http://www.dragonmount.com/forums/topic/87132-empys-2013-nomination-form-and-instructions/?do=findComment&comment=3137292

Follow the link, follow the instructions.  Do it quickly; nominations close January 29.

NOTE: Polls open either tomorrow or Tuesday.  Not sure which.

No promises here, either.  Eb's currently out of range, too.

If you want to post Ackley's PoV, go ahead.  I'm still nailing out some details with Eb, so I can't really get involved until that's fully solved.

Fair point.  Going to have to do some minor tweaking of the RP outline, especially if we get Eb involved in the way she's suggesting.

For the first meeting between Mehrin and the Children, I'd like it to be sort of a mutual respect thing before the word gets around to all the Children that Mehrin is a person of interest.  It would mostly just be a character-building thing where the two get to know each other to some limited extent before the Powers-That-Be pit them against each other.

That and anything else would result in lots of screaming and blood, and I'd like to kind of build into that a bit more slowly than, "First post, everybody dies!  MWAHAHAHAHAHA!"

... okay, part of me thinks that the screaming and the dying would be awesome, but we're ignoring that part for the time being.

This post will be used to keep track of the progression of the RP.

Prologue: Instigation

"Do you realize how much of a risk this is to me?  If they suspect..."

"Be calm, Lord Captain.  I have taken pains to make sure that your true allegiance is not suspected."  Sitting in the Lord Captain's chair and smiling above his peaked fingers, Ayrik Drayven waved the white-clad man towards a chair on the opposite side of the desk.  The man glared at him for a moment before he remembered himself and sat.  Even without expression on his face, Ayrik could feel the cold anger radiating from the man.

"What is this about, Dreadlord?" the man asked.

"Oh, it's simply a matter of doing your job.  I need you to track down a man."

The Lord Captain snorted.  "You mean that you cannot do this yourself?  Are all Dreadlords so incompetent?"

It was Ayrik's turn to glare.  "Consider yourself fortunate that I cannot afford to make you pay for that."  Pouring a tumbler of brandy from the decanter on the Lord Captain's desk, Ayrik settled back in the chair.  "The man you will seek out is a great risk, and the glory for capturing him and executing him as a Darkfriend would be significant.  In truth, I am actually helping you."

"And why is this man such a risk?  Surely he cannot-"

"His name is Mehrin Mahrvon, though he used to style himself as 'Deathwatch'."

The Lord Captain sat back, his face carefully blank.  It was a moment before he spoke.  "You want me to send men after him?  And you want me to declaim him as a Darkfriend?"

"He is dangerous," Ayrik said.  "He has a commanding presence; people follow his lead.  What's worse, he can inspire.  If we leave him unchecked, what could he possibly become?  He could conceivably take command of any mercenary band he wanted, and with time, he might even control the largest army on the continent.  That's to say nothing of his combat prowess."  Taking an appreciative sip from the tumbler, Ayrik added, "He is too dangerous to be left alone."

"It's still damned strange," the Lord Captain said.  "This had better work.  Otherwise, my life here will become... interesting."

"Don't worry so much," Ayrik said, standing.  The air swirled in front of Ayrik, resolving into a gateway to what looked like a small village.  "I have every faith in your abilities."  With a mocking bow, Ayrik added, "Walk in the Light, Lord Captain."

Then he was gone.

**********

"You have a reputation as a bunch of brutal thugs who get the job done, no matter how high the body count rises."

A scarred brute of a man grinned at Ayrik with a mouth that lacked both teeth and basic dental hygiene.  "Yeah, we're the worst lot of troublemakers from the Aryth Ocean to the Aiel Waste.  We know that.  Still don't tell us what you want, pretty man."

Arrayed around Ayrik were twelve more men, each more unsavory than the last.  In the middle of the circle of men was a wiry-looking man, good-looking apart from a scar from his nose to his right ear.  "What my associate is trying to say," he said in a smooth, refined voice, "is that we have yet to hear your reason for meeting us.  I really do hope that you are not wasting our time without good reason."

In response, Ayrik tossed the wiry man a purse, which he caught with an audible ring of coin against coin.

"You have our attention."

"Good.  Money is no object.  I need you to understand that before I tell you the job.  It carries incredibly high risk."

"I have seventy-five bruisers at my command, sir."  The wiry man grinned proudly.  "I doubt your little job is that risky."

"Oh, really?" Ayrik asked sarcastically.  "I assume that you will have no trouble dealing with one man?"

The wiry man laughed, which cued the rest of the men around him to laugh.  "One man?  And money is no object?  Who is he, Gaidal Cain?  Artur Hawkwing?  Mehrin Deathwatch?"

"As a matter of fact..."

There was silence in the group.  The wiry man looked grim.  The majority of the circle simply looked baffled.  Ayrik suspected that it was a common condition for them.  One by one, though, they started to understand, and their attitudes became mixed concern and bravado.  "You really want us to go after Mehrin Deathwatch?"

"He goes by Mahrvon now, but yes.  That won't be a problem, will it?"

"Only one problem that I see," said the wiry man.  Raising hand, he rubbed his fingers across his thumb, the universal sign for money.  "How much?"

*************

"I'm told by my superiors that you are the most dangerous gang amongst the Darkfriends," Ayrik said to the twenty gathered men, each one armed in some way or another.  "Poisoners, assassins, thugs, and various other dealers of violence."

The five leaders of the group muttered quietly to each other, passing hand signals back and forth as they spoke.  The conversation was disjointed, with entire sentences disappearing to signs.  Ayrik held his silence, stroking the head of the raven perched on his shoulder.  Finally, the five men seemed to reach a conclusion.  "Dreadlord, we are as you say, but what you want is already known to us, and we are not sure if we are really the right men to come to if you want to strike out at one man."

Ayrik shook his head, causing the raven to croak in irritation.  "If you know why I'm here, then you also know that I would not send you after only one man if I did not feel that he presented a clear danger to the Great Lord and his plans."

"Think of what could happen.  Suppose he finds us out.  Suppose, Shadow forbid, he bests us.  You could very well be handing the man one of the Shadow's greatest tools to destroy."  The man looked at Ayrik without the usual flinching that was common to other Darkfriends.  He had worked with Dreadlords before, and they no longer held the mythical place in his mind that other Darkfriends seemed to hold.  

Finally, somebody who is not going to toady up to me.  Too bad that I wish he would... Ayrik thought.  "This is a problem with which we must deal.  If we leave him unchecked, he will be able to rally troops behind him.  It would be as bad as if the Horn of Valere were sounded."

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to check with our superiors," one of the men responded after some more of their strange conversation.

"That's all I ask of you," Ayrik replied with a respectful nod.

**********

The wind was blowing wildly outside the isolated cabin where Ayrik retreated to be alone with his thoughts.  His mind was positively wild with the implications of what he had just done.  Three different groups, three different motivations, and one target.  The biggest target in Ayrik's life.  The Great Lord himself had told Ayrik to seek out and destroy Mehrin Deathwatch, and now he had that goal in his sights.  Three arrows pointed at the same target, and no matter which one struck first, Ayrik would be there in the end to see the mighty fall.

"And so it begins..."

I would like everybody to know that Eb started before I did, and she's one of the very few people (probably fewer than 15) on the site who can say that.  Also, she is awesome.

Yeah.  I was attempting NaNoWriMo, then I sliced up my left hand pretty well.  Basically, my fingers have been otherwise occupied.  Should hopefully have the prologue post up and finished before the end of the week.

Your Handle: Eb

Name of this character: Ebony, but those that like their head where it is are safer calling her ‘Eb’. Last name unknown.

Age of this character: Mid to late-ish twenties (exact DOB unknown)

Name of country where this character is from: Altara (Ebou Dar)

Physical Description

Skin: Olive/dark tan

Hair: Jet black, very short, wildly cut/hacked with knives

Eyes: Coal black

Height: Short – 5’2” to 5’3”

Build: Medium to light

Distinguising Features: Incredibly feisty Altaran temper; many scars (most noticeable located on right side of face in elongated ‘S’ from outside corner of eye to bottom side of jaw).

Division: Infantry

Rank: Captain

Weapon of choice: Knives/throwing daggers – incredibly proficient

Secondary Weapon: Mace. Double short swords.

Weapons Score: 15

History

Eb was dumped on the streets of the Rahad in Ebou Dar at birth by an unknown mother.

Taken in and ‘raised’ by a gang of street kids, she learnt everything there was to know about survival in the backstreets and canals of the roughest city in the known world. By some miracle and a vicious will to live she fought her way through each new day, growing from a screaming babe into a rough, defiant young child with far more than her fair share of feisty Altaran temper.

By around the age of six she knew - from experience and consequence – every single one of the unwritten rules of living on the streets of the Rahad. She could steal enough food and coin independently to keep herself from starvation, she could climb like a cat, fight hand-to-hand like a mountain-lion caged and could run full-speed across the roof-tops of the Rahad and the rest of Ebou Dar. Most importantly, she could fight with knives. Proficiently. As far as she could remember, knives and daggers had always been her only toys.

By the time she fled Altara, after her gang of street-rats had been hanged for thieving, she'd had nigh on twenty years’ experience surviving in the streets – and it showed itself in every possible way. It showed itself in the way she walked and the way she constantly scanned the shadows and the body-language of passers-by. It showed itself in the way she automatically assessed any and every possible sign of threat, and instantly calculated alternate routes and escape paths in case of danger. It showed itself in her skill with her knives, and in her confidence. It showed itself in her absolute arrogance, and it showed itself in her many, many scars.

She had found the Band of the Red Hand as she fled, and then - since there had been hot meals available - she had joined. More than a few objections had been raised by the men to a girl joining the infantry, but time passed, fights and battles came and went and nothing was left unresolved – courtesy of both force and reputation.

In a few short years she learned to master a mace and short sword and the basics of most other melee weapons. Time, training and battles had earned her the rank of Captain.

She'd learnt new skills and a new way of life and even found a home of sorts with the Band, but some things will never change – shaped irrevocably by her past, she is still slow to trust and quick to anger, automatically arrogant and inherently defensive. By nature a fighter, regardless of the situation, she’s definitely still the type to strike first, ask questions later…

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Eb leant casually against the tree, balancing a dagger blade-upwards on her palm, watching the newest recruits file in for training. Absently, she wondered where they all had come from, what histories they’d left behind … if any of them knew where the rolls of the dice would be taking them from here.

Spin-stop. Spin-stop. Spin-stop. The knife spun on her palm, its blade gleaming in the sun.

Spin-stop.

It seemed like a lifetime ago she’d been the newest Band recruit, standing there before the men, wild-eyed and dangerous, demanding a place to train with the infantry. A lifetime ago since the dice had seen her flee from Ebou Dar with the White Cloaks and the city guard hot on her heels. A lifetime ago since she’d barged her way in to this new life and began her soldier training.

Spin-stop.

And yet, like it still felt like yesterday since she’d routinely taken flying leaps off the rooftops of the Rahad to land sure-footed on the cobblestones below, simultaneously sprinting off and shoveling down her stolen food. Like yesterday since she’d had to fight and thieve for her very survival. Like yesterday since being a girl on the streets had taught her everything she’d ever need to know.

-Stop.

Well, almost everything. She fingered a scar at her hip and the mace and sword at her side. Almost everything. Seemed like no matter where you were in this blasted life, there was always more to learn. And teach.

She scowled, spat to the side and shoved the knife back into her sleeve.

Right. Teach.

She stalked across the grounds to stand in front of the new recruits, and spat again.

“Right, you lot!” she growled, “This is the Infantry! I am Eb! I am your Captain! And YES! I am a GIRL!”

The knife reappeared to spin slowly –menacingly - through her fingers. Eb looked at each of the new recruits in turn.

“Anybody got a problem with that?”

Actually, yes I am full of them.  After a certain amount of time with a character, all you have left are cliches.

I just need to clear some things first, and I'll have the prologue up as soon as I do.

The idea is that Children would provide a unique challenge that would actually make the combat sections involving them more dangerous for Mehrin.  The character is a WS 20, which means that straight-up fights with the average fighter are a foregone conclusion.  However, Mehrin has nothing against the Children; he doesn't always agree with their methods, but they have done nothing to him.  That means that, in a fight, he will be working to incapacitate Children with as little damage as possible.

However, I would like to incorporate your suggestion into the last RP.  The end result of that one will be a tale that Mehrin defeated one hundred men by himself.  Part of that I'm handwaving as the pursuing Children stop short of him due to the company commander realizing that he's about to run into a trap.  I like the added idea of, "Wait, wait, wait...  Just what has this guy done to harm us?"

Okay, in theory this could be done with two or three extra writers.  If Sherper is willing to write the part of the CotL characters involvement and Arinth the mercenaries, we can make do with that.  Another writer to be in charge of the Darkfriends would be nice, but not necessary.  Is there somebody out there who wants to write the Darkfriends?

Biography

Rank: Private

WS: 2

Progress to Corporal

-Intro RP: (incomplete)

-Weapons Training RP: (incomplete)

-Weapons Training RP: (incomplete)

-Weapons Training RP: (incomplete)

-Weapons Training RP: (incomplete)

-Choice of RP: (incomplete)

Count Pahl in on this one.  I'm sure he'll have some sort of toy that he wants to try on a bear.

Consider him welcomed back.  CC'ed.

CC'ed.

There is no real outline.  It's more of a backdrop to allow for character development.

It's been years since this has taken place, and with the influx of new faces, I think it's time that we held another one.

The Red Trench is a tournament/party that is held in the quarry where the stone for the Citadel was mined.  There is alcohol to consume, gambling to lose money on, and a large open area where people can spar for the entertainment of everybody else.

There is no real rhyme or reason to RP the Red Trench other than having fun with each other's characters in whatever way you want.  Want a rivalry?  You can start one here.  Want to find drinking buddies?  Same thing.  The Red Trench serves as a way to get characters who might not interact with each other in normal circumstances into a situation where they can.

And it will start next week.

CC'ed.

CC'ed.   Just to clarify for my own sake, the rise in rank is to be applied immediately?

I really wish I still had it.  It was eaten by a cyber-grue a few years ago.

Maglin is an interesting individual from the first days of DM.  I read the bio once when he rejoined a few years ago, mostly to be sure he wasn't going to pull an Old Man Henderson on me.  It's actually pretty good

As far as the other RP groups having a report board, I don't know.  The White Tower doesn't have one, as far as I've been able to see.

Nope, I believe the record for a week of posting is 22,000 words.  Record for bios is held by a former Bander, who weighed in at 300+ pages.

To answer your question, you could do it on your progress report thread in a post that you make and monitor as you progress.  You just need to PM me whenever you finish a thread that completes a requirement towards your next promotion.

I feel like I'm perched and just waiting for another bio to check out...  CC'ed.