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Topics - Shiokara
21
« on: April 23, 2010, 12:19:39 pm »
Abandoned? Me! Lord Protector, I almost died when I entered the crypts to find my power gone. It's been a while since I've tried anything even gray. Gray is a dishonorable hue, a dingy tint. At least black doesn't make any claims to be right. Right. Righteousness. Power. Justice. What is right is what is good. What is not right is bad, leading to corruption. I fell. I will not let others fall.
The law must be pursued in every letter, every clause. It is there for a reason. Nonetheless, there are loopholes. That is why we are needed. We are the plugs. We plug up the leaks. The cheats. The thieves. They will be tried. I have studied the laws. I have studied all this time, and now I am ready.
22
« on: February 11, 2010, 11:02:47 am »
Note: Toll road leading out the Hallowlight forest under guise of deterring normal folk from entering a deadly forest does not work. Adventurer's don't care enough to pay, and townspeople really are deterred. Revise and revisit.
Next: Performing menial tasks and convincing others of their greatness.
23
« on: February 08, 2010, 02:47:34 pm »
I have an idea for a quest involving one of my characters, Aunlyn, the Rofireinite church, and any players welcome to join.
Basically, Aunlyn will commit a (potentially subjective) crime, get caught, and face trial. I would like to fill as many roles by players as humanly possible, so we'll figure Rofireinite players for the prosecution. Toranites and Voraxites for their supportive witnesses (who'd love nothing more to see Aunlyn destroyed, banished, etc.), A Rofie advisor for Aunlyn's defense, and witnesses supporting Aunlyn played by sympathetic characters.
The DM, or high-ranking Rofie official (like Jennara) can act as judge, and I would love if there were a jury, though I don't know if Layo's system functions by a jury of one's peers (but it'd be great for RP).
This could be broken up in a couple sessions. One for jury selection (with a week of deliberation/preparing cases in between) and one for the trial itself. Maybe one more (much shorter) session of 30 minutes or so for sentencing/punishment.
I really think this would be great fun. Good characters appealing for Aunlyn to receive just punishments vs. Good characters arguing he should be killed and re-killed until he can't be killed anymore. Evil characters tempting jurors with bribes, or Evil characters who want to see him swing just for the fun of it. Potentially disguised Dark Elves sitting in the audience or trying to get on the jury just to see what happens. An Aragenite stenographer!
Could be fun. And give adventurers a feel for how the trial system really works. I don't mind if Aunlyn is NPCified for this quest. My main reason for creating him was to use him as a foil to create conflict between other characters.
I also recognize that Aunlyn may be completely lost if proven guilty and super executed/banished from the surface/jailed indefinitely. I have no problem losing this character.
I read somewhere that GMs need to have at least two endings for each quest? Here are some possibilities I thought of just now:
1) Aunlyn is Guilty and permanently dealt with
2) Aunlyn is Guilty but is justly sentenced
3) Aunlyn is proven innocent
4) Aunlyn is broken out of jail via impromptu or some such method
24
« on: February 03, 2010, 04:18:33 am »
This is an idea I had that I'm still kind of working out, and which may be wholly unrealistic, but here goes:
Since Layonara's current incarnation is NWN-based there is currently no skill-based progression for characters who are more pacifistic in nature. While it's true you can RP a character this way and have a rich experience all while being level 1, the system itself is designed in such a way that you receive the fullest experience if you progress through levels. This, I think, discourages a lot of players from submitting such characters because while they like to RP, there is just a certain amount of positive reward associated with mechanical progression that cannot be emulated with a character of this type.
DMs and WLs have the xp wands, which helps with this a little, but only when they're around, which is subject to variable availability depending on time zone issues and other matters. This is an attempt to get around that.
Now, Layonara's lore includes in it some deities that not only encourage a certain amount of pacifism, but require it. These are significantly underrepresented in the player base likely for this reason. I imagine that there are also NPCs that exist, which don't worship a deity and yet are pacifistic, maybe even some stonebound NPCs that we just don't hear about. I understand the pacifism of these deities is related to the lore used for the MMO, which, I assume, will have viable ways for character to progress without fighting (like practicing inscription or somesuch thing), but this solution is intended for the current situation, which is MMO-based lore being used to mold an NWN incarnation of Layo.
Thus, I believe pacifism should be handled this way. If a player wishes to play a pacifistic character, he must decide so from the original character submission only. This could look like a statement, and could be considered similar to class submission restrictions.
Progression will be decided based solely on logs, screenshots, CDQs, and entries which the player keeps. (NOTE: It is the responsibility of the Player to keep these. I cannot stress that enough.) XP will be decided based on how well these characters can represent their RP. When a player feels he has enough evidence gathered to progress, then he should post his readiness in the Character Submissions forum. Essentially this would look like, "Pacifistic Character Progression Request - (Name)". Now, obviously one will not be doing this for every level. That would be unfair to the GMs and approvers. To reduce the burden on the GM team I would suggest only offering progression to milestone levels. I.E. Progression to 10 so the character can do CDQs, Progression to 20 so the character can go for WL, with some exceptions as Pacifist Druids could be allowed a "Progression to 16" post so that they can have tree-walk.
With only really 2-4 reviews of character progression in this way it shouldn't create too much of a strain. This strain is further reduced when you consider placing other rules into affect like, "You cannot attempt a CDQ until two months after your level 10 Character Progression submission. This is essentially taking a CDQ slot." Also, even with this policy in place I don't think you're going to see any big rush to create pacifists.
Oh, as a side rule. If a player breaks the pacifist agreement by fighting, it should be treated as a grave offense. I would say first offense: A warning you're headed down the path to destruction. Second offense: You lose said character as you've made it clear you cannot RP a pacifist any longer.
25
« on: January 28, 2010, 02:09:53 am »
This is something I've been wondering about for a while now, and on doing a quick "Ask the Loremaster" search I couldn't find a thread where it had been asked before, but when I read the LORE page on goblins, I am always surprised that they cannot be submitted with Lawful Evil alignments. Here are some quotes I find relevant to why a good portion of goblins should actually be considered LE: The force that all goblins, with the exception of the few farmer tribes, respect most is terror. Any goblin that wishes to gain power over others knows that he must terrorize or exterminate all of his opposition. While this is sometimes achieved by a strong goblin relying on brute force, more often the most cunning and clever goblin succeeds. Despite the prejudices of other races, goblins recognize that brains are more important than muscle; they seek to be crafty and sly.
Amongst their own kind, goblins are always very aware of social status, and are constantly scheming to remove, weaken, or just embarrass their opponents. What others consider insignificant actions may be grievous insults to the goblins; brawls and death are often the result of a social faux pas. Goblins who have come to dwell among other races will try desperately to understand their social customs, and rely on innate cunning to survive – and perhaps even thrive – in their new surroundings. The harsh upbringing of a goblin hero hardens him, as well as engendering his natural racial slyness. Goblins are crafty, sly, and and described as "constantly scheming to remove, weaken, or just embarrass their opponents", likely in order to gain power by means of terror or extermination. This is because their governmental system is a communist system where power is decided on which goblin is most terrible, except this goblin cannot be socially terrible because "brawls and death are often the result of a social faux pas". It seems that any race so attuned to societal norms, and who enforces them with brutal consequences, should be considered lawful. Also, Communism, as it is presented here, is suggested to be a form of government (and economics), and not a particularly chaotic one. The final point I want to make is that Goblins, being so disliked, "try desperately to understand [other races'] social customs", which suggests that in a society where people are law abiding, so too would the goblin living in this community. Indeed, it seems that goblins in such areas would have to rely on laws in order to not be killed on the spot. Chaos isn't good for a goblin living in a community not his own, which some goblins, prized for their slyness, should recognize. So I was just wondering why goblins who aren't magic users must be submitted as chaotic? It's possible I'm emphasizing the wrong points here. I'll very much accept the argument that goblins don't really practice a form of order because they're constantly trying to undermine one another in order to gain absolute power, or that terror is not a legitimate basis for order, but I just needed to ask this because it's been on my brain for a while now.
26
« on: January 27, 2010, 11:20:56 pm »
I was wondering, since I have a character in review, about how players and DMs view these skills in relation to an evil character. My current belief is that persuasion would be a roll to augment the effect of a logical argument while intimidation would represent a threat, but this gets muddled when I consider where the power of suggestion and passive aggressive solution fits in. So here's a hypothetical situation:
Let us say that the evil character meets up with another character, and wishes for that character to perform a task. Now, the evil character makes clear what he wants the other character to do, and explains how it would be in his best interest to accept the task (because it would be money in his pocket, and a rewarding opportunity to develop as a human being by taking up a new challenge). The other character then has the choice to accept or decline the task. If he accepts, great. If he declines, then there is no consequence, and the character will be escorted by the help who brought him in, to guarantee safe passage.
Of course there is no literal threat made here. It is implied by the atmosphere, and by not mentioning where the help will escort him to. Rather, the actual conversation is a persuasive argument about how it would behoove the listening character to accept the task. So is this persuasion or intimidation?
27
« on: January 18, 2010, 12:28:52 pm »
*Rumors abound of Port Hempstead's unjust laws regarding the monstrous races. They are spouted by a figure outside Hempstead's walls. Any gatherers would notice that the figure is very clearly Dark Elven.*
Why should Half-Giants, Half-Orcs, and Dark Elves be killed on sight in Hempstead's walls? As part of some ancient grudge? Hempstead was sacked in the 9th century, who remembers the attack personally? Only the oldest of Elves could! It has been over six hundred years since the attacks, and for this all manner of dark-skinned elves and large men are turned away or killed? I stand here to say do not judge us by the color of our skin, but by our individual actions. It is wrong to condemn entire races based on the faults of their society. It is wrong to condemn the products of raids and rape, who cannot help their unfortunate circumstance. We must hit Hempstead where it hurts most for Deilar. In the wallet. Do not buy your goods there! Do not do business there! Such bigots do not deserve your hard-earned true because their own truth is tainted by the touch of inequality.
28
« on: January 12, 2010, 06:04:10 pm »
Eoanira sits broken outside the Vehl gates, talking to himself. His robes are pressed. Clean. His cloak fresh. Only his sleepless face, which appears somewhat spectral as an old Elvish face, connotes his trouble. He rocks on flat feet.
"They're scraping dirty scraping against the floor as ash. Dry and cracked join us they say. You are dry and cracked they say."
How long was he there for? He couldn't remember when the girl with the big hammer asked him. She was going to the crypt. He would go too because there was something nice about work and her face wasn't too twisted. All these colors upset him anyway.
In the crypt he found life. He found it in the undead--his life. Join us, they would say, but not for long as his hammer pounded the air out of them. Hers, too. She was strong. Strong and a hard hitter, but see the sadness of undead. They just made her angry.
"The real fear of undead isn't the shuffling attack, it's that it can be anyone. The face of the undead can be your friends. Your comrades. Anyone."
"Right." She didn't get it.
How could she, though? How could anyone who hadn't seen the screaming ash fall? Who hadn't experienced the change of death at large to know the love of life in small? It was better she didn't know, he said.
"What?"
"Nothing. I need to pray. I hope we make it out for noon prayer."
They did, and with the ashes of a terrible mummy. Outside the bricks turned into faces. Moaning faces. A wall of death to keep in all the life. It made perfect sense. Eoanira sat and cried, listening to the wailing wall call to him and the scraping knuckles in boxes.
29
« on: January 08, 2010, 05:17:49 pm »
They're clawing, knocking, scraping at the insides of boxes as I walk. Unsettled undead bones. Unliving, too. The bodies put to rest. The knuckles still holding some al'noth. Use them for healing. Use them for necklaces. Make them rest. Turn the aberration to healing. Three boxes clawing, knocking, and scraping. Five hundred true each. Buy them and support life. Mine and healing others'. *at this point the rest of the not becomes illegible*
- Eoanira Ceviran
Lightbringer of Aeridin
30
« on: January 04, 2010, 01:04:50 am »
This is something I've been thinking about for a while now, and have spoken to others about, so now I will bring it up in a more public matter. I would like to open a request to edit or revise the lines, "Bring peace and redemption to all of Layonara in an active way. Do not, however, take up weapons or dress yourself in armor unless it is to prevent harm from coming to yourself or others" in Az'atta's LORE page. The part that I take most issue with, particularly when considering how the church has removed Az'attans for training in martial arts or fighting in general. Here are some example threads that I think should be considered when reviewing this: http://forums.layonara.com/character-approvals/233002-new-character-submission-rottie.htmlhttp://forums.layonara.com/character-approvals/244772-tyillaan-selaama-resubmition-arcane-archer-prc.htmlhttp://forums.layonara.com/character-approvals/256622-new-character-submission-shade-shaedwyn-rathmyr.htmlI think the eventual approval of these characters represents a gradual shift to a view of the Az'Attan church that rejects most, if not all, combat--even training in the last submission gets the character kicked out of the temple lore-wise. Granted, I'll concede that I know the player of this character personally, and he in no way wanted to be Az'attan, but the fact that this was approved shows what's acceptable protocol in the Az'attan church. I would also appreciate it if Hellblazer posted the run-down of his arcane archer CDQ, as I believe this supports my observation. If I remember correctly, Tyillaan wound up saving some Az'Attan lives through combat, but was ultimately shunned for it. Again, I am proposing that these lines should be changed to limit Az'atta's members to even less combat, or at least say that many members would even choose death before choosing to fight. Thank you. 
31
« on: December 25, 2009, 04:23:27 am »
Twas the night before the Giver, when all through the server
Not a creature was stirring, not even a char approver.
The dirt heaps were piled, in Port Hempstead with care
In hopes that donations of shield scrolls would soon be there.
The refugees were nestled, all snug in their tents,
And all the monsters slept, even the treants.
Zahid asked for balance; Argos, a knight of sorts,
Razeriem for more women, and for Steel, witty retorts.
When out on the battlefield there was a great clatter,
We looked to find the Dwarven Army out sorting the matter,
And then came the Angels, the Orc Bashers, too,
And all the other groups and guilds jumped into the stew.
They were saving the world, one day at a time,
From cults and cutthroats and gelatinous slime,
They were sorcs who cast, and bards who sing lyrical,
And fighters who want to de-nerf devastating critical,
There were druids who shift, and rogues who are shiftier,
They were wizards who solo, and whose pixies are thriftier,
They were gallant paladins, and rangers who track,
They were charging barbarians, and clerics had their back.
They were monks, so disciplined and so tame,
And they all rushed into action when the DM-run quest came.
The Narrator called out in his bright yellow text,
Roll me spot, listen, search, and hide checks.
The players obliged, and got ready to play,
The natural 20s could see Santa in the real-world, miles away,
They finished the quest, and used their remembering orbs,
And then logged off, and hit the forum boards.
Off Alazira, Hood!um, Off faedanz, and Gelooo
Off Hellblazer, Lord Dark, Off Andrew, and Tod Fellow.
They all got off to update their CDTs
And then time for bed, and a good night's sleep,
But wait, what's this? They've logged on again,
Just to finish up some crafting, for an hour or ten.
It's what makes them, and this server, dear to me,
Addiction, and then some, to the Layonara company.
Happy holidays!
32
« on: December 18, 2009, 02:42:47 am »
While I originally thought only to suggest the pawnbroker be switched to the large-city version, I now think that, perhaps, all vendors should be switched to be large-city vendors. Here's why:
1) Vehl is one of the two starting towns, and it isn't fair that the Hempstead starters should get better sell/buy rates, even if it is just a few true (it adds up). This is particularly true for those races who can't go to Hempstead.
2) Lore-wise Vehl's population is only 2,000 people less than Hempstead (47,000 to 49,000 respectively), so it makes a lot of sense to me that Vehl should be considered a "large city" vendor area. It's also a port town, and despite its crooked history (which one may argue is the cause of higher prices), I would argue that a lot of haggling would happen in such a culture such that prices would work out to about the same.
33
« on: November 26, 2009, 04:07:43 am »
Should one follow vengeance or virtue? I wonder if the two are as different as you think? No, do not cast my words out as the bitter speech of a chattel, nor should you cast them out because they come from blackened lips. It is true that the author of this piece is a dark elf, but it is not true that we are inherently an evil people. It is our betrayed and unfortunate culture that turns us this way. But fear not! My Toranite saviors kept me from this grotesque fate—my Toranite enslavers. Do not cast this book aside. I assure you that I have no motive in writing it, except to record it as my own personal history. Everything you are about to read is true. I have no reason to lie in a book. I merely want to record my existence as a part of history, a brutal history that it seems now the Toranites would like to forget as much as I would, casting out the Justicers. But I cannot allow them to forget. No, they cannot be allowed to receive a clean slate while the memory of what happened to me still lives. This is my story.
I was born five years before the second coming of one Sinthar Bloodstone, in 1336 by the common calendar, or so a caretaker in my clan told me when we were in fetters together. My birth was one marked to be difficult, as soon afterward, a political war broke out between two noble families in my birth city. The family my clan was associated with lost, and was destroyed, mostly assassinated by others of our race. I am sure you cannot imagine such a race that would destroy its own brothers and sisters for mere political gain and power, or could you?
My parents, I was told, were destroyed. The only reason I survived was because my young age made me useful. I could be raised to be a servant—an intermediary between the winning family’s Dark Elves and their surface-slaves. Reader be aware that the average Dark Elf does not even see you as sentient, and know that I, the writer, do not believe this. If I did, why would I bother writing this at all?
It should be said that despite my usefulness, I was not quite old enough to manage even the lightest chores. Thinking back, I feel ashamed, because working has been so ingrained on my person. I am a hard worker. Anyway, the dark elves appointed me my caretaker, a servant in my house who was too old to pose any real threat to them. Oh, how lowly a state I was in, my servant now my superior, the being that assured my life.
He was the one who taught me Dark Elven. After all, a servant who could not take orders and do them correctly is useless. And so I began doing menial chores for various clans related to the noble family. I did not even want to exact revenge on my enslavers. How the Prince of Hate must have cursed me in the heavens for this! Even though I was beaten often, ruining my skin—the pride of our people—I could not feel the hatred of vengeance for my enslavers who allowed me to live. Hatred of their work and whips, sure, but not for vengeance, for it was not my place. I served in this way for fifty years. Though it is a small span for my race, it was not easy.
I learned much in this time. How to hide, move without a sound, steal, and pick locks. Do not judge me for knowing these unsavory skills! When you have felt the chain’s biting grip at your wrists. When you have been whipped for being too noticeably attractive at dinner parties and blamed for detracting from your master’s looks. When you have been beaten for stepping too loudly and interrupting The Silent Tongue, then you can judge me for the content of my knowledge.
Yet, readers, vengeance did come, or was it justice? One night, while a clan related to the noble family was raiding the surface, hunting the surface races like you may hunt deer or foxes, a small group of Toranites found them and slaughtered the lot. My caretaker was killed as well, being too old to look innocent, yet I found myself saved again by extreme youth. Hindsight tells me that they felt combat with me would be dishonorable, as I was a non-threat. Even embittered by my culture, I wondered if I was saved.
This would not be the case, of course. Instead of being slaughtered on the spot, the Toranites brought me to trial. Now, that I have lived with surface laws I wish I could have known the things that were said of me in that trial, but they are lost, for at the time I knew not the common tongue. It was clear what my punishment was, though. Hard labor. In short, I merely became a slave to another people—people who were not Dark Elves. Where before I was an intermediary of sorts, now I was the lowest of the low.
You might ask here, how? How did these Toranites, champions of justice, allow such an event to pass? Read carefully because the answer is important. At the time, the Toranite faith was not what it is today. No. For when there is great light in the world, this just casts deeper shadows. For the Toranites, these were the Justicers, great and terrible. They did not believe they worked through the law, but that they were the law. Thus, the trial that they gave me was their own trial, controlled wholly by them, and not in the least fair. After all, should the accused not understand the nature of his crime? Should he not, at least, know what it is his accusers are saying? I believe he does. Still, one should note that what was done to me was not actually illegal, which, perhaps, is the greatest crime of all.
My new masters were not so high as the Justicers, but they were sympathetic towards their beliefs, or perhaps just envious of their power. It is hard to tell with only the power of hindsight. Nonetheless, my sentence was clear. I was sent to a farm in Mistone to work off my mysterious sentence.
I was shipped from Hurm to Leringard. Oh, reader, how I regret not jumping off that ship, you will never know. Yes, I behaved, but I wanted to live. I had seen my new captors kill Dark Elves without hesitation, and I was sure I would die if I drowned or protested. How many hours, days, or weeks I spent crossing that sea, I will never be sure. My age is but estimation.
The first months in the fields were the hardest. My captors made me work in the sun when I was used to the darkness of the Deep. I tired quickly and was beaten often. Despite being a hard worker, I simply did not know what my captors wanted, which also put me under the whip more times than I would like to recount.
When I did know my work, however, I worked harder than any other farmhand, which earned my master’s eye. He adopted the wisdom of The Great Leader and decided a slave that can communicate is better than none at all. The hypocrisy of it all was overwhelming—to be treated like an animal, and taught to speak at the same time. It was more than one should have to bear, but do not take pity on me, reader, for I would be given a voice.
I would be given a voice by a local cleric of Toran. Every Wedlar it was, under the shade of a tree, a cleric, pink and good-natured, trying to teach us common and the Quartos Toranis. I remember one speech in particular to this day:
Today, we’re going to talk about Sacrifice for you must “Be ready to give of yourself in time, in labor, and if Toran wills it, in life’s blood.” There are so many ways one can sacrifice. Some of His faith give away their money and possessions. For you, this is not a problem, for you have no money and no possessions, so you must serve in another way. You must lend assistance, a strong back. Remember that there are large sacrifices and small ones. Your master must sacrifice his food, his space, to keep you all healthy. As such, you repay him in the only way you can. With your labor.
“Be ready to give of yourself in time, in labor, and if Toran wills it, in life’s blood,” he repeated it again, as we hooted and hollered. What did he know of sacrifice? Still, the master’s plan worked. I learned common.
Many years passed. Too many to count. Though a few events stand out.
The cleric stopped coming a few years after he started. There were also fewer guards around now that I think back, but at the time no one noticed because we were broken into routine. Some workers died mysteriously, but that was nothing new. We just thought they were victims of the master’s temper. Or, some rumored, his appetite.
Then came the dust. It ruined the master. It ruined us all. Many died, whether it was from starvation or dust inhalation. Had I not been so accustomed to a life of survival I, too, would have perished. These were the worst years by far.
Our master died. In his old age, the debris was just too much for him, the stress of losing everything he—we—worked for, too great. His son took over. He was ruthless—scared of losing his land to uppity slaves, no doubt. He beat us frequently. Reminded us with every lash where our place was. In that respect, he was an artist, carving and molding out of our very bodies.
This is, perhaps, where I was luckiest. Dark Elf pride, though hardly belonging to me, still seemed there. I could yes the new master to death, work hard, and still keep myself in tact. That was when it happened, the shift that would lead to my escape. It is marked in history as the Justicers being removed from the church. My master’s family fell from grace. He could no longer entertain, nor could he afford to keep his slaves with his crops consistently ruined. Security was loose, and I planned my escape.
One night, for night is still when I feel the most at home on the surface, when master was sitting for his evening meal, I snuck in. It was hard with the house’s old floorboards, every creak resounding a thousand times between my pulsing temples, but I managed to creep up the stairs to his bedchamber. I stole so much, though not as much as he stole from me, just enough to travel and not be burned alive. I knew that if I ran now, the master could not afford to hunt me too far. I knew then, that I had to go. Just go. Not anywhere in particular, or for any end. Just go. Freedom.
I ran. Do not judge me. You would have too. I ran and listened and used what I stole to buy information. Fort Vehl was the place to be. There was a Rofirein Sanctuary, but there was also a lot of need for hard workers. The debris gave me motive to travel, and a reason for bundling up in scarves—breathing too much of it was deadly.
One day on my travels, the sun came out. A day like any other for me, except hotter, but it was a turn I didn’t recognize.
I found Vehl abuzz in activity. There was work for me. My particular talents left me well suited to the kind of work required in the city: locksmithing, panhandling, pickpocketing, and labor. Always labor. The Dark Ages were over. The scarves no longer needed. I just was.
Free.
Free of Vengeance. What is there to avenge? I am here, my family long gone, my age left in the passage between Hurm and Leringard. I am a Dark Elf, that is certain, but I am not, perhaps, Dark Elven.
The Quartos Toranis. Valor. I stand before you, exposed, a Dark Elf against overwhelming stereotypes. “Sometimes, it is to stand for something in the face of ridicule.” Empathy. “Every person is unique in the eyes of the Great Leader”. Read this as every man, in the Quartos, but know that I see it truly as every person and do not judge you, reader. Conviction is born of trial. This life, these years, have been one great trial. Though, perhaps I have had no trial at all. That is to say, I have never appeared in the courts for the harms done me. Humility. I have had my share. Slavery is the ultimate lesson in humility. The whip taught me it most every day. Sacrifice. Do not even talk to me of Sacrifice. “Honorable combat, when it comes, begins with valor and ends with restraint.” In this case, I have suffered far too much honorable combat for my restraint was long. Yes. Restraint. Perhaps I know restraint best of all.
*Aunlyn stops writing here and closes the book. It is titled, Accounts of a Slave-Life: A Victim’s Story to Vengeance and Virtue.*
34
« on: November 24, 2009, 05:12:23 am »
Zahid spends his days after tending to the displaced from the Arms fire in Fort Wayfare, caring for what individuals he can. He spends time healing physical wounds, but often asks the refugees about deeper emotional wounds, and whether or not they'd like to talk. "This tsunami was terrible on everyone. Terrible on our bodies, sure, but worst on our sense of safety, our routine, our old lives. Now is the time to aid not only our city, but our thoughts, our hearts. Come, tell me of your problems, and let us see if we can make some new friends in the process--rebuilding our society as we rebuild the houses that contain it." Zahid invites adventurers and citizens alike to come and voice their worries and sorrows. He encourages them to take a break from all the work, so they can mend their spirit for the tough times ahead. //Event: http://forums.layonara.com/calendar.php?do=getinfo&e=14882&day=2009-11-25
36
« on: November 07, 2009, 02:39:07 pm »
Name: Git Age: 33 Gender: Male Race: Half-Giant Class: Barbarian Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Deity: None. The circumstances surrounding the birth of Edward Beasley were never to be made light of. In fact, they were never to be talked about. End of story. Nonetheless, there is a story there for those who would gossip about such things. Edwin Beasley, a wealthy merchant (and Edward's father), was traveling between Fort Llast and Hlint with his supply wagon, wife (although the trips were dangerous, and they made Edwin nervous, it was a family tradition to travel as a family. His wife would have it no other way), and a couple guards for security when they were attacked by a group of giants. At the sight of the brutes Edwin passed out almost immediately. The guards were killed, the wagon destroyed, and Edwin's wife was taken. Edwin was left for dead, the giants not even noticing him, as he offered no resistance--just another body on the ground. Edwin staggered into Hlint wanting revenge and his wife. He looked all around the Wild Surge Inn, the Tobur Xin Smithy, and other places adventurers frequent, gathering a crew to help him. The adventurers were successful, killing many giants and retrieving Edwin's wife, but not without damage. Edwin's wife was with child. After carrying the child to term, Edwin's wife, Alberta Beasley, died during the birth. The child, obviously not Edwin's, was completely hairless. Thus, Edward Beasley entered the world. Edwin hated Edward and wanted to destroy him the moment he was born, but when Alberta died, Edwin found he couldn't kill the boy. Even if he blamed the baby for his wife's death. Even if the child was monstrous. In the end, Edwin could not bring himself to destroy Edward because Edward was the last living piece of Alberta--his only connection to her. This connection did not prevent Edwin from abusing Edward where he could. After a few months Edwin left Hlint with a wagon and Edward making a long journey, which would take years, for Port Hempstead. He figured that if he went to Port Hempstead and left Edward there alone that Edward would be destroyed due to the city's laws against half-giants, he knew because he heard about Hempstead's laws from other merchants and adventurers in town. The Hempstead city watch would do the job Edwin couldn't bring himself to do. He would travel by ox and wagon to prevent the rumors from following him to Hempstead. After all, once Edward was destroyed there was nothing to prevent him settling in a nice place like Hempstead. Discretion was the key. Despite the constant abuse of being hit, verbally assaulted, and being forced to pull the wagon with the ox that was also harnessed to it (even though Edward was merely crawling and not strong enough to pull anything when they first began their journey from Hlint), Edward grew up loving his father because he didn't know of any other possible relationship with another and there were times when Edwin almost seemed to tolerate his existence. In truth, Edwin grew more and more fond of Edward as they traveled and as Edward grew. The thing was that Edward was useful. Like one time a wagon wheel had broken, Edward was able to life the cart so that Edwin could remove the old wheel and set the new one in place. By the time Edwin was nearing Hempstead he wasn't thinking of having Edward destroyed, but as passing Edward off as his son. He could teach him letters and math, and maybe pass him off as being slow. He was slow. Who would suspect a half-giant living in Hempstead? Edwin's first step was to find discreet, patient scholars, which he found easily enough with the right amount of true. At first Edward learned his letters, numbers, and words like anyone else, but then his progress in the common tongue came to a halt--the larger the word or more complex the problem, the steeper the hill. Edward liked stories, but he hated reading them. He liked to live in them instead. His favorite stories were about the ocean--about pirates and admirals and mermaids and exotic islands with buried treasure. His favorite thing to do was to go to the Argo Vlin'Dolan wharf and watch the ships go out and come in. He liked to pretend he was one of those adventurers until the real world interrupted. "Young Master Edward, we must continue with our lesson." "We must? Why must?" "It is important." "This important." "Your lessons are more important." "No." One day, during a particularly difficult lesson (the difference between there, they're, and their), Edward was thirteen and fed up. "How you write, 'There are three theres in common?'" "I do not know, Young Master Edward." Edward didn't like that name at all anymore. First off, he was not young. He was taller and wider and stronger than his tutor by far. Second, he couldn't see himself master of anything what with being trapped at his desk. Third, the name Edward just didn't fit anymore. None of it was right. Edward got upset. He reached up and brought his arms down in frustration, smashing the desk to pieces shouting, "Freedom! Master of the sea!" His teacher, scared and looking to stay in control, lost it. "Oh! Oh! You're a right Git aren't you?" "Git! Master of the sea!" Git liked his new name. It was easy. "No, no," said the teacher, deflating, "You are not actually a Git." But Git was Git now and he ran up to his teacher, clapping him on the back repeatedly, thanking him for the new name shouting, "Git! Master of the sea!" And, "Git, fit." Because Git rhymed with fit and the name felt right. No tutor would ever go to the Beasley house again. Edwin was scared. Edwin had right to be scared to because rumors started spreading about 'that Beasley boy' all around Hempstead. If this continued the second business Edwin had built up (Buy Beasley!) would fold. Once you were the 'wrong sort' in his circles you might as well move to a corner (though good with arithmetic, Edwin was never very good with geometry--candles were candle-shaped, who cared about squares and rectangles?). He mostly loved Edward now. Mostly. But the boy was already bigger than he was (by a foot or two) and surely bigger than everyone his age. Maybe it was time for him to claim his own stake in the world. The posse of townsfolk had Git cornered. His father was among them shouting, "Get out of here! Get out of here, monster!" He did not understand. He pleaded, "How I get out? You have my back against wall." His back was against a wall in the Argo Vlin'Dolan wharf. He had been watching ships as usual when the mob approached. "Well you could just eat us, monster!" "You might as well, you got the arms for to rip us up-" "And the teeth to chew us down!" finished another. Git's dad was still shouting, "Get out of here," a pause, "monster!" The crowd picked up the chant of "Mo-onste-er!" Git looked around, trapped and scared. He began to cry. "Mo-onste-er! Mo-onst-er!" Why? Why was he a monster? For years he lived here. He just wanted to watch the ships and hear what news came from the sea. The Sea, he thought. He looked around and spotted a manageable boat not far away tied to the pier. No longer feeling trapped his vulnerability turned into pure rage. "Not monster!" He wailed, charging a beeline for the small boat, bowling people over, hardly stumbling over them. "Git! Master of the sea!" And with that Git ran for the boat jumped in, kicked hard at the side of the ship that was tethered to the pier, leaving that piece behind, and began his adventure. Behind him the crowd rushed ahead. Through the shouts and hollers, Git thought he heard one voice stand it. It said, "Get out of here, son!" As the boat began to drift away, Git picked up two oars and paddled like a madman away from the port. Edwin wiped a tear from his eye. This was for the best. With a change of motto (Beasley makes it easy!) business would be back to usual. On the open ocean Git looked around, wondering which way would take him to the kind of adventures he hear the sailors speak of. He spotted a dark group of clouds in the distance. Sitting back down at the oars Git steered the ship towards the clouds half shouting, half singing "Git! Man of the sea! Git! Master of the sea!" At each shout of "Git!" he would pull back hard on the oars so it came out like a grunt. Git looked around excitedly in the middle of the storm. The waves tossed the boat effortlessly. This was the kind of storm sailors talked about! Then a huge wave came and smashed the ship into splinters and Git with it. Then, it was black. When Git awoke his head hurt and he was coughing water. The world was still black, and he passed out again. The next time he woke up the world had color again. Git looked around. He was in a wooden room with a small circular window. The whole room seemed to move. A man looked at him as he lifted himself up on his elbows. "So yer awake then, eh? Good." "Where-" "Yer in a cabin of the Lady's Whistle. I'm Dax, her captain. We pulled ya up outta the nets last fishin' trip," said Dax. Git liked the name Dax. He liked Dax. And he was in a cabin! In another port! He made it! "Git! Master of the sea!" Git shouted. "Master'f debts mer like it! You owe me, mate." "Owe you? I have no things." "Ya got arms. Big 'uns too. Yer werk fer me ta pay yer debt like. You know a lot about fishin'?" "Only what load and unload sailors say." Git had a lot to learn. "Well, it's a start. An' I found ya a good way offshore so ya had ta sail from somewhere, eh? Ya werk fer me now, hear?" "I work for you good!" and with that Git bounded out of bed and fell. "Not so fast 'er, big guy." Git was 33. He had been working for Dax for twenty years now and knew everything he needed about sailing. What he knew he needed was a crew and a ship of his own, but he could never afford them. Any time he asked Dax about how much he owed him Dax replied, Ya owe me yer life'n don't ya ferget it! Ya werk fer me! Git couldn't argue. He would've been dead without Dax. Still, Git hadn't asked him this fishing season yet. Maybe this time would be different. While the crew of the Lady's Whistle was waiting to pull up the nets, Git walked into Dax's cabin. "Dax?" "What is it, Git?" "This trip last one, then I paid?" "Ya look here, Git. I saved ya. Way I see it is now I own ya. You'd be dead without me. Dead!" "This not life." "What's not life? Ya live good with me, doncha? No one else'd treat a monster like ya as good as me." "What you call me?" "A monster. It's what ya are, init?" Memories of leaving Hempstead flashed before Git's eyes. His anger blinded him as he relived those moments. He shouted, "Not monster!" and charged forward, knocking Dax, unconscious, down. "Git! Master of the sea!" The crew rushed in from the commotion and looked horrified at the scene. Git turned and shouted, "You raise fish nets. You set course, Fort Vehl. You steer ship. After I raise anchor, I watch Dax. Any one get funny idea I won't laugh. Now, move it!" The crew moved it. They moved it all the way to Fort Vehl. Git kept Dax locked in his cabin. Any time Dax would shout, "Let me out, Git! You owe me!" Git would say, "No. We even. You save Git life and Git let you live. Life for life is even," and at that Dax would quiet down. When the ship docked at Vehl, Git let Dax out of the room. "I'll turn ya in, I will." "Want to try? Get past me." Dax backed down and Git left the Lady's Whistle. As soon as he did, though, she pulled away from the pier. Dax and crew shouted Monster and every other word they could think to hurt him. Git didn't even turn around, just looked excitedly at the grungy town. It was time for Git, master of the sea, to live up to his name. He needed a crew and a ship. One thing was certain. After working and following the laws and rules of other people, Git was certain the only way to be a true master of the sea would be to follow his own laws. Do what he thought suited him at the time, no matter the consequences. The sea certainly had no consideration for man's law. Anything could happen there. He thought, I look for me, now! and stepped forward into the town. //For clarity I want to state that Git's father's wealth will in no way affect Git Also, for the player who wishes to use Git, I once worked with Ycleption to see if this character would be ready for approval, and his advice was that there should be more class support, so please feel free to rock that out however you like.
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« on: November 07, 2009, 03:30:32 am »
Name: Perri Crosby
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Age: 26
Alignment: True Neutral
Class: Cleric
Deity: Aragen
Domains: Knowledge / Travel
Perri was walking through Vehl. He discovered a figure in an alleyway lying down. Upon walking closer to him he saw that he was a man and he was bleeding. Perri did not know if the man could move, but the man did not move. The man was still conscious.
The man said, "Thank the Gods. Len' me a han' will you? Some runt jus' mugged me an' made off with my dough."
Perri, standing very still, looked around to see whom the man was talking to.
"Com'on! I-agh," the man tried to life himself up. He failed and fell down in blood. "I need some help here. I can pay you." The man put his head down in the dirt.
Perri opened a burlap sack and pulled out a book, a quill, and some ink. He wrote, Subject is male. Found in Fort Vehl on an alley off of, Perri looked around for a marker of where he was, some houses and a general store. Subject called for help. He is bleeding. I can see it by the way the pool of blood is growing under him.
When Perri rustled through the sack, the man lifted his head. "What are you doing? Please! Just help me." The man coughed.
Perri looked over the book, into the man's face, then wrote, Subject called for help again, then he coughed. When he coughed blood came down the side of his mouth.
"Pits, what's wrong with you! Can't you hear me? I'm going to die if you don't help me. Can't you hear me? I'm going to die!"
Perri wrote, Subject spoke for the third time. He stated the inevitability of his own death. His pupils are smaller now. There is perspiration on his forehead.
"You're going to burn, do you hear me? For the Gods' sakes are you deaf?"
Subject is using words that possess a more negative, insulting connotation. No one has come to help him. His breathing is very labored. The pool of blood is expanding more slowly.
The man's eyes did not leave Perri for a moment. After thirty minutes (Perri was counting in his head) with no change Perri wrote, Subject is dead. His breathing stopped thirty minutes ago. Perri finished writing; put the book, quill, and ink back in the sack; and left the man lying dead in the alley.
Days later Perri was in the One-Eyed Harpy. An old newspaper was on his table and he was writing the dead man's obituary into his book. Perri could have the subject's name and basic information now. When he was finished, he left the soggy paper exactly as he found it.
He sent his report to the temple in Bydell Castle on the next ship to Mariner's Hold, to be taken by carrier pigeon thereafter.
***
Perri Crosby does not have any living family members or ties to Layonara. His mother and father died in a raid on the Gypsy Camp (featured on the Alindor map) and he was dropped as a burden at Bydell Castle. The events left him emotionally disaffected by everything around him. He understands human customs because they are written, but has little knowledge aside from texts and observation. This disaffection eventually drove what caretakers he had to eventually disown him, but at the same time made him a very attractive candidate to be a collector in the order of Aragen. Thus, using logic, and not stating his reasons he joined the order. This would be the last effect he would have on the world.
Note: Perri Crosby is intended as an RP challenge for anyone who is willing to take it. He is intended to be an extremely devout Aragenite. His alignment is True Neutral because he remains completely removed from all events. He records solely facts, and looks towards Aragen as The Great Collector. Keeping in line with Aragen's dogma, this character should probably not speak. In the event one does go out in a party with him, I would suggest remaining in the periphery, and never heal, buff, or do anything. If someone is looking for a character to level and explore the world beyond RP, I do not recommend this character, but as a player, I have always been attracted to those characters who exist in the extremes. With that said, Enjoy.
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« on: September 24, 2009, 01:45:13 am »
There is one thing I'm curious about with the character stable, when characters are submitted by a player, is it only the DMs, CAs, and person who wishes to take the character who are allowed to make the appropriate edits? Or are these characters to be understood as 'open source' in a sense, editable by anyone? I'm asking because I'm aware of two things. First, the author of the original character gives sovereignty of the character up upon submitting him/her to the stable as per this rule: Once you submit the character, it belongs to the stable and no longer to the submitter (this is absolutely necessary in case a future player would like to have their character be apart of the world changing events of Layonara). The second rule seems to make it pretty clear that it's only the DMs, CAs, and new owner of the character that are making changes as it states:
Once you submit the character, all the edits will be done directly by the GM/CA team to make it immediately insert-able to the world (with the exception of the needed edits by the new player).
But I'm wondering if maybe making these characters more open source--to be edited by any member that has the time, will, and energy to do so--might be more helpful in the process of getting these characters ready? I have a particular character in mind, and it's the second thing I'm aware of, as he already has someone who wants to claim him but isn't ready. http://forums.layonara.com/character-stable/242202-fianon-poetr-not-ready.htmlThis character will take a lot of getting ready to do. First, the class split includes druid, a restricted class. Second the submission includes domains, which only clerics need be concerned about. Third, deity support is thin, and having something in the deity field requires a certain amount of devotion. I'm not saying a player could rework it to get approved without it having to be revised, but surface/mechanical issues could be addressed and might help take the load off the DMs and CAs in revision. After all, "We would like, as a community, to help these folks out and allow them a way to come join us," so why not open it up to all of us who can help (Rowana)? Best, Shio
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« on: September 07, 2009, 10:27:28 am »
This is quite a small thing, and not something I expect to change, but it's an idea I had so I thought I might post it if it wasn't the kind of thing that would cause too much trouble.
I thought it might be nice to have the backpack customization, the one that's in robes section where it appears the character has a quiver, bow, bedroll, and pack on his back also inserted into the cloak customization screen.
I have two reasons for this: First, the backpack look that is currently in robes is colored off of the secondary cloth color and the primary leather color. This makes it slightly inconvenient for users who don't want their armor to share the same color as their backpack, something which seems it would be a more miscellaneous add-on. I noticed this on my Dwarf mainly because when I thought of making his pack visible it turned out to share the same gray/metallic tones I had for my armor.
The second reason is that having the backpack in the robes option makes it disappear if you change armors. If you had it in the cloaks section it could remain visible, or you could unequip it (say to take it off your back and look through it) and still have your armor on.
It might also make sense to have in the cloaks section as having the backpack customization and a cloak on create clipping problems.
Just some thoughts. I realize this is pretty much nitpicking, but if it's not too much trouble, something to think about?
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« on: August 24, 2009, 01:53:06 am »
Agmundr Nokkadrumbear seems to be stuck with lower movement speed on West. I've tried resting, relogging, and getting my inventory weight to lower than my death sickness holding capacity and the debuff still hasn't disappeared.
There is a good chance this is related to my having a double death on Central and then being transferred to West both times and that status somehow sticking, although my stats are all back to normal after getting rid of the rez sickness.
Is there an easy fix for this that I'm missing? I just thought I'd bring it up.
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