*Character Name : Roelon Geraux (Not likely that any would know of his surname)
*Character Class : Mage (Arcane)
Character Level : 93
Player Age (18+) : 35
Most Recent Guild: It's been so long, I don't even recall. It was a heavy RP guild, but I can't even find 'em on the webs right now. (Returning player.)
*Requested Role : Chaser
*Character Notes :
Description:
His clothes are faded and worn. Tanned skin, rough calloused hands... From the look of him, one might assume that he is at home outdoors.
He carries about him the odor of burnt timber, and the slightest hint of alcohol. As he moves, a small flask can be seen on his hip.
Though otherwise quite handsome; tall, slender, and muscular; in his current condition, one might not be inclined to view him as anything other than another face in a crowd
Unremarkable clothes, no visible weapons. One wouldn't be able to discern a specific profession or skill from the attire he wears.
He's clad in rough-stitched cloth; a slate-grey hooded tunic atop dark-toned leggings - garb that is not too uncommon amongst dockworkers, laborers, and general merchants. A single copper ring adorns his left ring finger.
There's something about him... The silence in his gait... his head on a swivel...
A truly observant person might notice something in the way he moves. ...Something that might lead them past an apparent facade of a "commoner."
Barely a word spoken... The quiet type, it would seem. Should one hear him speak, they'd note a calm tone, low and coarse.
He bears a solem expression. An intuitive person might conclude that he's lost someone close to him. ...Family member? ...Lover?
This feeling drawn by this notion might warrant a hint of caution, should one choose to ask him of it.
Backstory:
"Tell me about yourself." Said the barman, his intent; no more than smalltalk.
Roelon moved toward the barkeep. Resting both palms upon the countertop, he took time to survey the area. Wood-paneled walls met a weathered floor decorated by stains and filth. The dimly-lit setting was accompanied by the smell of spilt spirits and the sounds of boisterous patrons. The barkeep's question went unanswered for an uncomfortably long moment.
In a calm tone, low and coarse, he answered, "What is it you want to know...?"
"I dunno... Where ye' comin' from?"
Roelon hesitated. Swaying slightly, he fumbled for the pewter mug in front of him. Pawing it with both hands, ale spilt from the brim as he brought the mug to his lips.
The barman produced a rag and wiped the mess from the weathered wooden countertop as he spoke, "You've been at it all night... Don't you think it's best you slow dow..."
"Highbranch..." Roelon interjected. "Two day's journey from here.... Little better than an outpost."
Leaning on an his elbow upon the countertop, the barman raised a brow. "I've heard of that place. Best leathercraft in the region, I'm told."
His head now in his hands, Roelon's gaze turned to the barman as he continued to speak.
"I've 'eard tale o' tragedy there... some winters ago." The barman continued, settling into a comfortable pose as he began his story.
"Local legend 'as it that there was a fire. Killed a woman. That might be o' little interest 'cept that the fire was caused by the woman's lover. Said to be of suspicious nature, it was - a crime o' passion."
Roelon brought the mug to his lips again, spilling more ale this time. His features hardened as he furrowed a brow, listening as the barman spoke.
The barman, without missing a beat, wiped the countertop clean again, then continued, "Details vary depending on who tells the story. Some be sayin' the guilty lover left, never to be seen again. Others profess 'is innocence - even so much as to offer their own aid to 'im."
"I'm told he's hidin' out in these here lands, now. Word has it, 'e be searchin' for somethin'."
A mug paused at his lips, Roelon finally spoke through clenched teeth. Barely audible, he muttered, "I know this tale... and he's not searching for something... he's searching for someone... Welkin."
As if Roelon went unheard by the barman, he continued, "The one who started the fire... His name, Rellaux... Rowler... I don't recall. 'Tis not important."
Pushing away from the countertop, the barman wiped the surface once more. Upon his face was a smirk of self-contentment in his storytelling.
Then, as if to ask the patron's name, the barman asked, "Anything else I can get'cha, Mister...?"
"Roelon." he replied. "The one you speak of... his name is Roelon."
"Aye! That was 'is name!" The barman exclaimed.
Roelon paused, then wiped his lip with his sleeve as he set the half-full mug upon the bar. With a brisk backhand, he knocked the mug over, spilling its contents upon the countertop. In the midst of the spilt ale, Roelon dropped a few coins as he turned to leave. With no loss of calm, Roelon spoke from over his shoulder.
In his usual calm tone; low and coarse, he said "You're better with wiping countertops than telling tales. Stick with that. ...Check your facts."
Special Abilities / Skills:
Roelon made his way to the end of the pier toward the ferry when he was met by the onslaught of the disembarking passengers. Finding himself in a wall of people, he slowly made his way down the pier. He was overcome by what he saw. So many bodies rushed past him... so many memories filled his mind - ... so many images flashed in his head.
A young boy passed by, an image of wooden horse filled Roelon's mind. A fat woman... an image of a stone-laden forge. So overwhelmed was he, that he lost sight of the slender figure that had preceded him onto the ferry. As the pier emptied, composing himself, Roelon again advanced toward the ferry. One last passenger approached him. He was the slimy sort; carried about him the air of self-importance. As he left the ramp from the ferry, Roelon scowled at the image in his mind.
...a woman. Screaming.
...“No!! ...please stop!”
Roelon stopped in his tracks. Without a word, he gave way to the man on the narrow pier. Just as the man passed by him, Roelon turned toward the stranger. The stranger's back was to Roelon. He quickly grabbed the stranger by the back of his shirt. With the man's collar in his hand, Roelon pulled forcefully toward the ground, causing the man to fall, slamming him to the ground with such a force as to shake the floating pier. Flat on his back, quite dazed, the stranger looked to Roelon with a puzzled look on his face. A swift kick to his ribs sent the stranger rolling off of the pier into the sea.
Roelon took a long moment and paused to look upward toward the dismal rain, calming himself. His glance turned toward an onlooking dockworker. The dock worker was frozen, unsure of how to react to what she had just seen.
In a calm tone, low and coarse, Roelon spoke only one word.
“Rapist.”
Explanation of Abilities:
I have an interesting take on the mage in WoW. His abilities are difficult to understand without demonstration to alleviate any notion that I'm some Mary-Sue.
Roelon is naturally-gifted in the Arcane. He can manifest very powerful bursts of Arcane force (in the stying of "Arcane Barrage", "Arcane Blast", and "Arcane Explosion". He will amost NEVER do so. He is reluctant to use his ability and is untrained in focusing it. Think: Wilder from Pathfinder or DnD. He actively hides his aptitude for the arcane.
He has NO ability at many other "mage" skills (kind of a trade-off for having super-powerful arcane abilities). He cannot manipulate time, ice, fire, portals, electricity; no ability at psychoportation ("Blink"), stealing spells, polymorph, or removing curses.
Though he is untrained in the destructive forces of the arcane (the above-mentioned "raw", uncontrolled abilities), he has been trained to use his mind to affect spells. Basically, I've been unable to find official lore or canon on how abilities are manifest. I'd like to think of the arcane as manipulating the environment through force of will - whether it be due mystical "aether" or from one's own actual thoughts. This being said, in addition to the destructive spells that he is not likely to use daily, he does have a psychokinetic / telekninetic ability.
Another is an ability to "read" people to a point bordering on a mild clairvoyance. This, demonstrated in the above excerpt, has a lot of potential for "God-Moding". I'm aware of the "cringe" that many feel when reading the above words. I only ask that you give it a shot, and let me demonstrate that I have placed many limitations on the ability. It will always be used in a manner considerate of others, and by design, will never be "over the top".
Please note:
I hesitate to even list his abilities because of the mental image drawn by these words. I HATE God-Moders... So I'd like it to be understood that though Roelon's abilities possess potential for some crazy Uber-Moding, I am a very experienced RPer, and I've -never- been called a "God-moder." Often, I'm more comfortable in a support role in others' RP sessions. I never had the desire to be the center of attention.
IC Reason for Joining:
Roelon has been actively seeking employment - not for riches or glory, but for simply a meal in his belly, and a few coin to get by.
He would attempt to do so under the guise of a commoner. One look at him, and even the most skilled observer would note that he appears at-home in the woods.
Upon learning of the Chasers, he seeks them out. He feels as if his knowledge of the wild would be well-suited to such a position.
At no time would Roelon have mentioned his raw ability for destructive Arcane, nor his other similarly-extraordinary abilities.
Now, his real motives are well-guarded. Should any inquire about him, they'd likely hear tales from random tavern owners and innkeeps of a man who fits Roelon's description. Some might offer little more than a standard "Yea, I seen that fella." Others might recall bouts of drunken banter from such a man - describing the many ways he wishes end the existence of some "traitorous old man".
*Character Class : Mage (Arcane)
Character Level : 93
Player Age (18+) : 35
Most Recent Guild: It's been so long, I don't even recall. It was a heavy RP guild, but I can't even find 'em on the webs right now. (Returning player.)
*Requested Role : Chaser
*Character Notes :
Description:
His clothes are faded and worn. Tanned skin, rough calloused hands... From the look of him, one might assume that he is at home outdoors.
He carries about him the odor of burnt timber, and the slightest hint of alcohol. As he moves, a small flask can be seen on his hip.
Though otherwise quite handsome; tall, slender, and muscular; in his current condition, one might not be inclined to view him as anything other than another face in a crowd
Unremarkable clothes, no visible weapons. One wouldn't be able to discern a specific profession or skill from the attire he wears.
He's clad in rough-stitched cloth; a slate-grey hooded tunic atop dark-toned leggings - garb that is not too uncommon amongst dockworkers, laborers, and general merchants. A single copper ring adorns his left ring finger.
There's something about him... The silence in his gait... his head on a swivel...
A truly observant person might notice something in the way he moves. ...Something that might lead them past an apparent facade of a "commoner."
Barely a word spoken... The quiet type, it would seem. Should one hear him speak, they'd note a calm tone, low and coarse.
He bears a solem expression. An intuitive person might conclude that he's lost someone close to him. ...Family member? ...Lover?
This feeling drawn by this notion might warrant a hint of caution, should one choose to ask him of it.
Backstory:
"Tell me about yourself." Said the barman, his intent; no more than smalltalk.
Roelon moved toward the barkeep. Resting both palms upon the countertop, he took time to survey the area. Wood-paneled walls met a weathered floor decorated by stains and filth. The dimly-lit setting was accompanied by the smell of spilt spirits and the sounds of boisterous patrons. The barkeep's question went unanswered for an uncomfortably long moment.
In a calm tone, low and coarse, he answered, "What is it you want to know...?"
"I dunno... Where ye' comin' from?"
Roelon hesitated. Swaying slightly, he fumbled for the pewter mug in front of him. Pawing it with both hands, ale spilt from the brim as he brought the mug to his lips.
The barman produced a rag and wiped the mess from the weathered wooden countertop as he spoke, "You've been at it all night... Don't you think it's best you slow dow..."
"Highbranch..." Roelon interjected. "Two day's journey from here.... Little better than an outpost."
Leaning on an his elbow upon the countertop, the barman raised a brow. "I've heard of that place. Best leathercraft in the region, I'm told."
His head now in his hands, Roelon's gaze turned to the barman as he continued to speak.
"I've 'eard tale o' tragedy there... some winters ago." The barman continued, settling into a comfortable pose as he began his story.
"Local legend 'as it that there was a fire. Killed a woman. That might be o' little interest 'cept that the fire was caused by the woman's lover. Said to be of suspicious nature, it was - a crime o' passion."
Roelon brought the mug to his lips again, spilling more ale this time. His features hardened as he furrowed a brow, listening as the barman spoke.
The barman, without missing a beat, wiped the countertop clean again, then continued, "Details vary depending on who tells the story. Some be sayin' the guilty lover left, never to be seen again. Others profess 'is innocence - even so much as to offer their own aid to 'im."
"I'm told he's hidin' out in these here lands, now. Word has it, 'e be searchin' for somethin'."
A mug paused at his lips, Roelon finally spoke through clenched teeth. Barely audible, he muttered, "I know this tale... and he's not searching for something... he's searching for someone... Welkin."
As if Roelon went unheard by the barman, he continued, "The one who started the fire... His name, Rellaux... Rowler... I don't recall. 'Tis not important."
Pushing away from the countertop, the barman wiped the surface once more. Upon his face was a smirk of self-contentment in his storytelling.
Then, as if to ask the patron's name, the barman asked, "Anything else I can get'cha, Mister...?"
"Roelon." he replied. "The one you speak of... his name is Roelon."
"Aye! That was 'is name!" The barman exclaimed.
Roelon paused, then wiped his lip with his sleeve as he set the half-full mug upon the bar. With a brisk backhand, he knocked the mug over, spilling its contents upon the countertop. In the midst of the spilt ale, Roelon dropped a few coins as he turned to leave. With no loss of calm, Roelon spoke from over his shoulder.
In his usual calm tone; low and coarse, he said "You're better with wiping countertops than telling tales. Stick with that. ...Check your facts."
Special Abilities / Skills:
Roelon made his way to the end of the pier toward the ferry when he was met by the onslaught of the disembarking passengers. Finding himself in a wall of people, he slowly made his way down the pier. He was overcome by what he saw. So many bodies rushed past him... so many memories filled his mind - ... so many images flashed in his head.
A young boy passed by, an image of wooden horse filled Roelon's mind. A fat woman... an image of a stone-laden forge. So overwhelmed was he, that he lost sight of the slender figure that had preceded him onto the ferry. As the pier emptied, composing himself, Roelon again advanced toward the ferry. One last passenger approached him. He was the slimy sort; carried about him the air of self-importance. As he left the ramp from the ferry, Roelon scowled at the image in his mind.
...a woman. Screaming.
...“No!! ...please stop!”
Roelon stopped in his tracks. Without a word, he gave way to the man on the narrow pier. Just as the man passed by him, Roelon turned toward the stranger. The stranger's back was to Roelon. He quickly grabbed the stranger by the back of his shirt. With the man's collar in his hand, Roelon pulled forcefully toward the ground, causing the man to fall, slamming him to the ground with such a force as to shake the floating pier. Flat on his back, quite dazed, the stranger looked to Roelon with a puzzled look on his face. A swift kick to his ribs sent the stranger rolling off of the pier into the sea.
Roelon took a long moment and paused to look upward toward the dismal rain, calming himself. His glance turned toward an onlooking dockworker. The dock worker was frozen, unsure of how to react to what she had just seen.
In a calm tone, low and coarse, Roelon spoke only one word.
“Rapist.”
Explanation of Abilities:
I have an interesting take on the mage in WoW. His abilities are difficult to understand without demonstration to alleviate any notion that I'm some Mary-Sue.
Roelon is naturally-gifted in the Arcane. He can manifest very powerful bursts of Arcane force (in the stying of "Arcane Barrage", "Arcane Blast", and "Arcane Explosion". He will amost NEVER do so. He is reluctant to use his ability and is untrained in focusing it. Think: Wilder from Pathfinder or DnD. He actively hides his aptitude for the arcane.
He has NO ability at many other "mage" skills (kind of a trade-off for having super-powerful arcane abilities). He cannot manipulate time, ice, fire, portals, electricity; no ability at psychoportation ("Blink"), stealing spells, polymorph, or removing curses.
Though he is untrained in the destructive forces of the arcane (the above-mentioned "raw", uncontrolled abilities), he has been trained to use his mind to affect spells. Basically, I've been unable to find official lore or canon on how abilities are manifest. I'd like to think of the arcane as manipulating the environment through force of will - whether it be due mystical "aether" or from one's own actual thoughts. This being said, in addition to the destructive spells that he is not likely to use daily, he does have a psychokinetic / telekninetic ability.
Another is an ability to "read" people to a point bordering on a mild clairvoyance. This, demonstrated in the above excerpt, has a lot of potential for "God-Moding". I'm aware of the "cringe" that many feel when reading the above words. I only ask that you give it a shot, and let me demonstrate that I have placed many limitations on the ability. It will always be used in a manner considerate of others, and by design, will never be "over the top".
Please note:
I hesitate to even list his abilities because of the mental image drawn by these words. I HATE God-Moders... So I'd like it to be understood that though Roelon's abilities possess potential for some crazy Uber-Moding, I am a very experienced RPer, and I've -never- been called a "God-moder." Often, I'm more comfortable in a support role in others' RP sessions. I never had the desire to be the center of attention.
IC Reason for Joining:
Roelon has been actively seeking employment - not for riches or glory, but for simply a meal in his belly, and a few coin to get by.
He would attempt to do so under the guise of a commoner. One look at him, and even the most skilled observer would note that he appears at-home in the woods.
Upon learning of the Chasers, he seeks them out. He feels as if his knowledge of the wild would be well-suited to such a position.
At no time would Roelon have mentioned his raw ability for destructive Arcane, nor his other similarly-extraordinary abilities.
Now, his real motives are well-guarded. Should any inquire about him, they'd likely hear tales from random tavern owners and innkeeps of a man who fits Roelon's description. Some might offer little more than a standard "Yea, I seen that fella." Others might recall bouts of drunken banter from such a man - describing the many ways he wishes end the existence of some "traitorous old man".
