Synasthima
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On the Protection and Consistency of Descendant Life
Synasthima replied to KaiserJacobII's topic in The Church of the Canon
"Hark! The great minds of the clergy have spoken thusly: the execution of an innocent is murder. By the Gods, whatever shall we do now?" Commented a Bard to a rather empty taproom, gasping in exaggerated fright. -
Discord:Synasthima#0415 Bid: $6 Skin Number: 5
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odd and probably difficult to answer question, but how do you all go about creating a character?
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- & - Amidst windswept boughs did a gaunt figure take seldom earned pause; an icy wind cutting through barely held together furs. She felt clarity. She felt calm. Light blue orbs dully surveyed the half-dead forest -- dead leaves drifting down in lazy arcs to add to the near parasitic pile on the forest floor. Frigid, barely moving hands procured a lump of wax, nestling it between the roots of a stunted oak. Within moments, a small trail of smoke drifted out and into the air. And with it, the fenn's memories drifted back to her fractured family. To her first meeting with Kindrel in the center of Elvenesse. To the pain of being lambasted by Darcassan. To betraying her one and only son. She tilted her head back, parting cracked and near bleeding pale lips to release a painful series of hollow chuckles. She regained her composure and muttered a soft, indirect prayer for both Kindrel and Darcassan. Gods know they needed it. Elaerys stood, brushed herself clean of a few stray leaves, and continued on her silent march. Thoughts slipping back into the comfort of melancholic lethargy.
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An unrelenting sentry cleansed the tainted blood from his blade, casting a content gaze upon the majesty of Ando Alur.
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An unsure bard concluded his song, looking into his hat to collect the few mina that were tossed in. Thereafter, he found his gaze drawn to a wayward piece of folded parchment that had found its way into his hat through some sort of means. With only a small inkling of curiosity to guide his pen, the pennysinger filled out the application. Name : Idneth ap Wilim Race: Human Age: Twenty four Past Accomplishments: Former singer in the ranks of the famous Blood of One. Trained in both the playing of the lute and flute, along with the basics of the piano. ((Discord: Synasthima#0415 )) ((Username: Synasthima ))
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Elaerys folds the missive, quietly gathering her things in preparation for the great event.
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dunno who a malghoul is but seems cool
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Disclaimer: Expectations v. Reality or why nobody cares about you or your dumb character Foreword My goal in writing this short post is simple. I hope to not only rant about some things I've seen from my first few days on the server but also maybe share a lesson that I've learned not only from MCRP but from TTRPGs in general. I'm probably just preaching to the choir but, hey, hopefully someone somewhere can take something useful from this. Here goes nothing. Expectations I think when many people join this server they already have a few expectations brewing in their mind. It's hard not to have any. I personally believe that new players expect one of two things when they first check out the website. Either A) some sort of high fantasy literary adventure like Eragon, Assassin's Apprentice, Septimus Heap. Stuff like that. Or B) an RPG game à la Skyrim but with a heavy sandbox focus. While not entirely wrong, these expectations can cause more harm then good. One, in particular, can kill interest like nothing else. This expectation stems from the idea that something big will happen to your character. They'll come across an Elder Dragon running rampant within a fallen city. They'll then be charged with finding Ash's Bane, the last Khoros Blade forged from the heart of an ancient abyssal lord. Forced to reforge the blade, they'll have to travel to the warped peak of Mount Kruz'nash to rekindle the essence of the blade. All the while escaping the clutches of the great... You get my point. I recognize how much of a blanket statement I've made. Not everyone comes in with that type of mindset. But I also believe it covers a pretty common line of thought from newer players like myself. The issue that I take with these preconceived notions comes not from how 'wrong' they are but how limiting they can be when referring to the Lord of the Craft or even TTRPGs. It's a similar issue in games like DnD. Many view the game as nothing more than a medium for rolling dice, killing monsters, and getting filthy, mindbogglingly rich. And that's one thousand percent fine. People are allowed to and should enjoy games in whichever style that they want. But in a massive collaborative scene, I can't help but hate how detrimental that line of thinking can and will eventually become. I'm pretty bad at translating my weird thoughts into words so I recommend that you watch the video 'Why Minecraft Roleplay Is The Best Thing You've Never Heard Of'. It was what got me interested in this server in the first place and it was also a wonderful primer. In summary, the idea of LOTC as a 'collective story' [really a bunch of smaller stories that crisscross and branch into each other and make a weird malformed human centipede of a story] is the best way to come at it without having your expectations crushed. And trust me, they will be. That's because... Reality There isn't an antagonistic Elder Dragon. There isn't a lost Khoros Blade that only your character is capable of wielding. Nothing. That story doesn't exist because your character doesn't matter and, more importantly, nobody cares about you. And... That's okay. It's important to remember that the onus is on you. You're the one that has to go out there and create fun, interesting, meaningful RP. There won't be an antagonistic Elder Dragon until you make or find or however the hell that stuff works on this server happens. Same goes for the Khorkoa Blade. But, at the end of the day, the effort must come from you. Nothing will fall in your lap, no quest marker will appear, nothin' like that. And that's one of the major strengths of this server. You have to distance yourself from expectations to realize the stupid amount of freedom that it comes with. At the end of the day, bunk expectations. Go out there and do **** WITHOUT bothering people. Breathe, take it easy, and have fun. or do what you want i dunno im new here dont hurt me
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Any art commissioners good at making flyers? Hit me up so we can chat.
Edited by Synasthima -
What's your advice to a new player wanting to create interesting/meaningful/fun interactions or stories IRP? Conversely, what are some things I should avoid doing IRP that would kill these interactions or stories?
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First day on the server. A bit uneventful, lots of running, but otherwise had fun. A big thank you to everyone who was patient with a newer player.
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Erlend was born in the small rural village of Addersfield near the western edge of the Holy Orenian Empire. Born to one Aodhan Folke, a portly rancher who was prone to bouts of inane anger, the youth never met the '***** of a woman' that sired him. The topic was a.. Sore subject for the balding, middle-aged farmer. She had left him shortly after the birth of the child; rumor has it that she fled back to her family or simply escaped from the abusive man. As a baby and young child, Erlend suffered from a litany of diseases due to his weakened immune system, eventually turning him more pale and thin then others his age. Aodhan, viewing the child as nothing more than a burden, sent Erlend away to live with his grandfather in a nearby village. With nothing more than a few coins in his pocket and a single loaf of bread, the now fourteen year old was thrust from his house and into the cold night air. The child wailed and threw himself at the door, begging to be let back in. You see, Erlend still had a certain measure of respect and kinship with his father. Of course, he was terrified of the raucous outbursts whenever the drunkard would stumble about the house at night... But.. He remembered the few tender moments with his father. The time he took care of him during endless nights of sickness, balancing on the edge between life or death. The time he chased away a group of bullies that tried to demean and attack him. Despite those memories and hopes, the door remained fixed. So, Erlend went off on his way, only utilizing vague indications from passersby to try and locate the village. The youth arrived at his grandfather's house after two days of horrible walking. The kindly, old gentlemen known only to him as Edward took the limping and starving child in as his own. Immediately, the differences between the two environments was shocking. Edward loved, nourished, and protected him; teaching him all that he knew. The old man was one of the only literate individuals in the city, offering his services as a scribe for the local lord. Erlend was swept up into the fuss of the Edward's day, eventually being put to work as his ward and caretaker of the small library that was attached to the house. It was nothing more than a small shed but the teen was infatuated. Any moment not spent within the cramped halls was spent day-dreaming about them. The words upon the pages; the tales spun from nothingness. It could only be called an awakening for the child. Truly, though, Erlend was most interested in cartography. A fascination and curiosity with the hundreds of thousands of unknowns in the world. From For five years, the youth danced back and forth in this small paradise. On the night of his nineteenth birthday, however, Edward sat him down in his room and spoke to him. He offered him two presents: a pair of fine clothing and a small leather case that held a single, rudimentary compass. "I know what you want, child. I see how you look at the maps hung on the walls downstairs." Before Erlend could speak, the old man held up a single palm to stop him. "Allow this old man to speak his piece. You have learned all I can teach, Erlend. It is time for you to go out into the world and learn, like all must do." A soft yet firm hand clasped his shoulder. "I will be here for you, always. Come home whenever you need." With tears in his eyes, he shared a hug with the aging man before spending the rest of the day reminiscing and helping the bitter sweet writer with a few pieces of work that had piled up. The next morning, they shared a tender hug before Erlend set off into the world.
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