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.
The train ride was rough. Far rougher than usual, since Kris wasn't actually in a proper train car. No, he had stowed away on the nearest train that he could find to avoid the attention of the authorities. He spent all of his coin drowning his sorrows away at a seedier Vantalux bar, which ended in a nasty fight at the establishment. A fight with a local Enforcer that Kris was clearly outmatched for in his brain addled condition. After being knocked flat on his ass, he scooped up an ash tray to fling the contents in the Enforcer's face and made a run for it straight toward the train station.
Stowing away in the baggage hold was difficult to accomplish, as it was cramped and cold, but it provided enough cover for him to conceal himself from any prying eyes. It was bumpy and painful over the several hours that he crouched in between luggage, crushing his shivering body against the walls repeatedly like some form of torture.
The worst of it was when guards came in to inspect the cargo. Kris had to remain completely still without making a single noise, despite the pain that wracked his body. This happened frequently throughout the trip and it was nothing short of a miracle that Kris was able to avoid any sort of detection. Though the train did eventually stop, much to his relief. As the doors opened, he slipped out into the open air to breath in the sweet smell of...the ocean?
Kris shook his head free of cobwebs and took in the salty scent of the sea. The radiant warmth of the sun shining down on the burning white sands of the beach. He hadn't been to this place before! It was so bright and open! He stepped out onto the beach with wonder plainly plastered on his face. Kris tapped the shoulder of a passing man with a pole in his hand.
"Excuse me, bud. Where is this?"
The man raised a brow at him and shoved his shoulder to push Kris's hand off of him. He grunted in a deep, angry tone and stomped away to leave Kris confused and taken aback.
"Jeez, where's everyone going? Bingo?"
The young man tucked his hands behind his head nonchalantly and began weaving through the modest huts, peering into a few to question the locals. Though he mostly received dirty looks or he was flat out ignored by them. Most of the day was spent in this manner and his patience was wearing thin as a thread. Eventually the Mercenary had grown tired of these people. He seized a man fishing near the water and lifted him up by the collar of his shirt. Kris gripped the hilt of his sword as he bared his teeth at him menacingly.
"Alright, I'm getting real sick of this cold shoulder garbage. I'm cold, hungry, and sober...so you are going to tell me where the hell I am and then you are going to point me to the nearest place where I can grab a bite to eat! Ya hear me!?"
Word Count: 850. Notes: Welcome to The Wharf, Kris!
[attr="class","itsover"] He had been in the Promenade since the morning time - it was the day he had promised the little ones that he'd show them some tricks and it's best to start from the moment the sun rises. It was funny: even after all those years he still remembered everything so well, so clearly. Where to go, what to do, when to do it. At the same time, it was deeply perturbing: it meant nothing had changed, it meant that the status quo hadn't moved and, if it did, it would've been to an even worse position than what it was before. Many would probably walk those same streets and not even realize it, but for those that came from Gwrtheyrn's background it was as easy to feel as the hunger they felt every single night.
"Gwrtheyrn, aie tuss drur", the kid said as he came back to the alley. In the common tongue, it would translate to "Gwrtheyrn, I did it".
Did it feel easier?, he asked, both continuing to speak in the dialect of their poor origins.
"Yes, yes! The way you explained it makes it much easier!"
During his childhood, Gwrtheyrn ended up becoming a very good pickpocketer: mostly out of necessity, but it also looked like he had a natural talent for it. It got to a point where when him, Zair and Libbert went into the central parts of the city to steal, he took the job of pickpocketing coin all by himself while his two friends took care of the food part of the business. It was a good system and it was a system he was teaching this new generation of unfortunate children. Hopefully, in a new world, such would stop being needed again.
Urlas, it's your turn. Are you ready? he asked the young boy.
Before he could reply, a women entered the alley in a rush. A woman that Gwrtheyrn knew very well: Yldra, a dark hair, silver eyed female of his age. She had grown up with him in the Fishing Hamlet and was his first romantic partner. She had thought Gwrtheyrn dead up until he showed up once more some weeks back.
"Here you are", she said inbetween breaths, panting just like she had just run through the entire area, "There's a stranger at Hamlet. I... I think he might be trouble".
Undstrangr?, he repeated the word meaning "stranger", What did he do?
"Nothing so far. But... But he looks like he's getting more angry and he won't go away".
Gwrtheyrn nodded his head, keeping his stoic composure. Then, he crouched in order to be at the height of the group of children surrounding him.
I'm going back to make sure everything is alright, we'll continue tomorrow. Yldra we'll take care of you for now, alright? Lana, you're the oldest, so make sure that everyone stays together and that they don't cause trouble - but if they do, make sure they don't get caught. Can I trust you?, he finished with a smile.
The girl promptly said yes and Gwrtheyrn stood up once again.
"Knútr, be careful", Yldra said, worried.
Gwrtheyrn placed his hand on her shoulder.
Always, he spoke as he headed off.
~~
Arriving at the sands of the Fishing Hamlet, it wasn't difficult to find the threat: not only because of every inhabitant of the Fishing Hamlet coming to Gwrtheyrn in order to point him in the right direction, but also because the threat in question wasn't being particularly quiet.
The sun was clear and there were no clouds in the sky. He was in his home terrain. They had a numbers advantage. In his methodical way of thinking, Gwrtheyrn was sure these were desirable conditions for a confrotation. But, of course, this would always be the last resort: there's more value in disarming a man with words than with steel.
Gwrtheyrn stopped about a little less than 7 seven meters from the red haired menace: he was shorter, looked lighter, but had a weapon that he was confident - or dumb - enough to show off. He was also visibily frustrated and angry.
The Wharf, the northern peripheral city of the Central Government of Vantalux. Most specifically, you are now in the Fishing Hamlet, Gwrtheyrn shouted back at the male while, with his right hand, pointed to the left, If food and drinks are what you desire then the Promenade is the place to go. Just head to the Train Station and follow the tunnel that goes through the cliff. The best grilled giant-fish in town can be found at the Golden Rod, so they say.
A breeze slightly blew by. With it, so did Gwrtheyrn's dirty clothes, his long hair and his pendant. His rapier, Regalia Slaga, remained scheathed and untouched, attached to the scabbard on the left side of his waist.
Can I ask you to put him down, if you may? I'm sure he meant no harm with his attitude, whatever it might've been.
First, a fair dialogue - a true killer hunts when such is needed, not when he greedily desires.
The man was stuttering as his eyes grew wider at the sudden assault upon his person, which only fueled the anger building up inside Kris further. What was up with these damn people? Did no one understand basic social skills around here? It was really starting to piss him off and with how cranky he was from that train ride, Kris was really on edge.
Of course he wouldn't actually kill the man or even maim him, since that would cause more trouble than it was worth. But damn was he ready to deck him straight in the face! Hell, with how Kris was feeling, he was willing to start a brawl with all of these people! This...entire...crowd of people. Wait, where did all of these people come from?
Still holding the man up and off of his feet, Kris glanced around and realized that a vast majority of the residents had come from their hovels to investigate the commotion. Some with fear in their eyes while others held outright disdain for the unruly Mercenary. He was weak from hunger and was visibly shaking from his malnourished state, so there was absolutely no way that he could take them on if he were to be rushed. Even with Carmilla's help, he'd only take out a handful before they would overwhelm him...this was bad.
He jumped slightly in startled surprise at the sound of a voice very clearly speaking from the crowd. Stepping forth was a young man...at least Kris believed him to be a man with his smooth and dulcet tone of voice. But his flowing hair, those lips, and the way his gaze seemed to almost look straight through Kris's soul...it was all too much for him to take in. In all of Ordus, this was by and far the single most beautiful person he had ever met! Kris was mesmerized by the mere presence of this figure who parted the crowd as he made his confident steps toward Kris. His alabaster skin gave him the illusion of a statue carved from marble with sapphires etched in by a professional mason. It made Kris almost question his sexuality as he studied this figure in the crowd. The uncouth red head stared with widening eyes at him as he answered every single question in one smooth statement. With just that one simple speech, he had utterly disarmed Kris of all anger like a wave washing over the sandy beach.
Though even with being distracted by this man's charm, Kris caught sight of the rapier sheathed at his hip. It was safe to assume that he prepared for everything in the off chance that he couldn't talk his way out of a fight and only a fool would carry a weapon without knowing how to use it. With this crowd seemingly in awe of him, this was not a favorable situation at all for Kris.
So he slowly lowered the fisherman back down onto his own two feet and gently released his grip on him. The man immediately fled from Kris toward the crowd, leaving him alone with several eyes upon him. But only one pair of blue ones mattered to him. He shook his head to regain some clarity in his mind and speak with some assuredness instead of melting like a buffoon. After all, he did have at least SOME ego to maintain.
"Good to see that there's someone here who actually knows how to speak. I was beginning to think this 'Wharf' as you call it was aggressive towards strangers. My mistake!"
He took a few steps toward the white haired man, arms out wide to show no ill will, and smiled openly.
"Mind calling off your mob there, Ignus? I'm getting this 'let's kill him and feast on his flesh' vibe going on. I'm just a simple guy looking for work, honest or not, but I will not hesitate to take as many of you down if need be."
[attr="class","itsover"] It was just a small head tilt to the side. That and a warm smile. Those were the only indications needed for one of the many women in the crowd to leave, rushing in the direction to which the male that the stranger had let go off had ran to. The sentence spoken with no words was simple: "Please, go ahead and make sure that he is fine". And so, she did.
To the red-headed newcomer, she would just be a faceless woman. Just like the ones she left behind were faceless children and faceless men. People with faceless stories, faceless dreams, faceless hopes. All faceless because people like him came into those sands, taking any and every thing they layed their fingers upon by mere strenght and power. Yes, those people were faceless - but they were so because the world didn't allow otherwise. They needed a face. A face of someone willing to bear the sins that they couldn't (or didn't want to) commit; a face of someone willing to do anything because everything had already been done to him; a face of someone who could be both angel and demon, depending if he was asked by the New Gods or the Old Ones. Because, even if they did not know his true intentions, even if they did not know who he could be, who he could become, even if they did not know the lenghts to which he intended to go, they knew one thing:
"We can believe in him"
Belief. A leader - a true one - doesn't need more than that. And, in a matter of only weeks, they were already starting to believe that Gwrtheyrn Knútr Medrawt could be the face that the world stole from them. The face of the one that was going to give meaning to their life, to their deaths:
The one who was going to give a face to their struggle.
And so, as the outsider spoke and took steps towards the young man who had belonged to The Wharf all his life, the crowd began to clear up, dispersing with no need for a word from Gwrtheyrn's part. Some went quietly. Some spat on the ground as they were turning their back. Some badmouthed the ruby-eyed fellow before going back to their miserable daily routines. "Phylkró undstrangr", they mostly said in a tongue the young male wouldn't understand, the words meaning "filthy stranger".
And, suddenely, it was only Gwrtheyrn and the opened-arms other in front of him. Composed, serene, with a slight smile, the blue of this painting that was being made open his mouth.
A man only speaks when he needs to, he said, alluring directly to how the people of The Wharf didn't need his words to leave and, in a deeper sense, to how with just words he had been able to have his fellow comrade freed from the grasps of the mercenary, Come, follow me, if you may, he invited him.
Then, as if it was nothing, he turned his back on the agressor. Defensless, harmless, he began walking at a slow pace in the direction of the Train Station. Such actions were meant to have to effects on his dialogue partner.
The first, to show him apparent appreciation for having scaled back his temper by also showing that, mutually, they had no interest in a fight, with Gwrtheyrn willing to show this by assuming himself a fragile position.
The second was a more cruel one and, in a sense, contradictory one. Upon seeing the opponent's visible shaking, Gwrtheyrn was more than confident that, no matter what, he could beat him if he so desired. That, even if he had his back turned, there was nothing that could be done to him. He wanted the man to know this. It was psychological warfare meant to utterly remove his will to fight: "I dare you. I dare you to attack me in the back, knowing yourself full well that what will await is the humiliation of defeat".
If the other picked up on any of this depended on his senses and experience. However, make no mistake: Gwrtheyrn Medrawt doesn't move without strategy. Life's a chessboard and one most know when and how to play their pieces. If the other young man was wild enough to face his odds and attack Gwrtheyrn in the back, his Vel was ready to be activated: after all, the sun was high, meaning that Gwrtheyrn's shadow would be stretching behind him... His instructions for the other to follow him weren't by accident - they were a deliberate choice of words that took into account all possible outcomes of the next play.
If nothing happened - which, hopefully, the red-eyed stranger would understand to be his best option, no matter how defeated that could make him feel - Gwrtheyrn would soon begin to talk once more.
Let me ask you: what brings you here? By your own words you don't seem to be familiar with the city. Sent by Vantalux? Or, perhaps, running away from Vantalux?
A fish could be on the hook and any fish can give you valuable information about the waters they swim in.
They were all starting to leave the scene after Kris let the fisherman go, almost as if on the whim of the white haired man. This was starting to get a tad disturbing, but none of them were tearing him limb from limb so that was a positive. He had never been to The Wharf before, but he had heard about it from his mentor...though he didn't expect it to be so poor. Kris spent most of his life in the lawless city of Fumehat, so he was aware of the darker side of Ordus. But The Wharf somehow felt different, as if it were poor but everyone watched out for one another. How strange...
He glanced at the few who cursed at him or gave him glares but honestly he was not in the mood for a fight. So he kept his mouth shut as they dispersed and even stood his ground as they spat at him. An ego was not worth a life. It didn't go unnoticed that they all showed undying respect for the white haired man and that there was some unspoken bond that he shared with all of them. A silent leader who controlled the strings of The Wharf like some kind of puppeteer. Was he overthinking the situation or was this man a bigger threat than he was letting on? For now, Kris would be friendly since the other offered nothing but hospitality in turn. Though once they were alone, he noted the creepily proper way with which the stranger spoke. Like he was a patient adult speaking to a belligerent child who was throwing a tantrum.
"Uh yeah sure thing."
Kris was a bit hesitant to follow after him, but he seemed to express no ill will toward the mercenary. In fact, the entire explosive situation was defused with his words alone! So maybe it was a sign that he wanted peace. The red head shrugged and followed after, taking no heed to the growing shadow that was lurking. To Kris this was an honest invitation from a friendly face to show him around town. So he was soon striding side by side with his new companion and grinning from ear to ear.
"I'm not normally like that, ya know. I was just a bit grouchy from being cooped up in the train and I...well I don't really have any money right now. Hungry, broke, and sober isn't the greatest combination and the fact that everyone was ignoring me? I guess I just snapped."
He rubbed his nose as he snickered at the smooth tone of the blue eyed man. It was interesting to talk with him, since he seemed both guarded and sincere at the same time. As if Kris could confide in him and almost trust him.
"Oh I got into a real nasty fight with a group of Enforcers back in Vantalux. Simple answer is that I stowed away in the baggage cart to avoid getting my neck hanged. Both my profession and my name are...not very welcome in the city, after all."
The Merc laughed at the thought of the Enforcers, confused and frustrated that they let a Noir get away from them. A drunken one at that! But then he blinked in slow realization, turning to face this messiah. "Oh I'm being rude! I'm Kristoffer, though I usually go by Kris. How about you? Everyone seems to really like you around here, bud!"
The smile on his face was genuine and dumb, but he still kept his guard up in the off chance that there were goons lurking in the shadows...waiting to pounce on their master's command.
Word Count: 603. Notes: The good boy shares an interesting detail!
[attr="class","itsover"] Just like most other men in Ordus, this red-headed's bad temper and tendency for violent behaviour were just a mask to cover the absolute, utter idiot that he actually was. A dunce mercenary, a travelling merchant or a loud charlatan, most likely: able to put food and coin on the table from time to time, but possessing the brain ability of a house dog. He was following Gwrtheyrn - now even walking side-by-side to him, like they were childhood friends - in a happy-go-lucky pace, apparently oblivious to what could really by happening.
Pathetic, the long haired male thought as he listened to the younger one's not needed or wanted justifications.
It wasn't like people like this man annoyed him - well, they did, even if he didn't show it, but this wasn't the important part. It was just the fact of the giant waste of time that it proved to be. Nothing to gain, nothing to know. Just the disappointment of waiting for big fish, only for the hook to only pick up trash. Of course this was, however, all in his head. Outside, Gwrtheyrn face was as angelic and calm as ever: a determined leader whose grace and composure emanated from his presence, as if there was nothing in the world that could stop him from moving forward.
How cursed was he to choose the hellish path of not turning back.
As they walked through the sands and rocks of the Hamlet, he kept listening. Waiting. And then... light.
A profession and a name not welcomed in the capital, uh?, he repeated on his mind.
The profession bit didn't take much to figure, especially due to the previous assumptions Gwrtheyrn had already made. And, being honest, there's nothing very interesting about the lawless ones of the world... especially if they show to be as empty-headed as this one was showcasing. But the name part... The name part had value. It was information. Oh, how he loved the ones with a big mouth. He put the thought on the back of his head, ready to return to it when the timing seemed appropriate. For now, he would indulge in the casual conversation of this man.
Yes, Enforcers sometimes have an odd fascination for the business of hanging, he said, letting out a slight chuckle at the end while the one besides him bursted out in laughter.
The smaller man then turned to him, giving a name. Kristoffer, he spoke.
The family name must be the one with bad fame then, he took another mental note.
Then, Gwrtheyrn stopped his step as a slight breeze passed by them. As his diamond eyes interlocked with the ruby ones, he asked momentarily to himself if this Kristoffer was as halfwitted as he looked or if it was all just a facade, a mask of ignorance that was displayed to strangers. That would definetely be way more exciting. Either way, his countenance remained pure, his lips opening up to utter simple words.
Gwrtheyrn Knútr Medrawt. It's a pleasure to meet you, Kristoffer.
He wouldn't extend neither of his gloved hands to the other man to shake - after all, physical contact was something that he despised because of... because of... because of that. For a few seconds, he just remained there: standing, unshaken.
At the moment that felt perfect, he would return to walking in the direction they were already headed to, indicating such with a small nod and expecting the other to keep following. His mouth would remain shut until called for:
Kristoffer liked talking, so Gwrtheyrn would allow him to do just that.
He gave the white haired young man a knowing nod. He was unsure of the conditions here at The Wharf when it came to security, but it definitely seemed far more relaxed than Vantalux. Then again, the smaller cities all held a sense of freedom compared to the stifling conditions of the capitol which was why Kris both loved and hated the place so much. The salt in the air made him smile though, thinking of fish and wine. That thought led him to think of a particular dark haired cat girl who drank him under the table not so very long ago.
Kris threw his arms over his head as he continued walking, though he did keep a curious watch over his companion. He seemed way too calm to the point of it being unnatural or eerie in some way. There was no ill will on his face and he only showed kindness to the Merc the entire time. But it was the way he commanded the people of the Fishing Hamlet that unnerved him. Like there was this unspoken vow that they pledged to him...he had belief on his side but that was all Kris could fathom. Maybe he was paranoid, but assaulting a fisherman may not have been the smartest thing to do.
"I've always had a tough time with Enforcers. They do fighting and Mercs do the dying. Job security really helps out when you are put into life or death situations and the government pays hella well if you aren't Afflicted or you are an Eme...not us though."
He stopped when the other did as his ruby eyes gleamed into sapphires. The two locked in a moment that would seem serene, but only grew in intensity until the silence was pierced like a knife with a name.
"Gwrtheyrn...it's nice to meet you as well."
The two continued their work in unison down the walkway as Kris thought more and more about Vantalux. About the state of affairs...even though he was a lowly Mercenary, he wanted to strike out in some way. To expose their dirty laundry.
"You must have grown up in this quiet little place, yeah? The way those people respect you...it must mean you are quite the figure head in these parts. No one has it good these days, but this seems like a nice place to settle down. The rest of the world seems to be on the brink of ending this 'Era of Peace' with how the Afflicted are being treated. That's gonna change...I may not be much now, but the Noir family has always been one for revolution."
Thoughts of Natali sprung up in his mind. The sweet smile that many would scoff at or be disgusted by...it was one that brought warmth to his heart. Brought hearth to his home when he was younger. He tilted his head slightly and rushed a bit forward to spin around and face Gwrtheyrn while walking backwards so that he could face the man while walking, his hands kept in his pockets for balance.
"I appreciate you showing me around, by the way. Someone like me? I'm not exactly used to such treatment, so thank you. If you could maybe share a bite to eat, I would owe you a favor. Consider it an investment for the future...but feel free to turn me down. You seem interesting and with your way with people, I could find myself talking to you over many a topic. Maybe even learn a thing or two, since you seem like a natural leader of sorts. Otherwise I can try to figure this place out."
It was quite surprising even to the Merc that Kris was able to bob and weave through the gaggle of people backwards while maintaining complete eye contact with Gwrtheyrn. It was a lucky day for him indeed!
Word Count: 674. Notes: Let the real conversation begin!
[attr="class","itsover"] Okay, now this kid was acting suspiciously naive. Did he just admit to both being an Emes and the name of his family which, according to the Mercenary himself, wasn't well viewed in Vantalux?
Noir..., Gwrtheyrn locked the name on his head, making sure he wouldn't forget that information - you never know when it might come in useful.
It was definetely weird how this person on the lawless side of the world had this sudden shift in personality: first he was agressive, now he was talking in a way that made it seem he would never shut up. Maybe he just longed for company? A rebel and lone soul turned feral for no one had been able to warm his heart?
Many questions arised as the conversation continued as they made their way across the Fishing Hamlet.
It's the opposite of a nice place, he replied in his normal calm, soft tone, despite the disbelief someone could've looked at all that poverty and thought it would give for a good home, And I'm the opposite of a figure head: these are my people, I just help them, he finished.
He didn't directly reply to Kristoffer's hopes of revolution, but he took them into account. More and more this individual that made red his colour looked like someone who Gwrtheyrn could put into use in the future. At least, this was an option worth exploring. Which is why when the opportunity of prolonging this interaction arised, the young adult with long hair felt comfortable in doing so.
Sure, he said to the one now in front of him, replying to the invitation of sharing something to eat and deflecting the compliments thrown his way, There's a shop near the train station which owner I know. We can go there.
And so they did. Just a few more minutes of walking and, closer to Pale Rock and the Train Station, was the only existing shop on the side of the Fishing Hamlet. It was ran by a middle aged man called Martthin, whose business was more shady than honest - however, he was a good man that often gave odd jobs to the poor people of those parts in order to help them gain a little coin. Arriving at the front, Gwrtheyrn raised his hand.
Hello, Martthin. Mind if me and my friend go to the back for a bit?
"What'cha pay me with?"
I'll close and clean the shop come the moon fall.
"Go ahead."
The idea of going home early and with less work always pleased that fella, who was now opening the little wooden door that allowed both Gwrtheyrn and Kristoffer to go inside the open area of the shop and, then, to enter the backdoor to the private room.
With only a single lantern lit atop one of the many boxes on the ground, the area was more dark than bright. It was also quite small: packed with numerous boxes and similar objects, it acted as a type of miniature warehouse of the shop. In the middle of this room was a small round wooden table with four chairs of the same material. On top of this table were cigarettes with smoke still coming out of them, pieces of half-eaten bread and half-full glasses of water. Someone had probably been there not so long ago.
Gwrtheyrn sat down.
It's not a feast, but it is what we have, he declared as he crossed his legs and took one of the bread loafs into his gloved right hand, extending it to Kristoffer and offering him the food, Here.
After this, Gwrtheyrn would press his upper-body against the back of his chair. He was relaxed, but his demeanor and posture of dominance still made itself felt.
So, Kris, he called him, remembering this was how he said that he usually was treated by, Planning to stay in The Wharf? I hear that Mercenaries don't often stay in one place for long.
The conversation had started.
The seed was, slowly and carefully, beginning to be planted.
