Jump to content

Motjam_

Member
 View Profile  See their activity

  • Posts

    39

  • Joined

  • Last visited

 Content Type 

Posts posted by Motjam_

    = The Flower that Wades =

    in Atlas Roleplay Archive

    Posted

    Raell flinched once he heard the news. He shook his head and sped off to the castle without any real warning. As he approached the gaunt, towering building he swallowed hard and made his way inside. He sprinted to Verdant's room only to find it empty. In a panic Raell searched the entire building, searching for his tutor. When he reached Verdant's room a second time he fell to his knees onto the grassy floor. The room already wilted from a lack of care and presence. 

     

    Biting back cries and tears Raell looked up into the room. "Y-you bastard." he spoke hoarse and tired, his voice wavered and shook uncontrollably. Raell chuckled meekly to himself for being so petty and he slowly stood "W-well...I guess I must once more teach myself..." he sniffed and shook his head slowly "Look at me...Caring more about my lessons than the fact you took your own life; don't blame me though...Y-....You were a murderer. A fact I swallowed my pride for, to learn. Did the guilt catch up with you?" he scoffed and shook his head "Of course it did...I hope it did...I'm sorry I couldn't help save you...May you road...Lead you to greener pastures Master." he swiveled on the balls of his feet and walked through the dour crypts until he came to his own room and slumped down on his bed, staring up at the cracked and mossy ceiling. 

    1

    Sea Trading Guild

    in Inactive Guilds

    Posted

    Application

    Username: Motjam_

    Character name:Thornir Sagehand

    Character's race and age: Mali'fenn, 75 (at time of application creation)

    Skill sets: Junior Doctor

    Major Nation Affiliations: None really

    Skype: tjc1999

    0

    Lost in Thought

    in Axios Roleplay Archive

    Posted

    Thornir's home was a mess. That would be an understatement; pieces of armour dot the home, greaves on the staircase, gauntlets on the dinner table, a helm staring vacantly from the desk and a tabard in a crumpled pool on the floor. His house would be awash with parchment, with various scribbles and sketches, some pinned to the walls. Paper flooded his desk, where he could be seen sketching away, making various notes from on sketches he drew. Every now and then his violet eyes flicker to an old medical treatise; a leather bound book lay spread open on desk, it's spine twitching and fraying, it's wings and feathers battered, scratched and with small rips. 

     

    Within the splayed treatise lay the secrets of anatomy, the structures of skeletons, how various bones fitted together. The intricacies of how each bone supported one another; various diagrams showing how a various joints should fit together and how it could be fixed if they became askew. Directions and theories for muscle movement within the arms and legs, how the biceps and triceps complimented one another in the arm's motions. The various major blood vessels that ran along them. Detailed descriptions of how the veins and arteries were structured, how the blood flow could be blocked in a vein; if you down and along the arm, causing swelling that would subside if you were to let go. The details of the artery and it's thick muscular walls. Various diagrams of organs and hypotheses for their function. The various afflictions caused by breakages in theses bones, blood vessels and organs.


    All this knowledge, in one book. From which Thornir was noting the hip and how it fitted together within the pelvis. But this was only the start for Thornir, soon he would read several more books. Books on afflictions, books on cures and books on methods of practice, how and when to use equipment. Thornir still had a long way to go but he scribbled on; through the pain of his tensing wrist, beginning to seize from hours of scrawling.

     

    Thornir stopped momentarily, flexing his wrist he curses lightly under his breath, slumping back into his chair; Thornir rolls his neck lazily, gazing mindlessly towards the window. It seemed light outside although fleeting, being replaced with an ever encroaching dim darkness. Thornir's pupils dilate as he became lost in his thoughts, he reminisces on his recent trip to the grove the woman with the uniquely pink hair. How she'd given him a tour and welcomed him so. 

     

    A small smile curls onto his lips as he looks back to the memory fondly. The warm sea air and brilliant sunshine. A complete juxtaposition to his Princedom. Monotonous blizzards and overcast skies, not to mention that everything outside the safety of the walls wants to kill you...That is, if the cold doesn't first. Thornir thinks back to the twins, how joyful they'd been, playing in the Spring sun. He chuckles to himself softly before slowly tearing his gaze from his window and back to the restless ocean of white before him. A listening blackness topping the waves. He lets out a small groan and begins to groggily rise from his chair. He take the opportunity to stretch as he waddles to the warm glow of the fireplace, plucking a long stick from the kindling pile and submerging it within the flames. Thornir pulls it back from the fire and waddles back his desk. Cupping the small flame as he walked, before transferring the flames to a stump of a candle. 

     

    Thornir slides the sketches and notes back into the old weathered book and quickly closes it, pushing it to one side. He takes the quill from it's pot, sliding another piece of parchment from the pile and setting it down on the table with a soft flap. Thornir hurriedly scrawls on the parchment, though as he begins, his writing begins to falter. The ink meanders ungracefully along the page as he writes, his head begins to bow forward and his eyelids slowly drooping shut. Thornir's head slowly tumbles down to the desk...

    With a sudden jolt. He awakes with a start, looking at the paper through bleary eyes. He lets out a grumble of vexation, huffing, he clutches the arms of his chair and slowly rises. His movements are shoddy and  once he reaches his full height his form begins to sway. He leans forward puffing out the candle with a single breath, then he slowly hobbles to the stairs, stumbling left and right, using the wall as his anchor to keep him upright. 

     

    Thornir's eyelid flickers and his elven ears droop. He pads softly towards his bed, clambering over his cover before just collapsing in the middle of bed; his breathing soft and slow. Thornir's room is a mess and that would be an understatement.  

     

    6

    The Grand Army

    in Axios Roleplay Archive

    Posted

    [OOC]

    Username: Motjam_ 

    Skype name: tjc1999

    Timezone: GMT+0

     

    [IC]

    Name: William Paget

    Race: Human

    Why do you desire to join?: My boss told me to

    Do you agree to PK if RP is done appropriately and well?: If it's an execution and rp with depth. Sure. None of that step, step stab.

     

    0

    The Purge

    in Axios Roleplay Archive

    Posted

    Matrim steps out from the elevator, continuing to call out his step-fathers name, though in vain. As he calls he notices his breath turn to wisps before him. Matrim then took note of the biting cold that had engulfed the room, his hand rummages in his coat pocket as he procures a small canteen, he takes a large sip and quickly screws the lid back on, stowing it away hurriedly. The liquor seeming to allow him to shrug off the cold; his storm cloud gaze carefully peers around the room as he makes his way into the main body of the laboratory. "B-Brathal?" he calls, still no response. His surly gaze rests on a strange robed...thing...Crumpled on the floor.

     

    Matrim begins to notice that as he drew near, even the liquor was waning on it's ability to keep the cold at bay, his body began to quiver and his breathing ragged in small wisps from his now chapped lips. His eyes slowly widen in horror as it begins to dawn on him what this crumpled pile of robes was...

     

    Matrim backpedaled in horror, dry heaving in disgust. He stumbled backwards into the elevator and fumbled for the control lever.

     

    As he slowly rose from those icy depths the truth sank in further. He took another, larger, sip from his canteen though his hands still trembled in horror; liquor poured across his faces as he clumsily drunk the fluid. Matrim wiped his lips with the back of his hand and although the elevator had returned to the basement, he continued to sit motionless in the corner of that small compartment.

    1
×
×
  • Create New...