Post by Fenris on Feb 22, 2012 20:38:05 GMT -5
GENERAL
Full Name: Fenris
Race: Elf
Age: 35
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Birthplace: Thought to be Seheron
Residence: Kirkwall, Free Marches
Affiliation: Templar
Occupation: Brooding? :D
Religion: None
COMBAT
Class: Warrior
Character Stats:
Strength: 3
Dexterity: 2
Willpower: 1
Magic:
Cunning:
Gear: Enchanted Resin, Blade of Mercy.
APPLICATION
It has been three years. Three years since the disappearance of Hawke and the destruction of the Chantry by the mage, Anders. When my debt was fulfilled with Hawke, I had always planned on moving on. I had thought I would be long gone from this disease-infested city. Kirkwall is not my home. Yet I am still here, in this crumbling mansion. Why? I do not know.
I suppose I could return to wandering the Free Marches. I’m sure this restlessness will drive me to do so eventually. Perhaps I could rid this country of a few mages along the way. They’re everywhere now, infesting the world with their blood magic. It was just like this in Tevinter. The moment mages are free, they’ll turn. Their lust for power drives them to do anything. And they’re all the same. Very few are strong enough to resist a demon’s call. Most fail and end up slaughtering the lives of innocents. The templar’s order is the only way to stop this.
For now, I presume I shall stay in Kirkwall a while longer. The Hightown nobles have long since stopped their suspicions towards me, so for the time being, I remain safe. As for what to do, I am at a loss. The only thing I know for sure is my side in this upcoming war. When the opportunity arises, I know where I’ll stand.
Na via lerno Victoria.
BEHIND THE MASK
Player’s Pen Name: Pyro
Contact: Msn/email, which is conquestingxviolence@hotmail.com
Roleplay Experience: About four years on and off.
Language(s): English and a bit of French
How did you find us?: Proboards Support
Roleplay Sample:
( This is pretty old and not one of my best samples. D: )
The wind howled against the small brick house, while rain poured down and flooded the cobbled streets of the District. Rainy days were a rare thing in District Two, yet the dreary weather had been happening much more often. Perhaps the sky was weeping at the news of the deaths in the 59th Hunger Games. All twenty-four tributes had died after only being in the arena for a week. The Capital had no winner to celebrate, while the twelve Districts mourned for their losses.
Elias didn’t know what to think about this news. Normally, he would have shrugged and looked the other way. But, after meeting Luca, he couldn’t just look past this. All his life, he was taught to treat the Hunger Games as just something that had to happen. He couldn’t change anything about it, so why bother wasting time mourning? Yet, he couldn’t help but feel grief for the twenty-four dead tributes. This time, he had personally known both of them. And they had both met their gruesome end as the citizens sat watching. Perhaps that was the moment when he realized that the Games couldn’t go on. Maybe it was time for the Districts to speak up against the Capital. Someone had to speak up. Yet, he knew it wouldn’t be him. To stand up against his Capital-obsessed father and announce his questionings was almost a death sentence. It wouldn’t happen, that much he knew. He didn’t have the nerve to try, so for now he would have to rebel silently. Visiting Luca, a boy living in the slums, was perfect for that. His father had always turned a blind eye to poverty. Yet, he would not follow in his father’s footsteps. He had lived in wealth and lies all his life, believing The Hunger Games was a noble, fair sport in which everyone would be happy to participate in. He had never really thought about the dead tributes, just the winners. This has long since changed, though. It baffled him how his father seemed to forget about the deaths, even to this day.
“Elias!”
The boy stood up with a start, hitting his head off a low beam. Muttering curses, he took a glance behind him to see his mother. She too believed in these lies. Her wealth consumed her, and she would do anything to keep it. She was no better than her husband.
“What?” he managed to let out, mixed with a stream of curses.
“Don’t use that language, boy,” she said with a glare, before continuing on. “Your father’s home. He wants to start training daily for the Games again. Celsia and Loki are already down there.”
The words stung. His younger brother was turning out to be just like the rest of them. Loki was only eleven years old, yet he was already beginning to show a thirst for blood just like his older sister. Celsia was influencing him to become a monster, something that was perfectly normal in the Crane household.
“So? Get a move on! You’ll father will have your throat when he hears you haven’t been training,” she declared, before storming off downstairs. Elias could hear muffled voices, then an angry yell calling him downstairs.
With a sigh, he stood up. Today was a day like any other. He would train how to kill and slaughter for hours, while watching his brother do the same thing. It was always so painful to go through. He wanted it to end, yet he still didn’t have the nerve. Perhaps one day he could, but for now he would have to grin and bear with it.
Elias didn’t know what to think about this news. Normally, he would have shrugged and looked the other way. But, after meeting Luca, he couldn’t just look past this. All his life, he was taught to treat the Hunger Games as just something that had to happen. He couldn’t change anything about it, so why bother wasting time mourning? Yet, he couldn’t help but feel grief for the twenty-four dead tributes. This time, he had personally known both of them. And they had both met their gruesome end as the citizens sat watching. Perhaps that was the moment when he realized that the Games couldn’t go on. Maybe it was time for the Districts to speak up against the Capital. Someone had to speak up. Yet, he knew it wouldn’t be him. To stand up against his Capital-obsessed father and announce his questionings was almost a death sentence. It wouldn’t happen, that much he knew. He didn’t have the nerve to try, so for now he would have to rebel silently. Visiting Luca, a boy living in the slums, was perfect for that. His father had always turned a blind eye to poverty. Yet, he would not follow in his father’s footsteps. He had lived in wealth and lies all his life, believing The Hunger Games was a noble, fair sport in which everyone would be happy to participate in. He had never really thought about the dead tributes, just the winners. This has long since changed, though. It baffled him how his father seemed to forget about the deaths, even to this day.
“Elias!”
The boy stood up with a start, hitting his head off a low beam. Muttering curses, he took a glance behind him to see his mother. She too believed in these lies. Her wealth consumed her, and she would do anything to keep it. She was no better than her husband.
“What?” he managed to let out, mixed with a stream of curses.
“Don’t use that language, boy,” she said with a glare, before continuing on. “Your father’s home. He wants to start training daily for the Games again. Celsia and Loki are already down there.”
The words stung. His younger brother was turning out to be just like the rest of them. Loki was only eleven years old, yet he was already beginning to show a thirst for blood just like his older sister. Celsia was influencing him to become a monster, something that was perfectly normal in the Crane household.
“So? Get a move on! You’ll father will have your throat when he hears you haven’t been training,” she declared, before storming off downstairs. Elias could hear muffled voices, then an angry yell calling him downstairs.
With a sigh, he stood up. Today was a day like any other. He would train how to kill and slaughter for hours, while watching his brother do the same thing. It was always so painful to go through. He wanted it to end, yet he still didn’t have the nerve. Perhaps one day he could, but for now he would have to grin and bear with it.
Password: Gray Warden
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