemen of the king, damn peasant conscript, how dare you put your hand on me-“ He was cut off by the realization that the tip of Bartrell’s sword, a custom made blade forged by dragon’s fire and a gift from a Shogun of the eastern islands, was poking in to his throat.
“You are a Lesser Noblemen, not a noble of the king, merchant, and impersonating a High Noble is a punishable offence. Second, assaulting an Imperial Legionnaire is an offence met with death on sight. Third, you were choking the poor thing. Now pull your damn pants up, stick your dick back in to them, and get the fuck out of here.” His voice we level and calm, but dripped with vary real anger.
The merchant looked him up and down, finally seeing the gold eagle that marked him as a soldier of the legion, and the smaller eagle, one holding a shield in its talons, marking him as a captain and an officer.
The color drained from his face and he quickly scrambled to get his pants back on. Around this time, the clerk came running down the hall, a dagger drawn and ready to put down whatever fight that had occurred. Upon seeing the legionnaire with a drawn sword, he sheathed the dagger and bowed. “My apologies, sir, what can I do for you.” Bartrell smiled, sheathed his own blade and spoke.

“Ahh, good timing my good man.” He motioned for him come inside the room and closed the curtain behind him. Bartrell turned to the Dark elf where she sat, sitting on her knees. Her clothes were tattered and torn, leaving ample view of her bust and of her nether regions, which were covered only in a simple pair of panties.
“What this one’s story?” The clerked eyed the girl. While still intently starring at her, he spoke. “To be honest, good sir, I do not know. She arrived here two weeks ago, on one of the wagons. When I asked as to how they managed to get a dark elf, they simply said they founder in the forest, laying in a pine thicket covered in bruises and cuts.”
Bartrell looked back to her and saw them for the first time. She had multiple bruises, mostly on her arms and legs that were hard to see in the low light due to her skin. “We have been training her for a week since then, she resisted at first, but we are…. persistent in our own way.” Bartrell nodded again. “Has she…is she still?” His voice trailed off. The clerk gave him a questioning glance and then it hit him. “Oh yes, although only twice, she did not like it when the training reached that level.” He nodded, feeling a pang of sympathy for the girl. “Is she skilled in anything?” The clerk shook his head. “Not that we could tell, although she knows how to handle herself in a fight. We had her in a holding pen with the others, someone said something and a scuffle broke out, by the time we got in to put it down, and mind you we are very fast in our work, she had knocked out more than half the other girls.”

Bartrell squatted down in front of her, his face a few inches from hers. They were eye level here, and her red eyes met his brown. “Tell me, do you know how to handle a blade?” Her expression changed, going from deadpan with a hint of despair to a look that resembled hate. The clerk barked and she flinched. “Answer him!” She cast her gaze down at the ground and spoke and accented Imperial. “Yes…”

“Well, at least I won’t need to teach you Imperial.” The clerk turned to him. “Sir, what do you mean?” Bartrell hoisted the heavy bag of coins. “How much?” The clerk coughed. “Sir, she isn’t ready yet, on top of that, the man you threw out, Merchant Boyds, has a reservation on her sale.” He shook the bag, letting the hundred or so gold coins’ jingle in his hand. “How much, boy.”
The clerk mauled it out for a second. “100” Batrell frowned. “75” The boy shook his head. “90 at the least sir.” “85.” The clerk looked down at her, then him. “Alright, 85.” Bartrell smiled and emptied the right amount from his coin purse. It left him with 20 pieces of gold, which was good, plenty for food and board.
“Deal, good doing business with you, sir.” The clerk reached in to his pocket and brought out a small book. Flipping to a marked page, he read off a few mumbled words in old Gothic. The mark on the Dark Elf’s neck began to glow. A small mark began to form on Bartrell’s hand, pulling of his glove, he found the black shape of a key glowing on the back of his hand. He knew what this was, the binding spell.
They used the same spells when taking prisoners, although with different conditions. He turned to the clerk. “Alright, you can leave us, I’ll walk her out.” The clerk smiled and strolled out, closing the curtain behind him.
He walked over and squat back down before her. “Few things. First, your name?” she kept her gaze downward. Using his ungloved hand, he gently lifted her chin until she looked in to his eyes. Her held a noticeable amount of fear in them. “Name?” She hesitated for a moment. “M-Mila.” He smiled. Not a fake one, but a genuine smile. “I am Bartrell Makin.”

He stood, her gaze fallowing him as he drew his sword. Her eyes went wide at the sight of his sword, its single edge, slight curve, and long hilt covered in black thread. He raised it in his one hand and swung twice. She flinched at this, likely expecting to feel the cold kiss of the dragon hardened steel on her flesh.

Instead, the chains holding her to the floor fell away, both having been cut cleanly. It was an impressive feat, as the cuffs left the smallest of spaces between her legs and the metal. She blinked, giving him a surprised expression at his skill with the blade.
“Come on, stand up.” She got to her feet shakily, covering her exposed breasts with her arms and shivering slightly. She was…breath taking, glancing past the state of her clothes and the bruises and cuts, she was a beauty. A rather perky pair of breasts, a taunt, firm midriff and stomach, wide, childbearing hips, and a pair of perfect legs.
She caught on to his ogling and blushed slightly, it was a strange sight, seeing the redness appear on her ashen skin and it made him snicker slightly. He coughed and took his eyes from her and reached in to a second, larger bag he kept on his back. “Not too sure if it will fit, but it should cover you until we find a tailor and some fitting clothes.” He handed her the black cloak and turned as she put it on. He did plan on enjoying her womanly assets eventually, but he wasn’t the type of man to force himself on her in a place like this. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned, finding her close to him.
The top of her head barely reached his chin and he had to look down at her. Her own gaze was cast downward. “Thank you, for throwing that…pig in his place…he was choking me.”
He felt his heart melt a little bit

Did you read the rules? Yes, a long time ago.

#RWBY RP Application
Do not remove this tag. It helps us find apps.

[Former Citizens of the Nimbus System]

Hello and welcome back!

Just to say that if you're going to be doing stuff with Mistralian culture we had a short discussion of precisely that a while ago; it might be useful if you'd like to see the sort of thinking that's going on in the rest of the roleplay on the subject. Thoughts?

[Stormwrath]

I probably took a step back and rethinking about my character. I haven't post anything for this past few months aside from 1 short post. And I feel out of touch, literally.

Oh shit, sorry if I forgot to get your char into the setting, bud. But first, a brief story idea I've had for a while:

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PLOT IDEA
Title: Fields of Color
Players/Characters Involved: Between 4 and 8 characters not currently participating elsewhere
Description: A paintball booth has just opened at the fairgrounds for those who want to give it a try. Located at the far end of the grounds, it is the largest booth ever set up this year. If they want to go up against each other in a friendly game of paintball, then this would be where they can do it. But it isn't just their opponents that they should be worrying about. The field itself has an assortment of contraptions that'll take anyone out of the game if he/she isn't careful enough. But it's all in good fun, eh?
Duration of Plot: 2-3 months
Post Frequency: Every other day

#RWBYPlotSubmission
Do not remove this tag. It helps us find apps.

[Former Citizens of the Nimbus System]

Oh shit, sorry if I forgot to get your char into the setting, bud. But first, a brief story idea I've had for a while:

(Image)

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PLOT IDEA
Title: Fields of Color
Players/Characters Involved: Between 4 and 8 characters not currently participating elsewhere
Description: A paintball booth has just opened at the fairgrounds for those who want to give it a try. Located at the far end of the grounds, it is the largest booth ever set up this year. If they want to go up against each other in a friendly game of paintball, then this would be where they can do it. But it isn't just their opponents that they should be worrying about. The field itself has an assortment of contraptions that'll take anyone out of the game if he/she isn't careful enough. But it's all in good fun, eh?
Duration of Plot: 2-3 months
Post Frequency: Every other day

#RWBYPlotSubmission
Do not remove this tag. It helps us find apps.

Suggestion: the paintball equipment is modelled on the weapons of famous Huntsmen and Huntresses.

[Stormwrath]

Suggestion: the paintball equipment is modelled on the weapons of famous Huntsmen and Huntresses.

Assuming you'd want to fire paint out of Port's god-awful axe gun.

[Former Citizens of the Nimbus System]

Suggestion: the paintball equipment is modelled on the weapons of famous Huntsmen and Huntresses.

Assuming you'd want to fire paint out of Port's god-awful axe gun.

Port may be a teacher at Beacon but I wouldn't say that he's famous, per se; I was thinking more along the lines of those Huntsmen and Huntresses whose deeds have been so utterly heroic and daring that they have acquired legendary status - many or most of them won't be alive any longer.

Of course, that gives us an opportunity for a lot of worldbuilding.

[Stormwrath]

Assuming you'd want to fire paint out of Port's god-awful axe gun.

Port may be a teacher at Beacon but I wouldn't say that he's famous, per se; I was thinking more along the lines of those Huntsmen and Huntresses whose deeds have been so utterly heroic and daring that they have acquired legendary status - many or most of them won't be alive any longer.

Of course, that gives us an opportunity for a lot of worldbuilding.

I think the RWBYverse itself has already established that Hunters are also celebrities to the people of Remnant, so fame is bound to follow with their job. And there are some that gained Hunter fame from being a student or even before that, such as Pyrrha and Coco.

[Former Citizens of the Nimbus System]

Port may be a teacher at Beacon but I wouldn't say that he's famous, per se; I was thinking more along the lines of those Huntsmen and Huntresses whose deeds have been so utterly heroic and daring that they have acquired legendary status - many or most of them won't be alive any longer.

Of course, that gives us an opportunity for a lot of worldbuilding.

I think the RWBYverse itself has already established that Hunters are also celebrities to the people of Remnant, so fame is bound to follow with their job. And there are some that gained Hunter fame from being a student or even before that, such as Pyrrha and Coco.

True enough. The question, I suppose, then follows: how many Huntsmen and Huntresses are there? If Beacon, Haven, Shade and Atlas are continually churning out graduates, one might expect Remnant to have hundreds of active Huntsmen. I would suggest that this would mean that, while of course most Huntsmen would have their own fanbases, only a few particularly distinguished individuals would be household names across the world.

[Stormwrath]

Now that I look back on it now, Lucius' fighting pole is rather short to use as a fighting pole. Half a meter doesn't sound like much.

And all this was brought up after I found my meter-long ruler.

[Former Citizens of the Nimbus System]

Now that I look back on it now, Lucius' fighting pole is rather short to use as a fighting pole. Half a meter doesn't sound like much.

And all this was brought up after I found my meter-long ruler. :P

I do love me a metre ruler!

It is rather short but that's intentional, since it isn't the pole that's doing the work; it's either inside the blade of a short- to mid-sized sword, in which case it is small by design (Ultor in its gladius hispaniensis form), or a haft for something else that doubles its reach (Ultor in its flail form, as it is now).

[Parcia]

I get the link and thank you for the info. My app is finished though.

[Parcia]

I get the link and thank you for the info. My app is finished though.

Bump.

[Kuhlfros]

Post coming....sooon

[Stormwrath]

Post coming....sooon

GLORIOUS