Excellent, I love talking about my (as our DM has dubbed him) Berry Boy
11. In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been?WELL that would be a toss up between when he was 13 during a festival when he saw some men dragging his mom away through the crowd and he tried to follow them but lost sight of them/her and the days that followed of him not knowing what had happened to her. OR when he was about 16 right before the first time he killed someone and he woke up trapped in a house with a very violent man.
16. Which does your character idealize most: happiness or success?Happiness with out a doubt, he is a very lonely and sad boy who wants to have friend and family and be happy.
24. How quick is your character to trust someone else?It takes a LOT for him to trust someone fully. Generally though if they go out of their way or inconvenience themselves to help him he trusts them more/faster
7) If they didn’t have to adventure, would they stop?
Ranaan doesn’t go on adventures because he has to. he does it because he wants to. he’s got an incredibly nice life waiting for him at home, but he hates being cooped up in one place for too long now that he’s had a taste of the world outside of his hometown.
8) What do they look for in a platonic or romantic partner?
comfort, mostly. a shoulder to lean on, a person to laugh with, someone to spend time with him and reassure him. he falls into relationships easily because of how laid-back he is about them.
9) Do they trust easily?
his trust is easily won but also easily lost. he pays close attention to the people around him and has a constant gear whirring in his head for each of them, gauging how much or how little to trust them with.
17) Where would they like to be in ten years time?
on the road, chasing the next adventure. preferably in good company and with a full belly and good boots.
18) What do they look like? Either description or picture.
i’d draw him in his nice new clothes but my wrist is sprained soooo... (i’m half tempted to post that snapchat of him you sent me earlier :P) he’s 5′9, white, with curly reddish-brown hair and eyes that change colour depending on his mood (but usually settle somewhere around green-blue when he’s not affected by any strong emotion). he wears a deep blue frock coat with gold trim, over a chainmail shirt, and a black turtleneck underneath the chainmail. his broad shoulders are covered with sturdy steel pauldrons that have been painted gold, and he has a golden pince-nez to match them. he wears grey riding trousers and black boots. his default expression is either an easy smile or a furrowed brow and a set jaw, depending on the situation.
19) What genre of music would they be into?
mostly classical/jazz/anything purely instrumental, because lyrics would distract him from his reading. but i think he’d also enjoy a lot of soft folk/country music as well.
9, 11, 17 for the d&d ask meme? With whatever character you feel like writing about :)
This is why I need to get my OCs page up and running, whoops Thanks for asking! I’m starting a new campaign in about a week so I’ll be answering for my character in that—it’s a Dragon Age tabletop game set in 9:65 and long story short the GM refused to talk me out of playing Hawke and Fenris’s kid. |D
9) Do they trust easily?
Mel likes to think of herself as a worldly, discerning type of gal, but absolutely. She’s had a relatively sheltered upbringing, given the fact that she has the entire Kirkwall Crew as her honorary aunts and uncles, so she’s just sort of used to things working out. She’s incidentally a pretty good judge of character, though, so she’s managed to avoid any major missteps so far, but she still does have the tendency to get attached very quickly, so that’s likely gonna bite her in the ass at some point. Though she absolutely does have a kneejerk reaction to interacting with Vints, since c’mon. She’s been able to piece together her dad’s lifestory over the years.
11) Diplomatic or aggressive?
She errs on the side of diplomatic, but Mel’s greatest shortcoming is that she failed to inherit her mom’s (in)famous silverite tongue, so she is really bad at charming people. Oh, she tries, and sometimes her earnest attempts get the job done through sheer incompetence, but she’s not terribly persuasive. And it doesn’t help she’s more of an introvert, either, so she’s hesitant to speak up in the first place, but still. She’d rather stumble along the high road than just give up entirely and take the low road.
17) Where would they like to be in ten years’ time?
Not Viscount, she can tell you that much. It’s enough just being her mom’s daughter, she doesn’t need to be her successor as well. Other than that, she’s still trying to figure it out, though a lot of her efforts have resulted in her tracing her parents’ footsteps (mercenary work and so forth). Happy, though. Happy would be nice.
Setting: The Hawk & Jester Inn, The night of Episode 11
Characters: Coda, Ranaan Redcastle
The world had drifted into a peaceful slumber. He might have been the only waking soul in all of Yuria. Coda sat on the edge of the bed, his thoughts on fire and his head pounding. It shouldn’t have surprised him. Every decision he’d made in the last six months had been a stupid one, rash and ill-informed and ultimately disastrous. Why should this one be any different.
Still. Ranaan was there sleeping soundly, not bleeding in the gutter alone. Perhaps it hadn’t been a complete mistake. Though he reminded himself that none of his ideas had seemed like bad ones at the time of conception. The road to hell was paved with good intentions, after all. He had never meant to drink too much. He had never meant to drag the others into this mess with the Mechanists. He had never meant his family harm. And now Ranaan had joined the long list of people he would let down.
Coda wrung his hands together, casting his eyes across the dark room. He would not sleep tonight, that much was clear. But perhaps he could put this nervous energy to some use. Taking care not to make a sound as he moved around the room, he pulled on the clothes that lay where they had fallen. He glanced about, puzzled, searching for his second boot which he had no memory of kicking off. Finally he found it tossed carelessly on top of something by the door. As he picked it up he realised what was lying beneath it; sheathed but instantly recognisable as Ranaan's stolen weapon.
Coda paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the machete. It was just an object. Just a useless piece of metal taken from a dead girl. As he stared it dawned on him that perhaps it could be used for more than senseless killing. Perhaps just this once it could spare a life. Coda snatched a sheet from the wooden cupboard in the corner of the room and wrapped the machete up tightly, binding it with a thick piece of string. He tried not to look over at the sleeping body in his bed as he worked, though all he could hear through the stagnant silence of the inn was Ranaan’s slow breathing. When he’d finished bundling it up he unrolled a piece of parchment from his pocket, produced a pen and began writing. As a child he’d always longed for the ability to write and read in darkness; when he left the lamp burning late into the night his father always caught him.
Slinging the wrapped machete across his back, he slid the note he’d scrawled into his pocket. In a moment of hesitation he returned to the bedside and looked at Ranaan, oddly peaceful in his slumber. Without the permanent scowl he wore like a mask during his waking hours, he looked younger somehow. Coda let out a long, quiet breath and put a hand on Ranaan’s shoulder, gingerly enough so as not to stir him.
‘You’re probably going to hate me for this. Well, even more than you already do. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.’ He let his hand linger for a moment too long before he let it slip away and turned to leave.
The unfamiliar weight of the machete dug into his shoulder as he stepped out into the frosty night air. Each breath he took in the unseasonable cold was like swallowing shards of ice, cutting at his throat as they made their way to his burning lungs. It took him longer than he’d expected to find the address on the wanted poster he’d pocketed. Familiar as he was with the city, this was a quarter he’d gone out of his way to avoid for most of his life. Horror stories of merchants who’d strayed too close to the narrow back alleys of the Half Penny Slums weren’t far from his thoughts as he ventured further from the bright lights and comfort of the wealthier districts.
The parchment led him deeper and deeper into unfamiliar territory, and as he peered out from under his dirty hood he was acutely aware of eyes in the darkness. It was the one thing about this wretched quarter that felt commonplace to him. These eyes saw and remembered same as the others, the only difference was that these eyes were watching with purpose, and these eyes had mouths to tell of what they’d seen. These were the people he’d heard so much about, the silent watchers in the shadows, the spiders who listened from nooks and cracks and scuttled off to sell their information to the highest bidder. Knowledge was of more value here than in the highest of the Guild's looming towers.
As the streets narrowed further and he felt he was penned in from all sides, he finally saw the address indicated on the poster he now clutched in a white-knuckled fist. With a shaking hand he undid the strap that held the bundled weapon on his back and laid it tucked away nearby, out of the way of prying eyes but easy enough to discover come morning. He slid the hastily written note in amongst the folds of the makeshift sheath, hoping the snow would not return to run the ink and scramble his words.
The silence was so great that he could hear his own voice in his head screaming at him. Pick it up. Bring it back you damned fool. It was perhaps his greatest failing that he had never liked the tone of his conscience, and so routinely ignored it. Swallowing the panic that was rising in his throat, he turned his back on his cargo and made his way back through the Half Penny Slums. There were more eyes on him now than ever. Let them stare, he thought. Let them see nothing but another wayward soul.
When he finally emerged from the waste-choked streets of the slums and breathed relatively fresh air once more, his coat streaked with ash and residue from industrial runoff, he looked up at the night sky. No stars, not tonight. They were tucked behind thick clouds, remnants of the blizzard that had passed overhead and left death in its wake. He prayed the sun would remain in its oblivious stupor for a few more hours. There was so much left to be done.
G. Do you remember your first OTP, if so who was in it? holy shit idk uuuu.... like I’m gonna guess probably someone from a disney movie or something but if I have to pick one that still makes me Feel things, Ron/Hermione XD
O. Choose a song at random, which ship or character does it remind you of? I’m literally listening to my otp playlist rn lmao.... the current song is “wolves without teeth” by of monsters and men, and like..... most people with a solavellan ship probably have that one on their playlist, I’m just saying........... :P
U. 5 favorite characters from 5 different fandoms. FIVE?? why can’t I do 84728??? ok......... Ron, Mr. Crepsley, Garrus, Woody, Nightcrawler (I’m still kinda binging everything x-men I can get my hands on so that’s kinda where I live rn XD)
14, 15, 21 for the D&D character asks! For either of your characters, whoever you feel like talking about :)
Let me tell you about Zel Thimblegobble. My lovely gnome sorcerer with an affinity for fire and mayhem.
14. Most heroic thing they have ever done?Zel isn’t really heroic, per se. She prefers to cause the chaos without people knowing it was her. Well, at least until she finally becomes Queen of the Firelands, that is. After that, everyone is free to know her motives. But so far the most heroic thing she has ever done is stopping a charging monstersized beetle that was rushing her group. With her bare hands. Yeah. She was surprised too.
15. Most despicable thing they have ever done? She threw acid in her ex’s face after he told her she wasn’t as pretty as his new girlfriend. She doesn’t take criticism very well...
21. How did they become an adventurer? After kindly informing her ex that she didn’t appreciate his opinion on the way she looked (ahem) she was subtly asked by the clanleader to leave her village. Which she did without much of a fuss (sadly, the village has been inexplicably wiped from the face of the earth) While she was roaming the forest, in search for a new place to stay, she was kidnapped and held hostage by a group of weird murloc-y creatures. There she met with a cleric who quickly became her new best friend after he saved her life while they plotted their escape. She swore her life to his and is now helping him on his quest for... something. She wasn’t really listening when he explained what he was doing.
