The Third Age: The Icronian Wars

Welcome to the Third Age OOC and Character Submission thread. Here is where all OOC (Out of Character) posts will be made. This includes any chatter about the RP, Character Submissions, and general griping because the GM (Moi) is terrible at his job.




First, lets set a few ground rules, shall we?

1. No poor Role Play etiquette. This includes God-Moding, Power Plays, Mary Sue-ness, etc. I will be watching for these and any culprits WILL HAVE TO WITHSTAND THE FURY OF A THOUSAND DISGRUNTLED POSTAL WORKERS! So don't do this stuff. M'kay?

2. Don't be an ass-hat. This is self explaining.

3. Don't feed your Moogle after midnight.

4. Don't forget to be awesome.

5. For the love of all that is good, do not, I repeat, DO NOT eat the yellow snow!





Now, onto Character Submissions.

All Submissions must be carried out in this manner:

Name:


Age:


Gender:


Race:


Class:


Physical Description and Weapons:


Personality:


Biography:


Misc.:

Do note: No characters should be complete bad-asses right off the bat. Sometimes it is fun to be a little inexperienced!

Along with this, a submission of your writing is required. These must be four good sized paragraphs at a minimum. Anyone wishing to impress/entertain me may write more, but do remember that these submissions are meant to gauge quality, not quantity. 

These submissions must be an original work pertaining to the character you are submitting and cannot be your opening post for the RP.

It is encouraged that writing submissions be sent to me via PM to cut down on clutter, though if you are feeling especially proud of your writing you may post it along with your Character Submission

Also, as the races of The Fey and Demons are meant to be rare in this world, any Submissions for these races will be judged in a much more critical light.

If you have any questions, it is highly recommended that you consult the Encyclopedia Thread.

However, don't feel at all shy to come take a seat in Papa Jax's lap and ask any questions you may have! I'll be happy to answer them.




My own Character Submission will be posted after the RP has begun, because I'm mysterious like that.

I look forward to playing with all of you and hope you get your minds out of the gutter. That's right. I knew you were snickering at that double entendre. Shame...

Now: LETS HAVE SOME FUN, GOD-DAMNIT!

Name: Lazul M'theryl


Age: 25

Gender: Male


Race: Wood Elf


Class: Gunslinger


Physical Description and Weapons: 6' tall, tan skin, green eyes and black hair. He has a tribal leaf tattooed around his right eye.

He wields two flintflock pistols as his primary weapons, obsidian colored metal with wooden grips, tribal leaves carved into the grips and vines carved into the barrel of the gun to appear as though they were wrapping around it. The vines and leaves are laden with gold.

He wears a tattered brown duster, which is practically coated in sand, with a matching hat, which appear to be horribly riddled with holes, and steel-tipped boots with a white and brown color coordination with trees embroidered on the sides.


Personality: Quiet, reserved, but bold. He doesn't seem to talk much, but his expression often does the talking for him. When he feels it necessary, he will occasionally speak up or grunt. And when he feels the need to get a point across...he takes action.

Biography: Lazul grew up on a human settlement with a few siblings, plenty of time to kill and not much do. Oh, and his parents, yes, he had those too.

While he enjoyed running around and doing things kids like to do like being hooligans and playing in the mud, so on and so forth, he also liked staying inside and quietly reading a book. To anyone this would seem perfectly normal, his father noticed that it was rather in contrast to his sibling, who were for the most part devoid of any form or  amount of patience to sit still for five seconds. Lazul was also far less prone to shirking his chores in favor of getting distracted by a passing cloud or a bug. So his father decided to set up a little test for him.

His father was a traveling gunsmith in his younger days, but he still had the touch when it came to making a decent gun. But he knew that eventually his skill would begin to degrade as both his life and children would pass by him. Out of all of his children, Lazul appeared to be the only one with the amount of attention span and patience required of a gunsmith, but he had to be sure before passing his craft to his spawn.

So he set up his son with a little project to do, a simple one, but it would determine whether or not Lazul would be eligible to be taught the craft. He handed him a canvas, an easel, an array of paint and paintbrushes, and a gun (empty, of course).

"I want you you to go upstairs and try to make a painting of this gun, as accurately as possible. I'll come and check on you tomorrow."

The boy took the art supplies and the gun, looking at the gun before nodding and quietly heading upstairs. What he didn't tell Lazul was that he had rigged the gun specifically so that if the hammer had been pulled back all the way, the organic epoxy he drizzled inside would cause the hammer to become stuck with no way of getting unstuck. In other, it was made to be tamper evident. Before he taught him anything, he also had to make sure his son had discipline (or at least enough to listen to instruction and not go toying around with the gun).

The next day, his father walked in...and smiled at what he saw. There was his boy, still perfecting the outline of the gun, though he had clearly not slept for very long as his painting had become a bit sloppy. From this, Lazul's father realized that the boy knew, in some form or another, that this was important. Yet he didn't ask any questions. He just did it. On further inspection, the hammer of the gun was indeed left untouched. But it was already clear that his boy was devoted to the task. Now would come the teaching...

In the years that followed, Lazul learned much under the wing of his father. He was fascinated by how complex these weapons were in comparison to a sword, the many parts and pieces that held it together. He was taught how to properly fire a gun for the purposes of testing the firearm, and was given the job of testing each firearm that he and his father had made. Lazul didn't talk very much during this time, but he didn't need to. Together, they would bond over their love of guns, a bond that was devoid of the need for words.

Eventually, Lazul had become skilled to the point that he was quickly making his own firearms, and had surpassed his own father in the quality and accuracy of his guns. His father had finally taught him everything he needed to know, and lived to see his son master the craft. Right on schedule...his life had also began to halt.

Before his passing, he made Lazul promise him to take his smithing kit and the pistols that he had made, and go out into the world, meet knew people and do incredible things, and most importantly to use the weapons Lazul had made for good. After a light nod from his closest son, Lazul's father fell into a deep slumber that he would not wake from.

Not wasting any time, Lazul made a short note to his family of his departure (he wasn't one for words or tears), and briskly left his home settlement. Couple years and one or two firefights ending in Lazul limping away with a pocket half full of cash and a belly half full of food brings us to now, a somewhat battle-harden Lazul who's pretty broke and starving but he still feels that it's slightly impressive that he's managed to live for two years after leaving his home. And past one particular fight he got into when a bank robber nearly took his head off with a rifle and quick trigger finger (though he didn't feel any better about get his hat shot to pieces).

Misc.: His current reputation has earned the occasional whisper of an elf who strides from down to town doing good deeds for food and a few meads, but he's kept his activities on the low down for the most part, not wanting to attract any wanted attention.

Additionally, the duster, hat, and boots he picked up came from different town he's wandered into, and all were acquired with the remaining amount of money he had at the time, leaving him with out a meal on his trip out and to find nourishment of some other form on his travel towards the next town. But where will his next of travels take him...?

@ Loot.


Alright Loot, you get to be the example! Sorry about your luck sport, though I'm sure you won't be the last.

The first warning alarms went off in my head when I saw this kid's age. Seventeen... How in Hell does anyone accomplish anything by the time they are seventeen? Not to mention have his surrogate Fey family murdered, develop a life long vendetta, train himself in sharpshooting, and the go out and become what is essentially The Batman in a trench coat?

I have news for you: your character is not Clint Fucking Eastwood in "The Outlaw Jose Wales". You don't become a crack shot by sitting out back shooting at a board while crying over your dead relations memories. There is no way this kid would be able to do all this in such a short time. If he attempted to go out and become a bad-ass, vengeful bounty hunter, all the other older, more experienced, actual bounty hunters would chew him up like a pack of Double Bubble and spit him in the gas-station toilet.

Also, if you have to add the addendum "as crazy as it might seem" it is probably, in fact, crazy and unbelievable. While odd circumstances are a part of life, they must not be of M. Night Shamalan proportions.

Onto history. First off, what the hell is this kid doing in a human settlement? Most Wood Elves are nomads, staying in traveling caravans and not staying in any place for too long. The only settled ones live in Vendrali. So, how did this kid end up with humans?

Further more, why was he adopted by the Fey? What, are the Fey suddenly running a charity? They can barely keep themselves safe, so why would they look at a bouncing baby Wood Elf and say, "Oh, honey, isn't he cute? Can we keep him? Can we?!" Not likely to happen, though I can let that slide compared to the other stuff.

Onto this "fascination with guns". When I was reading along, my brain grabbed my by my eyeballs and screamed, "Hold on there buddy! Look at that shit! Where the Hell did that come from?" I stuttered back, "I'm- I'm not sure Brain. It looks like the writer just threw that in there as a way to awkwardly justify his choice of class... Wait, no... Brain, no, stop...STOP!"

My Brain attempted to end the pain with a bullet to the temple, but I was able to talk him down.

Really though, you need to give good, detailed explanation for these things. No on just wakes up one day and says, "Hoy Shit! Those gun things are the best thing ever, huh?" There has to be a reason, and if it is a trait that is going to define your character, you sure as Hell better put some work that section.

The Physical Description needs work. Give me the gritty details. How does that stereotypical trench coat look? Is it dusty? Full of holes? Have a damn mustard stain on it? Give me something! Your character's appearance is a key part of who they are. Why wouldn't you tell me all the cool little details?

Your personality needs a little work. I don't expect too much more here. Personality is best revealed through the story, but you need to give me more than just the gigantic broad strokes. I need a bit more detail.

I'm also still waiting on your Writing Submission.

I think you have potential, but you really need to work at this character a little more. If you can't imagine him living, breathing, going about his daily life, doing the little things like buying groceries or something, or gauge his reaction and relation to nearly any situation, then the character isn't alive to you and definitely won't be alive to your audience.

Craft with love and care, and you will go far.

I look forward to your next submission. Don't edit this one, as I like to keep these as examples.  

Also, if you think I was hard on you, you haven't seen anything yet. Wait until more submissions roll in.

Keep at it, my friends!

Oh no worries, I made this while I was seriously sleep deprived. I got it in my head to try and go without a whole day of sleep, then I remembered I wanted to make a character. Tadaa! :P

I'm actually surprised it turned out the way it did, I was expecting his name to be 'fghrs5 tgrgheh', or the whole post being in some eldritch gibberish.

I'll take a look at it and dice of the cancery bits, change up a few things, etc etc.

Sorry for the double post, but I got it done. Re-did the whole thing and it turns out that character are made much better when you've gotten proper sleep. XP But yeah, got a lot more involved into the creation of Lazul and made his hobby more important to him than just 'ooh, looky, guns, imma go and learn to make some'. Hope you like it! ^_^

*Le Facepalm.*

I asked you not to edit the original post so it could be kept as an example.

Alas, I'll take a look at this new Submission soon.

Still waiting on your Writing Submission.

Okay, this bio is much, much better. I have no major gripes about it. One thing, however, is that six-shooters are a bit too advanced for these days. When you have a question about tech level, think more Victorian Era and Golden Age of Piracy, and less Cowboys and Indians. Flint locks are more what Lazul should be using.

Otherwise, a good bio. Not outstanding, but good.

I accept your Character Submission. Now all you need is a "Yes" on your Writing Submission.

Already sent it to ya.

Lootahoy is accepted. Congratulations.

So, I've got my character almost ready, just need to fix some things yah know I'm just hoping it's good enough character! ^^; ) but there's one part I'm confused at: the writing submission. Do I send a short story message or put it in the template?

You can either PM me the writing or post it with your bio, though PM'ing me is encouraged as it cuts down on clutter.

((I edited some of Mira's bio because my vision of her has changed.

Here's the picture that inspired the change:  Linkity-Link))

I figured I would Post Mira's Bio because I'm bored as Hell and I thought you all might enjoy critiquing me for a change.

Name: Mira Theo'lith

Age: 42 (Remember, all races besides the poor Humans have very long life spans. Mira still appears young and will likely appear so for a very long time. Lucky bitch.)

Gender: Female

Race: The Fey

Class: Rouge -The Combatant

Physical Description and Weapons: With a pair of large, fuzzy Wolf ears peeking out from her long, scarlet hair and a long, bushy tail sprouting from just above her behind, Mira proudly puts on display her heritage as a member of the Fey. Her wolf ears have a few noticeable gold piercings for decoration. Her tail has no such ordainments. From beneath a black bandana, two hazels eyes peer out at you. Reflecting the light from her bangs, her eyes at times seem to flash with red. The bandana, with it's red crosshatching pattern, is a bit torn and faded. As she sneers at you, her fangs are readily apparent, gleaming white, and razor sharp.

She is sporting a long sleeved, white cotton shirt, stained with dirt, sweat, and what could be blood. The shirt is slightly unbuttoned towards the top, though whether this is simply in concert with the rest of the mess or is an unspoken dare to sneak a peak at the woman's ample tracts of land is a mystery. As you chance a peek, your eye is drawn to a worn, beaten leather jacket. It is decorated with big silver buttons that grab the eye as they seem to pop out against the dark, black leather. The metal has begun to show faint signs of rust and tarnish, evidence of years on the open sea where the light mist and troublesome swells have taken their toll. The sleeves have been removed at the elbow, likely on one hot summer's day where this sort of brash action was required.

You slide your eyes further down the vixen's form, and you notice a beaten brown belt fastening a pair of dark blue cotton pants with a sturdy gold buckle. These pants have obviously been through the ringer, being torn, given a quick patch up, only to tear again. She is wearing a pair of old, high boots. The leather has been scuffed significantly, a consequence of too much time spent above deck on wet, hard planks of wood.

Around her hips, fastened to the belt, hangs a deadly looking cutlass. The blade is dinged at the hilt and has certainly seen it's share of fighting. Still, it has been well cared for and the blade still shimmers in the sun, as sharp as it was the day it was made.

Realizing you have been staring, Mira knocks you on the chin, forcing you to look at her face. A smirk on her lips, accompanied by that tell-tale glimmer in her eyes tells you that you had best get ready to scrub the decks as punishment for lazing around.

Personality: Mira is an individualist at heart. While she may retain some loyalty to her few freinds and whatever crew she currently is a part of, her first priority is always Good ol' Number One. She has a direct, curt adittude, highlighted by an odd, dry, often playful, and sometimes downright irreverent sense of humor.

She is tricky and unpredictable. The fact that she is still alive is testament to the fact. An opportunist, she is just as likely to save your life as she is to steal the shirt off your back and strand you on a deserted island. She views life as one giant adventure. If you're not getting any exitement out of it, then what's the point? She hides her true emotions well, and it's often hard to tell just what angle she is playing at. Though, if one thing is certain with Mira, it's that she's always got an angle

Biography: For years, the Fey have lived life as if on the run. They move from place to place, doing whatever is nessicary to get by. When they do settle, it is often in well out of the way places, where they can live out their lives without much trouble. So is the life Mira Theo'lith was born into, and so is the life she would grow to loath.

It seems from the get go the girl was not suited to a quiet existence. Filled with energy as a child, if she wasn't running about the family homestead, she was most likely tampering with some oddity she had picked up or stolen. By the end of the day, said oddity would either be broken or cast aside, without fail.

Growing up on the borders of the Woods of Vendrali, her family had gathered together a good assortment of enchancements that helped them to survive. They were all modest, well-meaning, and in Mira's opinion, boring as the day was long. While the family worked at odd jobs and helped put food on the table, Mira roamed the woods, looking for anything interesting and exciting. Though this behavior was frowned upon by her family, they were under obligation to keep her fed, give her a home, and raise the girl as best they could.

The first signs the family had they were fighting an uphill battle was the day Mira returned home, long after curfew of course, with what appeared to be the first signs of wolf ears. She had apparently taken a shine to following the local packs all day, watching them go about their daily routines. As a consequence, the magic engrained deep in the Fey had begun to do its work.

Her parents were outraged. Not only was the hobby of stalking wolves incredibly dangerous, these enhancements were completely unuseful to the type of farming and gathering the family did to stay alive. Throughout the years, every effort was taken to curb Mira's wild side. All attempts failed. The harder they pushed, the more the girl rebeled.

On the eve of her twenty-sixth year, when Fey children are considered to reach maturity and their form becomes permenant, Mira left the homestead. Really, it would be more appropriate to say she was kicked out, but she seems to remember differently. Taking to the road, Mira would wander Urasis for ten years, alone. During this time, she did what was nessicary to survive. Anything from taking a part time job at a horse ranch to stealing what she needed.

After this time of wandering, Mirah would find her way to a small port on the Icronian Sea named Ravenhelm. It was here she would take her first job on a merchant ship carrying spice across the trade currents. It seems that once the sea got her hooks into the nomad, there was no turning back.

For eight years now, Mira has worked her way across "Old Man Icron" working her way up from deck hand to only recently qualifying for a position as a first mate. Hopping from ship to ship over the years, she has done her share of honest work, balanced by some less than scrupulous jobs. Still her motto has never changed over the years, "Endure, Survive, Get out Alive."

Misc.: N/A

So, that's it! Feel free to take your shots!

Name: Lothgar O’dar
Age: It has been about four months since he killed his (ex I suppose)master, and he has the appearance of being eight years old.
Gender: Male.
Race: Demon, Imp.
Class: Rouge-Assassin.

Physical Description and Weapons: Loth is about 4’8, with dull blue eyes and blonde hair, usually matted with dirt, hanging down just above his eyes. His horns are on his head and stick up out of his hair, and he has a slightly darker pale skin tone. He wears a white long sleeved shirt, with sleeves usually rolled up to his elbows and a brown vest over it. For his lower half, he wears black knickers and brown boots. He carries a small brown satchel, starting to show it’s age and usage, over his shoulder, and two silver eight-inch daggers normally kept in two sewn-on straps on his vest, one on each side of his front, and occasionally kept in two straps inside his vest should he need to keep them hidden.

Personality: Loth is a relatively relaxed, laid back, calm and over all childish personality, but behind all that he is always taking in the situation and environment at hand, calculating and planning ahead. He hates being treated like a child when it doesn’t work in his favor, but if it does he’ll put on the full song and dance act to get the benefits. Just recently having his will power back, he wants to be nice, but forces himself to not be nice to others, knowing that having kind thoughts can get him killed if he doesn’t bring himself to consume a soul.

Background: As all of the more sociable demons, Loth started out his life being given to a Warlock by Al’kadesh. Normally being sold out to become basically a slave would offend someone and make them angry, but he had the pleasure of not having any willpower or consciousness in the affair and wasn’t even aware of what he was, at least until one day when he started to develop a consciousness.

Loth’s first memories were of sitting outside the wooden hut his master lived in. It was just outside a human settlement in a more rural area, as the Warlock who kept control over him preferred to stay out of public areas and in his studies. As Loth was ordered to keep watch over any trespassers, he noticed a figure nearby and prepared to ward it off. When he got closer, he could see who it was more closely.

A young human girl, appearing to be in her early teens, was simply wandering through the area. She wasn’t a threat, only appearing as If she had wandered off on her own. She seemed to either not notice Loth’s horns, or not care and attempted to greet him. He simply pulled out his daggers and held them out in an offensive position, warning her to leave. She seemed to get nervous, and inadvertently asked him a question that would start his journey to gaining his own consciousness. “What do you want?”

Of course when she wouldn’t leave, whether it was because of youthful stubbornness or other reasons, Loth took her out without prejudice. A few quick slashes and she was done. Dragging the body out into the woods as usual should he have killed someone, she most likely wouldn’t be found. Either assumed dead by a wild animal, or maybe a wild animal actually would take the body, most probably wouldn’t be questioning the hermit in the small hut outside the settlement.

Over the next year, Loth would find himself becoming more aware of the things his master did to him and how he was treated. The one question burrowing its way into his mind, what did he want? He didn’t make his own choices, they were all made for him. Throughout the various interactions on a day to day basis, he found that he was nothing but a puppet for his Master’s personal usage. As Loth’s frustration, anger and will would continue to be fueled, at the same time his Master grew older, and his will weaker as he lost himself in old scrolls and various texts.

After about a year, the day came when Loth finally snapped. He was once again ordered to keep watch outside the wooden hut, as he normally was, but a revelation had come to him by that point. He didn’t need to do it. Seeing him refuse to move, his master, in anger, punched him in the face, sending him to the ground. Feeling his frustration rise to a peak, the Warlock turned his back and began to walk away and head back to his studies. He made it a few steps before Loth lodged a dagger in his spine, not instantly killing him but making him pass out from the pain. While he had never made a choice on his own before, he realized that this was a choice he had made, to kill his master, and while he didn’t want to admit it he enjoyed it.

Without much to pack up he took a simple pouch with him and set off on his own, preparing to travel into town.  He stayed there for a few weeks, making it on his own and living on the streets as a beggar. During those weeks, he made trips to and from the hut where his master had lived, reading his books in hopes to figure out who, or what he was. During his reading, he found that he fit in most with the description of demons, and also discovered his newfound condition he would be experiencing involving the need to feed on the souls of others every so often.

His first victim was a drunken man he found stumbling out of a pub one night. It had been a simple task, getting him to agree to a competition in the nearest thing he could find, which was knife-throwing. Loth was certainly no expert in knife throwing, but he was sure that he could do better than a drunken man. Sure enough, the two had decided on a target, and while Loth had hit the wood a few inches off from the outside of the target the man hit the ground in front of it.

Having taken his soul and satisfied his hunger, Loth quickly figured that he wouldn’t be able to stick around in one place for long and be able to trick people, as they would most likely smarten up or catch on. He began to travel around to different towns, sticking around until his hunger kicked in and finding a new victim to satisfy this hunger. During his travels, he would also take jobs whenever he could get them in assassinating others, though not many people trust making a deal with a demon, and not everyone trusted giving a job to someone who looked like they were eight years old. Despite that, he did manage to  come across a few jobs, probably ranking in the single digit amounts from some desperate people.

Misc.: Nope.

Name: Ragh’dul Literus

Age: 146

Gender: Male

Race: Dwarf

Class: Merchant- Supplier (I didn’t want to go with anything combat based mostly because as far as I know Dwarfs don’t see much combat in their history, but if I’m wrong then please tell me!)

Physical Description and Weapons: Ragh’dul is, for a dwarf at least, on the taller side, being 4”7. Being at a younger age, he has been cursed with a slow but steady balding. He has however been gifted with gruff strength from the decades of hard labor he was once accustomed to, before the arrival of the human race. His arms have become strong, his hands have become callused, and his face has been left with scars and even some burns courtesy of his working conditions. His beard is a deep red shade, (like the hair he used to have), and though a little singed on some parts, it is well groomed, though the quality of the upkeep of it deteriorates slightly as it goes down, becoming shaggier at the bottom. It only reaches to his chest, as he has not nearly piqued in age yet.
He wears a brown fur overcoat, which further emphasizes his stocky appearance. Even though it isn’t always completely suited to the weather, he is so used to having it on due to the cold depths of the mountains he and his people presided in; it feels odd to not wear it. Underneath he wears a simple green cloth shirt, outlined with gold thread. Have to do your best to look presentable when constantly dealing with strangers. On his hands he wears rough, leather forger’s gloves. Though stiff and worn to foreign hands, they feel just fine to him. They reach a little bit past his wrist, with his shirt tucked under the edges. The same can be said for his boots, which are a tad bit more worn. Because of his mostly newfound profession, he has a burlap-like bag strapped to his bag, containing a good deal of supplies and things to ease everything from everyday life, to combat.

For his weapon, he has Aghskad; an ancient, double bladed axe dating back all the way the earliest parts of his bloodline. It was crafted in the forge that his inner family still uses today. At one point, many generations ago, the blade had writing and inscriptions engraved onto the hilt. Of course, it was more a symbol of family pride than a weapon, at least for a great deal of time it was. The hilt is about two feet long, and bronze in color. The wide dual blades are made of sleek stainless steel, which Ragh’dul makes sure to keep polished and sharp.

Personality: Ragh’dul is, like most dwarfs, hard headed and set in his ways. But, as is profession shows, he is willing to adapt when the tides change. He is seasoned in the knowledge of buying and selling, despite his younger age. This is because of his father, who taught him well from his experiences in running the forge on the aggressive dwarven weapon market over the centuries. Ragh’dul is however rather upset that he has been reduced to something of a nomad merchant forced to scrape by to make ends meet. This has led to some resentment to the human race as a whole for him. He can seem off-putting to strangers, but the friends he makes he’ll remain loyal to. Though he has never seen live combat, he grew up with dwarfs, so he is no stranger to fighting.


Biography: Ragh’dul was born into a well-known family of crafters and smiths of all sizes and shapes. They had wealthy roots in the weapons trade and did well as a business. Being the first born of his siblings, he was given the most attention when it came to his teachings. At a young age he knew every part of the forge and the steps to making a good blade forward and back. After decades of working alongside his father and brothers, he was finally entrusted to take over the forge entirely.
But unfortunately, the sheer force of the human workers was too much to compete against, so the tough market wiped out their ancient forge in a matter of a few months. This ended up forcing Ragh’dul and his family to their last resort, splitting up to find their own ways in the new and confusing world the humans had created. He chose to take advantage of the potential that was being a merchant. All of the children in the family were given multiple things by his parents, since Ragh’dul was the eldest child, he was gifted with Aghskad. Luckily because he was the means of all selling and buying, he knows people from all over the map and what they are looking for. So now he finds himself in his current position, a rookie supplier trying to make something out of nothing that used to be a set and prosperous future.

Misc: None at all.

Wolfgang is accepted. He's a little older than I would have liked, but that is a personal gripe, and by no means needs to be changed. I also applaud you for making a Dwarf. I half expected no one to touch that race. I didn't give them much attention but you've done a good job of making this character believable.

Congrats.