[Approved] Smug's Application:

[Approved] Smug's Application: - Printable Version

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[Approved] Smug's Application: - SmugValiant - 14-05-2014

In Game Name(IGN):
SmugValiant.

Why do you want to join?
I'd like to have something relaxing and fun to do in my spare time.

Do you have any RP'ing experience?
I previously role-played for about 5 Years over various mediums before I lost interest. Also, some DnD experience, various Sci-Fi and medieval Roleplays. Navia, OOF, Mesalia.

Tell us a bit about yourself:
I'm 20, I live in Virginia. I used to work for the state as a Direct Support Professional in an Institution dealing with Behavioral Health. I quit in 2013 to join the United States Marine Corps; in which I became a Marine and made it to the end of basic training before being discharged with an Honorable Discharge. I am now applying for various colleges in the meantime such as Radford University, New River Community College and Virginia Tech. I like playing football, swimming, and reading in my spare time.

Character Biography:
Name: Roderick "Silver" Stross
Age: 32 Years.
Gender: Male.
Birthday: Spring/Fall AV 5.
Race: Mesalian.

Dress and Build:
Stross' build is of a slim build consisting of average height and weight; he is lightly muscled and lithe for his size, the exceptions to this being his broad shoulders. He bears quite a few scars on his arms from his trades and he even bears a few on his chest and hands. His hair is the color of the iron that he mines, almost a dull black but, not quite. It has a single streak of silver running through it. He wears it short on the sides, fading it to a part and a comb over on top. His eyes are a dull and lackluster hazel, his face always clean shaven. He wears black sea-stained trousers, a collared white shirt with sleeves tailored to cuff at the elbows, and a black vest on top. He also wears a grey leather apron, and black boots. He refuses to wear jewelry. His arms are heavily tattooed in the form of sleeves. Each image was done individually, his shoulders and arms becoming a canvas that tells stories he has encountered. His right arm is fully complete, the left half, only the shoulder. He saves that space to finish his tales on. It is a plethora of shades of reds, teals, and greens – reminiscent of a peacock, really.

Personality:
'Rick is an honest, kind and generous man - the way his father taught him to be. Confident, yet soft-spoken, he is a hard working miner and smith to say the least. However, for all of his more gentle qualities that he was raised with, Stross is still a lonesome man tending to be studious and preferring distance from others while being a loner. Behind his dull haunted eyes, he is a man who worries frequently, fidgeting when in thought. As a man who has lost all he love burned by bittersweet betrayals, and having watched his homeland turn to ash, he has been reduced to hiding behind closed doors a slightly darker side of his self. This side of him mainly entails being moderately racist with hints of paranoia, bitterness and mistrust. He smokes sometimes to calm his inner demons.

Skills:
Blacksmithing - Competent:
Stross also understands Blacksmithing. As his primary craft in life, he's been forced to live off of it for some time. Whether it's arms such as blades, axes, and spears, or armor such as shields, suits, and mail he can craft it. He also has to some extend knowledge on how to create tools though; it takes him slightly longer to create them. Higher quality steels such as High-carbon and other more elusive trade secrets still escape him.

Mining - Apprentice:
Stross can make torches, mine most materials, and has a general understanding of mine structures - Ie: supports and shafts, and understands how to use the tools of his trade: picks, shovels, gold pans, etc. However, he still struggles with advanced versions of prospecting and higher grade ores.

Leatherworking - Apprentice:
Roderick can tan hides he is provided with, and stitch and sew leather together. He can also mold it to fit on arms and armor or craft entire suits from it. However, it is very slow going and tedious for him unless it is rushed - in which case the quality is lowered to sub-par.

Sailing – Novice:
Years spent traveling at sea has taught this man the craft of knots, walking without falling on a deck, and how to keep his sea legs during a sudden storm. While he mainly sailed as a traveler, and as a blacksmith making repairs the ships he fared on, he has also learned to defend against incursions from the deck of a ship. While he still shows some signs of being green around the gills, he has learned to handle himself decently.

Swordsmanship - Apprentice:
Roderick knows enough to save his life. It does not mean he doesn't get his ass kicked a lot though.

Backstory:

[insert character portrait here]

To start with the story of Roderick Stross, you must first start with the source. No, not at the time of his birth, instead you must look much farther back. His father, Victor Stross was a veteran of the Veld War. A smith turned soldier, he was enslaved for near the end of the war by a medium sized Xitian host; forced to smith weaponry for them. Tortured for three long years for even the slightest perceived slight, Victor was freed prior to a successful Lucin influenced breakout occurred. The war had been heavily underway for years, and it was reaching the peak of its crescendo. Major progress had been made with the Lucin’s arrival into the war’s state of affairs and as such the breakouts became a more common occurrence and a beacon of hope to all others who had been enslaved. Newly freed, Victor Stross joined the remnants of the Mesalian resistance, (if it could even truly be called that,) and actively participated until being severely wounded by burns received in a minor skirmish from a Xitian officer.

Not much later, Victor would end up meeting his future wife Amelia. Amelia Stross; a hardheaded innkeeper (whose Inn had been burned down nearby by as a result of the brief battle,) and an even sterner woman - met an unconscious Victor Stross surrounded by the rotting dead. Badly wounded from battle - mainly burns - and extreme dehydration, he had begged for two things and two things only when he came to. He asked for water, and pleaded to be spared from the pyres that the corpses were to be piled on. She would end up sparing him from the flames, lighting a flame of a different sort in both their hearts.

Five years after the Veld War, a healthy and squalling Roderick Stross was born to his father, Victor Stross. Unfortunately, his mother had always been small and as such, she did not survive to see the fruits of her intense labor. Suffering from grief, Victor did the only thing he could think of doing - raising his only son. Having little experience with children, he did his best by trying to teach his son life lessons he learned from his father. Many of which his son would remember long into adulthood, such as to avoid fighting unless for the right reasons, to do the right thing even when it was the unpopular thing to do, and lastly how to be a proper worker. Along with these basics, he learned how to smith from his father early on, and years later he would learn the art of working leather, reading, and writing. Hearing murmurs of disquiet and rumors of wars started by Mesalian against Mesalian, Victor took his son on his eighth birthday back to his homeland - the Isle of Byne, and he raised the boy in relative peace. Byne is unique in the fact that it is the center isle in a chain of islands known as "The stars' tears," which were known for their exotic resources, extreme difference in climates, and their sailing cultures.

As such, Byne was the crown jewel of the isles though, being known for its craggy highland forests, its lush lowland farms, and its rich seas. However, what made it that gem for many was the abundance of iron in the vast mines under the island's largest mountain, known as Whitecrag Mount. Victor and his son would end up living in the small coastal town known as "Saltpyre Watch." The town was located on the eastern coast just below the lowlands. As the young lad grew into manhood, Roderick continued to learn from his father Victor, learning how to smith armor and arms, honing it to a professional level that he could live off of.

Saltpyre was a small coastal village, complete with its own shipyard and several smithies. It was here that his father helped his son develop and learn his craft, having him assist him with commissions for weaponry, and to work on daily drills involving hammering, defining, shaping and tempering multiple metals. Roderick grew to be strong under his father's strict but, loving tutelage. It would not be long until the young man fell for a woman of his own, just after his nineteenth birthday. He would fall for the village healer, named Sarah. She had been treating him in her clinic for a deep gash on his arm inflicted by a chisel slipping back from his work material. Though she was a few years his older, they still fell madly in love, dating for several years before settling down in the small town of Delar at his father's suggestion. Delar, a small mining town near the summit of Whitecrag Mount proved to be a wonderful haven for work; and when the amount of work provided by blacksmith would occasionally die down, Stross learned to mine from the miners deep down inside of the mountain, thus providing for his wife still.

While the civil war had begun when Stross had turned eight years old, his father had wisely taken him to the isles in hopes of outrunning and outlasting the war. Sadly, it would not be that way. The civil war lasted twenty years in total, stretching far across the middle realm. The isles, including Byne herself, would be sacked by the armies of Mesalians who were goaded on by their greedy kings. Their corrupt lord’s hearts were subject to the subtle intrigues and influences of the Xitian's aims. The cost for the actions men would pursue in their name ultimately purchased their newly acquired lands in bloodshed and wanton violence. The neighboring isles, known as Eolus, Cerani, and Thage formed a landmass to the east known as "The Shelf." The lords of these small isles decided to band together forming an alliance that was mainly spurred on by the whispers and promises of the remaining Xitians, attacking Byne. The island was aflame and slowly being picked apart by many cruel and unforgiving factions. Women were raped, men died, and soldiers were buried in unmarked graves. From the southern coast known as Stargrove Shoal, to the Lowlands and even the lower portions of the Highlands, Byne burned. Saltpyre was but a memory, the highlands were the base of an unforgiving stalemate between waging armies, the encroaching invaders unable to gain any ground towards the more mountainous regions of Byne and the defenders unable to make the push required to regain the coastline. Meanwhile, the southern and eastern shores were surrounded in a blockade by enemy warships.

The Lord of Byne as of this time was an ailing man suffering from a horrible case of Gout. His line was known for originally being reputable traders however, his great grandfather had been a wise man and one of the originally settlers of Byne. Gaining their way to a crown through trade, the original Lords of Byne had ruled wisely until greed found a way to latch itself unto their son's hearts. Castle Byne was a strong keep; build on the lower side of one of the many mountains in the Hardan Mountain Range. The Lord's son, called upon several healers across the land to aid his father during his final days. Sarah, having become known across the Highlands for healing people in the now renowned town of Delar, answered the call in hopes of earning wages for her family. With the blockade encircling half of the island, and the main trade port of Saltpyre Watch burned to the ground, most work related to blacksmithing had died. Healing was no longer a line of work high in payment, as most who needed to be healed were refugees running from the war in the lowlands.

As a result, Roderick had to work twice as long in the mines, mining what little ore he could. The mine had been in the process of drying up for a few years now however, it was his only choice to provide for his family. His family, growing increasingly distraught and unwelcoming over his long periods of absence, grew distant from him.

Fights broke out in the mines, and each day a small tally of dead of miners would be escorted out by their panicked companions in a cart. Between this, the war, and the low yield of ores Delar slowly began to crumble from the cozy mining town that it was to a bleaker one. The rumor was that most folks had headed away, hoping to start their own town on the safer and more importantly, unmarred west coast as of this time, praying the war wouldn't reach them there. Still, many remained in Delar, and looked for new leaders. Goaded on by his friends in the mine, and concerned with the welfare of his family and the town, a slightly naive and trusting Stross took a position as overseer of a shaft.

Granted, any man who could tell you of Roderick's story would tell you this was the beginning of the end. Originally elected for his cheerful mannerisms, and calming influence, Stross kept trouble out of the coarser and tougher sections of the mines (where fights were common at this time.) He allowed certain shifts to be relieved, and when shortages happened he would work himself. The miners considered themselves lucky to have such a leader, even in times filled with turmoil.

However, luck isn't always fortunate. Like a bad toss at dice, Stross' life slowly turned to stare back at him with a pair of snake eyes. Miners began to take advantage of him as his friends moved on from the mines over the years or died. Shafts flooded, entire swaths of ore dried up, and the fights not only began to break out in the rougher parts of the mine but, at the top-most part as well. Stross, haggard from stress - would end his nights pulling at his hair while glaring at the latest briefings delivered to him on parchment. Defiant but, weary, Stross would end his nights stumbling into bed half asleep already. As the conditions worsened in town due to the war, Stross became all but stranger to his family. He’d sneak in between the two shifts he worked, leaving a small bit of gold on the counter with a sweet note to his wife and child. He was trying the hardest he could for his loyal wife and wonderful child, and they stuck it out through thick and thin due to their love of him and his labors.

Though, as dutiful as he was, it just wasn’t enough to please everyone. When there is wanting of the mind, there is sickness of the heart. Many of the miners envied him, his home, lifestyle, wife, and how he had somehow against all odds managed to retain his family. Many were refugees or holdouts – too afraid to risk leaving to the lowland and as such, they were forced to live in even worse conditions than Stross. Jealously grew rampant, and though the violence had faded publically, it didn’t mean it wasn’t there privately.

Just like a hard set of waves crashing on a ship, there is a small lull before the storm's next set of waves swallows it. After a long weeks work, in which the fighting had uncharacteristically spiked after their initial drop, Stross headed home.

That morning was after Stross had already pulled a long double shift in the mines. Knowing he would be home late, a small mob of armed workers waited for his arrival and confronted Roderick in their now much sparser abode. They had approached him, bearing the bad news that the section of the mine they’d been mining had finally dried up and that the crews were leaving Delar to rot, like many mining towns of its kind before. He'd spent so many nights sleeping in the overseer's quarters at the entrance of the mine, and between work and favors he owed others, Stross hadn't noticed that discontent was on the rise again. The workers assembled in front of his home demanded raises, compensation for the conditions they lived in, and future work elsewhere in the mines. Standing in his doorway, Stross tried to calm them by promising a future meeting on the subject, sympathies and even promises to watch over them as time went by, they were not satisfied.

Furthermore, the crowd that had assembled outside of his house turned hostile. Breaking windows and smashing their way in through the entrance to his home, they forced him aside. Ransacking, stealing and destroying his possessions, they mauled his earthly home and dragged his family outside. Roderick stood with haste and reached for his weapons hanging upon the wall of his small cabin. However, before he could reach them he felt the wind knocked out of him by a hard blow to his chest. Bottle were thrown into his house, that burst into flame. As Stross struggled to crawl to the wall and grasp his weapons oncemore, he was jerked outside by two pairs of burly hands, and shoved to his knees by a quick kick. Stross was held by a man on each side of his body and forced to watch as his wife was butchered in front of his very eyes.

Pleading for his daughter’s life, Stross cried aloud begging for mercy. The leader of the mob, (an infamous fighter and one of more outspoken workers,) gestured for the girl to be let go. She turned back to Stross, confused but, ultimately spurred on by her father’s cries to run. She made it halfway down the hill before being shot in the back by a hunter’s longbow. Stross, now betrayed by his own townsfolk and workers wept profusely, filled with anguish and hatred. Heavy rain had already begun to fall, coating the yard in a thick sludgy layer of mud, the kind that would remove your boots if slogged in it for too long. Looking up at the heavens, the dirt running off his matted hair and face, Stross lamented.

Full of despair and hate, Stross caught a glimpse of one of the men’s dirk. Moments passed, as the men discussed what they should do with him and what was left of his household. However, in mid sentence their chatter was greeted by the sound of a horn, and shouts declaring that the guards were coming. Panicked, many of the men fled while others drew their weapons. Seeing his advantage, Stross jerked to the side, biting down hard on the arms of one of his captors, tearing out a chunk of flesh. With a yell and a sudden burst of energy he broke free as his other captor reached for his weapon. He pulled the dirk out of the first man’s belt, turning around and stabbing the other violently in the neck several times, blood shooting out of the arterial vein in his neck. Grasping the axe from the fallen man’s hands, he turned on his original captor, burying it into his skull with berserk fury. With a violent scream he grasped the axe in his hand and kicked the man in the forehead, jerking it out as he whirled around to face the mob. Stross looked behind him, reacting to noises he heard coming from behind him. The guards were finally reaching the crest of the hill, which cheered Stross' spirits. He turned back just in time however, to see the protesters leader's smash his fist into his forehead… and with that the world spun out of control and turned grey.

Stross awoke days later, to the licks of a dog on his face. He'd apparently been taken to the guardhouse after being knocked out, as the clinic farther in town was still overflowing with patients from the war. Shoving the dog away with a sigh of irritation, he groggily rose to his feet. His body complained from being sore as he willed it into compliance. Gathering up what things the guards recovered from his person and putting on fresh clothes that were given to him, he left. Setting out for his homestead, he climbed the hill flanking Delar, towards his abode. The rains had stopped, and the sun seemed as if it was shining on a world without meaning. His house was a hovel, burned and torched till it was a ruin. He stumbled through the ashes and remains, finding what he could. He noticed the shattered shards of his wife's mirror. Finding a large piece he stared at himself. His nose was broken, his lip puffed, and a large streak of silver now slashed its way through his hair. He set his nose, causing large amounts of blood to gush out before it eventually dried - leaving large amounts of it caked it his hands. Turning to the ruins of his house, he drank what little rainwater he could find that had pooled in containers about the ruin of his house. He tasted it, struggling to get it past his busted and cracked lips.

Unfortunately, after hours of digging through the ashes, and scavenging what little funds and things he could find in the ruins of his home, Stross ultimately decided he would have to improvise to continue on. With no true place to call home now, Stross snuck back to his town selling his prized tools to traders and citizens leaving Delar outside the gates. Distraught and caught off guard Stross became a drinker, and a withdrawn from his normally charismatic self. He stayed as long as he could however, even though the war would catch up with everyone before it eventually ended. The blockade that had held the mountain passes and Castle Byne secure for years fell as it troops were routed and pushed back by the invaders at last. Without any other options, Stross had to move on in order to not be caught in the crossfire between the feuding armies.

Days, weeks, and eventually a few months went by. Stross was fatigued, weary, and starving, only scavenging off the land where he could and what off he could loot from abandoned camps and dying soldiers. Eventually his heart began to harden; he became bitter from seeing so much death, both of those already slain and from ending a few soldiers himself in order to survive. Scavenging weapons for himself, he crossed the countryside with relatively little trouble. Moving only at night, Roderick fought off, looted, and burned any soldiers he came across. If he encountered innocents, he would give them a wide berth now instead of helping them. In order to protect himself, he patched up and repaired gathered parts from old suits of armor, creating a unique suit of leather and chainmail armor for himself, even inserting metal guards along the more important areas of the suit.

The island of Byne was crumbling – the invaders had destroyed or conquered most of the isle as of this point. The mountainous woodlands that dotted the craggy landscape of the Hardan Mountains, the beautiful and lush highlands below, and even the lowland farms had all been put to the torch; scorched remnants of what they once were. The chain of islands known as the “Star’s tears,” truly were weeping now.

Stross, though only twenty six as of this time, was well aged. His hair wasn’t the lush length that it once was, growing slower now while his eyes lackluster and hard instead of youthful and gentle. His cheekbones sank in from the lack of food, and his muscles grew to be leaner. He continued to travel far and often, his journey revealing how desolate the landscape had become.

However, his nightly journeys did not go completely unnoticed. While the horrors of war can seal their way into a man's heart, the terrors of the night can seal fear into a man's very soul... There are things that even the invaders would retreat into their forts and scavenged towns to hide from. So commonplace and regarded as a simple truth, the Duskspawn were often overlooked as long as men had the safety of their homes and towns to protect them.

Stross, caught out in the open in nothing but a tent, had no such luxury. Many nights he would fight off light incursions of a duskspawn or two, using hot metal brands from his campfire. He was always harried and as such had to maintain a constant vigil.

After establishing a camp at the end of the night as he done many times before, Stross warmed himself both mentally and physically by a fire. Hunkering down as the stars grew dimmer in the sky, he slept away his troubles during the day. Later that night, he awoke from troubled sleep, and began packing up his camp. Before he could finish, a patrol of a dozen scouts riding in on horseback began to interrogate him. As they were questioning him, arrows shot out from the top of the hill that rimmed edges of the small valley he had encamped in. The scouts, having suffered a few loses in the initial ambush, attempted to rally and charged up the hill. Clashing with their foe that outnumbered them four-to-one, they were swallowed up by the men-at-arms and archers of the enemy. Only the foe they had met in battle were not human. The duskspawn overran their position, clawing, rending and cleaving their way through the men.

Confusion broke out, and 'Rick was forced to defend himself. Drawing his sword that he had looted early, he clashed with duskspawn and confused soldiers alike. He slashed, stabbed, and hacked at the enemy. He parried as many blows as he could however, the enemy was like a rising tide; threatening to swallow him. He was struck in the shoulder by someones' mace and hit by glancing blows from the fight that surrounded him. His vision started to grow cloudy and black as he nearly succumbed to his injuries, he found himself staggering back and away from the fight. He fell to his chest as the earth rose to greet him, crawling away until he found a rocky cleft in one of the nearby hills.

Hours later, Stross would awaken. He had somehow been submerged under a pair of bodies that had fallen on him. He was first introduced to the reek of shit and blood, his head resting on rocks behind him. He heard strange voices nearby and his heart quickened. His sword was gone; he had no clue where it had been lost in all of the fighting. He took several deep breaths to calm himself while his head pounded. A thunder rang in his ears as if he was hung over. He surveyed himself as best he could while being pinned under the weight of some of the dead. He felt like he'd been kicked and beat all over, bruises forming on what few parts of exposed skin he could see. The voices that he had heard earlier became clearer and he looked off into their direction.

They were the lowest of the low. Though the duskspawn had won the battle by a long-shot, they had left as the sun rose reverently into the sky. Looters had descended on the valley full of the dead. While Stross had looted himself, it was for his own survival. The men had a cart and what appeared to be an armed guard. Their small cart was full of goods and items looted from the dead, obviously intended to be sold at a later date.

He stood there weakly watching them approach as they drew their blades. He breathed slowly, calming himself, hiding under the corpses. He let his left hand stray to the dirk that was sheathed in his boot. The looters, drunk and heavily laden with their prizes walked within mere inches of him. As their voices faded and their outlines blended into the fog, Stross smirked, wiping dried blood off of his mouth. He groaned, and rolled one of the bodies off of his side and laughed, disgusted. As slowly wormed his way out the small pile bodies, he noticed the smell got worse. It reminded him of a charnal house. With that laugh, the wound in his shoulder throbbed horribly. He imagined that he could have quite possibly of broken his collarbone or worse during that fight. He limped, sore and weary, his knees working in protest as he staggered down the nearest road, his hand painfully gripping his shoulder. He stopped for a moment to cut a portion of his clothes, wrapping it around his shoulder as a makeshift sling.

Having evaded death multiple times now in his journey, Stross walked for quite some time. It felt like weeks passed as he blurred in and out of full consciousness. He headed towards the last town he had known besides Delar. Surely though, there would be someone in Saltpyre who would recognize him; or so he thought. He groaned, gritting his teeth in pain as he walked. Eventually, following the old dirt roads and paths made by commoners that weren't too actively patrolled by soldiers - he saw the town he was seeking off in the distance. It had been several days since he had eaten or slept. He smiled grimly, noting mentally how little the town had changed and trudged on towards the town reminding himself to examine just how much it had changed later. He yawned as his steps became heavy, his legs feeling as if they were molasses. Stross passed out, though if it was from wounds or exhaustion no one could say, promptly sliding into the thick black mud that lined the towns only road. He awoke to an icy bucket of water being poured on his face, a villager taking pity on him. Everything looked different yet, eerily similar to him in the town. He remembered what he had thought shortly before passing out. The town itself was a morbid reflection of what it once was, or so he thought. Only the docks looked cheerful still, the sun lighting and illuminating the sun baked alleys and buildings near the coast.

As he recovered, he would learn later that "Saltpyre Watch," had burnt and that the invaders had build "New Saltpyre," to keep trade flowing for their own benefit. Though he had escaped those would-be looters earlier, most of his worldly goods had been left in his tent before the battle, and most of the things he had on his person had been taken while he was unconscious. After travelling through town to the local tavern, he eavesdropped and purveyed the local rumors and tales for anything of significance. While most of the hype was over the latest brothel opening in town, he did gleam one bit of noteworthiness from the innkeeper, on how the dusk portal had reopened once more and that even the long lived war finally holding its breath out of anticipation. Upon hearing the news, and due to the fact he was broke, Stross ended up selling his armor and dirk. Several weeks past, and subsequently he ended up finding a local smithy that would take him on. 'Rick took the job of sharpening blades and repairing dented armor for insignificant amounts of food and meager coin. Stross prepared himself to leave town as fast as he could but, he would not have the coin until much later. While the war was over, the poverty that had followed in its wake was not. Granted, he began to prepare himself mentally for the task at hand. He had to escape the war torn lands while he still could and establish a better life for himself.

As life became hopeless, his melancholy brought from his losses turned to bitterness. He began drinking, hiding in a flask from his past and the things he had done to survive. He was known as the "drunk," or the "wary watcher," by the townsfolk. But, why would they care for him? So many had fallen during the war that everyone had losses. It was their new way of life - one they learned to accept. However, there was one nickname that most eventually stuck to calling him. "Silver," for the streak in his hair.

Still, hope flourished which is more than can be said for other parts of the world. Rumors were to be had in the local taverns and work was to be found in the shipyards for sure handed men. Stross, following a year of living in squalor had finally saved enough to take a ship away from Byne, out of what people called the "Burnt Isles," now. He chose a ship know as "The Marke," and haggled with the captain. Eventually they reached a settlement that was fair. He had to rent his labor out to the captain as he did not have enough coin to afford the entire journey. However, the men on board liked him enough. They drank and smoked away their troubles - cheering him for a time. They taught him how to find his way about a ship, how to master his sea-sickness to a degree, and showed him iron-works what they needed repaired when they reached a port of call.

Eventually, he would outlive his debt and make a nice profit working for the captain and his men. Over the course of several years he built his reputation, transferring from ship to ship in hope of finding a home. Eventually, as he sank into the bottle once more in some shithole of a bar he overheard a weary and stark but, wide eyed traveler discussing a peaceful land across the sea. He described a rocky town built in what once was a lake bed, a haven for miners and those weary of strife. It sounded too good to be true but, if there was anything Stross could cling to, it was jaded hope. The forbidden lands were unkind to many, and those who left usually did not come back.

Finding the next ship that was to be dispatched to that region, he made good with the captain and sold his way into service again to afford board as even with all of his gold, he could not afford the trip. Their ship traveled for what felt like an eternity. Stross encountering pirates and tempests alike along the way. Distinguishing himself during the conflicts that occurred, he earned the captains favor and was taken farther than originally promised.

When Roderick Stross disembarked from his ship that he called had home for almost two years, it was with a heavy heart he did so. He had fought, bled, and labored to earn his place there, even as guilt and grief had wracked him over the years. It would be hard for him to step off the gangplank, after he had journeyed for so far on a saga of sorrow. The war had been over for years. The hole in his heart however, was not. As he went forward to find what he had hoped would be his last and newest home, he prayed that Alroc would and could harbor a injured soul such as himself.

Character Songs:

Spoiler

Anything you'd like to add:
I'm only concerned with the following: I'm worried about this back-story's relationship to the lore, continuity issues, and that it "tells instead of shows." I also did this application as close to a character sheet as possible so it could be transferred over.

RE: Smug's Application: - SmugValiant - 01-06-2014

Application is now ready for review.

RE: [NEW] Smug's Application: - SentaiPink - 02-06-2014

Hi Smug! I'm going to go ahead and review your application because our poor WL is overworked. If you could highlight your revisions so they're easier to find, that may expedite my response.

Backstory-

So the way you've worded you're opening for the backstory is a little confusing. Please revise to clarify.
1. Was Victor enslaved a second time during the war (If that's the case the resistance would of been sizable as it was lead by Lucin’s and now manned by tons and tons of angry freed slaves.)
2. Or are you talking about him being enslaved before veld and being broken out before the war? (Before Veld there was no resistance or Lucins left.)
3. Or was he a slave once and then freed during the veld? (If that's the case the resistance would of been sizable as it was lead by Lucin’s and now manned by tons and tons of angry freed slaves.)

Quote:The isles, including Byne would be sacked by Mesalian and Xitian alike.
The Xitian influence during the civil war was subtle manipulation to get parties involved, actual sacking wouldn't be possible with their numbers. Also, given Byne is an island, even if they had the numbers there is little to no chance they'd attack given they'd be too weak to actually fight. This maybe a misunderstanding on my part but you should probably clarify as it currently implies Xitian warships and such.

It’s important to remember that even people that antagonize our characters have their own motivations and reasoning for what they do. The way Sarah is portrayed throughout most of the story (as a loving and supportive wife and mother) and how she acts in the end (a belligerent and greedy woman looking out for herself) are drastically, and unrealistically different. While their relationship is strained and there is plenty of reason for her to leave Rick, for both her own sake and that of her child, you didn’t really acknowledge any of it in her actions or motivation. Instead it seems she just did it out of cruelty and as harshly as she possibly could. This doesn’t seem to fit the woman written about prior, please revisit her motivations and her reasoning; Please revise her actions to reflect a more realistic approach for her character.

Rick has no established combat skill himself, so how does he take out any trained soldiers? How could he cross a war torn countryside uncontested with no ability to fight even the duskspawn off let alone soldiers?

Quote:He was stabbed in the shoulder and beat, his vision growing cloudy and black as he succumbed being struck in the face by a mail gauntlet.
bludgeoned, recently unconscious and stabbed, he manages to (completely untrained) throw a dirk into a man and outrun the rest to a horse? This seems unrealistic, please revise.

Quote:He groaned, and faded in and out of consciousness as he leaned forward in the saddle.
If you pass out in a saddle you're going to fall out of it and either get dragged or left behind by the animal. Which you do later, but this passage seems to imply he was able to otherwise. Please revise.

Quote:He sold his armor and dirk
I believe he threw that dirk at someone.

It's really hard for me to tell how much time passes, when and what occurs between theses points in relation to the lore. Could you please provide more information as to when events happen, years, or a timeline so I may know if this is in keeping with the overall lore?

Skills-

It seems that inspite of spending several years sailing, and professionally at that, he's no skill at this, please revise to add at least a novice skill from how long he spent with this occupation.

That's everything! Go ahead and bump the thread when you're done and I'll take another look.

RE: [Pending] Smug's Application: - SmugValiant - 07-07-2014

Done. Edits are in pink. Unreasonable and unrealistic parts of the story removed, errors that were mainly caused by being tired. Sorry for late post, I had to manage my discharge from the USMC.

RE: [Pending] Smug's Application: - LuckyLeaf - 08-07-2014