__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Thordin Aufler
Age: Years -???, Adult
Gender:Masculine-presenting
Species: Human
Ethnicity: "Old" Serenian
Height: 6'2" or 1.879 Meters
Occupation: Wandering Adventurer
Residence: None, yet. Formerly Castle Hoffae.

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description: Thordin Aufler is a somewhat tall, barrel chested man with red hair and green eyes. He usually wears simple trousers and

Personality:

Magic/Abilities: While Thordin is a Serenian, he was technically born before the modern intermingling of human and fae blood, and thus has none of the magical talent (and none of the weaknesses) of his kin. He does, however, have the following knowledge and special gifts from his adopted family.

Fae-Lore: Thordin has a good knowledge of all of the different types of fae creature, including their typical ranges, behaviors, and weaknesses. He also knows their magical rituals and how to summon spirits and elementals to his aid (there is no guarantee that they'll actually help him, however).

Witch Sight: As part of his fostering among the fae, Thordin's eyes have been changed, or trained, to see past many illusions. Many fae glamours do not fool him and he can perceive magical phenomena and creatures that others might miss.

Fairy Paths: Thordin knows the various paths and hidden entrances to the land of Faerie, or at least how to identify them. This lets him travel relatively quickly and out of sight of others, he can also guide people onto the paths alongside himself.

Rusty Sword: Thordin carries a strange, iron sword (which we would call the Carolingian type) that was supposedly gifted to him when he was first kidnapped by his adopted family. The blade appears to be covered in rust, but it is still sharp to the touch. Thordin has been warned that he should not draw this blade unless his life is in danger.

Green Armor and Shield: Thordin often wears a suit of plate armor that covers his body from head to toe, and which appears to be made from fresh, living wood and leaves. The armor is as hard as iron, and can repair itself if broken. However, it must be regularly given water and sunlight, or else it will die and become brittle. He has a round arming shield made of the same stuff, and which has the same requirements.

Singing Sword: Thordin's preferred weapon, a gift given when he was young by his adopted father. Made out of some strange, silverish metal known to the fae, the blade makes a whistling noise or "sings" when it is swung and is enchanted to never dull or tarnish.

Fairy Wine: A "wine" that is able to do miraculous things. When drunk, it cures all ailments that someone is feeling, removes poison from the blood, and causes injuries to heal many times faster than normal. When splashed directly upon a wound, it cleans it and closes it without any scars being left. A steady diet of the stuff can even stop the aging process! (Thordin only has two bottles of the stuff. One is meant for the sovereign of Serendipity as a gift.)

Relationships

History

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The lands of Serendipity were far less rough and wild than the territory that was ostensibly the domain of Adela's nobility. Serendipity was a land whose forests were sparse, and the flat floodplains that filled the place were full of farms and villages. Still, though, there were places to hide if one knew where to look, groves of old-growth that were left alone out of reverence for the fae ancestors of the Serenians, towns and villages that were abandoned after floods, places that had a high concentration of hematite or magnetite, and, of course, the ruins of fortresses and keeps that were no longer necessary in this peaceful time.

Near the city of Selevea, there was one such fortress situated on the side of a road that had long ago grown over with grass and brambles. The "fortress" such as it was, consisted mostly of a wall that had collapsed in pieces, a handful of stone foundations whose wooden walls and roofs had rotted away, and a stone keep that was three floors high, with crenelations at the very top. The tower was cracked and grown over with ivy that, until recently, had been thick and green and alive. And yet, still, the tower stood.

It was also, apparently, occupied once more. A few hunters and trappers that dared the wild place had claimed to see light flickering in the open, glass-less windows at night. One, who had been particularly desperate during a rainstorm, had tried to shelter himself on the ground floor of the tower, only to find that the old, rotten door had been replaced with a new, simpler one. And the door had been locked. He'd also claimed that he barely escaped arrows and strange, sickly rays and other spells thrown at him from the top of the tower. Villagers at the nearby manor had told their lords that a strange creature that sometimes crawled and sometimes walked like a man had been seen lurking around their graveyards at night, and several of the more shallow graves had been dug up and looted of bodies and coffins and anything else that was buried in the holes. They even claimed that he had an iron shovel and an iron pickaxe with which to dig...

None of the busier nobility had yet bothered to send anyone up to the tower to investigate. After all, no fae creature would have wielded a tool made of iron. And if the only corpses being looted were peasant corpses, and the only animals being stolen were those that belonged to serfs, why bother calling for aid or sending someone? Did they really want to muster up a militia and arm their peasants, or send a knight on a wild goose chase, or even call up a priest or priestess to investigate a haunting? No, it was not yet worth their time. Though a few lords were getting wary and nervous as their friends and neighbors told them of similar stories being spread on their own manors near the tower, and a few loudmouths had even spilled the story out in Selevea...

A full moon hung over the mountainside, accompanied by uncountable, twinkling stars. It was a beautiful sight, with soft and gentle light that left plenty of shadows to most eyes. But to one, red pair, the night was as bright as the noonday sun.

These eyes belonged to Moebius, who crept from a small cave in the mountainside and crawled his way over the ground. He was wearing his skull mask and his long robes, as he usually did... but he was not bothering to disguise his true size and form. Arms and legs longer then a cottage was wide grasped at dirt and rock as grasping fingers and toes clutched at handholds and roots and branches. Moebius, who claimed royal titles and great power, moved more like an ape than a human being. An ape mixed with some sort of spider or other scuttling thing.

Moebius traced his way down a game trail, where he remembered leaving a set of snares. It was a little path, just the tiniest of disturbances through the grass. The sort left by rabbits as they travelled to and from their dens. He had left many such snares down several such trails. Even if only a few had caught something, Moebius would have a full belly before the morning came. Then, perhaps, he could move on. Head further north where he could find other mages and steal their secrets and spells for himself, perhaps take a tower or a laboratory to study and further his knowledge...

His train of thought was interrupted by the sight of some white-furred thing, glowing bright in the moonlight, situated exactly where he'd left one of his snares. Quickly, and without any subtlety or quiet, Moebius scrambled over to his trapped prey. The snapping of twigs and branches and the tumbling of rocks heralded his arrival, as he came upon... a fox.

A breathing fox.

Moebius crouched, assuming his usual, hunched position that required him to shuffle instead of walk. A finger poked the fox, trailing through the stark, white fur.

"Foolish little fox. Were you trying to rob me of my rabbits? Did you perhaps get lost in the chase, and forget to see the world around you until it was too late? Alas, I shall never know, for you are a fox and your kind do not talk to me even when you are dead. Still, I wonder... how is it that your neck was not snapped by the branch and wire?"

Moebius had no expectation that the white fox would, or even could, speak to him as he reached within his robes... and pulled forth a gleaming dagger made from polished stone.

"No matter, I shall study your neck's construction after I take your pelt. It will make a fine addition to my royal ensemble!"

The Magnificent and Mystical Emperor Moebius, First of His Name mumbled and muttered to himself as he shuffled his way through dense undergrowth, fallen leaves, and fallen branches from the canopy of the trees above. He was not in a particularly good mood, as he was rather lost and the scenery around him did not agree with his disposition. It was far too... lively. The shafts of sunlight filtering through the leaves were far too bright, the flowers were too colorful, the bird song was too cheerful, and the air smelled far too sweet! There was nothing of death or rot in this strange, serene little spot of nature. Which just seemed, in some ways, unnatural to the budding necromancer.

And then, suddenly, he smelled it. The stench of stagnant water and slime and decay. It was faint, disguised by perfume and spices and the smells of civilized nobility, but it was there. Moebius turned from the arbitrary direction he was shuffling to make his way towards the smell, dragging leaves and dirt and branches in his wake via the hem of his robe.

A short time later, Moebius was shoving aside a branch with his staff, an old shepherd's crook, and shuffling into a disgustingly pristine meadow. There, he saw her. A woman, with pale skin, though not so pale as his own, with black hair and painted lips. She was wearing fine, glittering silks that would not have looked out of place on a member of royalty, and yet they were cut in a strange way to expose much of her skin. Yes, she was the source of the smell, somehow. And once he saw her, Moebius heard the mutterings of many frightened, dead... they were all gurgling or burbling for some reason, like they were drowning.

"You!"

Moebius pointed a long, crooked finger at the woman.

"Are you the one that smells of death and decay, and also strange magic? The smell of a brackish swamp or..."

Moebius tilted his face, masked by a carved piece of painted wood meant to look like a skull, upwards and sniffed.

"No, an old lake full of mud and fish and corpses! I smell it, so I do! And I hear the drowning dead screaming around you!"

Nestled deep within the tall, black mountains to the south of Adela, there was a cave. It had a small entrance, barely more than a hole in the ground. This hole in the ground led to a pocket of space tall enough for the small and those of average height to stand comfortably, but the tall would find their heads scraping the black rock of the ceiling. Past this pocket was a tunnel, not wide enough for most to squeeze their shoulders through. It was cool and dark inside, as the sun never seemed to shine directly upon it, and it was nestled among trees and bushes, almost hidden by the green that grew around it. There was a game trail leading to the cave, but that had not been trod by any beast for the past few seasons. And yet, smoke rose from the hole and into the air and past the canopy of the pines towards the sky.

For the cave, despite its remoteness and hidden nature had a single inhabitant. A man, of sorts, hunched over a small and flickering fire that was just bright enough to turn the cave from a realm of darkness into a room of shadow. This man was dressed oddly, wearing a wooden mask that was carved to resemble a skull, painted black and white, and a set of robes that were long and trailed behind his body in patches of black and gray.

The mask had been pushed up just far enough to reveal his mouth, which was tearing chunks of flesh from a barely-cooked rabbit. The teeth were sharp, in the way that pieces of broken slate and shingle are sharp, and clustered close together. These teeth bit and tore at the roasted flesh, causing bursts of "juice" (fat and blood and other things) to dribble down the pale chin as the mouth chewed and chomped. He clutched the rabbit in hands with long, spidery fingers, thin with long, cracked nails at the end and prominent knuckles and joints. The hands were delicate, yet firm in their grip...

"Someone approaches..."

The whisper came to his ear, and his alone, and the strange man turned to face the entrance, and waited a few moments. Someone was coming up the game trail, someone was approaching his home. Did they hunt him, still, the children of the servants he had tried to raise in the south? Was this some new threat? A dragon? A wizard or mage who wanted to keep the mountain to themselves? Or, worst of all, an angry bear? He waited to speak until whatever came was just outside the hole...

"Who dares approach the lair of The Magnificent and Mystical Emperor Moebius, First of His Name?! IDENTIFY YOURSELF! I smell your blood and sweat, stranger! I hear the crunching of dirt and sticks and pine needles beneath your feet! I have been told of your coming by the dead, whose eyes see ALL that the living wish to hide! SPEAK! SPEAK or I shall drink your blood and roast you upon the fire to fill my belly! Or slay you and deny you the dreaming sleep of true death!"

What are your favorite kinds of plots and relationships to play?: I love classic plots of revenge, adventure, or what-have-you, but I'll give anything a try!

What are your least favorite kinds of plots and relationships to play?: Grimdark. It's often not enjoyable to read without memeing, which sort of undermines the whole thing.

What are your favorite character types to play?: I like to play a wide mix of characters. Noble heroes, vile villains, complex anti-heroes, complex heroes, all sorts.

Are you a planner or a pantser? Do you prefer to pre-plan and stick to a script when posting, or do you prefer to surprise and be surprised?: I like to have endgoals and plans for personal writing, but in RP I prefer to have an end-goal or starting point and organically build to or from those.

How do you feel about group threads?: They're slower, but I don't mind much, as long as everyone's on the same page.

How often can you reply to any given thread? How long should a partner wait before nudging you for a post?: My availability varies. Sometimes I am able to post over and over again during a six-hour period, other times I can only respond to a few posts at the end of my day.

What is the longest you're willing to wait for a reply to a thread?: A week without nudging someone. But I can wait far longer if people are going through it or IRL takes precedence.

How do you feel about instant messenger RP?: I can do that, but I like to have logs and I often take a bit longer than a lot of IM RPers like.

Ho do you feel about post volleying/rapidfire RP?:
(Where you and another player post rapidly back and forth in a thread with each other.) This is a hard state for me to reach, I only rarely "get into the zone" and put out lots and lots of posts quick. Don't expect me to be able to do this a lot.

What's your preferred posting style? Long posts? Short posts? Anything and everything?: I try to post at a size that's called for, rather than inflating word-count OR getting lazy. Introductory posts for threads often require a lot more description for scene setting and actions and thoughts, before it can give way to snappy dialogue and short posts with a handful of sentences.

Any RP styles/habits that you love?: I like to post music on some posts for setting a vibe, forums let me make writing a multi-sensory experience sometimes.

Any RP styles/habits that you avoid?: I try not to make characters that are 1-for-1 my personality or self-inserts. It gets... weird.



What are you limits regarding powerplay/godmoding?:
(For instance, do you mind if someone grabs your character? Picks them up? Punches them?) Depending on the circumstances, I don't mind if someone "bunnies" my character. A lucky sucker punch will probably hit a guy that isn't expecting it. If a shorter person is getting in the business of a big, beefy guy, then that big beefy guy can probably pick the shortie up. My limits usually extend to someone making my characters act OUT of character, speak or think differently then I picture or write them speaking or thinking or acting. Ask me first if you're unsure, if not I will let you know if I'm uncomfortable with something.

What are your limits in regards to romantic situations?:
(What are you comfortable with and not comfortable with? Do you prefer to pre-plot relationships or let them happen organically? Are you open to IC-rejection or love-triangles? Age differences? Etc.) I prefer that everyone be on the same page for an IC romantic relationship. Some characters of mine would have no interest in dating, others might fall in love easily, and yet others might find their heart kindled with love or desire for one other person only. If you'd like to ship it, let me know. If I'd like to ship it, I'll let you know. IC rejection is fine for me OOC, can't guarantee all of my characters will react well. Love-triangles are a sometimes thing, and I feel uncomfortable playing big age differences. What I mean by "big" differences depends on the ages of both characters. Five years of age gap is a long time if you're both kids, but it's not a lot of time at all for adults over 21.

What are your limits with regards to graphic content such as sex, violence, drug use, sexual assault, etc? What is your comfort level?: I've never really been on the receiving end of a lot of this kind of stuff, but most of my characters and stories don't really get too dark. So, sex is perfectly fine if both players/writers are adults and underage people aren't going to see what we make. Drug use can make for interesting stories about addiction, loss, society, etcetera, but that has to be tasteful. I also don't mind people using drugs IRL, especially if it's done safely and they don't have any sort of addictive disorders, so a character using them just because is fine if it's not being used for misery porn. I... do not like playing as someone committing sexual assault, and probably won't change my mind on that.

What are your limits in regards to pregnancy within plots?:
(Are you okay with pregnancy in plots? Miscarriages? Loss?) It's a natural consequence of sharing a bed, and can lead to interesting ideas. But I need to make sure both players OOCly agree on that being a possible consequence beforehand and agreeing that it happened.

What about healing?:
(For example, a blind character magically being able to see, a scarred up character having their scars repaired, etc.) It depends. Someone whose eyes or legs were injured might want to regain what they lost, but having a guy who was born blind suddenly be able to see or a guy who was born with non-functional legs suddenly walk can very easily come off as ableist and I don't wanna go down that road.

What about characters being transformed against their will?: (Think vampires, werewolves, and magical spells.) My characters can be transformed against their will with my OOC consent.

Anything else?:
(Anything else you want to add that other players should know!) PLEASE let me know if I am making you uncomfortable or if a story element or something that I say OOC hits you the wrong way. If I don't know that I caused discomfort, I'm not going to learn unless someone points it out to me. Also, please be patient with me if I don't understand an aspect of your experience IRL or your character's experience. I understand that it is not your job/calling/responsibility to explain, educate, or to "fix my ignorance" and I should always try to work on educating myself when I can. However, I am a cis, formerly Catholic, white guy from a suburban American town IRL, so there's a lot of stuff I just wasn't taught or didn't get to figure out when I was younger. On a lighter note, I love to read, even if I don't always have time for pleasure reading, so do let me know if you have any books or stories that inspire you or that you enjoy. I'm trying to expand my reading horizons!

__________________QUICK STATS

Name: Moebius, birth name "Samuel, son of Mort", aka "The Magnificent and Mystical Emperor Moebius, First of His Name
Age: Adult (Early thirties)
Gender: Man
Species: Human(?)
Ethnicity: Adelan (or so he claims)
Height: Varies from under 5' when "hunched" to over 8 feet when he "looms".
Occupation: Necromancer and wannabe warlord
Residence: None.

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description: Moebius always wears a wooden mask, carved and painted to resemble a grinning, human skull. His body, meanwhile, is usually clothed in a long, flowing robe that has been knit together from a handful of burial shrouds. The robe ranges from deep black to a faded gray-ish color in patches, and its sleeves and hem usually drag upon the ground. His red eyes and his too large hands with fingers that are far too long and knuckles that are knobby and gnarled hint at a monstrous appearance hidden just behind those thin bits of fabric. Usually, Moebius is bent over nearly in half, appearing to have a hump of a back that rises above the top of his head. He'll walk with a strange, shuffling gait and lean heavily upon his staff, an old shepherd's crook. Sometimes, though, he'll "straighten up" and loom above even tall men, with his back and neck still bent low.

Personality: Mad. Absolutely, utterly mad, delusional and deranged. Moebius will talk to animals as if they are people and have heated arguments with empty air. He is certain that he is no mere peasant or novice necromancer, but a master of the mystical arts and a natural-born leader and king. He is openly evil and wicked, rejecting all gods and embracing power and whatever will bring him more of it. And yet, he also has a naturally curious and inquisitive mind and some cunning. He is oddly charismatic and friendly to those he meets, and seems to value politeness and certain bits of wisdom. Finally, despite, or perhaps because of, his madness, he has a strange ability to hold two, conflicting ideas in his head or "know two truths".

Magic/Abilities:

Necromancy - Thanks to his studies, Moebius has some knowledge of necromancy, and he's constantly learning more about it and other forms of magic.

Keen Mind - Moebius is eager to learn, and is very good at taking in new information from a variety of sources and applying that knowledge.

Literacy - Moebius, unlike many peasants and shepherds, knows how to read.

Charisma - Moebius is... weirdly charismatic. Sometimes he can be terrifying and command the attention of a room, at others he is warm and personal, like a friend or father figure.

Some Book Smarts - Moebius has picked up a smattering of knowledge of the sciences, philosophy, tactics, magecraft, and history from his studies.

Some Cunning - While he is not quite as clever as he thinks, Moebius does possess some cunning and ability to manipulate situations and people to his advantage.

Deep Sheep Lore - Due to his years spent as a travelling shepherd while he still bore the name "Samuel", Moebius has a good knowledge of sheep and shepherding. He knows the calls and songs, where the good pastureland is, how to shear and slaughter sheep, and even how to act as a midwife for pregnant ewes.

Relationships: None, yet.

History: Once, "Moebius" was but a humble shepherd, who traveled around Adela with his flock of sheep. He would go from town to town, and city to city, selling wool, meat, hide, and horn to those that would buy it. In turn, he would buy enough supplies to get him and his flock through the wilderness to the next place. It was a lonely life, and a repetitive one that followed set paths to pastures and cycles of travel. And yet, Samuel was happy, for he had his sheep, and he had the sky and the dirt, and also a book or two.

Samuel was lucky, you see, because he had been taught how to read and write by his father as a lad. His father, in turn, had been taught by his own father, who had been taught by his father, and so on. Samuel's father claimed  that the men of their family line remembered and passed on the skill because of a time when they were nobles and rulers of the land they walked, though Samuel doubted this. Either way, he could read, and so he did.

He read books of philosophy, history, and science. He read epic poems and grand romances and myths that the people of many nations held dear. He read books on theology, astronomy, mathematics, and once, even a text written about alchemy. Some concepts went over his head, but others were easy to grasp, and bits and bobs of information rattled away in his skull. And he dreamed, he dreamed of forgotten ages and distant realms and worlds that had never been and could never be, and he wrote his thoughts and ideas in journals or on scraps of parchment.

One day, after he had brought his sheep to a meadow with a brook that he had stopped in many times before, Samuel lay down in the shade of a tree for a quick nap. As he laid his head down, he felt something strange against his head, and looked to see a book. It was a codex-bound type, not a scroll, with a black leather cover titled in archaic Common, "A Guide to the Artes Necromantick". Inside, its parchment pages were covered with a strange, deep red ink that looked wet and fresh, but which did not rub off. Samuel tried to read the words and images in the book, but they were incomprehensible to him and he understood none of them. Then, as he stared at them, they started to make sense. And the more they made sense, the more that Samuel could read. The more Samuel read, the more they made sense... and so it went...

When he arrived at the next town, Samuel was calling himself "Moebius" and proclaiming himself an "emperor" and "master necromancer", and his flock was missing half of its number. His skin had turned pale, his eyes had turned red, and his hair had fallen out. He proclaimed the town his demesne and that all within it were his servants and soldiers... At first, the townsfolk tolerated him, trying to reason with him and take the strange book away so he would recover. And yet, the book always seemed to slip free of hands and bags and boxes. It always found its way back to the hands of Moebius, who could be seen practicing chants and speaking in forgotten tongues to empty air. And so Moebius was inevitably driven out of town, but not before he stole a mask and a burial shroud.

Now, Moebius works to unlock the secrets of science and sorcery, that he might claim dominion not over one small village, but the whole of the known world. To that end, he travels north, seeking forgotten relics and forbidden knowledge, and perhaps some friends, foes, and minions along the way.

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