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Author Topic: Point of Ignition [ 31.3.2563; 11 AM ] || Event  (Read 129 times)

Offline Alahn's MNPCs

Point of Ignition [ 31.3.2563; 11 AM ] || Event
« on: June 07, 2018, 10:55:36 AM »
Viscionis
Age:
2536  // 27 turns
Rank:
Holder || Drudge
Physical Description:
Had circumstances of the Pass been better, Viscionis would have been far larger and more imposing than he was; bodily, he was given to both height and muscle, but a lack of nutrition in childhood left him both shorter and thinner than he was meant to be. Liberally covered with scars from hard work, though, he still looks no-nonsense if rather plain in a drudge’s clothes. His most recognizable features are dark brown hair and a long scar that slashes across his right cheek and over his mouth, twisting his expression into a permanent grimace.
Personality:
Serious – Hardworking – Ambitious
Backstory:
Like his wife Ophyria, Viscionis was born a drudge and wants to be more than that, working hard to give his children a better future even if ultimately things don’t work out that way. That being said, he is firmly Holderfolk and Nabolese to the core in that he distrusts and resents dragonriders. He’s usually the sort that’s slow to anger and keep out of reactionary bullshit, but even he gets caught up in the rage that causes the riots. His hope is that some pushback will show the Weyr they can’t always have their way. Viscionis is Ophyonis’ father.
Intended Outcome:
Death; I established in Ophy’s history that Viscionis died here, but how that happens isn’t important to me so long as it’s violent. Staff death is fine; otherwise I’ll figure out a way to kill him off. 8D



He saw it the same moment most of the other drudges did.

Tithe days were always tense already, with everyone on edge as they watched precious food and other resources being loaded up for the ungrateful Weyr. Especially with a small contingency of riders standing awkwardly in the Great Hall while they waited and watched the pallets be filled, the people of Nabol were even more waspish and suspicious than normal. And no matter how tempting it might be to steal something, anything off of the tithe piles, the swift and brutal retaliation of Lord Holder Vandrae’s Keepers stopped them. The people of Nabol had learned that lesson quickly when things became really desperate.

But not all of the drudges were from Nabol. And as conditions grew worse and worse, more and more of the refugees from other settlements were falling in not only with the ranks of those drudges, but with the more criminal elements and impulses lurking around the Hold.

Viscionis recognized the offender as someone from Crom. His anxious behavior and furtive glances were enough to draw attention to him to begin with—but then he reached up to pluck a wrapped bundle off the stack of goods meant for the Weyr. Openly, where anyone could see.

The man’s life ended quickly after that, as one of the Keepers standing by in uniformed and watchful ranks released their wher with a low whistle of command. Heavy and hulking, the Bronze knocked him over hard enough to break bones, and the drudge’s scream was cut off as those thick jaws crunched down on his skull. Eyes spinning a quick and menacing red, it turned to growl and snap at those others nearby, sending other workers scattering away from the pallets.

If anything, that was the calm before the storm. Everyone was shouting at once—native Nabolese snarling in the faces of other drudges from different Holds, and the refugees yelling back just as loudly. Expletives, pejoratives, each seeming to condemn the other to Thread for their stupidity, their complacence, their very existence. And then the Peacekeepers were raising their voices too, telling everyone to back up:  away from the pallets, away from each other. To drop whatever they were holding.

Almost without realizing it, Viscionis’ grip tightened on the wrapped food he was holding. It would feed his family well that night if he kept it… and didn’t they deserve something? Something better than all of this?

“Hey! I said drop it!”

“It’s their fucking fault!”

He looked up, a Keeper staring him down with their wher hissing at their side as they advanced on him—but then the Keeper was distracted just as quickly as another drudge yelled nearly in his ear, one hand outstretched in an accusatory point at him… and then at the riders watching this unfold from nearer to the exit.

“Why should we listen to what they say? They brought all this down on us!”

The Keeper turned away, and Viscionis didn’t drop what he was carrying.

Things got… hard to keep track of after that. He saw the distinctly terrified expression of those few from the Hold that had accepted Searches the previous day. Young and scared behind the geared riders, who were now drawing their belt knives as they got advanced on. They were better trained, sure, but they were severely outnumbered.

It didn’t take long for one of them to go down under so many grasping fists and kicking feet, and the sound of a dragon’s death keen boomed into the Hold even from outside.

That was when the real mess started.

Spoiler for OOC:
You can find the OOC info and check-in here. You can feel free to pop in with any PCs so long as their history supports it, and you’re more than welcome to make MNPCs to participate with as well!

You can also read our guide to these events and our guide to Member NPCs, in addition to what information is present in the OOC thread.
« Last Edit: June 07, 2018, 10:56:12 AM by SirAlahn »
MNPCs and their threads listed here. || All staff powerplay allowed.

Offline Inki's MNPCs

Re: Point of Ignition [ 31.3.2563; 11 AM ] || Event
« Reply #1 on: June 11, 2018, 08:54:39 PM »
Qirelai
Age:
2551 // 12 turns
Rank:
Candidate
Physical Description:
*Skinny and malnourished
*Dark haired and light eyed
*Wearing varying degrees of clothes that don't fit together, nor do they fit her. Ragtag bunch of hand-me-downs.
Personality:
*Scrappy - Qire has always done whatever she had to do in order to survive. Her days have been spent with a dagger against her thigh and her nights with one under her head.
*Loyal - If you succeed in gaining her trust you'll have a loyal friend for life. Qire always repays her debts.
*Dreamer - As much as outwardly she's always spoken about keeping a realistic view on life, she's always harboured a hope for a better life.
Backstory:
Qirelai was your typical Nabol Hold street rat. Born into the life of drudgery with no real way out except into the streets. With so many other, and much more experienced refugees coming into the Hold, even the life of a drudge was looking less and less reasonable for Qire's future. Quick with her hands and quick on her feet, Qire was quickly absorbed into a gang, but she purposely stayed away from some of the less... tasteful jobs that were brought their way.
She didn't seek out the dragonriders, didn't hear of their arrival, just happened to be skirting through the backstreets as a blue flew overhead, and the swooshing of the wings as the dragonrider landed to seek her out was the only thing that alerted her. After she got over the initial daze of seeing a dragon up close and personal, Qirelai didn't hesitate to accept search. Collecting her meagre belongings, Qire slunk her way to the courtyard for their departure. 
Intended Outcome:
Injury is fine - staff or player is fine. Porque no los dos?
Medium serious, not something that will cripple her permanently, but hard core scars? Ugly, ugly wounds which will play up for the rest of her life? Yes please.




Slipping through the crowd, Qirelai kept her meagre belongings clutched close to her chest, the cloth wrapped items hidden underneath her shirt. She probably looked a mite strange, but she was skinny enough that the sack made her look like someone with a healthy amount of meat around her stomach. If they looked closer, they'd see a stark comparison to her skinny arms, twig-like legs, and bony face, but not many looked closer anymore.

Her face should have still held baby fat, if the world had not turned so harsh, she would have been delightfully cute, with wide grey eyes and chubby red cheeks paired together so anyone older than her would rush to do her bidding to seek the favour of an unfiltered smile of happiness. But alas, Nabol right now was certainly not the place for unfiltered things. Qirelai however, couldn't help the gleam that wanted to burst from her. The pressure building up somewhere dangerously close to her heart, as she wove between legs and hips of people standing around and waiting. Even the anger tension she could feel squeezing the crowd did nothing to deter her own thrill.

She'd been searched. She was winding her way to a dragon right now... at least to a dragon ride, and then the Weyr. And then she'd be able to stand with her toes in hot hatching sands, in front of a magnificent golden Queen. That was if they didn't change their mind once she got there, realising that she was far too ratty and beneath them to be allowed to place her dirty little feet in their Weyr.

Stop it, Qirelai. You're walking to a dragon.

Managing to slip her way beside the other somewhat fearful looking candidates, Qirelai looked hesitantly out towards the crowd, as the din started to crow louder and louder.

Cringing further into the pack of candidates, riders and tithe, Qirelai could do nothing more than try to blend in. Become invisible, as she always had. But where it was easy to meld into a wall, or become part of the furniture in a busy hall, a skinny little street brat amongst the tall figures of dragonriders… she’d never stood out more.

Quick fingers slipped under her tunic to grasp the smooth handle of her knife when the death keen rose and Qirelai crouched as low to the ground as she could. If all turned to shit, she’d duck out of her current awkward positioning, find her way amongst drudges and serving girls. But if any of the riders survived… Qirelai had to get herself on a dragon.

Offline Jarak's MNPCs

Re: Point of Ignition [ 31.3.2563; 11 AM ] || Event
« Reply #2 on: June 14, 2018, 03:39:02 AM »
D'rak
Age:
2539 // 24 turns
Rank:
Searchrider - Blue Quorith
Physical Description:
*Tall and lean
*Dark almost black hair, dark brown eyes
*Wearing well worn leathers, but clearly still in good condition.
Personality:
*Curious - He loves seeing and visiting different places. He's often wistfully thought that it's a pity he wasn't born a hundred turns earlier.
*Sarcastic - He's quick witted and any less than intelligent comments will gain a witty response, because he just can't let the moment pass by without making sure he's rubbed in that they said something rather silly.
*Hot headed - If there's something going on he'll often be the first to respond to it as he jumps without thinking and only regrets it later when his brain has had chance to catch up.
Backstory:
D'rak, (called Dirakal), was born in High Reaches Weyr, his mother was a cook in the caverns, his father was a brown rider. He was searched at the age of 12, but didn't impress until he was 15. As is usual he was immediately in love with the blue dragon which tripped to land face down in the sands at his feet and he couldn't quite remember why he'd even dreamed about riding a bronze. His Quorith was tagged as a search rider when he started giving D'rak hints about who to put marks on for impressing.
Searching and collecting Tithe is getting more dangerous to be sure, but this was just another routine pick up. The children that presented themselves, often refugees from the look of their clothes, were generally quick to accept a search, no doubt thinking of the tithe that was going back to the Weyr. They had a solid group gathered that Quorith liked and D'rak was looking forwards to getting back to the Weyr.
Intended Outcome:
Whatever happens, happens.



Not a bad search. D'rak says to Quorith as he looks over the newly searched and he can imagine the blues croon at the praise despite him being perched on the fireheights somewhere.

They will do well. There's a pause and then the blue adds with a hint of smugness, I found them.

D'rak chuckled, of course he would get the last word in. Still shaking his head he continues to count in the candidates as they arrive, most of them nervous. He can't blame them, while they both like the trips out from the Weyr, there's just a feeling in the air right now that he doesn't like. He'll be glad to get back to High Reaches. Hopefully the little green Quorith had his eye on this morning won't have risen yet, a good flight would help loose the last of the tension he can feel building between his shoulder blades.

The noise in the courtyard swelled. “What?” He muttered as he straightened up, hand going to his knife hilt.

They are angry. Somebody tried to steal from the tithe and the Wher killed him.

“Shards!” He muttered as the noise grew, shouts echoing around the courtyard, one voice standing out above the others 'They brought all this down on us!' and the crowd turned. His knife was unsheathed before he realised what he was doing and he pulled a couple of the candidates back towards the wall as he got past them to help his wingmates. He didn't see who went down, too busy keeping the crowd at bay, but he felt it as Quoriths angry bellow from the heights abruptly switched to a keen.

“We need to get the candidates out of here.” He wasn't sure who he was talking to, his wingmates, Quorith, possibly the candidates themselves. But they weren't going to be able to do anything here except get killed, the crowd outnumbered them by a long way.

 

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