forum How to Speak With The Dead (And Other Practical Life Skills) // CLOSED, BUT STALKERS WELCOME!

Started May 05, 2020 by @GoblinKing

tune

CW: There will be mild gore, drug usage, violence, and semi-graphic descriptions of dead bodies in this RP.

A Career in the Field of Necromancy Pays More than a Living Wage!
Because Mother Always Said It Was Nice To Make New Friends.

Somethin' hinky is goin' down in the Wilting Fig Inn.

Despite the soft decay of the buildings there is a certain charm about Farscarn. Everything is greener as nature grows wild and the quiet during the day is almost peaceful. But with nothing else to lose this town has a strange sense of comfort about it, like an old woman, kinda.

If only their dead could stay dead, right?

Classic conundrum!

Aaanyway, there's been some talk of.. eh.. necromancy. Of sorts. A little group seems to have banded together to "raise some hell".

That was inappropriate. I'm sorry. Listen. Our graveyards are being looted, not for the stuff inside, but the bodies. The bodies are disappearing and we don't know what to do.

Rules Proper Necromantic Etiquette

• Be rootin', be tootin', and by God, be shootin', but most of all, Be Kind. Your characters don't have to like each other, but you don't have to act the same way to other person. Remember babe, there's another person behind that screen.

• Cussing is welcome! I don't give a fuck what you say, actually. Except for actual slurs, of course. I won't tolerate 'em.

• I.. cannot comprehend big blocks of text. I just can't. I try to respond quickly, but if I can't easily read your formatting, it may take me a few hours to a day to respond. Not your fault, of course, but a heads up.

• Please, please, please use decent to semi-decent grammar! I'm not talking dialogue, go fucking ham there, but in descriptions, please but use punctuation and capitals. Run it through Grammarly if you really have to.

• I don't want a romance here! I think it would be weird considering the subject matter! Please respect that!

• IF YOU HAVE CERTAIN TOPICS THAT YOU WANT TO AVOID, PLEASE TELL ME. TELL ME IF I MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. I WILL DO THE SAME FOR YOU.

Character rules

What? These exist?

Kinda. I just have a couple guidelines.

• I have zero tolerance for edgelord/brooding boys in the back corner of the tavern-type characters. They're not fun, they're not cute, they're annoying. Period. Being introverted is okay. Being a cold, closed-off asshole who refuses to interact in a semi-functional way with others is not.

• Hey buddy! It's okay if your character is mentally ill! It's okay if they're lonely! But I don't want to have to have a 5 day long conversation about how lonely your character is. That feels too much like therapy, and I'm not licensed.

• Mary Sues/Gary Stus: again, not accepted here. This is a rounded character only zone.

• If your character is a vanilla human I'm gonna be calling the cops that was a joke but please go wacky don't box yourself into human. im literally using homebrew dnd races

• Magic abilities are… fine? I guess? But let's be honest here- basic elemental magic just isn't amazingly fun. Go absolutely bonkers with it. Get wildly specific, not wildly broad.

• Characters must be humanoid-esque and either capable of human speech or in possession of an item that makes them capable of human speech.

• I'm going to be marking a few template spaces with a good ol' ^. These are optional!

• Links are totally accepted!

Template Time!

it only took 597 words

also i don't know if i should clarify that this is definitely high fantasy, so a sorta medieval vibe

NAME (FULL):

GENDER:

AGE:

RACE:

CLASS^:

OCCUPATION:

APPEARANCE

• Height/Weight:

• Build:

• General Appearance:

• Noticeable Marks:

• Piercings^:

• Clothing Style^:

• Armor^:

PERSONALITY

• Traits:

• Fears:

• Strengths:

• Weaknesses:

• Hobbies/Talents:

• General Vibe™^:

BACKGROUND

• Family^:

• Pets/Familiars^:

• Social Class^:

-Country of Origin^:

• Other^:

INVENTORY^:
(This is totally optional but also very fun. Feel free to use whatever items you'd like, as long as they come with a description!)
Items inside (feel free to add or subtract slots here! within reason):

• How is everything carried?:

NAME (FULL): Sebastian (No last name given)

GENDER: Male

AGE: 11 (First life, adult for a Felis)

RACE: Felis (There's a little reading involved here, but you don't really need all of it it, just the first page or so. Not my homebrew!)

CLASS^: Fighter

OCCUPATION: Tavern chef at The Mum

APPEARANCE:

• Height/Weight: Roughly 3', 28 lbs

• Build: Small. A small, catlike humanoid

• General Appearance: Short, fluffy, and tabby. A cream tortoiseshell coat with splotches of both ruddy red and silver. Large orange-yellow eyes. His tail is about a quarter of his overall height, notably incredibly fluffy as well. Sebastian keeps himself well groomed because of the nature of his job.

• Noticeable Marks: A burn scar on his left hand (paw?) from hot oil.

• Piercings^: N/A

• Clothing Style^: Simple and neat. His favorite outfit is a basic white linen shirt and dark brown pants, loose and bound just below the knee with strips of tough cloth. Simple brown boots, worn down over the years. Similar to this. He only owns three shirts and two pairs of pants, and they're all just a variation of the previously described. After all, thick fabric over already thick fur is way too much. His cold weather outfit includes The Handy Towel Cape (see inventory), but otherwise it's the same. He wears a clean white bandanna like a headscarf while he cooks, more for aesthetics than practicality.
• Armor^: N/A

PERSONALITY

• Traits: Incredibly loyal, likes the idea of adventures more than the actual adventuring itself, even if he's pretty alright at it. Hardworking, honest, and proud of what he does. Deeply attached to family and friends, quick to pack-bond. Likes to joke and tease.

• Fears: Death, bees, maggots, looking entitled or lazy, thunderstorms

• Strengths: Good at martial arts, confident, incredibly driven once he gets to doing something.

• Weaknesses: A bit of a one-track mind, sucks at multitasking, high standards when it comes to food, and can't swim well.

• Hobbies/Talents: Cooking, sewing, gardening (mostly vegetables), fishing

• General Vibe™^: Farmcore-ish. Certainly better suited for a peaceful small town life than big cities, which is why he initially moved to Farscarn. Clearly that didn't work out.

BACKGROUND

• Family^: His clan back in Mewo Village, whom he left so he could learn more about the places around them.

• Pets/Familiars^: N/A

• Social Class^: Working, pretty average peasantry.

-Country of Origin^: Nord Brioria

• Other^: Traveled around for about a year when he first left his village, has collected tiny trinkets from a few of the places.

INVENTORY^:
Items inside:

• The Pot of Keeping: Any food kept in this pot is kept warm & doesn't spoil. Small.
• The Handy Towel Cape: A deep blue patchwork of towels sewn into the shape of a cloak. Ridiculously soft and warm, but there's a hole at the bottom.
• A jar of "Sebastian's Special Juice": Nobody knows quite what the concoction is except Sebastian, but by gods, it's potent. Possibly alcohol, maybe old fruit juice. Maybe both.
• Handy spice pouch: A pouch full of all sorts of spices. A grab-bag of sorts. Just reach in, tell the bag what spices you want, and reap spices.
• Wooden spoon: It's a wooden spoon. Great for cooking, an alright weapon.

How is everything carried?:

• A simple rucksack. He tries to keep everything as light as possible given his tiny frame.

(Is he good? I know I chose something kinda weird, lmao, I just wanted to make a character that was a change from what I usually do!)

NAME (FULL): Paisley Enoch

GENDER: Female

AGE: 110

RACE: Drow

CLASS^: Rogue

OCCUPATION: (Does night watch count?)

APPEARANCE

• Height/Weight: 5'2"/50kg

• Build: She has a lithe body, very athletic and sturdy. A lot of her muscle mass is in her thighs.

• General Appearance: Paisley has dark blue, youthful skin that almost looks black. Her hair is long, straight and copper, with small chunks of metals woven into two braids on her left temple. Her eyes are narrow and amber, something that makes her stand out against the rest of her kind. Her facial structure is fairly sharp, her cheekbones nicely defined. Her nose is narrow, slightly buttoned, and her lips are naturally full. As per her elven heritage, her ears are narrow and pointed.

• Noticeable Marks: A large burn scar that runs from the top of her right shoulder down to her wrist, attained after trying to make herself resistant to a certain poison.

• Piercings^: N/A

• Clothing Style^: A lot of black, it helps her to blend in at night time. She liked to wear light clothing that is aerodynamic in case she needs to make a speedy getaway or she's chasing someone down. Sort of like this

• Armor^: N/A

PERSONALITY

• Traits: Paisley is arrogant, ambitious, sadistic, treacherous, and hedonistic. From birth, she was taught she was superior to other races, and that she should crush those beneath them. She does try to be more virtuous but it doesn't always work.

• Fears: Losing everything she has worked for, death, insects.

• Strengths: Mimicry of sounds, speed related activities, perception and deception of the mind.

• Weaknesses: Sunlight (unless it is sunset), she can become easily confused in a situation that involves a major decision.

• Hobbies/Talents: Archery, martial arts, reading.

BACKGROUND

• Family^: Mother, three sisters, two aunts and a younger brother. The majority of her male relatives are long deceased.

• Social Class^: Middle, has enough wealth under her belt.

• Other^: Rarely traveled, mainly stuck to the town she was born under.

INVENTORY^:

• 'Ordein's Scope', this is a small golden telescope she inherited from her father, one of the only things remaining to prove he was once alive.
• A spell book she had stolen from a Druid roughly 10 years ago, the poor lad is still confused as to where it is to this day (and it isn't like she's able to perform spells properly, but it's a nice trinket to have).
• A napkin of Aunt Defilia's cookies. The driest things on earth, have little to no flavor, yet somehow they are still good enough to eat.
• A sharp wooden stick, because you never know when someone is going to attack you when you don't have an actual weapon at hand.

How is everything carried?:

• Leather satchel, medium sized.

(I hope she's okay, let m know if you'd like me to change anything!)

The rain drizzled down in a soft spring shower. Outside, wildflowers had begun to poke out of the gaps between the cobblestone roads. Vines and kudzu crept over the buildings of Farscarn like hungry snakes. The Mum tavern was being devoured just the same, with its wooden sign hanging over the streets and ivy dripping down.

Inside, though, the tavern was warm and inviting. It was dim, lit only by the song glow of a fireplace to the left wall. The tables, altogether there were maybe six or seven, had seen better days. All the furniture in the place had seen better days, really. It was all mead and ale-stained, scarred up, and broken in.

In the back room, with the clattering of pots and pans, Sebastian was putting the final few ingredients into a bubbling cauldron. The soft pittering of paws and worn boots resonated from the open doorway as the small Felis scuttled around, occasionally giving the large vat a good stir every now and again.

The streets were as quiet as always for late evening. Very few folk were now commuting, presumably heading to whatever homes or night jobs they needed to attend to. The feather-like rain that had started to fall gave the sky an extra layer of Payne's grey that comforted the night folk who happened to be awakening. Dusk was always the more preferable time of day, at least to Paisley.

The patrol were making their rounds, each squad taking sections of the town to cover more ground. These routine checks were mandatory now, for once they had only been a weekly occurrence, but times were changing and the scouts knew more than the common folk. Of course, it was inevitable that the common folk would have their own rumors and suspicions, but none of them dared to venture out at night to search for answers. That's what the scouts were there for; to make sure no one did venture out at night.

Paisley waited outside as the rest of her squad entered The Mum tavern. It was customary at this point that they would have a drink and food—something that the drow had never been a fan of due to the brighter than necessary lighting of said building—before they all continued with their patrol. After a few deep breaths she pushed open the door, her eyes squinting reflexively while she searched for her comrades. It wasn't too crowded in the tavern at this time of evening, which helped Paisley bear how uncomfortable she was (plus her stomach was growling, and the scent that floated from the kitchen wasn't helping matters).

Sebastian came out from the kitchen, walking behind the bar to speak with the barmaid. If you didn't see him come out, you wouldn't've seen him at all, the tiny thing. No bigger than a child. He tugged on the edge of the barmaid's long apron to get her attention.

"When's Shadul supposed to get here?" The Felis asked. He wasn't impatient, not yet, but annoyingly curious. Shadul was supposed to take over his shift, plus she was leagues taller. Could reach more. "I need her help."

The barmaid looked out the windows. Her sweet voice dripped like honey as she talked. "Soon, sugar. Just be patient."

"I am being patient." Sebastian wiped his paws off on his apron. "I'm just curious."

"I know. I've got customers to take care of, so if you'd just-"

"'Get back to work on the soup', I know." Sebastian finished the barmaid's sentence for her, taking a few steps back into the kitchen. "Tell her to come straight in when she gets here!"

"She always does, Bassy."

Back in the kitchen, Sebastian was standing on top of a few stacked crates, stirring the large cauldron. The Mum was famous for her cream and chicken soup, one of Sebastian's own recipes, and something he was fiercely proud of. They were getting a smaller crowd than normal, though, due to these night patrols. The guards were good business, sure, but they never made more money than the regular nightly crowd.

"Nice of you to join us little lady." The leader of Paisley's squad, Mikah, jeered as she slid herself onto one of the benches where the rest of her squad sat. "What's the special occasion?" The high elf never had been particularly friendly towards her, and while she was forced to listen to him in terms of work, in her own time she never bothered to give him the time of day. So what if his race was deemed superior to her own, his personality was enough to class him as scum.

Paisley averted her gaze to inspect the decor of the building, for it had been quite some time since she had last been inside the tavern. Sad to say, the decor hadn't changed that much. The walls were still an odd combination of bricks and stones, and the lanterns still hung on the walls. The only change appeared to be that the tables had moved around a bit—and even that wasn't noticeable enough to those who weren't looking. Still, she supposed it was a homely place to regulars.

"I'm talking to you."

"Huh?" Paisley's eyes drifted back to Mikah, but before she could properly lay her eyes on him, he roughly grabbed her wrist and pulled her outside around the back of the tavern. A loud slap vibrated into the quiet night, the blood rushing to Paisley's cheek caused it to throb as she forced the tears to stay in her eyes. She had learned not to cry around Mikah a long time ago, he didn't show mercy to those he hurt, especially those who he deemed were inferior to him. She stood strong, taking deep breaths to steady her heart rate.

"You know not to ignore me Paisley." Mikah's eyes were sharp, cold. Unkind. He glared down at her, only adding to how inferior he made her feel despite her race being of higher class to his own. Damn her genetics..
Just as he was about to deal another blow, Paisley caught his wrist and glared. "A gentleman doesn't strike a lady, Mikah. Touch me again and I will not hesitate to fight back." she let go of him and briskly made her way back inside the tavern. Her stomach begged for food, and she would be damned if she was going to allow him to prevent her from eating.

The tavern door banged open, a hulking beast of a half-orc (three-quarters orc?) stepping inside. Her long dreadlocks were tied up into a large, bulky bun, and her arms and face were scarred, though whether that was from battle or cooking was unclear. A spiral tattoo decorated the center of her throat. The barmaid looked up, waving the orc woman forward.

"Sebastian's getting impatient. Get in there, Shadul." The barmaid smiled shyly, pointing the other chef back into the kitchen.

"G'evenin' to you too." Shadul grunted, grabbing her apron from beside the kitchen's archway (there was no door, only a large door frame). She tied it around her waist as she stepped into the kitchen, and Sebastian's voice could be heard from inside the room.

"Ah! Finally!" The Felis chirped. "I need your help getting things down."

"I figured you did." Shadul nodded. "What do you need?"

Sebastian rattled off a sizable list of ingredients, and the half-orc dutifully got them down.

"Thank you, thank you." He hopped back onto his stack of crates, taking some of the ingredients and beginning to add them into the cauldron. "Customers? Are there any customers out there? I think I hear some."

"..I can check." Shadul stepped back out of the kitchen, looking out at the tavern to see any people. She ducked her head back in. "Yes. Guard, it looks like."

"Then they'll be hungry, won't they? I'll go take orders." Sebastian stirred the cauldron a little longer before leaving it to simmer for a few minutes. He hopped off of the crates, dusting his paws off on his pants and walking out of the kitchen. The short creature walked up to Paisley's table, a small notepad in hand. He had to crane his head up to look at them. "Good evening! Can I get you anything to eat tonight?"