Recent Statuses

6 days ago
Current Five more months until I can try my best to flush the current German government down the toilet. This anti-youth, ignorant, corrupt bunch of people deserves to be politically obliterated :(
7 days ago
Just finished drawing something, but unfortunately it's 'just' a bit of satire about a certain software I don't like.
19 days ago
Quite busy today. Replies will come out tomorrow!
26 days ago
Not only you, Poo :)
28 days ago
Isn't people lurking 1x1 interest checks the very purpose of the latter? I'm happy about people reading things before hammering out some kind of PM.
1 like


Welcome to my profile page!

Who the hell is this person behind those many miles of fiber optics and copper cable ?

  • I'm a 30 year old guy.
  • ... who's working as an embedded system's engineer.

And into which hell will I descend with you participating in one of my roleplays?

  • I'm a fantasy addict: medieval high and low!
  • I'd consider myself to be a low casual roleplayer, 3 paragraphs per post on average.
  • My schedule varies. It might happen that I won't be able to post at all for a week, but then again it might happen that I'll reach a sweet spot inside which I can go on a posting rampage. I'd say one can expect 1-2 posts a week from me, depending on the lengths involved.
  • English is not my native language, but so far I've not encountered anyone who had had trouble with me over that :)

Want to RP with me ? Shoot me a PM, but don't shoot me!

Thanks for visiting!

Most Recent Posts

So I'd like to apologize for having taken so long. It was a tough choice between Spectre and Tainted... and guess what I took!

Debts are still a to be done. Just hit me up if anybody wants to connect his or her character to mine this way :)

Please tell me if anything's wrong!
@Fetzen Let me know if you need me to walk you through character creation

That would be highly appreciated :)
The festival ? Oh really ? Manald still felt the groggyness sit deeply inside him, but even in that state the kind of mismatch between the man's statement and the man's overall behavior and clothing was anything but difficult to detect. Since the lycanthrope's eyes narrowed in onto the individual in his grab, he paid little attention to the other one whom he simply assumed to be exactly the same case. He missed the crossbow, but not something else...

"A little low on stamina, are we ? I wouldn't recommend going to a festival if you've already broken in sweat!" he hissed more than he said, his canine and not so human looking teeth clearly visible to the other man whose eyes widened in horror. It was obvious to the assassin that he would not get out of here entirely the way he wanted to say the least, so why not take a shortcut to the inevitable ? This hairy individual might have a vice grip from hell, but so much mass would be no match to the speed of a dagger!

In one rapid move, the assassin moved his blade out of his cloak and struck for the spot he had already looked out for well in advance. As his fingers started touching Manald's long hair while pushing the blade into the lycanthrope's flesh all the way to the handle, he could feel the vice grip go beyond what his wrist could safely handle. At the first moment the surge of pain only helped to boost Manald's rage and he broke the bone. He gave the assassin's legs a violent kick in order to send the man to the ground below his feet.

This really was not the kind of revitalizing night Manald had hoped for! And yet his current headache had potential to become the least of his problems as he was not even aware of the blade being poisoned yet. Now that said tool had been in so close proximity he could pick the strange scent of some weird ingredient, too, but that could just be a very thin layer of oil on top of the steel as well. He did manage to suppress his desire for a quick kill though: that man on the ground could be useful for some questioning. Their encounter here on the open streets had not been a planned one after all and hardly anyone without some kind of malicious intention would risk an open attack this way.

Manald's next kick however did annihilate the potential for any torturer to play with the assassin's center of fertility though. It was rammed deep into the groin and recovery was anything but granted -- something Manald honestly did not think about at that point. Slowly, the injury sustained turned from an envigorating factor into a hampering one. Manald needed to make sure the man on the ground was thoroughly disabled and ready to be taken care of by someone else before he'd stop being able to do so. He directed his attention towards the assassin's other arm and stomped onto the man's hand so he'd finally let go of his weapon, even if that would mean breaking a bunch of fingers in the process.

At that point he could hear a noise approaching a little too fast for comfort and it made him turn his head. It was Merik and it seemed he was going reptile on the assassin's colleague. Good thing, simply because for a very brief moment Manald could spot a crossbow now that the assassin's clothing was in turmoil due to its owner being under attack. Even a lycanthrope could not handle two people who were yards away from each other with bare hands simultaneously...

The real question still remained though: How would the poison affect him ? Would it do anything at all do his differnt metabolism, would it make no difference or would it cause an even worse reaction ? Or would the amount transferred simply be insufficient to really hurt someone of his much more massive size ?
So be it then :)

Is there any archetype not taken already ? :)
How big are the chances of someone who has next to zero idea about the rules (yet) to be able to participate in this ? :)

Has seen a distinct status post.
Jared Morvayn

If one thought of secret organizations, the world of official agents and those acting against those officials while trying to hide from them at the same time, one probably thought of clandestine meetings in the very humblest, most inconspicuous corners of the city. Shadows flickering across empty streets in pale moonlight, tiny candles being the only thing to illuminate the dark paths of those who did seek to remain unnoticed. People that would wander along on their toes while wearing dark cloaks and hiding their faces deep inside large capes. Secret rooms and weird, artificial languages to obfuscate one's true intentions just in case...

Yet the truth was that this was a very one-sided imagination. It was purely focused on the aspect of protecting against the terrible noises caused by a lousy bard who couldn't handle his instrument. How much better would it be however if one could simply get rid of the lousy bard ? The equivalent of this in said world of agents kinda was not to trigger any attention in the first place. Goldroot had informers and hidden channels that could tell them about changes in the guard's schedules, provide them with some advance warning in case a larger raid was planned or even commit to minor acts of sabotage. Yet all of this was dangerous and not available in every region and at every point of time, so the much simpler way to prevent attention was just to make things boring. Very boring.

Even so boring that Jared was quite a little surprised. What had been so wrong about expecting something more exciting than a simple man in shabby clothes sitting opposed to him at the same table of a very average-ish tavern called 'The Round Corner'?

"You look a little confused, my man." also was the first rection of Mr. Shabby-Clothes towards Jared, just after they had gone through inspecting each other's outer appearance. It threw Jared into immediate insecurity about what to answer, simply because he didn't know what was he allowed to tell. Could he even dare to openly mention the word 'Goldroot' ? Not opening his mouth, he stared back and forth between the man and the empty table separating them.

"I like not to eat during serious business, it just... distracts my mind." Shabby-Clothes continued, only confusing Jared further. "Two acres of goldroot are waiting to be harvested and I've got some other potential customers waiting in line, so are we up to a deal or not ?" Luckily this time of the year was the right one to make such statements. Hopefully this Jared would get it...

"Erm... yes. I think so. What is your price ?"

Shabby-Clothes' face immediately turned into a more friendly one. If one paid close attention one could see his eyes scan the room behind Jared's hulking shape in one swift move before his hand started digging into the depths of his rags. He shoved a pretty fresh and nice looking roll of parchment towards Jared, smiling. Even without unfolding it one could already see an overly large and nice signature on what appeared to be the top page of a document spanning several pages. Still a bit hesitantly, Jared undid the rope holding the pieces together.

"On the second page you'll find the price listing, scope of delivery and so on... We can still discuss about the price, of course, that's why some parts of the text have been left empty so we can fill them in later. Your final signature goes on page 4." Was there a hint of a grin on Shabby-Clothes' face ?

As Jared unfolded the document, he could indeed see a large amount of written words on pages two and three to be followed by a blank page number four. Knowing that this whole thing could not really be about a real contract about some large amount of Goldroots, he didn't really care much about the numbers. He read it out of interest, hoping to find some clues about what this really was intended to be about. Some minutes passed with Shabby-Clothes watching patiently, then Jared pretended to have come to a conclusion:

"That, erm... sounds all nice. I do have to talk to some people though before signing this. Can I take this with me ?" he asked.

"Of course you can! And please make to point out the watermark to your bosses. I want to make sure that your people know I'm an honorable and serious business partner."

Jared arched an eyebrow, then lifted the parchment to hold it against the light of a candle which happened to stand on the table they sat on. There indeed were some weak lines behind those made out of ink. It was impossible to see them when one didn't knew they were there or just was lucky enough to look at the right places in the right lighting conditions. Yet it was obvious they did not represent some kind of a well-known merchant's seal like the decorated insignia on the first page, but something else...


A few hours later, Jared found himself knocking against the same piece of metal as Cherry. He was a few hours behind her though.
So Vargas was gone, a moment Skarsat had been looking forward to since he had been given the answer he had waited for. It was at this exact point of time however that the Tork man also realized how foolish a thought it had been to believe that this would actually make things so much better in the room. A little more air to breath, yes, but otherwise ? The others were free to spread their verbal wings even further! And by 'others' Skarsat primarily had the women in mind. Maréngo seemed okay so far and given his body he probably was an able fighter, but he could not see much of his qualities in the other persons so far, except for Nora perhaps whose attitude he had already been able to witness.

Another slight detail that only now started to burn itself into his mind was how some people here had been touching each other... A more than professional relationship between employer and employees did not have to end in jeopardy per se, but this time there was a lot of coin on the table. Skarsat had to suppress the inner urge to envision some kind of betrayal just because somebody 'loved' somebody else more than the others...

He stepped forward towards the table where Solange had poured him some wine, the wooden floorboards protesting against his weight with quite loud noises. In his calloused hand the wine glass almost seemed a little fragile, but it turned out it would not have to stay in that precarious place for long as Skarsat apparently followed a 'taste doesn't matter as long as you're fast'-approach. He craned his neck as if wanting to take a look at the ceiling that already was close to his scalp, but in fact he only wanted to use his face and beard as a means to catch any droplets of wine that would inevitably escape their death march out of the glass and into his throat. Also, of course, gravity was always useful when pouring things.

And yet anybody who paid attention at the right moment would be able to see how his neck winced, thick veins bulging on its skin as some reflex desperately tried to override Skarsat's sheer will and to stop the influx of red fluid. That stuff was way too fruity! He needed something to fix this... wasn't there some considerable lot of pheasant around here ? Skarsat reached for a part of it with bare hands, separting it from the remainder with one swift move and guiding it to his mouth before too much liquid could come out of it and fall to the ground. Tork people were not the most mannered bunch from an Eastener's point of view in general perhaps, but when the need to eat was so urgent in order to wash away something else all other priorities receded!

It was only after the first two bites that Skarsat dared to look for something like a plate and he also squeezed himself into the empty chair, continuing to eat. His response to Y'Vannas concerns about their capability to chew was the loud sound of his chewing. At least physically it seemed he could chew a lot, but in the metaphorical sense that was in question for this whole endeavour ? That was an entirely different matter still to be investigated...
The barracks were better than Manald had actually expected. There was a reasonable amount of windows to allow for enough ventilation to continuously blow away the stench of sweat, farts and other things, and the lycanthrope would make sure that the one next to his bed would stay open at all times. Every bed had two levels, one for each person, and he had been lucky to get the upper level first. Ignoring the small barrage of complaints coming from the man below him that the whole construction might break down if he moved to much, he was looking forward to a good portion of sleep.

If only it had not been for that set of fleshy and in his case overly large and sensitive extensions to one's head that were called 'ears'. This were the barracks, not the war room or any of the private quarters for much higher ranking people next to it. Even if the assassins had chosen to come here them roaming around would not have caused a comparable degree of confusion as there already were plenty of tired or simply less disciplined men caused a plethora of disturbances echoing though the hallways. An explosion however, even though only a small one and a few buildings away from his bed, nearly instantly transitioned Manald back to the state of readiness.

A very grumpy one one might argue though. Manald did not even bother to exchange his simple sleeping garments for something more appropriate for an outside environment, but headed outside with just barely more than his humble self. Where had this bang come from ? He had been asleep at the point of time, but a rough idea about directions was still there. Also, as he took in as much air as he could in order to unfold his lungs again, the lycanthrope could pick up a faint trail of something else... It smelled repulsively enough to trigger further attention.

If it had not been for Manald's general lack of any idea about what was truly going on currently, the two hooded figures might have passed by the hulking, hairy figure unharmed and walked into oblivion. The way things were however pretty much everyone who did not look like either a close friend or someone completely drunk from the ongoing festivities was a person of interest to him. Also they moved away from the castle just a tad too fast to remain unnoticed on the streets. Without a plan, but looking forward to some, any kind of reason to deliver a rant at somebody, Manald extended his arm in a swift move to get a hold onto the other man's shoulder. The other assassin realized that it had beed a mistake to stay on course just to render themselves less suspicious and sped up his steps, but there was no escape from the vice grip for his companion.

"What are you two little buggers doing out here ? Did everybody think you two are childs and refused to offer you some ale, huh ?" Manald's stare was disrupted by some rapid movement of his eyelids. This sleep was far from complete!
I never had nightmares during my studies. Now, four years after their end, I sometimes have nightmares about them.
The Faded Lantern

Oh, look! Lord Vargas could talk! So who was a simple Tork to bargain with such a noble man ? From Skarsat's point of view he had already achieved his goal and that had been to make that man not only open his mouth, but to actually produce something humble and reasonable with it: an apology! Five hundred gold sounded like a lot, but also really just that: It sounded like a lot. He did not really know whether this amount was adequate for the job at hand or not. However, so much one might ask in order to be fair, did Lord Vargas himself know what the job really was ?

Yeah. Thanks to Nora he had already picked up that it was about some kind of recently discovered ancient grave they should relieve of its riches, but that was not the point. The point was the bunch of people in here: The burly man looked like a sailor and gave a rather honest first impression, but all the girls in here ? Something back in his head told Skarsat that it could only be matter of days until the party would start suffering from... internal disintegration ? With that possibility in mind one could interpret the job description of 'make sure that this lot makes it back to make' in a much different way. Maybe this all was not about defending against overly enthusiastic competitors, but about giving the people here a whipping if necessary ?

It left Skarsat wondering why Vargas would put together such a difficult bunch of people in the first place though. Was one of the major leaders in this damn port running out of men ? An interesting thought, but again Skarsat found himself in desperate lack of real knowledge. He'd stick to Nora. If the woman had shown her true nature downstairs just before than they likely could work with each other. Anything else would be highly problematic anyway...

"I have nothing to add." Skarsat responded to Y'Vanna's question. Then, after having glanced over towards Nora briefly, he thought twice: "Oh wait! I ask for a hammock!"

He had sat on the chairs in the main hall, he had already looked at the kind of seat they had offered him here and with departure having been announced for eight in the morning it dawned upon Skarsat that the bed in his room might turn out to be the third item in a row of utter inadequacies. A hammock was much less prone to size problems and, if oriented properly with regard to the boat's course and the current winds, could also compensate for the swell and save him from being tossed out of bed again and again. No need to make a laugh out of oneself is a simple request could prevent this!

Hopefully Nora would not turn out to be an ex-member of some highly official army or whatever those Easteners tended to have around here in their kingdoms. Just by looking at their armors, one perfectly matching the other, one could already guess that being a soldier there involved a lot of highly valued 'standards' being rammed up one's butt. 'Standards' was something many travellers found an appalling lack of within Torkanian territory so he himself would not like any dictate about how exactly to do things, arrange things, eat things or whatever else could come to one's mind!

Neh'miah made an important point though: They'd all have to make sure they had proper equipment. If Lord Vargas had just allowed for all of them to go out over night this would not have been that much of a problem in a sprawling place like this, but now ? Could Percy really be trusted to do important business ? Neh'miah certainly believed so -- or he had just given up already.

"Erm, Lord Vargas ? What if I need more arrows before we leave ? Percival probably doesn't know what kind of stuff I'm exactly looking for. Eight in the morning is a little early for buying things before departure, isn't it ?"
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