Evilpants666: forum

This thread's purpose is for the interested newcomer, the forum forager, the stray onlooker, or the thoroughly confused.
However, it is also for the grizzled roleplayer to whom roleplay has become second nature. It never hurts to have a look at the basics.


First, the explanation.

Roleplaying, is taking up a character for your own, and using it to co-write a story. Make no mistake, writing a story is a group effort! You could look at a character like a conduit, through which its observations, thoughts and deeds you can access the story beyond. However, a single perspective rarely does a story make. It is a group activity, as everyone often either take turns, or simultaneously fill in bits of the story through their character's aspects of it.

For instance, the mighty warrior Bruncules and the horrendously bad-lucked thief Archy take a stroll through the city of Arnost on their way to the blacksmith. If you take notice in the following sample, it'll also show that one doesn't simply need to throw something new in every time one posts, to create a dynamic story.

The author of the character Bruncules will probably write:
"Bruncules marched along the street on this dry day, his boots creating clouds of dust in their wake. He eyed a few fair maids in the bustle and tustle of the town, casually shading his eyes from the sun to allow him a lingering look and a dazzling smile. A kid bumped into him and moved on, ruining his rythm to approach one such maids for small talk. Oh, how he was bored. Had the blacksmith always been this far? He really missed his horse..."

Whereas the author of the thief Archy would probably write:
"Archy stepped lightly in the dust-covered pebbles, feeling very much in his element as he slid notes of time and location for a lewd meeting into the pouches, purses and baskets of passing ladies. He hoped the naïve knight would warm them up for the idea so he could make off with the spoils. Heh. Spoils. It's a good thing he went for a walk to the blacksmith today. He had subtly emptied the pillagings of the pocket-thieving kid having a go at the hero beside him. Three pockets he had lightened of passing merchants, and two leather satchels he had lifted off tradesmen who passed him much too close for comfort. He very much saw this as their punishment game..plus he'd actually have something to pay the blacksmith with, if the opportunity to make off with his order didn't present itself."

A simple walk to the blacksmith becomes a coloured, dynamic, and charismatic picture of a fantastic tale. This is achieved by one paving the story, and the other by, quite blatantly, taking advantage of everything the first guy described. Of course the second author didn't just copy everything, but also filled in further workings of the story. That he made an order at the blacksmith, that he doesn't actually have funds with him when he first set out to do this errand, etc. Had this selection been longer than a paragraph, he had very likely added much, much more rather than just re-painting the image the guy before him had already done.



However, it is this working that creates a full story.

It is the effect of added aspects. Anything can be played on. Wether it is that one guy starts with a description of a town that the rest will soon enter, or the nature of the road they're walking on. It can be a happening, like a market, a group of travellers crossing your path, or the bad guy of the story throwing a spear at you. Everyone who is nearby you, will see the same events in a different way. Or, in the case of Archy and Bruncules, although they take the same route at the same time, the events they experience are vastly different.

Another effect, is cause and consequence. If we are to fast-forward a week, and Bruncules happens to have a maid come to him holding up a note asking if he wrote it, we can be pretty sure what caused the consequence of Archy's broken nose.

Next up, styles of roleplay.

The examples treated above are what some might consider "Fancy roleplay". It is eloquent, long-winded, oftentimes beautiful, but it is somewhat an acquired taste. It is by no means demanded in this section. Posts in this fashion are often no shorter than three paragraphs, but can span up to entire pages. Yes, in a single post! Personally, I'm afraid this is my expertise..Can't you tell from this very post alone?

On the other hand, there is the middle variation, which would be anywhere from several lines in a single paragraph, to a steady constant of anywhere below three paragraphs. This is the usual in this section, so this is pretty much accepted in any thread to hit these boards.

And lastly, we have the Speed demon variation, which is about one to three lines a post. On average. This is recently used in some storyline games in which you just state what you plan to do, and the thread author spins the tale depending on what you decided to do.
It is a style not usually used by the regulars of this board unless they really, really don't know what to write about, and considering the effort that roleplayers stick in a thread to keep a story going, they really, really appreciate more than just three lines when you participate. As in the examples showed above..the more you describe and dive-into the story, the more the players have something to write about and hustle/vex/trick/cooperate/elaborate each other with.

However, This depends on the thread, the author, and the point of the story. Just as much as no one is waiting for fifty pages to read through in which the only important bit is a guy saying "yes" to a question another character asked him, no one would mind if you replied in a single line when for instance, a character asks everyone if they're ready for whatever comes next. So use your judgement!


If worst come to worst, remember this: A character also has its five senses. It can feel, smell, look, hear, and taste. Playing with these, is what brings a character to life. Tasting the filth of the sewers in the air, for instance, or hearing fragments of conversations as you walk by. Remember! The only limit you'll come across in roleplay, is the limit of your own imagination! And if you do it right, you'll spend years trying to find it to no avail.

Next up, etiquette of interactions!

One of the things some newcomers can stumble into is an annoyed or otherwise seriously pissed off roleplayer. Oftentimes, the newcomer has no idea what he/she could possibly have done wrong, while the older roleplayer out of sheer frustration can't even formulate a shred of legible "That's why!".

Often though, the older roleplayers do it themselves, don't see it, and then need me to bash their skulls in to remind them. So, without further ado, to save many from my further bashing!

When you interact.

By interacting I mean for instance that your character would give, take away, or otherwise physically influence another character. This is tricky. It is an accepted truth that you cannot simply influence another character without the author of that character's consent.

For instance, how would you feel if you spend three large posts readying your character up for battle, and then some roleplayer with his character comes along and stabs you in the gut and kills you just before the battle starts, without letting you have a say in your own character's death? This is a case that is considered God-modding, often referred to as Godmoding..kind of a reference to the old games in which there was a "god mode" you could turn on, but I digress.

God moding is not accepted within these halls. The line has to be drawn somewhere to avoid roleplayers from bashing eachother's eyes in with massive posts calling each other names...although I must admit that would fill up a lot of the empty space we have in Roleplay these days.

So the line is drawn between the characters of two authors. It's simple, really. To avoid God-moding, the author of the character on the receiving end must always get a chance to reply. The author on the giving end just makes the intention, or at least the motion of his character clear, without actually touching the second character.

Another example would probably make it easier to understand:

"Character A stabs character B and kills him." is considered god moding.

"Character A slides out a knife and stabs towards Character B" is not considered god moding. Why? Because author of Character B get the opportunity to reply. He can either man up and take the stab fairly followed by a sum-up of death throes, or he can honestly choose to parry, sidestep, or counter the blow. That is, if he can argument the likeliness of his character not dying. Why? Because if a roleplayer keeps avoiding death on flimsy grounds, the other roleplayers are going to intervene and just describe him as being killed. Any complaints or continued denial at this point, are going to be pretty much ignored by the sheer majority. This is roleplayer-justice. We are big on that here.

However, death is not the only god-modding situation. It is merely the most extreme, and the most likely to cause friction within the roleplayer community. However, god modding can be anything from for instance constantly knowing what your opponents are doing despite not having firm grounds for doing so, or giving someone a handshake in a tavern, at a bar somewhere while your character is actually about thirty miles away soiling himself in the woods. Situations like these are regretfully happening more times than we care to admit - luckily not in this roleplay section at least in a good long while - but it is still a frustration most present throughout the roleplay world all over the webz.

Be careful! Even giving a man a handshake without giving that author a chance to reply can be perceived a god mode! However, this only really happens if that author didn't want his character to accept the handshake of yours to begin with. So, what did we learn? Generally when a move is considered positive, no one is going to stand on their stripes and accuse you of a god mode. Make ample use of this knowledge, but don't abuse it!

Slight added section; Meta-gaming Technically, this could be construed as part of godmoding, but does require a little attention on its own.

Meta gaming is when knowledge which you as writer of your character, and therefore reader of the story, gets mixed up with knowledge of your character. This sounds complicated, but it really isn't. For instance, imagine your character is a farmer who hid his family heirlooms in a chest in a pile of manure. Another player, let's say, a wanderer, comes by your farm and all of a sudden decides to search the pile of manure in the middle of the night. No pre-text. No real reason why he would possibly ever want to sink neck-deep in a pile of creamy, runny, maggoty manure with no hopes for a shower.

Except that the reader knows that there's a pile of money to be found in there. It's this sort of thing, that is considered Meta-gaming. You may know that there's something in there. As a reader. But your character will not. To have your character knows things he shouldn't, or do things without really knowing why - aside from the reader knowing - is called Meta-gaming, and is possibly the fastest way to start a fight with your fellow roleplayers for unfairness.

If what I wrote was a little hard to follow, here's another example, given by JokerNinja;
""characters A and B meet, and leave an item in location 1, before leaving. B then phones someone and reveals themself to the readers to be against A. A then decides to take the item from location 1, and move it to location 2."

A did not know that B was evil, but he acted without cause or reason. Of course the basis of the thread matters in this case. In a medieval setting, this is metagaming. In a crime or apocalyptic setting, this could be seen as metagaming, or could just be A being paranoid." The reason why in the latter case it could be construed as just being paranoid, is because in a crime story, criminals are cautious and paranoid. Therefore, they could have a plausible, actual reason - which would not make it meta-gaming if written well enough. Still, after the reveal, it is a very grey area. Try to avoid this situation.

At any given time, in the author of the first post, also known as the thread maker, is the Game master! His/her word is law!
Doesn't matter what circumstance, the thread maker always has the last say! He/she is the one who started the story, who therefore also understands best the workings of what they're trying to do, and therefore no matter what dispute, argument or entitlement a person can have, The thread maker's word is final. Cut your losses, set your jaw, and write on.

Creating a thread!

If you're a newcomer, I can understand you want to cut straight to the chase and make a thread of your own. That is fine and well, but before you get agitated that no one replies, allow me to mention what roleplayers are after when they see a new thread.

They are after A: Context. It's fine if you post a simple line and expect them to jump on it, but considering this board does anything from sci-fi to fantasy, from medieval to roman to futuristic, we've gotten accustomed to people telling us what timezone we're typing in. A simple explanation of when, and a short description of the immediate surroundings will suffice! This way a roleplayer knows he's not messing anything up by posting. This is by far, the most important thing roleplayers look for.

B: Expectations(Optional): Sometimes a threadmaker has it in his brainpan that he wants to head a certain way, and if he didn't mention anything about it, roleplayers have the tendency to pave their own roads and go against what the threadmaker initially intended. They don't do this out of spite, but out of ignorance. They just didn't know there was a direction in mind! So, to avoid frustrations between the threadmaker, the OP as it were, and the roleplayers who join in, it's a good thing to sometimes subtly drop in your opening post, where you want to go. For instance, if I were to make a thread involving lots of hurdles and story plot twists towards the end, I'd give a context of the location, the time in which it happens, and a statement that all characters irrespective of how they start, are to gather at location 1, the beginning of the quest. Say, for instance, a Glass Door on a hill outside a city. This will get the roleplayers on track, rather than you having to beat this apparently unruly bunch with a stick to get there.

C: Game rules (Optional): Depending on what kind of story you're considering, take in account that if the rival system in your thread is complex, the roleplayers will need a solid lay out of its rules and workings. For instance, in a medieval thread we had a while ago called Affairs Of One's Lands, in the opening post we had an explanation that roleplayers could choose once a week what the lands of their characters planted in terms of agriculture, and that at the end of that week, depending on if the crops worked or not, they'd get a certain amount of gold which they then could continue to spend on things such as troops, defences and other things.

D: Limitations(Optional): Sometimes, a thread maker wants to keep his/her thread well-balanced, not allowing one roleplayer too much advantage over the other right from the start of the thread. To this end, he/she will sometimes limit what kind of characters roleplayers can choose from. For instance, in a Lord Of The Rings type thread, he/she could choose to deny the roleplayers the race of Elves for their eyesight if he/she feels that it could be an unfair advantage.

This doesn't really happen often, but it's an option the thread makers have to their disposal if they want it. Their word, as we discussed earlier, is final. No loopholes. Just final.

Edit 15/01/2016; Edited in Meta-Gaming due to JokerNinja's request.[1172933]

This thread's purpose is for the interested newcomer, the forum forager, the stray onlooker, or the thoroughly confused.
However, it is also for the grizzled roleplayer and the returning veteran to whom roleplay has become second nature. It never hurts to have a look at the basics.


First, the explanation.

Roleplaying, is taking up a character for your own, and using it to co-write a story. Make no mistake, writing a story is a group effort! You could look at a character like a conduit, through which its observations, thoughts and deeds you can access the story beyond. However, a single perspective rarely does a story make. It is a group activity, as everyone often either take turns, or simultaneously fill in bits of the story through their character's aspects of it.

For instance, the mighty warrior Bruncules and the horrendously bad-lucked thief Archy take a stroll through the city of Arnost on their way to the blacksmith. If you take notice in the following sample, it'll also show that one doesn't simply need to throw something new in every time one posts, to create a dynamic story.

The author of the character Bruncules will probably write:
"Bruncules marched along the street on this dry day, his boots creating clouds of dust in their wake. He eyed a few fair maids in the bustle and tustle of the town, casually shading his eyes from the sun to allow him a lingering look and a dazzling smile. A kid bumped into him and moved on, ruining his rythm to approach one such maids for small talk. Oh, how he was bored. Had the blacksmith always been this far? He really missed his horse..."

Whereas the author of the thief Archy would probably write:
"Archy stepped lightly in the dust-covered pebbles, feeling very much in his element as he slid notes of time and location for a lewd meeting into the pouches, purses and baskets of passing ladies. He hoped the naïve knight would warm them up for the idea so he could make off with the spoils. Heh. Spoils. It's a good thing he went for a walk to the blacksmith today. He had subtly emptied the pillagings of the pocket-thieving kid having a go at the hero beside him. Three pockets he had lightened of passing merchants, and two leather satchels he had lifted off tradesmen who passed him much too close for comfort. He very much saw this as their punishment game..plus he'd actually have something to pay the blacksmith with, if the opportunity to make off with his order didn't present itself."

A simple walk to the blacksmith becomes a coloured, dynamic, and charismatic picture of a fantastic tale. This is achieved by one paving the story, and the other by, quite blatantly, taking advantage of everything the first guy described. Of course the second author didn't just copy everything, but also filled in further workings of the story. That he made an order at the blacksmith, that he doesn't actually have funds with him when he first set out to do this errand, etc. Had this selection been longer than a paragraph, he had very likely added much, much more rather than just re-painting the image the guy before him had already done.



However, it is this working that creates a full story.

It is the effect of added aspects. Anything can be played on. Wether it is that one guy starts with a description of a town that the rest will soon enter, or the nature of the road they're walking on. It can be a happening, like a market, a group of travellers crossing your path, or the bad guy of the story throwing a spear at you. Everyone who is nearby you, will see the same events in a different way. Or, in the case of Archy and Bruncules, although they take the same route at the same time, the events they experience are vastly different.

Another effect, is cause and consequence. If we are to fast-forward a week, and Bruncules happens to have a maid come to him holding up a note asking if he wrote it, we can be pretty sure what caused the consequence of Archy's broken nose.

Next up, styles of roleplay.

The examples treated above are what some might consider "Fancy roleplay". It is eloquent, long-winded, oftentimes beautiful, but it is somewhat an acquired taste. It is by no means demanded in this section. Posts in this fashion are often no shorter than three paragraphs, but can span up to entire pages. Yes, in a single post! Personally, I'm afraid this is my expertise..Can't you tell from this very post alone?

On the other hand, there is the middle variation, which would be anywhere from several lines in a single paragraph, to a steady constant of anywhere below three paragraphs. This is the usual in this section, so this is pretty much accepted in any thread to hit these boards.

And lastly, we have the Speed demon variation, which is about one to three lines a post. On average. This is recently used in some storyline games in which you just state what you plan to do, and the thread author spins the tale depending on what you decided to do.
It is a style not usually used by the regulars of this board unless they really, really don't know what to write about, and considering the effort that roleplayers stick in a thread to keep a story going, they really, really appreciate more than just three lines when you participate. As in the examples showed above..the more you describe and dive-into the story, the more the players have something to write about and hustle/vex/trick/cooperate/elaborate each other with.

However, This depends on the thread, the author, and the point of the story. Just as much as no one is waiting for fifty pages to read through in which the only important bit is a guy saying "yes" to a question another character asked him, no one would mind if you replied in a single line when for instance, a character asks everyone if they're ready for whatever comes next. So use your judgement!


If worst come to worst, remember this: A character also has its five senses. It can feel, smell, look, hear, and taste. Playing with these, is what brings a character to life. Tasting the filth of the sewers in the air, for instance, or hearing fragments of conversations as you walk by. Remember! The only limit you'll come across in roleplay, is the limit of your own imagination! And if you do it right, you'll spend years trying to find it to no avail.

Next up, etiquette of interactions!

One of the things some newcomers can stumble into is an annoyed or otherwise seriously pissed off roleplayer. Oftentimes, the newcomer has no idea what he/she could possibly have done wrong, while the older roleplayer out of sheer frustration can't even formulate a shred of legible "That's why!".

Often though, the older roleplayers do it themselves, don't see it, and then need me to bash their skulls in to remind them. So, without further ado, to save many from my further bashing!

When you interact.

By interacting I mean for instance that your character would give, take away, or otherwise physically influence another character. This is tricky. It is an accepted truth that you cannot simply influence another character without the author of that character's consent.

For instance, how would you feel if you spend three large posts readying your character up for battle, and then some roleplayer with his character comes along and stabs you in the gut and kills you just before the battle starts, without letting you have a say in your own character's death? This is a case that is considered God-modding, often referred to as Godmoding..kind of a reference to the old games in which there was a "god mode" you could turn on, but I digress.

God moding is not accepted within these halls. The line has to be drawn somewhere to avoid roleplayers from bashing eachother's eyes in with massive posts calling each other names...although I must admit that would fill up a lot of the empty space we have in Roleplay these days.

So the line is drawn between the characters of two authors. It's simple, really. To avoid God-moding, the author of the character on the receiving end must always get a chance to reply. The author on the giving end just makes the intention, or at least the motion of his character clear, without actually touching the second character.

Another example would probably make it easier to understand:

"Character A stabs character B and kills him." is considered god moding.

"Character A slides out a knife and stabs towards Character B" is not considered god moding. Why? Because author of Character B get the opportunity to reply. He can either man up and take the stab fairly followed by a sum-up of death throes, or he can honestly choose to parry, sidestep, or counter the blow. That is, if he can argument the likeliness of his character not dying. Why? Because if a roleplayer keeps avoiding death on flimsy grounds, the other roleplayers are going to intervene and just describe him as being killed. Any complaints or continued denial at this point, are going to be pretty much ignored by the sheer majority. This is roleplayer-justice. We are big on that here.

However, death is not the only god-modding situation. It is merely the most extreme, and the most likely to cause friction within the roleplayer community. However, god modding can be anything from for instance constantly knowing what your opponents are doing despite not having firm grounds for doing so, or giving someone a handshake in a tavern, at a bar somewhere while your character is actually about thirty miles away soiling himself in the woods. Situations like these are regretfully happening more times than we care to admit - luckily not in this roleplay section at least in a good long while - but it is still a frustration most present throughout the roleplay world all over the webz.

Be careful! Even giving a man a handshake without giving that author a chance to reply can be perceived a god mode! However, this only really happens if that author didn't want his character to accept the handshake of yours to begin with. So, what did we learn? Generally when a move is considered positive, no one is going to stand on their stripes and accuse you of a god mode. Make ample use of this knowledge, but don't abuse it!

Slight added section; Meta-gaming Technically, this could be construed as part of god-modding, but does require a little attention on its own.

Meta gaming is when knowledge which you as writer of your character, and therefore reader of the story, gets mixed up with knowledge of your character. This sounds complicated, but it really isn't. For instance, imagine your character is a farmer who hid his family heirlooms in a chest in a pile of manure. Another player, let's say, a wanderer, comes by your farm and all of a sudden decides to search the pile of manure in the middle of the night. No pre-text. No real reason why he would possibly ever want to sink neck-deep in a pile of creamy, runny, maggoty manure with no hopes for a shower.

Except that the reader knows that there's a pile of money to be found in there. It's this sort of thing, that is considered Meta-gaming. You may know that there's something in there. As a reader. But your character will not. To have your character knows things he shouldn't, or do things without really knowing why - aside from the reader knowing - is called Meta-gaming, and is possibly the fastest way to start a fight with your fellow roleplayers for unfairness.

If what I wrote was a little hard to follow, here's another example, given by JokerNinja;
""characters A and B meet, and leave an item in location 1, before leaving. B then phones someone and reveals themself to the readers to be against A. A then decides to take the item from location 1, and move it to location 2."

A did not know that B was evil, but he acted without cause or reason. Of course the basis of the thread matters in this case. In a medieval setting, this is metagaming. In a crime or apocalyptic setting, this could be seen as metagaming, or could just be A being paranoid." The reason why in the latter case it could be construed as just being paranoid, is because in a crime story, criminals are cautious and paranoid. Therefore, they could have a plausible, actual reason - which would not make it meta-gaming if written well enough. Still, after the reveal, it is a very grey area. Try to avoid this situation.

At any given time, in the author of the first post, also known as the thread maker, is the Game master! His/her word is law!
Doesn't matter what circumstance, the thread maker always has the last say! He/she is the one who started the story, who therefore also understands best the workings of what they're trying to do, and therefore no matter what dispute, argument or entitlement a person can have, The thread maker's word is final. Cut your losses, set your jaw, and write on.

Creating a thread!

If you're a newcomer, I can understand you want to cut straight to the chase and make a thread of your own. That is fine and well, but before you get agitated that no one replies, allow me to mention what roleplayers are after when they see a new thread.

They are after A: Context. It's fine if you post a simple line and expect them to jump on it, but considering this board does anything from sci-fi to fantasy, from medieval to roman to futuristic, we've gotten accustomed to people telling us what timezone we're typing in. A simple explanation of when, and a short description of the immediate surroundings will suffice! This way a roleplayer knows he's not messing anything up by posting. This is by far, the most important thing roleplayers look for.

B: Expectations(Optional): Sometimes a threadmaker has it in his brainpan that he wants to head a certain way, and if he didn't mention anything about it, roleplayers have the tendency to pave their own roads and go against what the threadmaker initially intended. They don't do this out of spite, but out of ignorance. They just didn't know there was a direction in mind! So, to avoid frustrations between the threadmaker, the OP as it were, and the roleplayers who join in, it's a good thing to sometimes subtly drop in your opening post, where you want to go. For instance, if I were to make a thread involving lots of hurdles and story plot twists towards the end, I'd give a context of the location, the time in which it happens, and a statement that all characters irrespective of how they start, are to gather at location 1, the beginning of the quest. Say, for instance, a Glass Door on a hill outside a city. This will get the roleplayers on track, rather than you having to beat this apparently unruly bunch with a stick to get there.

C: Game rules (Optional): Depending on what kind of story you're considering, take in account that if the rival system in your thread is complex, the roleplayers will need a solid lay out of its rules and workings. For instance, in a medieval thread we had a while ago called Affairs Of One's Lands, in the opening post we had an explanation that roleplayers could choose once a week what the lands of their characters planted in terms of agriculture, and that at the end of that week, depending on if the crops worked or not, they'd get a certain amount of gold which they then could continue to spend on things such as troops, defences and other things.

D: Limitations(Optional): Sometimes, a thread maker wants to keep his/her thread well-balanced, not allowing one roleplayer too much advantage over the other right from the start of the thread. To this end, he/she will sometimes limit what kind of characters roleplayers can choose from. For instance, in a Lord Of The Rings type thread, he/she could choose to deny the roleplayers the race of Elves for their eyesight if he/she feels that it could be an unfair advantage.

This doesn't really happen often, but it's an option the thread makers have to their disposal if they want it. Their word, as we discussed earlier, is final. No loopholes. Just final.

Edit 15/01/2016; Edited in Meta-Gaming due to JokerNinja's request.[1172933]

Salvatore took his trainlings to him in the time they spent upon this cobbled beach with its shrubs and trees. The only obvious entrance they could see was the trail up the cliff, so Salvatore worked on having his men build two sturdy gates, one at the crest of it, and one fifty metres beyond it. In the case of a returning party with pursuers, the first could be closed, defended and manned by a watch through a rude scaffolding.

The second, right at the crest, would serve only as a physical and visual blockade to buy them time if they were to retreat and board their boats. It wasn't much, but it would buy them several precious minutes. They had used driftwood, shrubberies, tree stems and branches to build these, before the knight sent half his men to scout the rest of the cove for other entrances, but he was assured that this was the only entrance through which armed men could march through.

So he ordered his men to take shifts at the gate when he realised that the little, oddly dressed women had already ordered hers to guard the camp. As a peace-offering, he offered them the gate, and drilled his men further and harder. He taught them how to use their shields not as obstacles but as weapons to parry and strike. He taught them to protect one another from arrows by pelting rocks at them. He taught them how to advance, how to retreat, how to change positions with the men behind them if they were injured or weary. He trained their stamina by having them run in the shallow waters back and forth in their breeches, and by having them run back and forth on the rocky shore in their full gear.

This entire trip he had been cramming years of experience and training into a matter of days. He revisited old drills and trainings before he would start a new one, and any sane man under his guidance would've hated his guts for every minute.

But he looked them in the eye. He was honest about every training and reminded them that every failure in drills may feel like personal shame, but every failure on a battlefield could constitute the death of every man in the ranks.

"You learn not so that you alone may gain valor. You learn so that all of you can survive, prosper and continue to spend time together. You learn so that you may one day be able to defend your homes, your family, your fathers, mothers, sons and daughters."

But then he´d scuff his feet. "Or, alternatively, you learn so that someday you can fight, correct, and substitute the commander in the field of battle, who´s an incompetent, thoroughbred jackass and about to get you or your loved ones killed."

Oddly enough, that gave a rather tremendous morale boost under his trainlings.

Now that the experienced members were not among them, he told them, and he told them frankly. "I am just your trainer, kids. I lead you until you are ready to lead yourself. I punish dissent not because I don't think you have a right to lead yourself, but because I am absolutely sure that you aren't able to, yet. So I think that it is time for you to elect leaders amongst your ranks to set them as leaders in your troop. Do not confuse airheaded popularity or sheer brute strength, with the combination of charisma and a solid head on his shoulders because these things are a world apart."

He eyed his group intently. "You have a week to nominate your leaders and divide yourselves in the groups you would consider to brave life and death with. This is not a decision that will last a few weeks. This is a decision that could last your entire careers. Think of leaders first. Then we'll divide the group amongst them, and we'll consider troop names."

And then he gave them a moment of silence. A moment to recuperate. He allowed them to think.

Welcome to Terry Pratchett's world of fantasy. I suggest you start with the book called "The Colour of Magic"


I kid you not, this man will rock your world.

An old, ageing, waddling man rounded the corner. He had a kind face, with a short white beard protruding from just his chin, and a full head of white hair with a silver streak. His feet shuffled as he leaned to and fro with every step. He was hunched, and made ample use of his walking stick as he negotiated the street and its irregular mounds and depressions. He enjoyed a walk around the block at night to keep him fit, and the cold made him much the better for it. It was a pleasant routine. Especially since that horribly loud café closed, his night walks had gained tranquility, his sleep had gained uninterrupted rest.

However, his walk was interrupted. An irregularity ruined his quiet, serene walk, and would certainly ruin his waking hours.

In fact, he poked this irregularity this instant. "You! Move off!" he ordered, applying his stick with poking abandon. "The café is closed! There is no alcohol for you here!" His lips were pursed, he grumbled, an incessant whine commencing under his vocal effort. "You'll ruin my morning view!"

Some people really don't like the crust.

Funnily enough, Strange2 and I were just talking about that yesterday. We were thinking of setting up a Mafia style roleplay, but were considering doing it in a Cyberpunk setting.

We've done 60ies and 40ies history-accurate settings before, with pretty good results, and think this twist might give it an interesting twist. Why, you've got something in mind?

You know, if you're interested in writing, there are lot of good experiences to have to help you create an interesting story.

Taking part in a nerdy group of Dungeons and Dragons will help you with that. Reading a lot of your favourite authors while looking at what kind of style and form they use also helps you develop your own.

If taking part in RP is the way for you however, then I'd recommend giving https://www.torn.com/forums.php#/p=threads&f=7&t=16258355&b=0&a=0&start=0&to=22095911 a look.

Not to toot my own horn, but it does cover some of the basics if you're interested in taking part.

Please stop throwing garbage into the RP section. We're not a trashcan.

Welcome back.

You got an RP on your mind you want to join?

It's like stepping in a mausoleum, but I hope some old faces also make a return other than my own.

After all these years, I'm surprised this thread is still being used as a reference by the community.

Out of curiousity, anyone still considering joining an RP, and if so, which ones?

Salvatore pulled into the courtyard as the men were assembled. He was pleasantly surprised; it appeared the men below the Captain at least, knew what they were doing, and they were clearly not used to having idle hands.

He pulled up in front of the formation, back straight, seeing the disparity between the older, more experienced members of the cohort, and the newer. Some neat, some in disarray, gear in various states of fastening. He took a deep breath, and spoke while tensing his core. He was tired of his travels, not having had the opportunity to rest even since he arrived to the Cohort.. but he was definitely not about to project that. “Good morning, Cohort!” he shouted. He eyed the bannerman, the shining armour, the odd helmet, the blade. His lips curled in the corners, and he stepped off his horse, which snorted loudly, stepping impatiently on the cobbles of the courtyard. He left it, briefly, walking up to the cohort and down the lines. “I see our bannerman Strange and the Quartermaster are sorting you guys out. You might not know me yet, so let me introduce myself. I will be grandiose, and I promise you it is still an understatement.”
He tapped his staff on the ground, the metal of the spike ringing high and loudly through the courtyard. It jarred his arm in the harmonics, but that’s not something he’d let these men see.
“Blood, metal and magic are the three pillars of the Cohort, and it only takes one to break for all else to fall. In these coming weeks, you will have to trust me enough to put your lives in my hands over and over, and likewise, in the coming weeks, there will come a time in which I will have to place mine in yours. By then, you will want to be ready. You will learn that my Magics are used on you just as well as they are on the enemy. I will heal you, shield you, strengthen you and burn them. I will twist the threads of reality to keep you safe. I will drag the impossible from the edges of disaster to bring us all Glory. By then, you will want to have taken every lesson to heart that the experienced hands here will be willing to teach you, just as I will be studying the battle magics until my eyes bleed so that I can help you in your battles, keep you alive and effective and victorious. There is only one of me, and there are one-hundred-and-twenty of you.”
He nodded to Strange, after giving the proud bannerman another thorough look. “By Pluto, I think you can all agree, that right there, that’s a sight. I wouldn’t’ want to meet on the wrong side of a battlefield.”
He laughed. “Come to think of it, the thought of his face being the first thing I see in the morning, would make Venus weep.”
He addressed Strange. “How about it, Bannerman? How does it feel to be the nightmare that haunts our enemies at night?”

He paused, giving the bannerman time to reply, before he finished up his speech.


“When he’s done with you… At best, you too will make the enemy of the Empire quake and shiver at night, screaming your names in curses that I will shield you from. At worst, you will make them pause and reconsider challenging the Empire.”

He gave them a Magician’s salute. “The choice is yours. Look at the men to the left and to the right of you. You either bear through the training and keep the men on either side of you safe in battle, or you slack and watch these faces disappear.”
“I am your sole defense against the Magics. I am your prayer, I am your conduit to all your Gods on the battlefield.” He smacked the staff down, wind billowing out in a circle that swept through the cohort, tugging clothes, nipping at armour, brushing hair out of everyone’s face. “And for all my Magics, none of it can keep any of us alive if you don’t do your part.”
He let that linger.
Then he coughed, breaking the silence.
“Bannerman and Quartermaster, I leave the men in your care. Make me proud.”

He gave one final salute, turned away and retrieved his horse. For him, it was on to the stables, then to his berth to rest and study.

He threaded his way past the crowd, then navigated the far end of the courtyard through the fringes. He hoped the Captain would at least consider his own skin valuable enough not to f**k around with those below him before it had even started, but now was not the time to use simple magics to remind a man what horrors could be called if one only knew the incantations and had the talents to use it.

He looked around the fete, and it was clear that even now, fellow magicians held sharp eyes for one another. Salvatore was no exception to this surveillance, but being new, he had no grudges and no enemies yet either.
He bit the corner of his lip. Using his family’s name could open a few doors.. but he’d also be wading into waters he couldn’t gage the depth of. He nodded to the Red Sage as he went past. No other fellow of his profession had made an approach. Either people in the capital were very much on guard, or something was in the air tonight, he felt. Either way, he was not going to stick around to find out. Whatever collateral would result of this impending avalanche, he was going to steer clear of it. Without a name, without completing his training, he was in no position to brute force a clearly sensitive situation with deep ramifications…especially if his Captain was a limp legged dolt in a battle of wits.

He left the party through the front entrance, found his horse, and rode back to the barracks. All he could do now was help shape the Cohort, so they could be successful despite the man in charge of it…for now.

There used to be a group of young'ins some years ago that did Torn Roleplay back on the IRC servers. Not sure if they've made the hop over to Discord, but I wouldn't be surprised if there were communities there for this as well.

Salvatore followed the man's finger, and observed the two men in the distance. He was silent, and he listened, but his patience wore short for this poorly argumented drawl.

In his mind, the following conversation unfolded;
"An otherwise successful adventure, I'm sure." he stated, blankly. "With no Magician at your side, an assigned but no established jurisdiction, a total lack of communication line to your men and a non-existent understanding of what your underlings are capable of, what exactly do you think you could've put on the table before a Senator who could organize this kind of feast, or an established member of the 66th?"

Salvatore drew heavily on the position he wore, but if he didn't put his foot down here, he felt that he'd never get through to this whiny, fat sack of pittance. "Confidence and Birth-right granted to a rich lazy shitling at the expense of his studious and diligent forebears? Or the weight of the rank and insignia on your pauldron from a Cohort that in the eye of Glory for the Empire, might as well not yet exist? Or do you mean to ascertain that your manners taught to you by a stagnant military family, though lacking to a Mage before you who you refuse to introduce yourself to, would shine bright and effortless before a Senator?"

But instead he held his tongue, and internally decreed this man a selfish, self-serving idiot.

He coughed, and albeit casually studying his new staff, spoke back to his Captain.
"Now that you've informed your.... junior officer of the matter at hand, you have graciously freed yourself of your responsibilities and are welcome to continue your mingling. I had only 'borrowed' you after all, which means you are free to insert yourself back into the company you magnanimously allowed me to momentarily draw you away from. The Senator will be in your good graces as soon as you inform him that you're considering closing down the brothels in our area, while allowing him to convince you otherwise. That would be a political disaster for him, if you went through with that, after all." he stated.

He waved to the party at large, surrounding them. "Something tells me he's quite a fan of them."

"You might find they won't take you too seriously on other matters without something or someone of some repute to back your claim, however, but I'm sure you have a plan. Just know there are more ways for a Magician to skin a Captain with entirely accidental, archaic and acute ails with no known cure, when promises are made at my expense. That counts doubly so for the Cohort."

He smiled, coldly, warmly, eyes firmly trained on the Captain's. "If I find out anything of the like after today, any time you sneeze, might be your last."

With that, he excused himself of the Captain's company, veering off into the crowd as he drew lightly on his chalice.

Might be time to head back to the barracks...

Salvatore’s goodwill to the Captain he hadn’t met yet, was looking a little singed at this greeting. He hoped it was merely the interruption of a good conversation that irked him, and that it was not something that would define their interaction in the future. Either way, it was worth checking all the boxes – at least in public.
"Salvatore, your freshly appointed Magician, from the College of Redevere. Well met, Captain. Would you be interested in watching an acrobatic show while we talk? May I ask to your name and experience on the force? What moved you to become a Captain? I'm sure a man of your rank has a plethora of experience under your belt. Would you care to tell me a few of your stories over wine?”


In truth, regardless of the introduction, Salvatore wanted to ascertain the level of risk this Captain posed. He had questions weighing on his mind that he would ask straight out of the bat.

“I’m sure you’re pleased to hear supplies have arrived and the men are largely arrived at the barracks. When it would be convenient for you, I wondered if I could get you to sign a few things so that we could focus on improving and restoring our new quarters, as well as incorporate a few special drills that could improve our efficiency.”
But if the Captain would cut him short, then that would make things most difficult, indeed. A captain that wouldn’t be open for advice, could be a magician’s worst nightmare.

Salvatore threaded the throng, using his lithe frame to slip in the crevices of the mass to bead his way to his quarry. Grey robe. For a moment, the crowd opened into a circle and he stumbled over a laying naked torso, catching himself with his palm, he smacked down on a rump to the response of an excited cry, and vaulted himself over to the other side. The crowd whooped, parted to let him through, then closed in again on the other side. Grabbing a chalice of wine from another passing servant carrying a dwindling tray, the smidge of grey grew, despite sometimes disappearing in the crowd.

“ Heading somewhere?”
“Well, hello, handsome. Where you going?”
He smiled politely as he stayed on course. None of it mattered. Not now.

The crowd got thinner, people were sitting at long tables on one side, some playing what appeared to be balancing acts on the other. Salvatore stood still, and slowly spun around, scanning the human mass that surrounded him. He spotted actors doing minor acts, women enacting the world’s oldest profession, jugglers, acrobats, even fire-eaters blowing modest puffs of fire in the distance.

What was the damn size of this courtyard? he thought. Where’d he go?
A red robed, tattooed, muscled individual stepped into his sight, and almost instinctively, Salvatore turned away. He was not going to get involved with that. Surely he’d missed the Captain in this hubbub and just needed to get an aerial view, from a balcony above. He spun around and gave the crowd around him one last look before he’d find stairs.

Until he noticed a grey robe step out from behind this bloke with the air of untold violence, wearing none other than a red robe.. Forcing his eyes not to veer, he searched for the insignia…66th. His heart sunk. Even in the Academy, this Legion occupied books in the library, as well as a spot on the curriculum on its exploits. To make matters worse, the grey appeared to be hanging on to the red – clearly not something he could avoid.

“Ye Gods, what is it with you guys today?” he whispered, taking a swig of his recently collected chalice. Despite every fibre of his being telling him to veer away, akin to having to push against the current in a river, he stepped towards it.

“Well met, Magician of the 1000^th.” He declared himself. “Mind if I borrow your companion for a moment?”

Taking his cue,Salvatore pressed on inside, past the guardsman, and entered the kitchen. Servants dropped straw and logs unto fires that sputtered shadows across the space, or brought ingredients from the cold cellars. Chefs prepared exquisite meals, stirring in pots suspended over fires or putting the last drizzle of honey on a finished plate.


Salvatore salivated at the thought of stealing a bite, but knew better than to push his luck. His grip tightened on his staff. He heartedly complimented the chefs on the fragrance in passing, and passed into the hallways beyond.

Afterwards it was simply following the music -and the platters of appetizers brought to the guests. He knew parties like these. It was a throng of various people, mingling, chatting, getting drunk and enjoying themselves. Servants and slaves everywhere to cater to their every whim. Keeping track of anyone in this was a challenge.

And therein lies the crux
.
Where would one find a Captain, who potentially would be cavorting in his civilian clothes?


The place opened up to the courtyard, lutes, lyres and pan flutes played a myriad of sweeping music both gentle, rousing and enticing, a long 4 feet bronze tuba adding depth and vibration in crucial elements.

Long, bronze and wooden and even marble, cushioned couches held skylarkers and other celebrants.

There were many in white robes, and many in other colours. Aristocracy, Nobility, Patricians and Equites, defined in the colour of their houses or the elaborate ornaments of their sandals. Some from out of town, and many, not. He spotted two Magicians, at least, but he wouldn’t be surprised if there were more who spotted him long before. Unlike the rest of the party residents, he noticed these gazes trailed him as he went.

Thus, he needed to do what he’d been trained to do almost all his life; He networked. Taking a chalice of watered down wine from a servant’s passing plate, he made his way to the table of buffet and finally gave in to temptation. Oysters, stuffed dormice, flamingo tongue, peacock and nightingale tongues with sauces of fermented fish, honey, vinegar or various herbs and spices.

He knew that if there was one thing he knew he’d miss in the army life, it’ll be the food. Dancing with temptation, he ate and drank sparingly, trying something here and there, giving him opportunity to strike up conversation when one lady came to fetch herself a bite. She was a blonde, keen-eyed and fair. A slender figure only half hidden by the light green robes she wore, Salvatore was surprised to see her linger at the table with him. “Too young and too fair to be a Magician in employ. You must not be from the capital.” She stated, not really an introduction. Salvatore smiled, raising one eyebrow. “I might not be. ”He agreed. “So what brings you here?” she asked, reaching across to grab a skewer of salted and spiced meats of which fragrance did nothing to help Salvatore’s stomach from rumbling. “Other than what’s on the table, of course.”

He consumed an oyster, and casually flicked the shell into a waste bucket a feet away. The butter and sage mingled with the salted taste of these and made the whole ordeal creamy and supple, and he gently sequestered a linen napkin for his use of the night, padding it gently to his lips. “ I don’t know, seems to me like there’s more on the table than just what is presented here.” He chuckled, and as he held his staff casually to his side, he turned to her. “Would you prefer I introduce myself? ”he asked.
“Formally? Or casually, like passing strangers?” she rebutted.

Salvatore grinned. Was she…testing his patience? “Do you have a preference?”
She nibbled on the skewer, eyes narrowed. “I might.”
“Well, let me know when you want it known.” He said, throwing up a hand in exasperation.
“I will.”

With that she walked off, and he couldn’t help looking at her as she walked away, her robes swirling as she navigated herself past the throng of the party and into the hallway. He put his chalice down on the table and looked up with the hopes just in time to see her disappear behind a pillar.

A golden globe, with swirling red spikes, sidled up to block his view. Alarm bells rung in the back of his mind, and his sight zoned in on what that globe was attached to; a staff, and a very cranky, tanned, in-his-thirties, magician on the other end. He realized that globe was supposed to represent the sun. it vibrated, almost sizzled in its cradle. “Whatever your goal is, I suggest you keep that one off your plate tonight.”

Salvatore leaned gently to one side, looking past the globe and the spikes to meet the eyes of the mage beyond. Deep blue eyes, weathered frown, white streak of hair in a field of red. A tingling sensation slid down his spine, making the room feel ice, ice-cold despite the heat emanating by his face. He was eye-to-eye with none other than the Capital’s Red Sage, Torch of the Empire. In employ of...was it the Viluth family? Since he retired from the army life for riches? This was a man who blasted past promotions like he did his enemies; like it was merely an insignificant inconvenience.

Very, very carefully, Salvatore lowered his staff, holding it parallel to the ground and close to his body while raising his left hand palm-upwards to the sky. Leaning a little awkwardly to avoid the globe so he could lower into a bow, he gave the Magician a formal greeting. “Salvatore. Assigned to the 1000^thcohort newly formed.”

The globe slowly retreated from his view, the spikes retracted, turning into a ribbed, shielded globe. A silence Salvatore hadn’t noticed, returned into the hubbub of a party. “Well met, Salvatore, the Unnamed, of the new Cohort. Brinuir, you’ve likely heard of me. Word of caution, the Privilege is often misused in the Capital.”

Salvatore chuckled nervously. “Noted.” He added hurriedly. “Well met.”

“If you’re looking for your Captain..” the Red Sage mused. “He should be back shortly. Grey robe. Have you met him before?”

“Not even once.”

“You might not like him. Or you might, who knows. Fortuna be in your favour at least in the field, if less so here.” The Mage left his company and returned to a group of lavishly adorned party guests.
Salvatore steadied himself momentarily, took a deep breath and a skewer, and wolfed down a mouthful before washing it down with half of his wine.

“f**k, me.”, he whispered, low enough that the music drowned it out.

Almost immediately, the mage Brinuir looked his way and he froze, dreading a second round, but then gave a general nod in a direction across the courtyard. Salvatore’s eyes followed. Was that a grey robe he saw, in the crowd?

Salvatore blinked, and his mind went into full throttle. "I like you, you're smart." he said. "There are things Magicians must do so that the wrong people don't get in trouble." He stated. "I can't use the main entrance, because I shouldn't be here. There shouldn't be a girl in there pregnant and I shouldn't be helping her fix the situation that doesn't exist so that family from the Senator doesn't get in trouble." He tapped the side of his nose. "You're smart, so you understand why I need you to pretend I wasn't here, while I go in through that door behind you. By using this entrance as a Magician, they'll never believe I was here."

The magician’s eyes narrowed briefly at both men responding the way they did, and he recognized the look, the reactions. He would have a lot to prove himself over, and considering they didn’t know him yet, he knew it was too soon to ask for trust. He received the confirmation he needed, which meant that he was ready to move on to the next step of the preparations, but their reactions irked him. “Between you and me, a Captain’s only protected as good as he leads.” The Magician spoke, in an odd shedding of decorum, after which he excused himself of their company before moving on to the stables.

Salvatore wasn’t going to a fancy party to enjoy himself. In a land where magicians were rare and coveted, their lives were thoroughly entwined in politics. They had to be, considering that magic could make or break empires, and the aristocratic elite often employed them for exuberant wages for their petty political intrigues that often devolved into squabbles, plots and the execution of absolutely dumb ideas. As a magician of a cohort, it was taught at the Academy to always get in touch with your local political scene – it was best to be informed with influence, than to be involved by surprise.

And so he had the horse readied, staff in one hand as he pulled the reins with both and led the horse out the courtyard with haste. Wearing his blue robes, the crest of the cohort on his back and the insignia on his sleeve, he bolted through the streets, passing through the layered walls as he headed inwards, deeper into the capital. The mare was a patchwork of different colours, of a breed Salvatore couldn’t pin if he tried – but she rode, and he held on for dear life.

He had heard nothing of the nature of their Captain, whether he was a genius or a fool, a drunk or a man of the people, but he did know that somewhere out there, a man who could ruin his day was potentially getting drunk and making concessions unattended to people with agendas far beyond his own, in the political cut-throat capital of the Empire.

The mausoleum was not difficult to find. Prominently placed at the riverbank at the end of a bridge, it was tour deforce only dwarfed by the magical protections that were placed on it. It was, in almost every sense of the word, a triumph of the Empire. As for finding the right tower however, there were a few. He picked the tallest one, and went for it.

The contrast of the state of the building compared to the Cohort’s barracks was…beyond compare. Tapestries hung from the tower that sprouted from the prominent building that was excellently maintained. Whisps of music slipped from the courtyard beyond or from windows riddled with laughter and conversation.

Salvatore almost dreaded going in. He briefly considered going in through the front entrance, but thought that perhaps, a more off-hand approach would serve his errand best. He found the servant’s entrance, albeit that too was guarded. He wished that he had a cloak but instead would have to brave this in his official robes, and so he set it aside in his mind and took a breath, then stepped forward.

Salvatore held the gear like his life depended on it, as it felt any part of it could drop at any moment. This quartermaster had no qualms about shaving off time for sake of efficiency, the magician noted.

"Wonderful. I also require a-"

The quartermaster moved off.

"Well." the magician raised an eyebrow as he watched the figure head towards the door, but left it for it what it was. Can't expect too much from a cohort is still fresh and hasn't instilled that top-down rigid discipline yet, especially considering the Captain is missing. It nagged at him, that. First, he needed to stow all this material away before he lost any of it, or any of the cohort had any bright ideas. A quick run back to his berth, changed his robes for the colours of the cohort, his shoes for the deerskin boots that-oh-the-Gods were so much nicer than the student sandals he wore back in the College, and he doubled his pace with a new spring in his step back to the entrance on time to catch the last of the supplies being unloaded. He did not like to wait, but as their duties had not yet begun in earnest, he'd decided to err on caution and give the relations within the cohort a chance not to sour; so he did the most un-magician thing he could think of; he waited until the hubbub had died down and people had said their peace.

Then he shuffled his foot, cleared his throat, thudded his brand new staff on the floor as if to announce something of importance, and addressed the quartermaster. "Fantastic I still require a pen reed, ink, one wax tablet, one metal polished hand mirror, and two blades, one of which needs be small for fine crafts. I also highly suggest you add chalk as a staple in your regular supply runs, if you plan for the cohort to be surviving any kind of battle for any length of time." he added. "Oh, and a hat. Nothing tampers with a magician's aim as much as Sol Indiges does on a sunny day. Or Jupiter with rain, come to think of it."

He coughed. He knew chalk was used often in combination with flint and gravel to pave roads, one of the army's many responsibilities in the fresh provinces that were yet to be fully civilized. It was a common, dirt cheap material.. but to a magician it was almost worth its weight in salt.

And salt....salt could buy empires.

He eyed his robes. They were comfortable, light, streaks of blue framed by white, with a large red M on the back and a smaller on his shoulder. He felt like someone painted a target on his back as tax for having the lightest of wear. "Ah, and a cloak." he added.

He tapped the staff on the soil, tentatively pondering something with a glint in his eye.

"Benefits of being a Magician, my esteemed colleagues, is that when it comes to official matters of the Empire and the aristocracy, I can knock on any door, be part of any meeting, and only a higher ranked Magician can bar me from it. Sadly, this is also why many of my higher ranking peers are in private employ. Which patrician function is this Captain attending, do you know?"

He eyed the grounds. "Do we even have a stable, and a horse?"

There were both benefits and downsides to being the only Magician in the cohort, Salvatore mused.

He eyed his berth, which although for high society standards was paltry at best, was an outright luxury in contrast to the bunks he passed by on his way here; it housed not only his own bed which meant that he would not be risking troubled sleep at the behest of someone else's snoring, but also a small sloped desk with room for candles so he could study in peace. The door actually housed a lock, as many Magicians held items and scrolls of value. Salvatore chuckled. Everything he owned could probably be bought with a single payment of a footman's week salary...and a simple lock could not keep anything out. It was, at best, a distraction for common thieves, keeping them busy with the lock while the door itself would be imbued with a locking spell by any Magician worth his scroll.

Speaking of, he left his backpack with scrolls in his berth, and enchanted the door on his way out. First thing's first; He needed to speak to the quartermaster, and get his gear sorted. He had no wand, no staff, no candles and since the unfortunate accident in the mountain ranges, also no dagger. The bannerman had said something about threads, an insignia...and....Salvatore's memory faltered as he tripped over a lost backpack through the bunks.

"What the.."

Salvatore smiled at the greeting, though he was quite baffled to see it. "Nice to meet you, Strange. I'll be sure to keep you at the top of my list for shield spells." I might urge the quartermaster to sign for a new door, if that's the case." he stated before glancing over his shoulder. "While I'm changing in these threads, might as well see about sprucing this place up considering we've got plenty of things to prove...bad posting or not."

He nodded to Strange and moved to pick up his pack, but then hesitated. His fingers twined, twisted, then waved side to side. "May the luck be in your favour, from sky to dirt keep you safe from harm. Ailur Aegis."

Light trailed slow and laborious along the ground from Salvatore's feet, to Strange's, before sliding into a dome that spanned the latter and shrunk and fitted to Strange's form, a tingling sensation at most upon the skin. "This should at least help you not to get stuck on your first day." He chuckled. "Would hate to lose the first friendly face I find, this early."

With that he moved by, pack and all, beyond and into the doors of the barracks.