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Navo is a blonde-haired and blue eyed elf. He is dressed in browns and greens, typical of a forester. Hide armor shows underneath his black-bear skin cloak. He is armed with multiple weapons including a shortsword, hatchet and shortbow. His quiver is filled with fluflu-fletched arrows, and his bow has a pair of squirrel-tail silencers. He also sports a pair of cross-body bags which reek of herbs. For some reason, he always looks angry. He nods to Sefo Moyo and says "Hallo. It seems like a good day to find new paths. I am Navo."
Navo considers Kareida's words and behavior. He takes out of his pocket his Wayfinder, and shows it to her. "Call for them back Kareida. Teflar is now dead. Tell them that I Navo Visyrion, offer to guide them away from this place - should that be their heart's desire." "We will return to Rannan Atteran's farm to conclude our business here. Then, I will depart with anyone who seeks asylum from this tyranny. There are many places where Desna has built churches and communities. I will take them there."
At the University where I am a Lecturer, we say that good English uses three C's: Clear, Correct and Concise. Verbosity doesn't earn any extra points. Fillers are recognized exactly as such. I believe those three ideas should be used in any language, not just English. PbP more than any other form of role-playing game, requires a very astute use of written communication skill. That involves, knowing when to say enough and too much.
Navo lets the familiar weight of his shortbow slip from his calloused fingers, the weathered wood clattering to the ground with a dull thud that resonates like a somber death knell across the moonlit glade. In this moment, the ranger's gaze is alight with a smoldering intensity, his azure eyes narrowing to piercing slits as he foregoes the ranged elegance of his bow in favor of a more primal, unyielding form of conflict. ◇drop bow With a fluid, almost feline grace, the ranger's hands instinctively reach for the twin implements of destruction at his waist – a gleaming shortsword, its razor-sharp edge kissed by the ethereal glow of the moon, and a sturdy hatchet, the keen blade flecked with the dried remnants of past encounters. Navo's calloused fingers curl around the familiar hilts, the weight and balance of the weapons as natural to him as the very air he breathes. As the elven ranger's fingers tighten their grip, a subtle shift in his stance becomes discernible, his broad shoulders squaring, his knees bending ever so slightly, as if coiling like a spring, poised to unleash a torrent of devastation upon his unsuspecting foe. The air around him crackles with a palpable aura of menace, a tangible manifestation of the primal energies that course through his veins, a testament to the untamed ferocity that lies at the heart of the elven ranger. Navo's chiseled features, once etched with a hint of contemplation, now harden into an unyielding mask of grim determination, his jaw set, his brow furrowed in concentration. Gone is the hesitation, the fleeting shadow of empathy that had momentarily tempered his predatory instincts – in its' stead, a singular, uncompromising focus, a relentless drive to eliminate the threat that now stands some distance before him. With a fluid, almost choreographed series of motions, the ranger's weapons are drawn, the shortsword and hatchet, their edges keen and merciless. Navo's countenance is that of a stalking predator, his every movement imbued with a primal grace, a deadly elegance that belies the sheer destructive power he now wields. In this moment, the elven ranger is the embodiment of the untamed wilderness, a force of nature, untamed and uncompromising, ready to unleash the full fury of his wrath upon any who dare to cross his path. ◆draw shortsword
Navo fixes his unwavering gaze upon the form of the priestess of Zon-kuthon. In that moment, the sacred mantle of divine office seemingly fades into insignificance, for in the hunter's mind, she is no longer a vessel of the sacred, but rather a quarry to be persued, hunted down, gutted and ultimately eliminated. At the same time, the ranger is transformed, no longer the contemplative guardian of the wild, but a stalking predator, his every movement imbued with a deadly grace, a feral elegance that belies the sheer destructive power he now wields. With unwavering focus, the elf's gaze pierces the veil of the night, his eyes locking onto the form of the priestess, his mind cataloging every detail, every potential weakness that might be exploited. The ranger's jaw tightens, a shadow of grim determination etching itself across his rugged features, for in his mind, the decision has been made – the priestess, now stands as his prey, a target to be pursued and eliminated with the utmost prejudice. The world around him fades into the periphery, his entire existence now centered on the hunt, the relentless pursuit of his quarry. So great is his focus, that the Minister's request to leave the priestess alive and conscious falls on deaf elf ears. The ranger is the hunter, the primordial forces of the wild made manifest, and the priestess, once deemed untouchable, now stands as the hapless target of his unyielding wrath. ◆mark prey
Navo, the enigmatic elven ranger, pauses for but a fleeting moment, his azure eyes narrowing with a glimmer of contemplation that belies the storm of conflicting emotions raging within. For the briefest of instants, he finds himself torn between the primordial hunting instinct that courses through his veins, and the whispers of empathy that echo in the recesses of his soul. With a fluid, practiced motion, the ranger's calloused fingers caress the sleek, polished wood of his finely crafted shortbow, the familiar sensation grounding him, anchoring him to the primal rhythms of the wild. Yet, even as his grip tightens around the sturdy weapon, a flicker of hesitation flashes across his rugged countenance, a silent battle waging between the merciless predator and the protector of the natural order. Exhaling a barely perceptible sigh, Navo's gaze pierces the veil of the night, his keen eyes swiftly identifying the form of the priestess, her robes billowing in the gentle zephyrs that caress the moonlit glade. In that moment, the ranger's jaw tightens, a shadow of conflict darkening his features, for he is acutely aware that his arrows, once loosed, will bring not only a swift end to his prey, but also a measure of suffering that his conscience recoils from. Suffering which his prey may, not reel from, but perhaps even enjoy. Yet, the call of the hunt, the instinctual drive to protect what he views as innocent and pure, proves too powerful to ignore. With a fluid, almost reluctant motion, Navo draws back the bowstring, the muscles in his arms rippling with coiled power. Time seems to slow to a crawl as he aligns his arrow and bowstring, his senses hyper-focused, attuned to the increasingly violent situation at hand. In the heartbeat that follows, the ranger's fingers release their hold, and with a sharp, nearly imperceptible twang, the first arrow is loosed, streaking through the air with unerring precision. Before the priestess can even react, a second shaft is already in flight, its trajectory mirroring the first. Will these deadly pair of harbingers claim their prize? That, is up to Fate to decide. Yet, even as Navo watches the arrows cut through the night, a fleeting shadow of regret crosses his chiseled features, for he knows that his actions, though necessary for the protection of those who appear innocent behind him, may bring a swift and unforgiving end to one who walks the path of the divine... twisted they may be. In this moment, the ranger is a conflicted soul, torn between the primal instincts of the hunter and the compassion of the guardian of the natural world. ◆retrieve short bow
Navo, the enigmatic elven ranger, strides purposefully across the gently undulating grassy hillside, his footsteps muffled by the verdant carpet beneath his weathered pigskin boots. The silvery moonlight bathes the landscape in an ethereal glow, casting long dancing shadows that seem to accompany his every move. His keen blue eyes scan the horizon, and while alert to any potential threats or signs of movement, his senses remain focused solely on the scarecrow figure that he and his companions have been stalking since having last met the fiery priestess of Zul-Kuthon. Navo catches a glimpse of said fiery priestess, her chained-skull holy symbol glistening in the moonlight. In a brief instant, he wonders who will cause who pain today. With each step, Navo's lithe, sinewy frame moves with a fluid, graceful cadence, the muscles rippling beneath his rugged, outdoorsman's attire. His weathered, chiseled features are cast in a pensive, contemplative expression, betraying the sharp intellect and keen observation skills that are the hallmarks of the seasoned ranger. The gentle zephyrs caress his face, tousling his windswept, shoulder-length blonde hair as he navigates the undulating terrain, his every motion exuding a sense of practiced ease and familiarity with this wild untamed landscape. The soft and rhythmic crunch of grass and soil beneath his elven feet seems to whisper secrets to the earth, secrets that Navo alone appears privy to in this serene, moonlit tableau. He races up to the Scarecrow, unafraid of retaliation or harm. His blue-sky eyes, glittering with a hint of barely restrained intensity, lock into the scarecrow's mask, his weathered features hardening into a thinly veiled expression of menace. The ranger's movements become taut, coiled like a viper ready to strike, his every muscle poised and alert. With a subtle shift in his stance, he looms over the scarecrow, his towering presence casting a formidable shadow that seems to loom and swell, as if imbued with a palpable aura of predatory authority. Navo's chiseled, angular visage is etched with grim determination, his brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin, unyielding line. Yet, despite the absence of any verbal threat, his very bearing exudes an unmistakable air of menace, a silent warning that radiates from every fiber of his being, daring the scarecrow to challenge his dominance. The air seems to crackle with tension, as if the very elements themselves have stilled in anticipation of the elven ranger's next move., his piercing gaze promising pain should the scarecrow prove foolhardy enough to provoke his wrath. In this very moment, Navo embodies his Lord Ketephys, who stalks his prey tight-lipped but stern and filled with controlled violence meant only for one thing: his prey. He catches a glipse of people towards his north. Something clicks in Navo's head, as if things he'd wondered of and meaning suddenly merged together. Just as swiftly as he had run, Navo changed his mind. His manner relaxes in an instant, and his chiseled face quickly turns calm. His broad muscular shoulders hunch forward and his blue eyes now reflect the calm before a storm. He says with clarity and certainty "You have mere moments to explain yourself. Do so quickly. Death approaches!" His eyes dart towards the fiery priestess of Zul-Kuthon, specifically towards her spiked gauntlet which he had laid eyes on earlier on their first meeting. ◆stride
Hey Rainzax, Sometimes people just don't know what to say, or don't want to say anything. Or something was written that affects the person far more deeply than you imagined. Take this topic for example of pain and it's current treatment in our game: Do you know what the effect of this has on a person who's trying to convince young people not to hurt themselves? Not to inflict self-injury or take their own lives? Can you even guess why I'm posting this, and in this manner? This topic of pain is far more serious than you imagine. But, not to say that I don't agree with you. A lack of effort which usually results in short posts is indeed quite boring. But its not the length, it's the lack of effort - or poor quality of the post. And in a style of game which lacks tone of voice, body gestures, and facial expressions which an in-person game has - a plethora of the written word is appreciated. Even by me. But what's the treatment? And why aim a gun at a PC?
Hello Redelia, thanks for chiming in. Longer posts have nothing to do with pushing the story forward or keeping it in stasis. The quality of the content of a post and the treatment used by the author is what matters. If you have read the book "Name of the Rose" by Umberto Eco - the author writes three pages to describe a single door. I don't know about you, but I don't like that style. You are very correct in citing that we're trying to tell a story together. But let's do each other a big favor by not taking three pages to describe a single door. :D
Your character's philosophy is quite interesting, and your portrayal of him is quite excellent. Unfortunately, the long wall posts keep the story static. We're not even touching on the content, or the way that the content affects other players. We all know that sensitivity to others is extremely important these days as may topics offend others way too easily. This even assumes that we're not directing the content towards other players. Just touching on the topic of rape, violence, suicide or gender starts raging fires that are difficult to quell. How many times has everyone here attended an in-person game wherein the whole day was eaten up by one player doing role-playing the whole day, eating up the time, and basically nothing happened? I'm sure everybody here's had a taste of that. The Purpose of the game is to work as a team and push the story forward. Any other idea just hampers the game and prevents everyone from enjoying, or even finishing the game.
Navo looks at Siyokoy without expression and with an almost palpable air of seriousness. He is trying to assess the Azarketi. He decides to deal with him as Ketephys would. Plainly and to the point. "This is the holy symbol of Ketephys, the elven god of the hunt. Many elves worship elven deities exclusively" emphasizing the last word. "That holy symbol - which is that of a chained skull, looks nothing like this one... a hawk flying before moon and sun." Navo returns to tracking.
"Sir" Navo says coldly. "There are many ways to interpret what words you have just said. What is clear is that one of us needs to curb his tongue..." lest he lose it. "This is the wilderness 'sir'. We are on the open road where alliances are made very quickly by those who find the paths and walk from horizon to horizon." "If you are intolerant of her religion or of other's, then you and your kind best be on your way. Know that I do not tolerate intolerance."
A blonde and blue eyed elf quickly follows the group. He is dressed in browns and greens, typical of a forester. Hide armor shows underneath his black-bear skin cloak. He is armed with multiple weapons including a shortsword, hatchet, dagger and shortbow. His quiver is filled with fluflu-fletched arrows, and his bow has a pair of squirrel-tail silencers. "Well met. I am Navo Visyrion. There is indeed safety in numbers. I will do my part to keep everyone safe should we all agree to do the same for each other?"
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