Welcome to Surrender Dawn. Before starting your journey, make sure that you read everything that's on the Beginner's Guide Board:
First, make sure that you get to know the rules by which we manage our site and community.
For this, visit the Guide to Rules.
After that, it's fundamental to read all that there is to know about the world your character will be inserted into.
In order to do so, go to the Guide to Lore.
Lastly, please take a close look at all the mechanics that dictate our roleplay and its characters.
You can do this by checking out the Guide to Mechanics.
When you've done all of the above, you'll most likely be ready to start creating your character:
Create your Application Thread on the Character Creation Board.
To do so, follow the instructions on the Character Application Template Thread.
Once you're done, just copy the link of the thread and head over to the Grading Center.
To submit your application for review, use the General Submissions Thread.
We hope you enjoy your time with us! Happy Roleplaying!
Updates
11/11/19: Open for Beta Testing! Feel free to explore the site and start creating your characters! If you have any doubt feel free to contact a member of the Staff Team.
It was one of those nights. She knew it the moment the sun went down. The night was cold, dark and full of terrors... but more importantly the night was when demons haunted the streets. When the churches closed and the bars opened, when the children went to sleep and the monsters came out to play, when the streets were empty and the alleys most dangerous... this was when she felt most alive. In her own natural habitat. In this place, where the booze flowed and the girls whispered sweet nothings into your ears, was where Yazmyn Noir had found herself abundant respite from the many dreams beset with nightmares. It was here that she found the freedom to let loose and do what she wanted without some would-be saints like Jaeger or Catherine telling her off for her woeful ways. With adrenaline in her veins and bad intentions on her mind, Yazmyn had set herself loose on the city of Vantalux... and she wasn't about to leave until she had her fill.
Volatile and chaotic.
One drink. Two drinks. Three drinks. Four. It felt like the blonde Huntress was on a mission before she even left her apartment, filling her liver with enough toxins to knock a horse out... and yet on a night like tonight nothing was enough to numb the pain. Humor was the only thing the wayward Noir was able to find in the state she had found herself in. An ironic, cynical type of humor that she couldn't mask even if she tried. So many things wrong, and many more would end up going even worse before too long, she could already feel it coming. What else was a girl to do beyond just laugh at it all? In Yazmyn's mind, it was sure as shit better to just let it all out instead of staying miserable... the only problem was that she could only let it out in the only way she knew how. A way that far too many of her 'friends' would end up patronizing for. She could only laugh again as the whiskey flowed. Fuck 'em. Fuck 'em all. They wouldn't get it even if they tried.
It was exactly how she liked it. Her mind volatile in a world far too chaotic for sanity to be reasonable.
Yeah. Tonight was going to be a blast.
The blonde Huntress was out for trouble and she knew exactly where to look for it. Two streets down, cross three alleys on the way, sneer at a statue of Ignis and go full circle 'round the block... lo and behold, The Garrison. She hadn't visited this pub many times in the past but whenever she did it was with a very specific state of mind. The place was packed at this time of night. From the rabble of the sewers to the noblemen up from all the way yonder... everybody was welcome here as long as they had the coin. Drinks, drugs, whores and much more were on the menu, all you needed was to know the right person to ask. Yazmyn knew all of them, from the twelve-year-old managing the roster of escorts to the nun dealing at the poker table. Everybody knew, nobody cared. The place just had all of its loose ends covered. Not even the self-righteous Enforcers could do anything about it seeing as how half the regiment were regulars. Irony at work with indulgence as her mistress.
A drink was provided to the Huntress the moment she approached the bar. No words. Just a few coins and booze was already at her fingertips, just how she liked it. "Redrix. Tonight?" Yazmyn asked without even looking at the bartender.
The young man, still in his early twenties, simply nodded while preparing another drink for some other patrons. Some of the shit these people looked Rapture Square levels of expensive. "Downstairs." A gold coin was immediately tossed towards the male courtesy of Yazmyn. Consequentially, a red card was provided, two golden daggers crossing one another emblazoned at the base. Before the Huntress managed to finish the drink, three more were slid her way. Shot glasses, filled to the brim. She chuckled, having almost forgotten the tradition. One. Two. Three. Good to go.
Rounding the corner, she approached a red-lantern lit hallway surrounded by a dozen doors. Hell's Highway was tempting with the many sounds of lechery echoing within its confines, but Yazmyn's goal was at the very end. A mountain of a man, towering above her like he was the goddamn General of Vantalux himself. She snorted to herself and showed him the card. The door was opened almost immediately, and the Huntress promptly proceeded to venture into the darkness. Stairs, a seemingly endless amount... and the lower she went, the louder the cheering became. An old and massively large wine cellar, cleared out and refurbished. Now it was the place where those less fortunate came to make a buck using their fists.
The people were by the dozens, seeking excitement one wouldn't find anywhere else. An underground fighting ring, fit for the worst of the worst. No rules, only money, booze and blood. Just the way she liked it. It was enough to get a girl excited, and excited she got as she tossed her coat aside and pushed her way through the people. The announcer noticed her intentions before he realized she was even there like her fiery golden locks were hard to spot in the rabble, and immediately he began to announce her entrance. Ember was in the house, and everybody went wild. Betting tables began to fill as the booze and adrenaline flowed, and the moment Yazmyn reached the middle of the circle made entirely out of people with bad intentions, she realized that the previous fight had come to an end. Grinning to herself, she went towards ground zero, the previous victor already staring at her with hunger and bloody knuckles. She raised her arms and spread her legs.
Volatile and chaotic. Just how she liked it.
It was instantaneous. Time froze, yet the cheers felt louder than ever. Adrenaline spiked, visions blurred, muscles tensed and blood flowed. Excitement was in the air as the two fighters went at it in the underground ring of The Garrison and Yazmyn couldn't be happier about it. One hit to the face, directly to the cheek. It hurt, but what's a little pain when she was having so much fun? Two steps back, a running start and a jump punch, straight to his noggin. Connect. Dodge. Strafe. Attack. Go back. Dodge. Counter. One more hit in. The dance of death continued for a few brief moments before the male was on his knees, panting with his eyes wide. Sadly for him, there was no end to the pain train... and Yazmyn made that very painfully obvious when she grabbed his head and kneed him directly in the face, sending him sprawling backwards and in a lump. Hands rose immediately after as she roared and the spectators bellowed along with her, demanding for the next fight... as was she, laughing as she took a drink from a random barmaid.
Utter silence broke with the sound of a lit match. It was dark in the small room. Catherine stood in nothing but a simple robe; her eyes downcast on the puck of charcoal clasped in iron tongs. She drew the tiny flame across the craggy surface-urging it to light. Her face was illuminated now and then with the red light of the flame. She turned the coal over, examining it before letting it drop into the plated metal censor on the altar. The wood frame was only knee-high, with a votive to the new gods and imagery of the old gods transposed next to them. At the center of the artwork was an impressionist image of mankind, a single figure standing amidst the tribulations of the world.
Catherine reached into a small brass bowl next to the altar and drew out a few nuggets of incense, dropping them on the coal puck and letting the smoke begin to build. She took three steps back and took a deep breath.
"Aham, Ignis." Catherine intoned, dropping to her knees. It hurt the first time when she was young. Now? She didn't feel the motion at all. She threw herself forward and pressed her head to the ground. She drew herself back up and repeated the motion three more times, "Aham, Tellus, Aham, Aura, Aham, Eira," She intoned with all the reverence she could bear. Her eyelids grew heavier as the scent of roses filled the room and clung to her robes and hair. She reached for a prayer shawl and drew it over her head, falling to her knees and clenching her fists together, pressing her forhead into her thumbs. "Ignis give me the strength of heart to endure the discord of this world, Aura give me the patience to face the ignorant, Tellus give me the wisdom to tell naught but the truth, Eira give me the spirit to face the cruelty that man is capable of. For I am your servant, I am yours, it is to your will I belong and it is by your will I act in this world,"
She continued to pray. She prayed for over an hour. She confessed her sins to the floor, tears staining the wood again. How often had the priestess thrown herself to the mercy of her gods? How often had the inquisitor thrown herself into acts of cruelty only to beg forgiveness for her actions in the name of the church? She couldn't even begin to count them anymore. Years had been spent as an inquisitor. The church had given her a sacred mission, as part of a brotherhood of Enforcers that served the government. She would punish those that strayed off the path of righteousness. She would punish those who abused the Vel, the blessing of the Gods. She would crush the enemies of the faith, of the state, and of mankind. That was her duty.
"Are you crying?" A small voice called from the entry of the room.
Catherine got to her feet, taking a deep breath and put the plated lid atop the censor, suffocating the charcoal. She turned in near darkness to the source of the voice. A woman stood at the entry, she wore ... very little. A silver chain hung from her neck and rings adorned her fingers. She was of noble birth, a secretary for some official Catherine had to deal with the previous day. She'd been so delicate. Catherine let out a breath and rubbed her nose; "Prayer is a moving practice," Catherine said quietly, walking up and placing her hands on the woman's shoulders. "Did you sleep well?"
The younger woman smiled, pretty, Catherine thought; "I did. But I need to go soon. My father will miss me," She said softly, reaching up to touch Catherine's face. "Will I see you again?" She asked. Catherine took her hand and kissed her palm, turning her toward the bedroom. "If the gods will it," Was all she could offer.
She didn't even know her name.
It was about an hour later when the girl was gone and Catherine found herself walking the street outside of her small home. It was a modest residence set up along the area reserved for those of the cloth. Other priests and priestesses made their homes here so close to the larger of the chapels. Now, though, she was walking the path for a different reason, and she was certainly not wearing her priestesses robes, nor was she wearing her armor. No, tonight Catherine wore britches, leather boots, a fitted shirt and a coat that hung down to her knees. Her raven hair fell over her shoulders in a river instead of the severe bun or ponytail she kept it in. She needed some time out. Recent events weighed heavily on her mind and she needed a moments peace. Even so, she kept her badge with her. The sad truth was that regardless of how she dressed, she was always on duty.
Catherine made her way down the street, she kept her head high and made eye contact wherever she went. Her shoulders square and her muscles showing hard against the fitted shirt, it wasn't hard to get the idea that messing with her was not wise. She kept her route clear, moving through town to one of the few places she allowed herself to go. A pub just past a statue of Ignis. She said a small breath of a prayer as she passed him, and made her way into the seediest place in the city. Even she had no power here. This was a place that existed almost by necessity. Crime, pollution of the spirit, these things were inevitable and they needed an outlet. Catherine wasn't naive enough to believe she could cure the world after all.
She made her way past the few enforcers who recognized her. One frowned and the other tossed back a drink to match his glare. She wasn't popular. She didn't care. She made her way to the bartender who looked up at her with surprise.
"It's been a while," He said, "Downstairs?" He asked.
Catherine nodded silently and put a coin down. She was just going to watch, to get her mind off things. Something about watching what took place here strengthened her resolve when it was at its weakest. She took the red card presented to her and walked away, not touching a drop of drink. Instead, she made her way down the halls toward the massive man who waited at the end of the path. She flashed the card and he stepped aside, letting her past into the underground ring. Someone was already fighting. Someone was always fighting down here. The shouts, the screams, the money changing hands. Catherine stopped at the edge of the ring and looked on.
Catherine's eyes went wide.
Her mouth went dry.
And then anger flared up in her chest.
Really? Now? Of all times?
Yazmyn threw her arms into the air in victory. Catherine gritted her teeth. This was what she did to herself to deal with her problems? This was her idea of entertainment? Catherine came here out of spite, she wanted to let this place fuel her desire to better the world. Yazmyn was down there basking in it all. Catherine bore her teeth and turned to look toward the proctor of the fights. Already a few men were approaching to offer to take on the brash girl down below. Catherine stormed toward them, grabbing one by the shirt and looking him in the eyes. He trembled, and probably wet himself, before she released him. She pulled five coins out of her pocket and slapped them into the proctors hand.
"I'll give you a damn show," Catherine snapped and turned away, throwing her coat off and marching toward the ring. She threw herself over the edge and landed across from the gloating young woman.
"OI! MAGGOT!" Catherine snapped, her teeth bared, her eyes blazing. "I'm next!"
Breathe in. Breathe out. Yazmyn was riding the wave of ecstasy spurred on by alcohol and adrenaline, a seemingly permanent grin on her face as she hopped in place. The blonde female was seemingly unable to sit still as she bounced around the ring, waving her hands up and down to get the spectators to get louder. And louder they did get. It seemed like the decibel levels of the refurbished underground winery seemed rising without stop as the people cheered and screamed bloody murder, stomping their feet and raising their drinks high up into the air, demanding for more. Yazmyn, for her part, was relishing the environment she had found herself in. Her fists were itching to hit something and her body was itching to get hit. Something to get her grounded. To get her centered. To pull her dastardly mind out of the sinkhole it had found itself in and slam it back into reality.
Alcohol numbed the pain, and she was planning to have lots of it. Fighting helped her focus on the here and now, making her tap into her more wilder instincts without even trying. A seasoned fighter and a beast that had its claws subdued for far too long, the blonde Huntress felt like being allowed to let loose left her floating on cloud nine.
Still hopping in place much alike a boxer, Yazmyn was still in her stance, showing next to no openings despite the state the blonde was in. To call the Huntress a seasoned drinker wouldn't even be that much of a stretch. Heck, her whole family were people who dabbled in alcohol here and there, never ones to turn down a drink. Whether her high tolerance was because of family or because of her own habits, Yazmyn was able to handle her alcohol incredibly well without it really dampening any of her senses... until an obscene amount of the poison was consumed, of course. If people didn't know any better they'd call Yazmyn a high functioning alcoholic, which... well, honestly wasn't too much of a stretch. Luckily for Yazmyn, she wasn't actually addicted. Yet, anyway.
Deep in her sense of excitement, Yazmyn hadn't even noticed someone very surprising arrive and step into the ring. It wasn't until she'd been addressed the way few people dare that she actually turned around. She blinked dumbly. There was only one person who actually had the balls to call the Huntress that way (as rare as it was) and, looking her in the face... for a split second the blonde woman wondered if she had her drink spiked, took one too many, or if the last hit to the face shook her brain up a bit too much.
"You're shittin' me..." she said, clear disbelief in her eyes as she stared Cat dead in the face. One second. Two. Three. She giggled when it finally clicked... and before long she started laughing. Cackling. Guffawing. Whatever you'd want to call it would probably do as Yazmyn laughed so much her sides started to actually hurt.
"No, no! You gotta be shitting me! You? Here?" she kept laughing. "What are you gonna do, arrest me? Oh no guys, look, it's the big bad fuzz! What ever are we going to do now?"
"What are you going to do? Fight me?" She snorted again, shaking her head. It wasn't that Yazmyn was being rude on purpose or because she had any ill feelings for Catherine. On the contrary - the blonde Huntress actually liked the Enforcer... and that wasn't a sentence she'd say every day. Or ever. "Oh I bet you've always wanted to actually hit me, haven't you? With how much trouble I've caused you over the years I can't even imagine how many times you've wanted to beat the shit out of me, huh?" Yazmyn giggled as took a few steps towards the Enforcer and leaned forward, turning her to her.
"Come on. I'll give you one for free. All you got. For all those times I made your life hard. Lay it on me!" She mused, smirking. "Though you better knock me out cause I will fight back when you don't. That's sure as shit going to be new for you, huh? Me. Fighting back. Who'da ever thought?"
Catherine didn't say a damn word. What point was there in saying anything to someone so hopelessly doped up on adrenaline and self-hatred. How could it be anything else? Catherine listened to Yazmyn's self-deprecation, her eyes growing hard. Sure, she made it sound like an accusation, as a joke. For all the world it truly could have been a gloating attempt at humor. Yet between the two of them, the harsh words meant so much more. Catherine had brought Yazmyn in on more than one occasion. There was no rank or title separation them, and in fact, their authorities were about the same all things considered. In the end, it was the duty thrust upon Catherine that had lead to their many encounters in the past. Yet Yazmyn wasn't the only one she'd brought in on more than one occasion, and truth be told she had a bit of a soft spot for the short-tempered blonde.
She would break the skull of the first person who suggested that, though.
Catherine popped her knuckles as Yazmyn continued her tirade, throwing more than just accusations of abuse at her feet. She never fought back, that was true, but Catherine had always respected that about her. She'd found it strange that the young woman had been so insistent on not fighting back even when she certainly had the strength to do so. What was her reason? Why did she do that? Was it guilt? Clearly she felt some animosity toward being arrested despite not fighting back. Catherine took a deep breath, no there was something more raw going on here. Alcohol probably, self-hatred, the need to get pained feelings out of her system. A rage that could only be satisfied by being confronted by an equal if not greater rage.
That settled it.
Catherine took a deep breath and drew off her shirt, tossing it aside. Her taped and restrained chest was all that remained. Her shoulders exposed and her heavily tattooed body on display for all to see. Her powerful abdomen tensed while she reached into her pocket and drew out some cloth wrap that she drew around her knuckles and hands before taking another deep breath. Catherine started walking forward at that, tying the wrap tighter. The Inquisitor had always been a woman of few words in the end, especially when a situation demanded action over language. This was one of those times. Yazmyn needed to get this out of her system and there was only one way to do it.
"Don't forget, you asked for this," Catherine said sharply, drawing her fist back and tensing her muscles. She could have held back at this point, or at any other point. But since when had the Drill Sergeant of the Enforcers, the Inquisitor, the Firebrand herself ever held back, at all? She brought her fist forward and straight into Yazmyn's face and jaw, throwing her weight into it and shifting her body from right to left, bringing up her left hand into Yazmyn's solar-plexus, attempting to force all the air out from her lungs. Catherine's merciless pair of blows ended as quickly as they began and the Inquisitor stood up straight.
"Done talking? Hurry up already," Catherine demanded.
This was it. The big shebang. Yazmyn would be lying if she said she wasn't looking forward. Going toe to toe with the Drill Sergeant of the Enforcers, the Inquisitor, and the Firebrand herself... well, it was debatable who should've been holding that last one, but who cared about the details, right? The blonde Huntress snickered to herself as Catherine dropped her shirt and begun getting herself ready. Head tilted to one side, then the other, each motion followed up with a crack of her joints. A wide yet rather manic grin spread across Yazmyn's face as she hopped up and down and raised her hands. "Come at me!" She urged the Enforcer, ushering her opponent over with her hands. There was no stopping this train primed for the city of pain and fun.
With confident and seemingly angry steps Catherine marched over to the young Noir as she just waited for what was to come... and come it did. Two swift blows. Almost as if on instinct Yazmyn clasped her mouth shut, her teeth grinding against one another as Catherine slammed her knuckles directly against the blonde's chin. Her head reared back a little as a moment of blurry vision flashed through her eyes - yeah, she knew how to throw a punch. Yet before Yazmyn could actually retaliate, a followup hit her directly in her solar plexus, knocking the air right out of the Huntress as she spat out the saliva that had been building up in her throat. The crowd roared its approval as the brawl began, each blow accompanied by loud cheers from the spectators. And, honestly? Yazmyn couldn't have found herself in a better predicament.
Yeah, now things were different. Whenever Catherine apprehended her, Yazmyn had never fought back. If you asked Yazmyn herself, she'd just give you some lopsided excuse about not wanting to interfere with her work. Well, with a few dozen jokes about being groped added on top. But the reality of the situation was a little different. It was a mixture of being disappointed in herself, and sympathy towards Catherine herself. The former of the two was, well... In Yazmyn's eyes, it was her own fault she deserved to be taken in. Whether it was because she made a mistake or wasn't able to escape the scene before the fuzz arrived was irrelevant. Shit happens. And, honestly? Sometimes she appreciated the solitude. The latter of the two was simple. The job that Cat did wasn't really glamorous, nor was it even remotely enjoyable. Apprehending your own kind? Yeah, that was a one way ticket towards being hated by everybody, not just the Eme hating douchebags but the Emes themselves. Some part of the blonde might have even felt pitiful towards Catherine, but she sure as shit wasn't going to insult her by admitting that.
As stated previously, however... this time was different. Now they were going toe to toe with no holds barred, and Yazmyn was fully intent on smashing Catherine into the ground.
The blonde gave the Enforcer absolutely no time to rebound. Even after having been hit in the solar plexus, the Huntress was still active and incredibly agile. As Catherine's fist was drawn back, Yazmyn grabbed it by the wrist using her metal hand and pulled the woman closer to herself, simultaneously launching herself forward. Before Catherine could even finish her sentence an elbow was aimed to hit her directly across her temple.... an elbow which - should it hit, would be followed up by Yazmyn fully extending that very same arm, whipping herself into the opposite direction and backhanding Catherine across the face.
This was again a really cool intro that opened up with an almost film Noire(Noir? Sorry bad pun) kind of feel to it. Like the dark streets of Vantalux have many dangers lurking, ala Jack the Ripper, and it was quite vivid. I really enjoyed it. My only ever gripe with Yaz in most threads is her excessive flirting, but that's just me personally. It isn't a slight.
There was so much Cloak and Dagger mystery built up around the Hell's Highway, the process of entering the place, and then finally the reveal of the underground fight club. The so called shining city having such illegal operations is interesting, to say the least.
And then, just as this fight between two powerhouse bruisers was about to get started with tensions high and emotions running rampant, it died out. But for what we got, though, it was an amusing take on Vantalux's night life and we got a little bit of action, so I can't complain too much.
