As Above, So Below is a play-by-post RPG based on the Dragon Age series of video games. Play takes place during the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition as our characters navigate cutthroat politics, tumultuous relationships, and the looming threat of a sky torn asunder. Set in a world of dark fantasy, we explore mature topics while crafting thoughtful and compelling plots focusing on OC stories with minimal canon involvement. We're an advanced RP for those who are comfortable with creative writing. 18+, 3/2/2, Faceclaims optional.
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Post by Gaatlok Katari on Sept 2, 2018 0:23:42 GMT -5
Gaatlok Katari
Black and white melt into grey till every truth is stripped away
general info
CLASS Warrior
GENDER Male
AGE 26
RACE Kossith (Qunari)
ORIENTATION Heterosexual
OCCUPATION Mercenary & Blacksmith
appearance
6'10" and striking in Heavy Taaras, nearly bursting at the seams to keep his muscles within, Gaatlok slings a leather weapons thong over and across his body. A large mass of spears poke out from behind his back and a leather sheath is covering the edge of the two-handed spear that he uses as a walking stick. The scars of a few battles are scattered across his body, but the only ones visible are scorch marks across his face and temple, marring the slight stubble of his jawline. The scar tissue is not altogether unsightly, however, as the incident was many years ago. The most noticeable aspect that still remains is the fact that he has no eyebrows, nor hair of any kind on his face save the slight beard. His horns are swept back, not as wide as some of his brethren, but they are strong nonetheless.
personality
POSITIVE - Loyal - Decisive - Not burdened by education - Quick to Action - Romantic
NEGATIVE - Powderkeg Rage - Has a thing for shorter women - Naive - Doesn't always think - Afraid of his anger issues
Gaatlok's anger is something that he has struggled to control for many, many years. It has impaired his ability to woo, impress customers, or deal with difficult situations in general. While he may have it in check most of the time, even being somewhat patient with as many people as he can, there is a limit to how much he's able to stomach before exploding. It has, however, directly lead to the training that he has received. His instructor in the clan was impressed with how quickly he jumped to battle against the drake, and taught him a modicum of control, how to focus that rage. Merely focusing the anger does nothing to properly quell it, but chopping firewood has proven to be most therapeutic. Gaatlok is a simple man, of simple tastes, and doesn't let too much thinking get in the way of important decisions. More often than not, he has found that thinking about something too hard only makes the problem worse. Instead, he acts.
history
Raised on the run from Qunari culture and influence, his clan found solace in the Drylands of Antiva, often contracting themselves out as mercenaries. Some of them worked with the Crows as brute force, others with trading caravans or ships, but the organization that he was raised to respect was the clan itself. When Gaatlok was young, a drake attacked his people. Though he was still in training, it was his solemn duty to defend the clan, and thus raised the nearest spear in defense of those too foolish to fight. Needless to say, Gaatlok did not win that battle, but he did survive, though his eyebrows have never grown back and his voice remains somewhat hoarse from the flames that took home in his throat before snuffing themselves out. Taarsidath-an halsaam, as those who Gaatlok once considered ancestors are fond of saying. The spear has remained his since that day, and Gaatlok has been dispatched away from the clan in order to serve as a living advertisement of their services, highlighting their toughness and unwillingness to die.
This has not been terribly effective, however, as he is something of a powder-keg, afraid that his rage may explode at inopportune times. He cannot vouch for the marketing abilities of his clan, given himself, but will do everything in his power to drum up business by example.
Simply, he must do this. The Drylands are not well suited for farming, and the clan is in need of a new location where both work and food will be plenty. When they reach a certain age the warriors are sent away. They market themselves to send coin back to the Clan, enable them to purchase what supplies they need. Those who return without success or sufficient coin are not welcome at all. There is, quite frankly, not enough food around for the failures.
Exile at a certain age to help market the skills of the clan is actually a small mercy. It ensures that they may be able to find work and have enough coin to keep their own stomachs full without infringing upon the needs of the elderly, the young, and those still in training.
In his travels, he has known many women, most of whom were merely taking pity on him for his scars, or wanting an experience with a man bulging with musculature. But there was one... one that got away. An elf, taller than normal, but... he will never forget the face he saw, though he scarcely recalls the name, something about an Otter. Regardless, his latest job sent him close to this "Conclave" that everyone was making a fuss about. Something about security detail, something about details that he would be made aware of upon arrival.
He didn't care too much, the coin was good.
sample
"If... this is your first time on a forum RP, a short sample of general creative writing is fine."
Sample:
Su-11y’s hand appendage was bracing the lever. “Departing hyperspace in T-Minus fifteen seconds.” In the mess hall, Darael strapped himself into the couch as he heard Su-11y’s voice over the intercom. He was wringing his hands and his face showed distinct signs of an utter lack of soberness. In the cockpit, in the seats next to Su-11y, Corinth and An-Etté were strapped in. Corinth always enjoyed watching the stars slow down from within the cockpit, the streams of light in hyperspace phasing back into bright pinholes in the darkness. An-Etté, being physically blind, saw a different perspective. She felt the change in speed, certainly, but mostly she was obsessed with seeing a new planet for the first time. Today, unfortunately, she was disappointed. “What happened here?” An-Etté asked, shaking slightly. “The wars, An-Etté. They trashed this planet even more than they did Balmorra, and now the only way that Vanquo continues to survive is the importation of gas philters to shift breathable air from the mining by-products.” Corinth sighed. “I see some light in certain places, some life, but everything else…” An-Etté shivered. “Dead. A literal wasteland filled with bodies that will never get a proper burial. Nature may eventually reclaim, but that would require a shift in the Vanquo government such that the mining contracts be lessened and foliage be imported, even if just for a time.” Darael said as he stumbled up the slight ramp into the cockpit. “Korvos, you’ve been drinking again!” Corinth humphed. “Yeah, well, I needed it. Vanquo is not a good place.” Darael sighed as he looked out at the planet. “Excuse me, sir, but we have a message for the captain.” Sa-11y interrupted. “Patch it through to the mess hall. I’ll deal with it in there.” Darael grumbled as he made his way back. Corinth quickly unfastened herself. “I’ll help. He’s not always at his best when intoxicated, even if only slightly.” An-Etté nodded and started to unfasten herself as well but Corinth motioned for her to stop. “We don’t need you to be seen near Korvos. He’s already risked his cover for you, but if it looks like he’s taken a Padawan then everyone will start to realize that you’re both Jedi. We can’t afford for that to happen.” An-Etté sighed, but complied with the direction as Corinth stood up and met Darael in the mess hall. When Corinth walked in through the fore door to the hall she saw Darael at military attention, his face grim. When she saw what was peering through the other side of the viewing screen, she understood why. “My name is Clark of Clan Thakre.” said the Mandalorian in red Neo-Crusader Armor. “We have reason to suspect that you are in possession of property stolen from our employers. Subject yourself to voluntary search or we will fire ion cannons and search you involuntarily.” “With all respect due to Clan Thakre, What exactly is your privateering jurisdiction?” Corinth said. The Mandalorian turned to her. “Here and now. You need not know anything else.” “Search this vessel and Balmorra will warrant a complaint against you and your company.” Corinth warned, speaking before Darael got a chance to open his mouth and say something stupid. “Complaints do not concern my clients. Once again I issue the ultimatum: voluntary search and seizure or be blasted from the sky.” “Then we issue our response,” Darael smiled. “What do you think you’re doing?” Corinth asked in a hushed and infuriated tone. “Go ahead and try.” Darael laughed. Corinth turned off the viewing screen and raced to the cockpit. “Dive!” she yelled.