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Ahem.
The air was thick and heavy with smoke from the old, fusty chimney, which never again vented properly after the jackdaws had nested at its top last summer. Korbald the mason almost broke his neck as he fell off the roof while trying to remove the cluster of twigs, moss and leaves; it was stuck too tightly. But now the bearded old man sat in the taproom of the "Drunken Unicorn" together with most of the townspeople, clapping his hands to the rhythm of the minstrel and his lute, watching the young folk dance.
The sun had already set long ago and dark shadows shrowded the outside of the tavern, the only building at the very edge of the little village that was at least partially built of stone. Inside though the large room with the low ceiling was brightly lit, both by crackling fireplace and the flickering candles strewn across the room, on the bar, on the tables, on the window shelves. With a swing of his head, the minstrel threw his long, dirty blonde hair back behind himself. He had stopped playing the lute to take a couple of long, hearty sips from his beer, raising one leg to sit on the edge of a nearby table.
"Heeey! Do the buxom barmaid again!" one of the more inebriated patrons demanded, referring to a bawdy song the bard had played earlier. But a rough shove from Korbald shut him up. There was a time to sing and dance, to celebrate and revel. But as much as the townsfolk enjoyed this, the real reason they always gathered when this minstrel visited their village were the stories. Stories of love and heroism, tales of dragons and faries, myths of legends and adventure.
When the bard put down the beer and heaved up the lute into this lap again, Korbald smiled softly. Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes as the first notes sounded through the now devoutly silent crowd, and the old mason suppressed a quiet sniffle. He knew this one, he knew it well. And he would never get enough of hearing it. Light and crystal clear the minstrel's voice filled the room, his fingers escorting with their quiet taps and tugs on the strings of the lute.
"Once, upon a time.
In a land of song and rhyme.
Where the queen was pretty and the king was wise.
The rich and the noble had most wonderful lives.
But the common folk were in great need.
They cried for a hero, with regal steed.
With shining armour and golden shield.
The sword be the sharpest a man's ever wield.
A monster had burrowed deep in the woods.
Ravaged their fields and destroyed their huts.
Women went missing and childs were lost.
And the strongest of men paid the highest cost.
Who saves us from monsters, evil and despair?
Which hero will follow the beast to its lair?
The good people's cries all fell on deaf ears.
Until a young lady from the woods appears.
Her hair was a mess and she was covered in slime.
But her sword had been swift and still bore rightous shine.
Where no man had been able to sustain and succeed.
A young pretty lad was the hero they need'd.
A feast was arranged in urgent haste.
To reward the girl with the highest praise.
Far into the morning they danced and they laughed.
Furthermore guarded from dreaded witchcraft.
Thanks to the young lady the people were safe.
And only the evil had dug its own grave.
So the story still goes from ear to ear.
Of the brave and heroic.
Gwenyvere."
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Name: Gwenevyre
Title: Princess of Alden
Age: 14
Gender: Female
Height: 140 cm
Weight: As much as 45 kilos of bananas.
It's not easy being a princess. All the running through the bushes and forests, hunting animals and bandits, sparring in tournaments... wait, you thought that's not what a princess does?
Well, it's what this one does. Adventurous, brave and with a fiery spirit from the youngest age, Gwenyvere was enamored by the stories of heroic quests and danger of various travelers, knights, warriors and others, igniting a thirst for the life outside of her own. It did not help that she quickly picked fencing up to the level that not even her teachers could best her most of the time. The royal family tried to dissuade he from such a path at first, but seeing as she was determined to walk it (and that she was far from being in line for the throne as it stood), it was one they would allow her to pursue.
It wasn't long before she had the finest gear that would suit her with her, a trusty horse and the companionship of various guards, knights and adventurers, whether sent by the royal family, or a group that she joined herself, and was out to fulfil her heart's desire - to make her own story.
OOC: This character is an experiment, meant more for story-building and interaction, rather than vore and the like. While I know that's kind of the reason for this chat, it's still something I wish to go for. As such, unless an idea really, really appeals to me involving vore, Gwynevere will not be part of most scenes revolving around it, save for ones with either ideas I really like, or involve heavy story-building beforehand. The one exception would be monster vore, and even then there would be emphasis on combat and story.
Stat Sheet:
Fight – 5
Fitness - 4
Charisma – 4
Tricks of the Trade – 3
Intelligence – 3
Presence - 2
Madjick - 0
Physical Defense: 12
Project Tile Defense: 9
Mental Defense: 9
Skill: Noble Etiquette - +2 to Intelligence and Charisma when dealing with aristocrats, nobles, etc.
Skill: Disarming (APPREANTICE) - Skillful strike that is meant to rid the opponent of his or her weapon, but does no damage
Apprentice - No bonus to hit, opponent loses weapon and needs to spend their next turn picking it up or use a backup weapon.
Journeyman - +3 to hit, opponent loses weapon and can’t attack, even if they do have a backup weapon - 2 to their FF (Melee Defense)
Master - +5 to hit, opponent loses weapon and can’t move - 5 to their FF (Melee defense)
Skill: Weapon - Appreantice Thrust Weapons (rapiers, estocs, etc) - +2 hit and +1 DPS.
Light Armor + Buckler = 2 bonus armoires.
