Kasmandre

Joachim Nellemt

Title: Priest of the Illuminated Shadows

Height: 5'9"

Weight: 165lbs

Hair: Stark white

Eyes: Green

Caste: Zenith

Joachim was born a gutter of the Imperial City into a family of disenfranchised beggars who claimed to be an offshoot of one of the Dynastic houses. As such, he grew up with a moderate education from his parents until the day they were murdered in cold blood by a city guard. The guard's only punishment was a few days in jail for "staining the street with the filthy blood of the disenfranchised." When Joachim found out about this he gathered friends of his family in force and marched them toward the barracks to deal their own justice to that guard. They were met by a Dragon Blooded who was inspecting the barracks at the time. Joachim's makeshift mob scattered, but Joachim stood resolute even as the Dragon Blooded began to beat him.

It was then that he had a vision of the Unconquered Sun exhorting him to stand against the Realm and speak out against its heretical Immaculate Order. Joachim stood up against the Dragon Blooded's blows, disarmed him and killed him with his own weapon. Forced to flee the Imperial City with the Wyld Hunt close behind, Joachim has crossed the Blessed Isle under the title of Priest of the Illuminated Shadows, exhorting the lower classes of the Realm to rebel in the name of the Unconquered Sun.

Thankee sai. I had a very good day, more of the relaxing kind than the exciting (but that's what I wanted, so go me).

I've been looking for a chance to try out the Lunar I created...

Kasmandre the Koot makes his way into the Cabaret Room and, seeing the new scroll hanging on the wall, slowly ambles over to it, leaning heavily on his cane. Getting out a pair of reading glasses whose lenses were once used in a deep space satellite, he squinched up his eyes and stood a half inch from the scroll, staring intently at every word before making it out. After a good half hour, he'd finished, but forgotten what he just read. After getting reverie to explain it to him, he scribbled his name down on the parchment in an unintelligible scrawl and proceeded to pontificate on why modern artifacts were no match for the wonders created in his day. He continues on for a good three hours, pleased at not being interrupted for once, before he realizes that the room has completely emptied.

Lunars?? Did someone say Lunars? Kasmandre makes an unsuccessful attempt to stifle his drooling I love Lunars!

Seriously, though, I'd be into Exalted, especially Lunars or Abyssals (just started reading my roomate's copy of Abyssal). I've also played a lot of Mage and could get into that. Or Demon. A friend of mine's running a chron in that and it sounds cool. So, yeah, I'm in.

Also, I have a lot of friends who agree with you about Neo-Wod, Deg, but I must say I deeply love the idea of running a mortals story and the new simplified dice rules make a good deal of sense to me. But, to each their own.

Congrats. Sounds like things are looking up.

Name: Beau Tosscobble

Concept: Tenny-Tiny Thief

Race: Halfling

Gender: Male

Eyes: Brown

Hair: Brown

Height: 2'5"

Weight: 29 lbs

Beau was the essential "runt of the litter" of his family. Short even for a halfling, Beau went to almost absurd lengths to get noticed by members of his family. Naturally, this led to a series of readily increasing injuries as Beau chose stunts far beyond his abilities, which in turn led Beau to meeting a great deal of clerics and healers. But where such exposure would have made another person deeply and sincerely religious, it gave Beau yet another way to grab attention. He began "collecting" gods like other Halflings collected jewels or weapons. At the moment, Beau worships a good dozen different deities, including Olidammara, St. Cuthbert, Boccob, Corellon Larethian, Fharlanghn, Pelor, and Yondalla. His goal is to collect 29 different gods, or "A god for every inch!" as he's fond of proclaiming (usually before some ill-conceived stunt). He attempts to perform worship to all of the gods he's "collected," a usually self-defeating enterprise which keeps him fairly broke most of the time. Beau usually takes to stealing to cover his expenses, reasoning that, no matter what god his victim worships, some of the money will most likely go to them.

Beau tends to travel alone because many are offended by his collection and others don't want to be there when Beau's attention-grabbing gets the attention of the gods. However, if someone wants to travel with Beau, he's more than happy to tag along wherever they're going.

~Kasmandre the Koot~

Probably the easiest to talk about is Kasmandre the Koot, mostly because there isn't a great deal to talk about. He was originally created as comic relief (a role he fulfills often enough even now) and to create a "character" for more lighthearted roleplaying than I can usually put to the name. This is probably the first time I actually tried to make a definite difference between various ideas of Kasmandre. He's essentially a cantankerous old coot who spends his days decrying the actions of the younger generation, going on and on about how things used to be, and falling asleep.

Even though I've never used him in anything more than some lighthearted RP, I'd like to use him in a more serious role at some point, just to see where the character could go and to try to assemble some kind of history for him.

~Appearances~

The Third Archmage Royal Rumble - Sardin's first appearance. The character was actually a lot different then in some ways (basically, I just wanted a simple character to use in the Rumble and made one up off the top of my head). Still, it's fun for me to see his "origin"

Homeward Bound - The first real story with Sardin, still in progress at the moment. The set-up is here.

Couldn't they both be scantily clad?

If you're going to start up something like this, it would probably be better to start it in a whole new thread just to avoid the previous page and a half, which would be extraneous. Also, the thread recently past the second anniversery of its death and would likely make a rather mouldy zombie.

The Jousting Tourney came pretty late in the big scheme of things. A lot of the Conservatory people here had already jumped ship by then. If I remember, it didn't get too far.

I'm in. My system-based RPing experience tends more toward White Wolf: the Pretension games , but I've played enough d20 to know my way around. I don't know much about the settings, but from your description, I'd like to play Eberron. Maybe I just like the idea of fantasy-noir.

Again the warriors moved through the night, back into their mortal hosts. There was one more secret killing to do before they could move on the colony en masse. There was one more power on the island that might stop them. And tonight would be its last night.

They moved together through the night, stopping at the door to the prisoners' barracks. They swung the door open to find their prey...

awake. The Shaman was sitting in the center of the floor, alone. He'd waited until the pirate had snuck out before beginning his preparations and had only just finished. He sat cross-legged on the floor, his body painted in the blood of an island bird he'd caught that evening. A circle of blood and sand surrounded him and runes were painted on every available surface. As the warriors entered, the Shaman began chanting. Behind them, the door slammed shut.

The two warriors took an uncertain step into the room, pushing against the force the Shaman was sending against them. The very air of the room seemed to be resisting them, pushing back, pushing them away. But still they kept coming, closer, closer, until they stood just outside the circle the Shaman had drawn. The Shaman's chanting rose to a fevered pitch as the still air in the room kicked up and began buffeting the two intruders. Behind the warriors, someone was banging on the door, demanding to be let in. Inside, the warriors stood before the Shaman's last line of defense.

With a simulaneous push, they stepped within the barrier and reached out, not with their physical arms, but with their spectral selves and reached deep into the Shaman. And pulled.

The Shaman let out a single heart-chilling scream as his soul was torn out.

His scream was soon drowned out, though by the blast of a rifle at the door. Its latch destroyed and the Shaman no longer holding it shut, the door swung open on its hinges. The warriors turned to see their new opponents.

"Alright, you dirty blackguards, you just killed a man I'd've had on my crew and I take offense to that," Seth said as he stepped into the room, drawing a pistol from his belt and leveling it at the pair standing over the Shaman's corpse. Jamison looked like death warmed over, still pale from his near-death experience at sea and Spike looked like simply death. But the look in their eyes was the same and alien to either the frightened guard or the ravenous beast. It was the look of a hunter seeing his prey.

"Bart," Corwin began, "I don't know what you think you've been doing or if you had anything to do with my Lilah, but I do know that no one else is dying on this island if I can help it."

"But, poor fool," the creature that had been Bartholomew Jamison replied as he approached the pair, "you can't help it."

Exerpt from the Report on the Incident on His Majesty's Penal Colony on Annisberg:

When our ship arrived at Annisberg with Supplys and Relief for the men there, we found the Colony quite emptied.  There was evidence of some construction lately abandoned, but our true shock was to come when we examined the Prisoner's Quarters.  The inside was painted in all manner of Pagan symbiology with Blood.  In the center was a Black painted in likewise manner and, by all evidences, dead some days of unknown cause.  Also in the room were Corwin Tremaine, a Guard, and Seth Millar, a Prisoner inexplicably armed with all manner of Firearms.  Both men were killed in such a manner whose brutal and inhuman nature necessitates its omission here. 

 

(As a side Note, all of Millar's Weapons - apparently looted from the Armoury by way of a key found on his person - were emptied, yet neither of the other Corpses seemed to be injured by Gunfire, neither did the walls bear witness to frequent misses.  The fired slugs were not found at any point)

 

Further examination found the Bodies of the Commandant and a number of prisoners in states suggesting they had been prepared for burial.  At the far end of the clearing denoting the Colony, we found a Solitary confinement cell containing a man purporting to be one "Spike" (no such name appears on any record in the Colony, nor does the Prisoner in question answer the description of any man supposed to be here).  This Prisoner had apparently survived the last few days on one of his fellow inmates judging by the Remains about his cell.

 

The only other Survivor was found down the shore a short ways.  Bartholomew Jamison, a Guard, was found wandering through the waves in a daze.  When asked, he purpored to be following the orders of some Greater Power.

 

After acertaining these things, the Crew set about burying the Remains of the Commandant and securing the two Survivors aboard the ship.  We then set our sails for England, not even waiting so long as for the daybreak to depart.

 

It is this Report's humble Recomendation that the two men found on the Island be placed in an Asylum until such time as they may give Testimony to what really occured on Annisberg.  In the meantime, the Colony should be abandoned and any displaced Sentences be remitted to the Colony at Austrialia, which is more than ample to take this type of Prisoner.

 

-Captain John Barringer

 

Postscript: Although almost certainly unnrelated, but included in the intrest of Completeness:  Two crewman of my ship were found dead in their bunks of Unknown Cause.  The Survivors of Annisberg are locked sufficently, however, that they could not have accomplished this, though, without outside Aid of one sort or another.  -Cap. JB

ooc: Well, that's all she wrote. The wolves (Gnarlitch and Ozy) win! Their last kill, Venefyxatu, was an innocent villager. The Baner was Gryphon. Great job all!

The prisoners started moving back to the barracks after a hard day's work, looking forward to whatever sleep they'd be able to grab with the spectre of the recent murders hanging over their heads. Aimo moved a little slower than the rest, nursing a hangover that didn't seem to want to stop. Holding his throbbing head with one hand, he slowly made his way toward the barracks.

About halfway there his path was blocked by the Shaman. Not wanting to get into another fight, Aimo turned and started going another way, but the Shaman nimbly moved to block him.

"Look, Shaman, I don't want any trouble. I just want to get back to my bed and rest my bruised body." The Shaman stood his ground, staring down the aching Arab. After a second, he began chanting, his multi-forked tongue flickering in and out of his mouth.

Aimo turned around again and began running, not trying to get to the barracks anymore, just trying to get away from the Shaman. He'd heard stories about what he was capable of and he wanted no part of it. After he'd gotten a ways away he realized that the Shaman wasn't following. He wondered why.

Aimo looked around, getting his bearings. He'd somehow managed to run to the far end of the colony in less time than he would have thought possible. Fear did impressive things for the body. Not to mention the fact that he was sobering up. Now he just had to get back to the barracks without running into-

"Hello, Aimo!" Aimo flinched. Just as bad as the Shaman, he thought, worse even. All his bruises ached sympathetically as Jamison rounded the side of a building, a hefty club in one hand. Aimo put both his hands up, wanting to avoid another beating (or worse) from the guard. Jamison smiled amiably as he approached Aimo, then drove the butt of his club into Aimo's considerable gut.

Aimo wheezed, trying to get some air back in his lungs as Jamison grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him to a small cell on the edge of the clearing. Spike's cell. Aimo gasped out an ineffective protest, looking around vainly for any help. The only person he spotted was the Shaman, still chanting.

"G'bye, killer," Jamison whispered in his ear as he opened the door and shoved Aimo into the cell, slamming the door behind him.

"Wait, but I was trying to help!" Aimo screamed, beating at the door. "I was trying to find out who was killing everyone! I found out who has the key to the Commandant's gun cabinet! Don't kill him, he's trying to help! Don't kill-" but the rest of what he was going to say was drowned out by the laughter of his cell mate and, shortly thereafter, Aimo's own screams.

ooc: Tough luck, guys. Aimo/Sweetcherrie was the Seer. Oh well, Night Phase begins now. Wolves, baner, get your PMs in to me in the next 24 hours.

Are you accusing me of something?

Oh, wow, I haven't thought about Nimball in a while. Really, I don't remember much about it, but I did find THIS and THIS, while browsing around.

If I remember correctly, the game revolved around stealing and then subsequently losing the Nimball. There were a few bizarre rules, but the brunt of it was a lot of absurd stuff happening around this ball. I'm sure there are plenty of people around who could give a better description.

Yeah, there was some pretty cool stuff on the old UBBs. I kind of miss the run-on contest Syn set up (and I mean miss it in such a way that I'm nostalgic about it, not that I want to start that madness again...just thinking about some of those posts makes me dizzy), the Royal Rumble was a lot of fun too. Ah, good times...

How did she meet Hannibal Lecter?

And another one bites the dust...

As it stands now:

Active Players

• Gryphon => Seth Millar, pirate
• Gnarlitch => William the Bloody, aka The Spike, innocent-turned-evil
• Ozy => Bartholomew Jamison, prison guard
• Venefyxatu => The Shaman, former slave
• Sweetcherrie => Aimo Fuad, Arab
• Akallabeth => Corwin Tremaine, prison guard

• Commandant Ulster, NPC, killed by wolves
• Patrick => William of Humperton, republican, lynched villager
• Dean => Alex "The Hammer" Landowne, murderer, villager killed by wolves

• Tanuchan => Lilah LeCureux, restless spirit of a dead prisoner

The warriors came again, stealthily moving through the camp. They moved through the few spirits who clung to the edge of the living world, passing the Commandant, pale and terrified, passing Lilah, determined and focused, passing William, curious and new to the spirit world. They entered the colony and sunk back into their mortal hosts. They rose from their beds and moved to their next target with unearthly stealth. They had already chosen their target. Before, they had taken the chief of the colony, now they would take its strongest. Then, all would know of their strength.

They crept up on the sleeping form of their victim. With a quick motion, one slit his windpipe while the other held him down, preventing him from screaming or raising an alarm. Then, they set to work, carving deeper and deeper into his flesh. Blood soaked his bedclothes, then pooled on the floor. Almost a half hour later, he shuddered his last and the two warriors departed, wiping off the little blood they'd gotten on themselves and carefully discarded their stained clothes. Then they left their mortal shells and receeded to watch the results...

All over the colony, guards and prisoners alike awoke suddenly, shocked awake by the same dream. As one, they all moved toward the prisoners' barracks. When they came across the body of Alex they all recoiled, but none of them were truly shocked. They'd all been there, in a way...

ooc: DeanTheAdequate/Alex "The Hammer" Landown was guilty of a lot of murders, but nothing recent he was a villager. The Day Phase begins now and will end in 48 hours. Let the accusations begin!

Patrick, sorry about you dying first in your first game, but that's how the random number tumbles. Feel free to post as William's spirit as I'd hate to see so little of him. As for everyone else, remember, this is night phase, so no accusations or suggestions thereof.

William dragged another large log toward the construction. He'd chosen another heavy one so that the guards would have no reason to call him lazy. With the way they'd gone after the Shaman, he didn't need to take any chances. He chose to console himself with the fact that his newfound muscles would aid in the fight against the monarchy when his term here was over. Heaving the wood on a shoulder, he made his way through the underbrush.

A moment later, he noticed Aimo walking toward him. The Arab was weaving slightly and carrying a log that was too small for use in the construction, but big enough to be dangerous. Aimo stopped shakily about three feet in front of him.

"Y' seemed ta take a long time gettin' these las' coupla logs, Willy. Makes me wonder where ya been, both now and las' night."

William let the log he was carrying drop to the ground. "I could ask you the same questions. I hardly see you at the construction. And if you can slip away from there, you could slip away from the rest of the prisoners and into the Commandant's Office."

Aimo snorted a beery laugh. "Now I know it wasn' me. It's you I'm not so sure of. Figure I might getta few years off if I find th' murdererer. An' I think yer it." With that, he raised the log and swung it at William's head. William easily ducked the clumsy swing. He tried to get in close to the fat Arab, but he kept finding the log blocking his path.

After a few minutes of this, the commotion of the two brought the attention of a few of the guards. Jamison emerged from the end of the trail nearest the colony, quickly assessed the situation and readied the whip he had at his side. "Alright, both of you, drop it or I'll whip you both raw and stick you in the Cooler."

William glowered at Jamison. "I don't have anything to drop, you-" Whatever he was going to call the guard was lost as Aimo took advantage of William's distraction and landed a heavy blow on his head. William went down like a pile of bricks, his head partway caved in by the big Arab's blow.

As more guards and prisoners found their way to the site of the carnage, William inhaled shakily and, staring blankly at the trees, whispered, "But I didn't kill anyone..." Then, with a bloody cough, he died.

ooc: Patrick/ William of Humperton was an "innocent" prisoner. The Night Phase has now begun. Wolves, baner, seer, PM me in the next 24 hours with your targets. Feel free to RP in this time, but no accusations.

Great job so far, guys. This is fun as heck to read. Just reminding you that you've only got a few hours left to get a vote in.

As it stands, we've got 5 different players with one vote each.

Well, roles are all sent out, so the main event can begin. Great RP so far, eveyone! Keep it up!