forum @Whisper, This is It

Started October 29, 2020 by @ElderGodSwimwithGamers group

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@Whisper-Is-A-Halloween-Fan, this is it for when you wake up. Do you want to post our templates again?

Hey. Yeah sure.

Name: Corbin Kemp
Nicknames: Cory
Age: 27
Gender: male
Sexuality: bi-curious
Race: human
Looks:

• Eyes: a soft pale gold, flecks of green in them. Lemon shaped
• Hair: long, a deep black usually tied in a loose ponytail. Reaches his thighs
• Face: a bit angular, high cheekbones and punted chin. Still, friendly, with a soft blush and gentle smile
• Body: thin, with almost elongated features. Long legs and arms.
• Height: Tall, about 6'7"
• General weight: about 240 lbs
• Typical Cloths: loose, flowing white robes with no shoes
• Work clothes: fitted pants and shirt, a deep red color
• relaxing cloths (if applicable): n/a
• Distinguishing Marks: tattoo on neck of wings
  Personality: Corbin is a very curious man- he enjoys learning about new things, and loves to explore different concepts. He is a very open, energetic person He enjoys solitude, but he doesn't mind being with only one or two other people, depending on who they are.
  Background: Corbin was the only heir to his father's throne. He had siblings, but his elder brother died shortly after birth and his younger sister was stillborn do to his mothers weak constitution. Do to this, Corbin had always been safe guarded throughout his childhood, so much so he had never left his home before. He had a happy life, being drawn to the strategic and diplomatic side of being a king since his formative years. While having never seen conflict himself, he had been taught of the various wars that had occurred in the past with the neighboring kingdoms, and he had hoped to be able to finally bring the tensions to a close with logic instead of bloodshed. This all changed soon enough, though. He was crowned king after the night his father was assassinated in front of him, the old king's head rolling to rest at his blood covered feet. After that, Corbin changed, ready to fight to avenge his father. The cycle would end.
  Likes: quiet, warmth, reading, and exploring
  Dislikes: complete isolation, things he isn't able to understand
  Strengths: He's very intelligent, and a diplomat at heart
  Weaknesses: Despite being trained from a young age, Corbin has never had much proficiency in weapons or fighting
  Fears: pain, being trapped, cages, assassins
  Pets: n/a
  Powers: (if you wanna) He's able to sense death when inevitable (Not combat, but more along the lines of terminal illness).
  Other: His first name means "little crow" in French/Middle English, last name means "champion, warrior" in Middle English

**Name: Dragomir Son of Firth
Nicknames: Mir
Age: 22
Gender: Male (can actually change genders but prefers being Male)
Sexuality: Homoflexible
Race: half human half Fae
Looks:

• Eyes: bright magenta with purple flecks
• Hair: white blond
• Face: an angular but soft face.
• Body: athletic but in a speedy, light build. He was a scout and occasional spy in the battlefront.
• Height: 5’ 7”
• General weight: 125 lbs.
• Typical Cloths: a light grey wrap tunic belted with a braided leather belt with rose quartz beads woven in, loose dull-purple harem pants with slits up the side., (No that was not supposed to be a pun, allusion, or anything like that), and soft leather moccasin-like shoes with fur lining the insides.
• Work clothes: dark, rather tight-fitting shirt and pants with sturdy boots with small spikes on the soles to help grip trees, fences, or walls as he climbs them.
• relaxing cloths (if applicable): a loose shirt with strings tying it closed from the front, and pants that flare slightly at the hem.
• Distinguishing Marks: Irish swatches of freckles all across his body, mainly cluster on his face, shoulders, thighs, forearms, and back of his neck. A scar runs down his back, but isn’t deep, but does have a deep scarred wound on his upper right arm which makes it hard for him to use that arm, which was very unfortunate as he was right handed.
  Personality: slightly excitable and frequently flits around (no he has no wings, it’s metaphorical) when he’s unsure of what to do, honestly acts like a little puppy and can get clingy, but is also smart as a whip and will easily beat people in debates or battles of wit. Honestly a bit of a fem boy. When he’s attacked or has PTSD flashbacks, he becomes aggressive and wild.
  Background: Was born in the outskirts of a city to a Fae mother and human father and his mother left when he was younger due to her colony head recalling her from outside contact. His father was incredibly saddened by this, but took care of Mir until he went missing after going out into the woods to gather herbs for the apothecary he ran. Just days after the incident, Dragomir was drafted into the military and sent to the western front lines, where he lost himself in battle and learned to turn off his emotions when necessary and become cold and calculating, but this only happens when he’s absorbed in a mission.
  Likes: bees (because they remind him of Fae colony and hence his mother), butterflies, flowers and herbs, baking, shiny things, and singing. Also eavesdropping on the higher-ups.
  Dislikes: isolation, silence, being lectured, wasps, and cruelty.
  Strengths: his agility and speed as well as his empathy.
  Weaknesses: also his empathy which he can’t turn off unless he’s in a survive or die situation, his nosiness, and his struggle to tell lies, which led to him easily being able divert conversation, and avoid answering questions straight.
  Fears: being abandoned, spiders, and being useless.
  Pets?: Well, there’s a tiny black capped chickadee that kept following him around and he accidentally brought it back with him when he was discharged for his injury. Their name is Angel.
  Powers?: can tell if people are telling lies, reading emotional auras, and can manipulate people’s emotions. (Usually just uses it to soothe troubled minds)
  Other: Always wears a strange necklace with a tiny rose carved from an emerald with two tiny gold disc charms on either side with a symbol embossed on them that is unrecognizable. His name means “He who is very dear” or “He who cares about peace”**

Okay, how shall we start this time? Like before, or another way..?

I don’t know. The previous way repeated would probably end up being slightly cuter if Mir is the only one. ‘Cause he’s a shy boi that needs encouragement…

Aaaah, yeah, we can start that way then!
(Okay then!)
(Reeeeeed that means a lot? Jeez guys I swear I'm not a good writer–)

You start again?

Sure thing. It'll probably be a bit different, cause I don't wanna look at the original one

That’s absolutely fine

I don’t mind that in the least

Corbin wasn't sure just how this war would end. He wasn't sure if it even would. It had waged for years, for generations, almost a millennia. There was always something, some reason why each side had to keep going. Land, gold, even the freeing of their people- most every reason to fight had already been fought for. The king couldn't help but think that neither side would win. He knew his kingdom was already low on resources, everything going to the soldiers and mercenaries, and it must be the same for the other. They'd both destroy themselves at this rate.
Corbin wanted it to end, he wanted all of it to end. He was desperate, looking for any way at all to solve this. Any way at all. So, it wasn't surprising, thinking with this in mind, when Corbin was going through the city, following one of the trails he'd found to the end. He wore none of his fancy court clothes, nothing to indicate he was the king. He wore a cloak, designed to look simple, even if it was truly much more than that. He had his hood up, entering the pub silently. He scanned it, knowing what he was looking for. There weren't very many halflings left, after all. Not after his grandfather… Corbin shook his head just some, clearing his mind of such thoughts.

Dragomir was wiping down a table in dark corner, pausing to take a breath as pain shot through his arm. He reached up with his uninjured hand to readjust his hat covering his hair and ears, but he accidentally tugged it off, exposing the white hair and pointed ears. He squeaked and quickly knelt to the floor, his magenta eyes flashing up to see if anyone saw as he fumbled for the hat with his injured arm, supporting himself with the other by the table.

Corbin had one hand holding his cloak closed as he moved further into the pub, with no intention of sitting. He caught a flash of white out of the corner of his eye, head shooting up. There, that was the man he was looking for. The king made his way over, doing his best to keep himself from seeming threatening. He bent down, picking the hat up the man still hadn't managed to collect himself before offering it to him.
"Here," Corbin said, voice soft and gentle. There was no malice, no disgust with who the halfing was, for what he was. "This is yours, correct?"

Mir cowered, nodding silently and slowly reaching out as if afraid the guy was messing with him. Which wouldn’t be the first time. Or the first hat. He tried to cover his hair with a hand as he fumbled for the hat, shaking out of pure, instilled fear.

Was this really how halfings were treated in Corbin's own kingdom? Terrified, even of the simplest of kindnesses? The king couldn't help but feel pity for the man, and disgust at his subjects. He moved the hat, hand slow as he placed it on the halfling's head. He pulled his hand away when he was done, giving the man space.
"I'm not here to hurt you," he swore softly.

Dragomir was frozen as the hat was put on him, and quickly shoved himself up against the table when the man moved away, his eyes still full of distrust as he watched the cloaked figure warily. “What do y-you want, s-sir…?”

Corbin glanced around once. No one seemed to care he was talking to the halfing, to care about how terrified he was. He looked back to the man, reaching up with one hand to carefully reveal his face to only him.
"I've come to ask for your help," the king said, his hair coming out from his hood some as it was shifted, golden eyes looking into the halfling's magenta ones.
"I… I heard that you could help end this war, that you were smart enough to do it."

Mir’s eyes widened. He recognized that the king didn’t want to be known so he just softly said, “Your Majesty…” And bowed his head submissively, magenta eyes to the cobbled filthy floor, before saying softly, “I-I don’t think I’m s-smart enough t-to end a war, your M-Majesty… I’m j-just a m-mutt… nob-body special… Th-that’s something for the w-war council to do…”

Corbin let his hood fall back into place, looking around again to make sure no one had seen him. Good, no one had…
He couldn't help but feel his stomach drop when he heard the halfing's words.
"You're no mutt," he said, forcing himself to keep his voice gentle. He was gripped, for a moment, with a horrible rage. There should be no reason for anyone to think of themselves like this.
"And you are, you truly are someone special for me to have heard report of you. Please, my council has proven they have to way and no reason to end this war. Please…"

“I-“ Mir glanced up at the clock over next to the bar. “My shift e-ended an hour ago… Why don’t we- um, go talk elsewhere…?” His pink, care-worn eyes shifted across the tavern. “This… isn’t the best place for th-this… you shouldn’t be seen t-talking with me.” He then softly hissed and curled up a bit as his arms shot through with red hot pain again.

If this man's shift had ended an hour ago, why was he still working..? Corbin thought it best not to question the man for now. He was still jumpy, Corbin could see.
"Yes, I must agree…" Unfortunately, there was nothing Corbin could do about how they would be perceived for now. He shifted to stand, but he couldn't stop himself from moving towards the halfing when he saw the pain on his face, how he was acting.
"What's wrong?" he asked quickly, voice full of concern. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

The half-fae whimpered a bit, but shook his head, hissing out, “It’s oxokay… I-it just happens sometimes…” Soon the pain passed and he visibly relaxed with a sigh of relief. “L-let’s go out the back… I’ll take you to my home, and we c-can talk there…” He headed for the back way out of of the tavern, his steps weighed down with stress and exhaustion but a hint of his former grace still there, hinting almost as if he had wings…