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ManicMansion's profile
Member Since : 2011-09-21
260 Posts (0.25 per day)
Most active in : Role Play
posté August 29, 2014, 20:41:00 | #1
Whats yer name pardner: Neill “Scatter” Bauwmann

What'cha followin: Cra

Lad or Lass: Male

How old are ya: 42

How tall are ya, pardner: 5 feet, 2 inches

What's yer fancy magic: Air, with Earth as a secondary role

What'cha look like: Dressed in his bleached tan hat, worn clothes (with accompanying green poncho) and tattered boots, Neill has the appearance of a nomad and a weary worn traveler. He is resourceful, and much of his armor and clothing has been picked up and repaired as he moves from town to town, city to city. He often jokes that he has a story for each piece of rag he wears, from hunting Riktus in the wild plains of Amakna (and using their makeshift masks to fix his armor) to how he earned a makeshift (though stretchy) piece of leather by wrestling Kralamores in the venting lands of Steamulating Shores. His piercing blue eyes and stark white facial hair makes him look quite rugged.

What'cha likin: Art, Stories (long as their interesting), root beer and kamas are of his few interests and vices. He follows a rigorous code when doing his work, and rarely makes promises he cannot keep.

Know any thin' good: Neill is a Cra that is proficient with dual crossbows. As a mercenary that often gambles with his life, he also has keen analytical skills, and can assess a situation quickly than most people. He prefers sticking to his morals, unsteady though they may be.

How does them varmints work:
Each of Neill’s crossbows are enchanted to either implement a single element to its fullest potential, or the ability to use dual elemental powers, at a downside of having less power and oomph. As such, he sacrifices power for flexibility and vice versa. He tends to favor dual wielding both elements in a battle, before deciding which element is suited for the situation.

What'cha don't like: See above, but in addition to anything a Cra is weak to. He prefers to stay mobile, and as such, any situation that requires him to take a defensive position compromises his fighting style. Also ambushes are fatal as well, especially if it’s some sneaky melee based foe.

How gruff are ya: Neill appears to be a gruff, no nonsense kind of fellow, with rarely a hint of humor. He follows a strict code of professionalism when dealing with clients, often asking as many questions as possible. He prefers to do jobs that often entail as few (to none) causalities. When hunting bounties in his off times, he prefers capturing them alive, as only amateurs kill their targets. He has exceptions though. When targets often bring harm to innocents or civilians, is when he considers dropping his ‘kiddy gloves’ and become very serious. He hates killing, and only considers it a final solution if no options are left.

He rarely makes promises, and tends to only accept them if he believes he can keep it.

What's yer jam: Link 

This post has been edited by ManicMansion - August 30, 2014, 18:25:39.
Thread : Role Play  Preview message : #767530  Replies : 3  Views : 148
posté February 08, 2014, 07:49:41 | #2
I'm still alive.

Just waiting to hear on Veronica and Tal though, since they were the ones trailblazing iirc.

Thread : Role Play  Preview message : #676727  Replies : 561  Views : 14820
posté January 26, 2014, 09:24:24 | #3

Quote (CaseySquirrel @ 19 January 2014 22:09) *
DJAGHSKHAFDFAD THAT WAS ONE OF THE BEST DISPLAYS OF A ACTION SCENE I HAVE EVER READ. *slow claps dramatically* You sir have my admiration.

No seriously though, Bad... Ass.. like the baddest of asses of assdoms.

Thanks, it's inspired by a book I've recently been reading.

Quote (Aacher @ 22 January 2014 06:02) *
Hey there, young hooligans!
Check this out:
Click here

If they reach their goals, we'll be getting three new Wakfu OVA's too.

Hilarious that Ankama is getting us to pay for it, but, meh. I'm interested enough to let it slide, as if this is successful, it will open the way for future projects (ie, season threeeeeeee).

Same here. Not a fan of kickstarters in general, but if it means a (proper) English dub of the series, I'm OK with it.

At the moment, they already passed the 4th Stretch goal, so both seasons and the OVAs will get proper dubbing.

Kinda curious about the last two goals, mind you.

This post has been edited by ManicMansion - January 26, 2014, 09:33:05.
Thread : Role Play  Preview message : #669811  Replies : 561  Views : 14820
posté January 19, 2014, 16:03:10 | #4

Large post is large, sorry for the delay.

Been wanting to post the battle between Moritz and Skarlett for awhile now. However procrastination got in the way every time (also RL work and games).

Hope that fills my posting quota for the week Omega :p

Thread : Role Play  Preview message : #666109  Replies : 561  Views : 14820
posté January 19, 2014, 16:00:37 | #5

Quote (Echo1608 @ 15 January 2014 06:16) *
"Weren't you watching the ship and Aiysa?"

Moritz merely cocks his head toward the Sacrier. Before he could say his own witty fill of biting snide remarks, Veronica made her way towards him and healed him of his headache.

Moritz took a moment to savour the tranquility gifted to him by the Eniripsa. For some, it may look as though he was ignoring them entirely (and perhaps he was, given a certain Sacrier in the room), but for a man of simple pleasures and ambitions, it was something he was lacking throughout his adventure throughout Sufokia.

A moment of peace, and relaxation.

Quote (Echo1608 @ 17 January 2014 01:18) *
"If you want to come then come, Tal and I are going with or without you... come on Tal." Veronica went running off to the door.

Tal he blushed and smiled. "Yeah...I'll tell her afterwords...." He waved to Mortiz. "Good luck!" He drew his sword out of his bag and ran after Veronica. "Coming Veronica! I'm right behind you!"

Moritz then realized they were running off (towards certain doom, he would wager) and instead of explaining them that they should formulate a plan, but decided not to. Instead, he merely trailed behind them, in the shadows.

Quote (Echo1608 @ 15 January 2014 06:16) *
You looked really beaten up, I'm surprised someone got the better of you."

Tal’s previous remark could not have been further from the truth, as the thief reminiscences the time he honestly did fought as well as he could ever muster, against another he honestly underestimated, believing him to be the better.

One that nearly cost him his life…


Moritz spilled the last drop of the substance from the dreary canteen over the wooden floor of the warehouse floor before tossing it aside into the shadows. The thief wiped the sweat off his brow, before inspecting his work with pride, a conflicting feeling of both satisfaction and dread welling inside of him. Less than two hours ago he came across this warehouse. At first he meant to use it as a hideaway while avoiding his captors, but the Sram could not believe his luck once he infiltrated the building proper.

Turns out it was one of the Sufokian army’s many hidden repositories. These building housed everything a defending army needed, from stasis tanks, to emergency food and rations. Should the city be sieged, the army would use one of these many storehouses to stock up and push their foes out of the city.

In theory, that is…

It was only due to Moritz’s natural curiosity that he stumbled upon the intact wooden crates containing the equipment. Before then, the first few batches he opened up only contained stored raw fish nestled within ice cubes. And he surmised by the vast number of cobwebs hanging within the large building, that it had been untouched for some time. Still, Moritz only praised his well found luck, and got to work immediately on a plan.

He knew he had to make a stand against the assailants. And he rather it be on a battleground of his choice than in some random alley in the city streets. He went to work immediately, placing Stasis tanks in key strategic areas, and pouring a strange watery, viscous liquid all over the warehouse. He hoped that it would cause attackers to slip. Believing himself fully prepared, Moritz took a moment to meditate on his new plan, running a number of mock scenarios in his mind, with him (after all) remaining as the victor.

It did not take long for someone to arrive.

A shadowy presence, dressed in a red, crimson suit, the cloaked figure crawled through an open window, eyeing the cross-legged mediating male Sram. She sheathed a flimsy dagger from out of her belt, and tossed it towards the oblivious target. Predictably, the target bursts into a fine mist, indicating that it was a fake.

From the shadows, a dagger came hurtling towards her as well. She merely sighs before instantly creating a clone of her own, then following up by pushing the clone between herself and the incoming missile. The dagger digs into the simulacrum, causing it to dissipate. Skarlett lands and rolls onto the wooden floor, her daggers drawn.

Both eye one another with mutual revulsion. Moritz, having no weapons drawn, merely crosses his arms, staring at Skarlett. “What’s wrong, Red? Lost your flock of Iop heads? Or did the pirates see to them? If so, they’re not that professional then. I’ve sen Brakmarian children do better.” Skarlett barely blinked, her face unmoving. Moritz noticed the scar across her cheek, a recent incident that declared Moritz had first blood in this battle. “Nice cut. You really should be careful with razors when shaving, you know…” the thief mocked. Both eyed one another once more. "You know how this should end, right?" Moritz questioned. Skarlett merely nods.
They both saw each other’s deceptive potential back at the pirate’s tavern. As fellow Srams that knew the in and out of their religion (and its assorted tricks of backstabbing, stealing and subterfuge), both understood they had only one means of determining who the true victor would be.
Superior combat skills.

She stepped towards him, until they were separated by barely three meters. He slid one of his Crobak Daggers out from under his cloak and stood at guard. He predicted one would be enough…

The battle is on!

“Initiating combat procedures. Objective: Subdue renegade prisoner. Conditions: Alive… if possible.” Skarlett faced Moritz with her knees bent, the edge of her mundane dagger facing the ground.

Moritz struck out before Skarlett had finished speaking; for an eye-blink darting steel cut an after image in the air between the two Srams. Skarlett parried Moritz’s thrust, strength against weakness, and riposted with speed more than equal to Moritz’s own. Moritz avoided a skewering only by an inappropriate backward lunge; he landed in a crouch with his left hand splayed out to keep himself from somersaulting on the hard wood of the warehouse.

Warily, Moritz circled in the direction the lunge had knocked him, barely rising from his crouch. A simple dagger appeared in his left hand as though by magic; this he twirled several times. He honestly (and foolishly) believed one Crobak dagger would be enough, and that using both would be pushing it. After all, he had not completely forgiven himself for ‘the incident’ resulting in him acquiring these infamous weapons.

“Hmm,” said Skarlett. “Twin dagger style noticed. Technique: Inferior.”

“Inferior this.” Moritz wiggled his dagger suggestively, spitting towards her direction. “I’ll try not to get too much blood on your suit,” he taunted.

Sighing artificially, Skarlett dropped her own dagger, and unsheathed two inconceivable looking weapons. Both daggers glowed an unnatural blue light, with a dark blue haze surrounding them. The grips were covered in a fine leather, and the hilts were decorated with finely carved skulls. Moritz swore under his breath he could hear strange noises. Noises he imagined was…. Wailing? Impossible. What kind of gambit was this assassin pulling? Within the span of a few heartbeats, she pulled the weapons out and held it out so that the blades opened in the air before her like jaws. She then took two exaggerated hops forward.

Moritz snapped out of his gawk and flicked his gaze down to the Skarlett’s feet for a fraction of a second, realizing almost too late that she was intended to do just that. He whipped himself to his right and barely managed a dive with her dagger; Skarlett’s thrust flew unopposed and cut the air just an inch from his left shoulder. His own riposte met the Red Sram’s dagger as though intended for it. Instead of clashing with steel, his own dagger merely passed through the blade with barely any resistance.

It merely passed through as wind blowing through an open window. Rushu’s hell… Moritz thought to himself.

For a few desperate seconds, the two combatants were fully engaged. Their blades wove silver ghosts in the air—crossing and uncrossing, feint and false feint, thrust and parry. Moritz remained on the defence, staying just out of reach of Skarlett’s cuts while the assassin merely moved forward every step. Every time he tried to block her attacks, only for his blades to pass unhindered by her blades. If not for his own dexterity (and common sense) to dodge and roll away from her lunges, he believed she would have landed the first blow minutes ago.

To an observer, it looked as though a couple practicing a very intricate (if fatal) dance routine.

Swing. Swing.

Lunge. Dodge.

Hop. Hop.

Shuffle. Shuffle.

Dolus. Dolus.

Turn. Twist.

Duck. Roll.

Parry. Repeat.

At last they flew apart and stood panting, staring at one another with the resigned, implacable hatred of fighting boowolves. “Hmmm,” repeated Skarlett, “Target’s combat fatigue in line with own. Identifying potential weaknesses.” She flicked out almost casually with one of her ghastly daggers; Moritz darted back once again and tried parrying. This time however, his blades managed to halt her daggers. When he eyed his blade, he realized something:

The blades were ethereal, but not the hilts!

Moritz’s eyes glittered. “Interesting. I do believe I found….” Again, a casual flick; again, Moritz jumped back.

“…a weakness in you’re so called superior fighting style.”

At this Skarlett merely cocked one of her eyebrows at Moritz. “Does not implicate the battle. You will most assuredly lose. But if you want to go all out…” With one decisive gesture, she flung her own cloak to the ground. A wild grin had etched deep furrows of anticipation into her lean, scarred face. “No more bluffs. No more games. All out!”

And then she fell on Moritz, her footwork a blur, her violence unmatched by anything in Moritz’s memory. For behind her blades, there was fifteen years of experience and fifteen years of blackest cruelty and sadism. Fifteen years of what she has lived through just to eke out an existence. Some tiny, detached part of Moritz’s mind coolly registered his own insufficiency as he desperately flailed parry after parry, chasing phantom thrusts with his eyes and hands even while Skarlett’s ethereal ghostof daggers were punching through cloth and cloak.

Once, twice, three times—in between breaths, Skarlett’s blade sang out and nearly bit Moritz’s left wrist, right forearm, and stomach. Cold surprise hit Moritz, and soon a wave of nausea rose up from the pit of his stomach. He had no idea what was causing this strange feeling. The Crobak dagger dropped from his left hand. “No more schemes ad tricks, target Moritz.” Skarlett flicked her blades in a menacing manner, as though a hungry bowmeow eying a cornered and tired ratou “Essere ancora in ombra.”

Then Moritz was moving again, and in the sunset-colored light of the lanterns the full length of his remaining dagger dug in and came out bright crimson. “God Sram, God Ecaflip, hells, even God Iop” Moritz whispered, “give me justice for Ayisa here and now. It pains me to say it, but… grant me vengeance for the Pandawa. Though I do not saw her as an ally (or heck, even as a friend), she has sacrificed her life for my own. I swore an oath to her fall. By my honour as a Thief, I swear it!” His voice rising to a shout, he thrust, missed, and thrust again, willing all of his desperate hatred and fear into each cut, driving the blade faster than he ever had in his life, and still Skarlett caught and turned his every thrust; still Skarlett displaced himself from the path of Moritz’s cuts as though fighting a new-born.

“Difference between us, target Moritz,” said the assassin between passages, “I am superior every way. Agile body. Cunning mind and a soul without mercy. You only think that you can equal myself. Inferior mind, weak body, a soul of disorder.”

“No,” gasped Moritz, “the difference between us is that I am going to fulfil my promise to Ayisa. And you… well, you can just…!” Moritz rises his dagger in triumph, and swings it towards Skarlett…

Swing. Gash!

A moment of triumph? Or doom?

Suddenly Cold pain exploded in Moritz’s left shoulder, and he stared down in horror at the Skarlett’s blade, sunk so deep into his flesh, the hilt touched his body.

The truth revealed!

Skarlett twisted savagely, the feeling as though bones were being scraped (even though he could physically see his body not altering to this assault), and the sensation sent Moritz tumbling to his knees, his useless left arm thrown out instinctively to break his fall.

But instinct, too, betrayed him here; his hand struck the hard floor palm-up, folded awkwardly under the full weight of his arm, and with a terrible sharp snap his left wrist broke.


He was too shocked to shout. A split second later Skarlett slammed a vicious kick into the side of Moritz’s head, and Moritz’s world became a phantasmagoria of agony and despair, tumbling end over end as stinging tears filled his eyes. His remaining dagger clattered across the floor.

Moritz was conscious of the wood pressing up against his back. He was conscious of the bright, hot rings of pain that radiated from his shattered wrist, and of the painful agony of the hole in his shoulder joint. Though it looked untouched by a mere blade, Moritz felt something…. wrong about Skarlett’s daggers. They were not made to taste flesh. But what else then? But most of all he was conscious of his own shame, his own terror of failure, and the great weight of his own failures and past promises left unfulfilled, lying unavenged, because Moritz had lost.

It may not have been one of his most miserable moments. But it was perhaps his lowest he ever (and perhaps will) experience in his life. But even then, he would not go out like this...

The tables turned?

He sucked in a great gasping breath, kindling new flickers of pain all across his chest and back, but now it was all one pain, all one hazy sensation that drove him up from the ground. Bellowing without an ounce of reason in his voice, he pulled his legs in and whipped himself up, attempting to tackle Skarlett (who was honestly quite surprised at this turn of events) around the stomach.

The killing thrust that had been falling toward Moritz’s heart struck his left arm instead; impelled with every ounce of Skarlett’s ferocity, it punched fully through his forearm. Though no blood was spilled, the pain was nonetheless just as real. Wild with pain, Moritz threw this arm forward and up as Skarlett struggled to withdraw, but stayed caught.

The assassin’s other dagger loomed before Moritz’s eyes; some animal instinct drove Moritz to lash out with the only weapon available. His teeth sank into the first three fingers of Skarlett’s hand where they wrapped around the hilt; with such ferocity that he started to taste blood and felt bone beneath the tips of his teeth. Skarlett cried out and the dagger fell sideways, rebounding off Moritz’s left shoulder before clattering to the floor. Skarlett jerked her hand free, and Moritz spat the assassin’s blood back at her. “Give it up!” Skarlett screamed (with sincerest astonishment Moritz noticed), punching Moritz atop his skull, then across his nose. With his good right arm, Moritz clutched for any of Skarlett’s sheathed daggers. Skarlett slapped his hand away, laughing sinisterly.

“You can’t win. You CANNOT win, Moritz!” She spoke aloud, her cool and illusive facade now finally having disappeared. With every exhortation Skarlett rained blows on Moritz, who clutched at her desperately, as a hanging might hug a branch for fear of falling off. Skarlett laughed violently as she bashed Moritz’s skull, his ears, his forehead, and his shoulders.

“You…cannot…beat me!”

“I… I don’t have to beat you,” Moritz whispered, grinning madly up at the startled assassin, his face streaked with blood and tears, his nose broken and his lips cracked, his vision swimming and edged with blackness. “I don’t have to beat you, Iop head. I just have to keep you here…until… until the others shows up.” At that, Skarlett eyed him. “Impossible. You cannot have informed them of us. It is a bluff.”

“Try me. You honestly think I’d have waited for you just here… In the middle of gods forsaken nowhere… without making sure to get help. You…really are… a bonehead, heh.” Gathering some lustre, the thief gave a deceptive grin. He was hoping at least one more ploy would succeed.

One final gambit of his own.

No magic.

No Wakfu.

Only one more perilous lie.

Skarlett’s mind rushed through all the information that she and the others were briefed upon. Though she alone could take on the young Iopette and the Cra without effort (she was a trained killer, after all), the Xelor and the Feca were other matters entirely. The Xelor was one of Brakmar’s most wanted (a title some might believe a badge of honour in the Brakmar underworld) and therefore required caution, and the young Feca has an impressive body count of her own, rivalling almost that of the female Sram. Suddenly she became truly desperate, and her blows fell like rain, but Moritz was heedless of them, laughing the wet braying laugh of utter madness. “I just have to keep you here…until they…show up! Let’s see you handle an Iop, a Cra, a Xelor, a Sacrier AND a Feca on your lonesome! Trust me, I’m small fry compared to them!”

Hissing fury, Skarlett shook Moritz’s grip off enough to make a grab for one of her sheathed daggers. As she tore her left hand from Moritz’s right, Moritz conjured a few kamas from his cloak, allowing them to fall from his sleeve into his palm; a desperate flick of his wrist sent kamas colliding off a nearby wall behind Skarlett, echoing loudly.

“There they are!” Moritz yelled, spraying blood across the front of Skarlett’s face. “Guys! Help me!”

And Skarlett whirled, dragging Moritz halfway around with her; whirled in fear of the others before she realized that Moritz must be lying; whirled for just the half second that Moritz would have begged from any god that would hear his prayer. Whirled for the half second that was worth Moritz’s entire life.

She whirled just long enough for Moritz to snake his right arm inside his cloak, and withdraw two spherical bombs. He desperately activated both, judging the time between both of their detonations. He had to time this just perfectly…

Realizing she was finally duped, Skarlett had a mere heartbeat to turn back towards Moritz. But even she knew it was too late. Moritz only offered a toothy grin at her surprised expression. “Don’t blink.” Moritz coughed out.

As if on cue, one of the bombs detonates, releasing a shockwave of force between the two. The concussive blow causes both of them to repulse one another, resulting in both of them careening away from one another, with Skarlett crashing into a number of wooden containers, and Moritz crashing back first onto the floor, into the shadows. For almost half a minute, nothing stirred, until…

Skarlett arched her back ad breathed heavily. Such was the force of the blast that all the air within her lungs was completely purged. She sluggishly hops off the shattered boxes, landing clumsily onto her feet. She scanned around the vast room. The thief was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, she remembered that the crazy thief had two bombs removed from his cloak. Thanks to that blast, it could have landed anywhere. She scans the room once more, noting a strange, almost spherical item laying across the room. The bomb landed close to the strange viscous liquid that littered the very warehouse. It was only now she realized what the strange smell was. It wasn’t water the thief tossed around carelessly around the room.

It was oil.

And it was VERY flammable!

Without issuing another thought, she rushed towards the bomb, hoping to prevent its detonation.

She was barely even two meters from where she started before it detonated. Flames erupted from the bomb, gushing out as though a rapidly growing flower. The flames of the explosion laps the drenched oil, and devours it relentlessly. So flammable was the oil, that within seconds, half the warehouse was alight with celestial infernos, scorching and devouring everything it so much as touched. As if awaiting orders like loyal soldiers, the stasis tanks detonated (due to the extraneous heat) resulting in half the warehouse to implode and explode in a violent crescendo of sound and cries. By the time Skarlett caught her breath, half the warehouse barely stood, the other half disintegrated by chaotic stasis energies.

One advantage though, was that everything was illuminated, and Skarlett could see everything clearly. She soon spots what appeared to be the footprints of something clumsily running out of the building. Her blood now pulsing with fury at this humiliating fight, she curses under her breath, searches for her ghostof dagger. She soon notices the Crobak dagger of the thief was missing, but she merely tosses that thought aside. It will just be buried under rubble soon anyway, she thought to herself. She rushed out of the building, in hot pursuit of the second man to have ever humiliated her in her entire life.

Had she been a little calmer, she would have realised that one of the lids of the boxes she had passed was loose, and barely closed. Had she knew Moritz had hidden himself there, would she have realised she was chasing another doppelganger of his.

As Skarlett rushes past him, the thief remained deathly quiet within the container, stifling every groan his body wanted to muster, his ribs aching from the blast. He waited another few minutes, before deciding to leave, realising the warehouse’s structural integrity was disintegrating. He limped away from the warehouse, trying to avoid the assassins. It was now the third time he survived a meeting with the dreaded Skarlett. He wondered just how long his own luck would hold. He soon disappeared into the countless streets of the city.

By the time the authorities arrived to investigate why one of their hidden stockpiles was now nothing more than ash and cinders, the only witnesses of its demise were miles apart from one another…


Moritz pulled up his hood above his head, then rushed behind the other two, making sure to stay in the shadows.

If something were to ambush them, he would be certain to pay in kind.

No more misjudgements.

He needed to become more serious, should another fight between him and Skarlett (or someone like her) ever break out someday...

This post has been edited by ManicMansion - January 19, 2014, 16:04:26.
Thread : Role Play  Preview message : #666107  Replies : 1024  Views : 28922
posté January 11, 2014, 07:23:41 | #6
I'm here too. Still waiting on Tavern to post, so I'll just post a (very) short post in which Moritz replies to Tal.

@Aarcher: Awesome pic!

@Mitsu: Good luck and hope you can come back soon.

Thread : Role Play  Preview message : #663015  Replies : 561  Views : 14820
posté January 11, 2014, 07:21:57 | #7

Quote (Echo1608 @ 02 January 2014 21:02) *
He stood up and looked at Moritz. "Slept well?"

Moritz eyed the seemingly cocky Sacrier. "Like a gods-damned baby." he replied with deadpan sarcasm. He then returned to rubbing his forehead profusely, inevitably hoping that would make the headache go away.

This post has been edited by ManicMansion - January 11, 2014, 07:25:54.
Thread : Role Play  Preview message : #663013  Replies : 1024  Views : 28922
posté December 31, 2013, 23:51:43 | #8

And 1st one for the New Year as well! Sweet! Happy New Years guys!

Here's to another year for KiP!

@Aarcher: Love that Christmas story. Loled at the last part. Mortiz would TOTALLY do that to Father Kwismas. Good thing everyone gets coal in Brakmar.

BTW: Did Moritz ever tell you of his Coal Collection he gathered throughout the years?

Spoiler: (highlight to show)
It was not a miner convenience to complete, that's for sure!


Thread : Role Play  Preview message : #658541  Replies : 561  Views : 14820
posté December 31, 2013, 23:47:58 | #9
“Fourteen thousand,” said Moritz, “nine hundred and.... sixty. That’s all of it. Can I please kill myself now?”

Hey, I remember this...

The Past Music

“What? I’d have thought you’d be enthusiastic about helping us tally the loot, Moritz.” A most excitedly Ecaflip named Bengal said, whom sat cross-legged in the middle of the dining area in the glass cellar beneath the abandoned warehouse. The table and chairs had been moved away to make room for a vast quantity of kamas, stacked into little glittering mounds that circled Bengal and Moritz, nearly walling them in completely. “You didn’t tell me he would be hauling it home in normal bags and not even in a haven bag.”

“Well, kamas ARE dear. Nobody’s going to store five or six thousand kamas in a mere haven bag (doubly so considering how much vast space such bags have within them, and kamas are oh SO small; they could get lost in there), and nobody’s going to be dumb enough to carry it around like that.” Bengal replied matter-of-factually.

There was a rattling noise from the entrance passage to the cellar; then Aeros Smisse appeared around the corner, dressed as a most bourgeois merchant. He whipped his makeshift glasses off, loosened his scarf, and shrugged out of his wool coat, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. His face was flushed, and he was waving a piece of folded parchment affixed with a red seal. Normally, Aeros Smisse was a roguish man that had shoulder-length hair and a handlebar mustache, each the color of fine dark ash. His face was normally sanded leather, and he preferred to wear dark leather armour and knee high boots, as well as a majestic (though tattered) grey cloak. For this deception today though, he was Merchus Wulff, unusual jewels merchant extraordinaire from the far off lands of Sufokia, Steamulating Shores. When he was not out stealing kamas from the rich at night, he could be found conning listless merchants and greedy nobility during the day. Such was Aeros’ daily pastimes (or hobbies, depending on whom you asked).

“Sixty-five hundred more, lads! I told him we’d found two more mines, but that we were already having cash flow problems—bribes to be paid, excavation teams to be called and sobered up, officers to be placated, other prospectors to be chased off…And he just handed it right over, smiling all the while. Gods. I should’ve thought this scam up two years ago. We don’t even have to bother setting up fake mines and paperwork and so forth, because Don Chaakno knows the Wulff part of the game is a lie. There’s nothing for us to do except relax and count the money.”

A few nights prior to sealing the deal with the Don, Aeros, Silvah Smisse and Moritz disguised themselves as guards of Brakmar, convincing the Don that he’s part of an ‘elaborate’ scheme to help ‘Brakmar’s Finest’ nail the ‘villainous and infamous’ con artist Wulff and his elaborate group of outlaws. The only way the Don could aid them capture this scandalous rogue was to accept every demand the ‘merchant’ asked for. Only once the ‘trap’ was ready, would the guards inform the Don that they will apprehend the thief, thank for his assistance in the capture of the notorious thief, and that all the expenses he incurred would be paid back in triplicate by the Royal Family. Naturally, the overly greedy Don took it hook, line and sinker, believing every word coming from Aeros’s talented silver tongue. A con to reinforce the con with another con. CONCEPTION, Aeros would joke to his underlings, though the joke tended to mostly pass over their young heads, as even Moritz scratched his head on that.

“If it’s so relaxing, why don’t you count it, then?” Moritz jumped to his feet and leaned backward until his back and his neck made a series of little popping noises. “I’d be happy to, Moritz.” Aeros took a bottle of red wine out of a wooden cupboard and poured himself half a glass, then watered it from a brass cup of pure rainwater (which, ironically, was FAR more valuable within the confines of a polluted metropolis such as Gobblard Boulevard) until it was a soft pink. “And tomorrow you can play Merchus Wulff. I’m sure the Don would never notice any difference. Is it all here?”

“Fifteen thousand kamas delivered as one thousand handbags,” said Bengal, “less forty for clerking fees and 'guards'.” Guards being anyone dull witted enough to guard anything even more worth than what he/she would be paid with.

“Well,” said Aeros, “let me get rid of poor Master Wulff’s clothes and I’ll give you a hand dumping it all in the ‘vault’.” The Vault was merely a specially created (and enchanted, thanks to some debts having to be called by retired Wakfu enchanters) strongroom, behind the sleeping quarters of this abandoned warehouse. They were enchanted in such a way as to alert any member of the Guild as to whom was entering in without a ‘key-keeper’, a person (or three, depending on how severe security had to be stepped up) who was in charge of the vault for the week. Silver, gold and kamas in large quantities went into the vaults while narrow wooden shelves around the periphery of the vault room held small bags or piles of more kamas, in the case of being used readily for emergencies.

Excluding many of the other gangs and sneak thieves, and even perhaps the fabled “Association of Assassins” (a horror story Aeros would enjoy telling Moritz and his diminutive band when they were younger, of a group of silent murderers who had a taste for small children who disobeyed their elders and remained outside on the streets; as Moritz and Co. grew up, they altogether forgot about that little fairy tale) they believed themselves to be the (almost) wealthiest thieves in Gobblard Boulevard, if not all of Brakmar (followed only by the nobility of Brakmar, the truly biggest thieves in the World of Twelve); the little rugged parchment ledger set aside on one of their shelves would list more than seventy fix thousand kamas when the Don’s second note would be turned into cold hard kamas. They were almost as wealthy as the man they were currently robbing.

Yet so far as anyone knew, the Guild were nothing but a thought or a whisper, if not an unassuming gang of ordinary sneak thieves; competent and discreet enough, steady earners, but hardly shooting stars. They could live comfortably for ten kamas apiece each year, and Aeros warned them that to spend much more than that would invite the most unwelcome scrutiny imaginable, from every authority in Brakmar, legal or otherwise.

Another series of rattling noises followed from the passageway upstairs, and a most haggardly street urchin with sand colored skin and rose tinted dreadlocks wearing nothing but simple breeches and a shirt came rushing towards Aeros. "Here! It's here! Here it is! Mr. Aeros!" Mary Juana called out to their leader, waving what appears to be parchment and notes in her hands. The old rogue grabbed her by the side and swung her about, a smile forming on his face. Mary giggled like a small girl, all the while holding her hands up, as though she was flying. Moritz merely shakes his head. Hard to believe that this gaunt young lass was once a mere house servant to Don Chaakno a month prior, and a chapel girl to a local temple of Sadida the month prior that, and so on and so forth.

Since each one's inception into the Guild, Aeros has carefully trained his young acolytes in the many talents of Brakmar's underworld. For Bengal, he had been carefully trained in the arts of gambling and the con-artist, as well as bookkeeping and accounting. If any kama was missing from his gaze, he would know. For Silvah and Moritz, the fine art of stealing, theft and sleight of hand, with a dash of proper combat techniques and defenses. As for Mary, she was inducted into the arts of disguises, and the more shadier aspects of alchemy and poisons. Aeros explained to them that each of them played a part in a larger goal; each a cog in a great machine, if you would.

After having their fun, Aeros places the girl down gently, eyes the parchment she was now holding in front of her diligently (like that of a young overachieving student waiting excitedly to give her results to her parent), then snatches it from her hand. Aeros skims the document, his eyes tracing each letter with scrutiny. His eyes seem to halt for a mere moment at something, before skimming on. Each of the young acolytes were now staring at Aeros, as it was a rare occasion to see their master in a train of intense thought.

Finished, he places the note onto one of the nearby shelves. "I have dire news, my young ones. Seems we are to attend the Festival of Fame tomorrow..."


Before he could finish watching this past moment of one of his worst days to continue, a nagging voice from within the Void called to him.

Hey...WAKE UP!


The first thing that greeted the (somewhat) drained Sram was…

A skull splitting headache!

The fact that there was a burning ache within his lungs did assure the thief he was alive, but that he was also in dire pain.

“Gods damn it all, BREATHE!” his conscious yelled at him from within his battered mind.

Moritz woke up, his eyelids popping open. He was gasping for air; his back pulling straight from the floor. Sure, the air smelled and tasted like age old dust, but it was all the Sram could afford to swallow in his state. He soon regulated his breathing to a steady beat.

The next thing that greeted him was his life preserving instincts. He jumped off the floor, unsheathing his daggers, and looked around warily, awaiting the metallic monstrosity that had chased him and Lorenzie into the chamber moments ago. Or was it hours? Moritz seemed to have lost track of time while he was knocked out. After scanning the room within a few heartbeats, the thief let out a sigh of relief, as he sheathed his weapons back within his robes. Off on the other side of the room, were large scorch and blast marks, as well as the smouldering remains of the once imposing engine of destruction that had harried them (and himself, with a dizzied Fecan girl, moments ago) within the ancient temple. He felt some measure of relief at its destruction, but knew they (and by proximity, himself) were far out of danger. The minor rest he was given was barely enough to satiate his body’s fortitude and health, but it was at least enough to get him back on his feet for now.

The Sram rubbed his temple, trying to diminish the pain that was being inflicted by the newest threat to him: his headache.

“Uuurgh! Rushu’s realm! What happened? How long have I been out?” he asked to anyone in the room, not really sure as to who WAS still left standing. “Gods, this headache…” 

This post has been edited by ManicMansion - January 01, 2014, 10:25:20.
Thread : Role Play  Preview message : #658539  Replies : 1024  Views : 28922
posté December 18, 2013, 18:16:28 | #10
Sorry for the (somewhat) short disappearance on the forums. People at my work installed a Web Proxy a few weeks back, which locks me out of any site that has to do with Gaming (though surprisingly Youtube is accessible; guess some still like watching cat videos at work).

And to throw another horrible wrench in the works, my local communications company finally responded to my issues regarding a missing bandwidth line. They agreed to install it... sometime February :/

Long story short, I'll be completely offline (save Saturdays, as I'll lend my parent's line for my fix if they will allow it). On the (somewhat) positive side of things, my folks will be out of town for this coming weekend, so I'll definitely get my last post in for this year when I get to use their line (since I'll have like a bajillion things that need an updating (case in point: my antivirus, that's nearly a month out of date D.

Again, apologies for my disappearances, but hopefully it'll get fixed sometime February.

Thread : Role Play  Preview message : #653831  Replies : 561  Views : 14820
posté December 03, 2013, 14:51:16 | #11
I'm still around here....somewhere (figuratively speaking).

Work's been brutal here for the last week (and in the coming two weeks since we need to wrap up everything here before the new year starts.

Still without a gerddermed line back home (currently in my 5th week without interwebz capability) so i'm still miffed about it.

Lastly Assassins Creed 4 is taking alot of sweet time from me (enjoying my adventures as a swashbuckling pirate/ninja/dashing swordsman of the seven seas yarrr!).

My concentration's kinda scrambled between these 3 scenarios I'm having.

Spoiler: (highlight to show)
Then there's of course Ankama messing with the subscription costs (since I do all my payment via SMS) and the introduction of the Multiaccount bots for solo players... in an MMO Multimen that's a bitter pill to swallow considering Wakfu's direction. Wakfu the game is seriously losing my interest. The universe/lore is still cool and interesting, but the game is IMO kinda dying in a bad way, and Ankama is prescribing the wrong medicine for these symptoms.

But overall i'll try to muster some energy and write something.

Thread : Role Play  Preview message : #645535  Replies : 561  Views : 14820
posté November 21, 2013, 08:57:06 | #12

Quote (KiwiTang @ 21 November 2013 07:59) *
Also, I agree the mods should sticky this thread. I'd hate to lose it in the sea of whining that is often general discussion.

Indeed. The mods could should sticky it and rename it to: General Lore FAQ thread.

That way, the thread can keep tabs on all lore related questions, and update it whenever any new info lore wise pops up after every update.

Thread : General Discussion  Preview message : #638461  Replies : 823  Views : 26962
posté November 21, 2013, 06:51:39 | #13
The mods should probably sticky this. That way players can keep track of all general lore for future readers AND it won't disappear once hundreds of other threads bury it in the archives.

Thread : General Discussion  Preview message : #638427  Replies : 823  Views : 26962
posté November 19, 2013, 10:53:54 | #14
Same here, Good luck on your exams Omega.

Been busy working on some...well... RL work, so hopefully I'll start posting my flashback this week.

@Aarcher: when in doubt, always follow Minsc's Advice. That's what nails are for after all

But for realsies, glad you came out unharmed there.

For your brain, Aarcher. (regarding the party).

Thread : Role Play  Preview message : #637309  Replies : 561  Views : 14820
posté November 13, 2013, 07:43:42 | #15
Just posting to say i'm still here ( I miss my home internet though ._.)

Been busy with RL work. I'll try and work on something tonight and post it tomorrow if I can (will probably be a flashback post, considering Moritz is still KOed).

In the meantime, enjoy this totally normal looking and not at all suspicious falcon:

Spoiler: (highlight to show)

This post has been edited by ManicMansion - November 13, 2013, 08:07:20.
Thread : Role Play  Preview message : #633855  Replies : 561  Views : 14820
posté November 08, 2013, 10:30:42 | #16

Quote (Kaitenzushi @ 08 November 2013 09:24) *
As an utter newbie (first week in the game) I have to say I was very surprised and a bit startled about the war-dec. (see here -> Click here ). It might have been a good idea to announce it a little bit earlier

Time to bone up on the whole war business. No idea what it entails, what the mechanics are and if the Soldier status even gives me more than a fancy title.

Rayne's rather blunt forum nickname tells me I've met my first fellow dutchman

Here's a link to help you out: Soldier. (Just a warning that wiki page hasn't updated for more than a year. As such the cost for attacking a clan member will be much, much higher).

Although to be honest, with Wild's Estate now losing its conquerable CM, that only leaves Calamar Island as a viable battleground. As such, Soldier (as a role) is pretty much a vanity role as of now. If your interested in getting it (and a sweet insignia unique to your nation) then go for it. Otherwise I recommend getting a Guard title instead. Its much more useful and its passive ability (the ability to locate any nearby outlaws in your vicinity) remains active as long as your a Guard even if your not wearing the guard insignia.

Regardless of which rank you want to attain, you'll receive an insignia that is unique depending on which nation your based on.

This post has been edited by ManicMansion - November 08, 2013, 10:32:23.
Thread : Politics  Preview message : #631121  Replies : 20  Views : 782
posté November 07, 2013, 09:22:28 | #17
Hey guys, I'm back from WAR GUYS! my hiatus after a looong weekend (and half a week) of moving.... to a new pad.

Unfortunately, said pad has no INTERNETS!!!111!!!!1!!\

As such, I'll be checking up on the RP from work from time to time (once my line is installed anyway).

Also, my wireless sucks, so I can't use that to access the internet either.

Until then, I'll post WHEN/IF I can.

Meanwhile.... *Checks latest wakfu news...*



Thread : Role Play  Preview message : #630559  Replies : 561  Views : 14820
posté October 30, 2013, 16:39:03 | #18

Welcome one and all to Knowledge is Power One Year Anniversary!


With over 957 replies and 48 pages, we've come quite a long way!

As a show of gratitude for everyone's contribution to this thread...


Here's a sandwich!


Thread : Role Play  Preview message : #626449  Replies : 561  Views : 14820
posté October 28, 2013, 14:35:37 | #19
Just waiting on Veronica and the rest to see whats gonna happen. Moritz is still KOed.



This post has been edited by ManicMansion - October 28, 2013, 14:38:30.
Thread : Role Play  Preview message : #625335  Replies : 561  Views : 14820
posté October 25, 2013, 19:36:31 | #20
Ah well, as they always say: YOLO. I'll toss my hat into the ring as well...

Name: Wok Unroll
Class: Pandawa
Age: 24
Nation: Bonta
Specialty: Brawler (Becomes a much more effective fighter against multiple opponents)
Strengths: Tough and resilient
Weaknesses: Range and sneak attacks

Hope that's satisfactory with the GM (Gamemaker)

Thread : Role Play  Preview message : #624375  Replies : 14  Views : 725