Daemonfall


Tales of Daemonfall



Good evening there, gent's and ma'am's. I would've tipped the proverbial hat, but decency would have me say that no hat graces my head at the very moment. Welcome for a bit of Daemonfall's tales, a somewhat fixated player with a wide scope to look out from.
A word of caution, about what to expect:
While this profile is rather old, times and tides of renovations are abound. Perhaps a bit of clean, fresh air would do it good. This profile is mainly a window, rather then a real character - a showcase of some of my best starting posts at roleplay.
I tend to tailor my characters to the occasion rather then simply posting any number of them online (Though this practice has been broken before, see my alt-list if you wish) - and so I would usually engage in some sort of a conversation, asking about any prospective partner's preferences and likings. After such a scene has been undertaken and came to a completion, a character, a story (however vague, as needed for the occasion) would be created and a game would ensue. Being a storyteller at heart, often the scenery, sensory information and peripheral characters are used to magnify a certain scene - so do not be surprised if the "Main Hero" is sometimes pressed aside (or inside, some of the time) while other characters take over. I have little qualms about creating a multi-layered story, with a full background and a world to go along with it. These best creations however, are made when a partner reacts and creates on his own - thus the planning stage is so important, so that no collision between the storytellers would cause disagreement.

We're all here to have fun, after all.

With this said and done, time to show some of the games I've participated and enjoyed.

A solid westerner

"Be strong now, for both of us. Here's the Shaman" Alen whispered in a voice so mute to barely reach Esmée’s feral, wolf senses. The whisper wasn't needed of course as the crowd parted before the coming spirit-monger with the same careful respect they would give their mighty berserkers. The way tall, war-painted tribesman moved away from the gnarly old thing in the shining metal mask told more then the scratches and seared markings of flame etched on that symbol of authority. Sharp smell of magic billowed around like the winds of fate coalescing into this holy place. No hesitation, spending less then a second to goad his horse forward - Alen pushed forth gently, taking a few strides amidst the gathering. He didn't need to look around to know he now stood amidst the infamous Circle of Bones.
Mirroring the rough hewn crowd, Alen's cybernetic eyes surveyed both the optical spectrum and the infinite space of magical probability. At least they spoke good English; generations under the rule of the white man changed the Cherokee from the proud hunters they once were. Yet magic, or the return thereof, changed them yet more and the Shaman seemed to chitter and rumble with himself at a lingo of his own, spoken words of his spirits and godlings. Leaning heavily on a staff of yew every bit as gnarled as the bearer, the broken stream of unearthly profanities slowed down into a trickle of English, emerging from the steely face-plate in a mad chatter, voices arguing with each other.
"Bring them to me! ME! " … "But the risks… The inquisition…"… "They are here…"… "You can't let the debt remain dead"
"He is not a Brother!" … "A debt is a debt"… "But the costs…"… "You have sacrificed your pride once, all things have a cost"
"The test then? …" "They are untrained"… "It must be done…" "I think you both are crazy"… "Well you shut up, the Wolf is listening"… "What wolf? …" "The one on the horse"… "Oh, the curse"
A short pause sliced the constant gibbering.

"Ahhytes. The Curse"
Giving the demented being a singular stare that contained both indifference and aloof respect Alen merely looked down at the raving Shaman. While he did not know this particular Spirit Dancer, he could tell that this one was ever more gaunt and less stable then most. Perhaps that was the reason he was chosen among his ilk to protect the dangerous Circle, given that trice-damned mask to hide his face from the world, to see only with the eyes of his soul. Behind him the outer barrier of warriors closed around the gunslinger and his whore. Bearing weaponry spanning the gamut between stone tomahawks to three-barreled machineguns

"The Test then? Who would be you champion?" Cold Eye Alen, the cyborg gunslinger finally shot out – voice flat, eyes unmoving.
"It is not the question, Cold Eye. But rather, that your cursed would be her own champion"
Alen let out a long, unhappy sigh.
"I feared it might come to it. Very well."

Of elves and men:

Well, a start should be humble as all starts are - The queen's fair and lively attire would purchase her a fine position as one of the many maidens serving out at the rather famous tavern of "Troll's Rest" - a fine establishment by all visitors yet not as rich as the Broken Drum or Dragon's Airy. Set down at the Royal city of Whitemane, ruled fore ages now by the house Savoy and it's flunkies, sub-houses and minor nobility - the Troll's Rest was the frequent stop for a nobleman looking to set himself closer to his people, and most importantly, it's various maidens. Such hunts by willing, bosomy maidens after a rich master was aptly called "The Gold-Digging" - yet Queen Merilnis would have known nothing of it, as fate would see that she would take care for one Sir. Drake Earlson. A vital looking man, married by the ring on his finger and still strong with vitality by his oft-visits to this fine establishment. A clean shaven face, broad shoulders and only the finest of clothing that managed to look almost like an armor whilst being made from the finest of silks. Today he wished for some solitude in his chambers, away from his pestering wife and troublesome trade, giving himself the luxury of time at the Troll's Rest...

The Space Opera

Prospero Port did not live up to it's name. First lunched as the newest most exciting deep-space venture on the borderlines between the highly advanced super-structures to serve as mining platform and deep space port for goods shipments, it raised such a buzz that pirate raids became something a of a daily problem. Thirty years later, Prospero became less of a shining beacon at the edge of known space and more of refuge to all those that did not want to be found by all sorts of authorities or rough-necked criminals. A hodgepodge mixture of wild-west enterpatures, criminals, petty warlords and of course, the shining jewel of this rancid pit of muck - the Mercenary Corps. The single, largest, most cohesive piece of knowledge about mercenary forces available for hire and their exquisite records. No one can bribe the Corps, it's information is always accurate and no body wants to bribe it, except maybe the merc's themselves whom get a rate from F to A+. Only two merc groups ever reached the sublime superiority of rank 'S' - the Sorority as the infamous Regiment 537 became known around these parts... and the even more infamous Drake's Archones. Both known for their extensive genetic augmentation and ruthlessly efficient mindset. So in this muck, around Port Prospero in a smallish pub along the cleaner lines of the place we start our story - with Alen Sky, sipping on his amber-gold whiskey and kicking back. His Archon's badge keeping the more frightful of the pub's grueling bunch off his back while the sight of his heavy side-arm detracts the rest. Nobody want's to get shot by an Archon Officer, the Corp won't even blink at their smoking corpse. So Alen drinks in peace, and dreaming of a better day when a beauty of an uncommon measurements steps into the "Void Tower" bar and restaurant...
Alt List:Peter_Savoy


 
Roleplay Preferences (Click here for explanation)

As PredAs Prey

Being PredBeing Prey Always/Love
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 Never/Dislike I will play anything that suits the story.
Soft Vore Always/Love
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Verbose Posts Always/Love
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Evolving Character Always/Love
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Staying In Character Always/Love
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Surprise Me Always/Love
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 Never/Dislike New ideas. Yes please.
Multi-Session Always/Love
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 Never/Dislike The story rarely concludes in a single show.
Whisper Always/Love
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Private Always/Love
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