Chauncey Zeldason
Established
Roleplay posts: 14 
Age: 32
Physical Description: In typical human fashion, Chauncey is about 5'09" and sports ginger hair. The status of his facial hair is something of a conundrum, as despite shaving clean every morning, but the end of his shift he is growing a surprisingly thick beard. With squared shoulders and chiseled features he holds his position of authority effortlessly.
Despite his work as a guard, he has very few scars on any exposed skin.
This fair appearance is largely offset by his slightly less appealing alternate form. Standing at nearly nine feet, his lycanthropic, bestial appearance bristles with reddish fur.
Clothes and Equipment: ---------
He typically wears leather layered under his breastplate that signifies his station, but strangely lacks chainmail layered beneath it for added protection. The straps of his armor appear brand new, and always in excellent condition as they must be regularly replaced.
Due to his ability to transform into his lupine form, he has forgone chainmail, as it would constrict him dangerously.
While patrolling he carries with him a longsword of iron. He has forgone a shield entirely, as he often faces creatures that would simply tear your entire arm off shield and all if you attempted to block.
Allegiances: Isra, The Guards, Gruesome Guardians
Registered: Oct 23, 2018 12:40:54 GMT -8
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Post by Chauncey Zeldason on Jan 8, 2019 16:36:58 GMT -8
The celebratory mood that had meant to lighten the atmosphere of the Guardian's first true meeting had become a bitter swell of dark water. Mere hours before they had expected to meet there themselves, the Midnight Sun had suffered a momentous disaster. Death, like what Chauncey had never witnessed had come to the streets of Isra. He had attempted to help, but the smell of death and sheer fear and distraught had nearly triggered a transformation all on its own. Besides, there wasn't much he could do on his own. Not yet, anyways.
As such, he managed to inform those that were seeking to join him that their meeting had been postponed, and that they would meet within the next few days at the Montcalme. It had been easy enough to contact his burned friend, as it was quickly revealed after the night of interviews that the home he'd allowed the man to take refuge in had been his very own house. A small, modest affair that seemed rarely lived in, and with an inordinate amount of animal hair. Now, however, the day had arrived. Four days after the tragedy of the Midnight Sun, the Guardians were to attend their first meeting.
Chauncey Zeldason removed his helmet, cleaned the clods of mud off his boots and straightened his back before swinging open the door to the establishment. The smell of baked good amplified (and so, too, his hunger.) Casting about for Montcalm himself, he lightly cleared his throat, stepping more completely into the cafe. He was expecting the others soon, but first thing was to get the table he had scheduled a few days ago. (Complete with the largest chairs they could find for his unusual retinue.)
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Raynard Gerould
New
Roleplay posts: 7
Age: 42
Physical Description: A medium tall guy with broad shoulders and square face with a powerful jawline. His moustache is thick and conceals a worried smile though the wrinkles on his forehead reveals them more clearly.
Clothes and Equipment: When out in the field he carries a quarterstaff that seconds as a melee weapon. He wears partly leather and partly plate armor.
Allegiances: Isra
Registered: Oct 24, 2018 10:43:46 GMT -8
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Post by Raynard Gerould on Jan 9, 2019 0:18:04 GMT -8
Raynard stepped into the café as apparently death had changed the plans quite severely and he wondered if there were monsters behind the attack on The Midnight Sun. It was hard to grasp that he was officially 'one of them' now and he found himself wanting to confirm if it could really be true but refrained from doing something that would put him in such a light. He wasn't stupid - Mr. Zeldason had already said yes but still his own self doubt had lingered and haunted him the last couple of days. How was he going to greet Mr. Zeldason and the others? Did monsters have specific things to talk about that humans didn't? He had only been a monster shortly so he wouldn't know.
"Mr. Zeldason..!" Raynard opted for and slightly reluctantly handed his new employer his palm for a shake. "What a pity with The Midnight Sun, I really liked that place and all that death is so tragic." Raynard commented trying to strike conversation as a human instead of pretending he knew whatever monster-lingo existed. Maybe this evening was for them to get better acquainted on those terms? Anyway Raynard would sit down with hands on his lap smiling politely if looked at. Did they drink anything? Was it good manners to be the first to order a beer or should he wait?
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Marlowe H. Phillips
New
Roleplay posts: 7
Age: 37
Physical Description: Stands at just under six feet and is built of solid and lean muscle. His flesh is completely charred and blistered and his left ear is missing; leaving a gruesome hole on the side of his head. His brown eyes are surrounded by a sickly yellow color accompanied by a small amount of red veins. The scent of rotten and burnt flesh permeates through his clothing, and he has to generously apply expensive colognes as well as magical tonics to mask the fowl aroma
Clothes and Equipment: _
Marlowe is wrapped head to toe with linen gauze strip, like a mummy, and has to replace them daily, since his wounds are open and constantly oozing blood and pus. Over the linen, he wears a thin leather jerkin and a fashionable black overcoat over it. Atop his head was a round, short-brimmed, black felt hat.
For his primary weapon, he carried a cane sword kept in an elegant black cane adorned with silver trimmings. He keeps a backup dagger in his right black leather boot.
Player's online availability : Mainly sunday and monday when off work, but sometimes in the evening(US Est.) as well
Registered: Oct 25, 2018 15:06:01 GMT -8
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Post by Marlowe H. Phillips on Jan 9, 2019 14:24:05 GMT -8
Shortly after Raynard entered the café so, too, did Marlowe, limping over the threshold and cast a brief glance around the interior of the café. He remembered dining here a few times in the past, before his..."transformation". Unfortunately, he had not been able to enjoy the finer parts of civilization like he once used too. If for no other reason than Marlowe refused to revisit his old haunts since his rebirth. "Rebirth". That's what it was. He scanned the faces in here, some of them regulars he recognizes, and knew it was pointless searching for the same recognition in their eyes of him. He was a different man from before. Born anew.
Sighing, Marlowe spotted Chauncey and Raynard - a stranger Marlowe didn't recognize - not too far from the entrance, and approached the duo. "Mr. Zeldason," Marlowe greeted, in his usual quiet rasp. "I came as soon as I could." He was ever appreciative of the hospitality Chauncey had shown him and quickly fell asleep on the first bed that's been available to him and soundly slept through to the next day, oversleeping. That's the one reason he didn't show up with Chauncey.
He turned to the other man, Raynard, and held out his own hand. "I do not believe we have had the pleasure. Phillips, Marlowe Phillips."
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Francois Nicolet Montcalm
Established
Liberty! Equality! Brotherhood!
Roleplay posts: 37
Age: 43
Physical Description: In regards to build he is as average as one may be. Marginally less than 6 feet tall, working man's muscles, well bred if not handsome features, as well as a black mustache and thin yet very dark black hair coupled with hazel eyes.
Clothes and Equipment: He will wear sensible and semi-formal clothing no matter the occasion, and a cap when outdoors. He has basic experience fighting dirty and making weapons out of every day things; pitchforks, scythes, even baguettes dried rock hard for use as a club, one of which he will always carry.
Registered: Jun 15, 2016 6:24:29 GMT -8
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Post by Francois Nicolet Montcalm on Jan 11, 2019 19:03:22 GMT -8
Just before the group would enter one patron would have left, an elderly man by the looks of it and the table was now being cleaned up by Francois. The proprietor of the establishment didn't instantly react to their entry for he thought the "ding" of the door opening was simply the previous man leaving. Picking up a plate and wiping the table down he at last looked up smiled, walking back behind his counter to get ready to serve the men. They were clearly guards or other (para?)military members of some sort, although he did raise an eyebrow as he overheard them speak.
The rasp of the bandaged man was off-putting and he wondered what was so vile it had to be bandaged to hide from all, but he was neither a judging nor a prying man and thus let him be. Placing the detritus of his last service in its proper little section he patted himself down of dust and then walked over to the trio that had come in to his establishment. As he spoke they would be able to note a slight accent on his voice, but a speech that was a cheery but mannered baritone. "Hello gentlemen, my name is Francois Nicolet Montcalm, shall you be dining at a table or at the bar today?" Dark eyes met the not quite human gazes with eagerness to serve and please, and once they replied he would lead them to wherever they decided they would sit.
After that he produced a small paper and a feather with a thick wad of sticky ink on it — all while offering another pleasant smile. "So my dear guests, there is very little I do not have in my establishment be it far off drinks or rarely refined spices. However I am unlikely to have the products of various companies, particularly ales and liquors you may be accustomed to; it is hard for a small business as mine to come to terms with such you see. I may with a quick read make rare or exotic meals if such is desired and most certainly have the staples of restuarants like wines, steaks, sandwiches, sorbets, but its donuts and beer to protect and to serve eh?" It was a quick joke given with a happy wink and smirk, before he continued on. "Today the specials for the main course are as follows: blue cheese chicken stuffed with a choice of herbs, duck with caramelized apricot, and fermented sea herring... I will note the last one is a very pugnant dish and for the conoisseur I will say - but! an experience to treasure if you can convince those you are with. For garnish I have stock of cactus to grill or sautee and a nice barley-mushroom shred. In from the North some magically freshened squid has been delivered to start an appetite while in my cellar we got an aromatic cinammon cider. To finalize the specials your desert can be a wonderful honey cake or a ground nut pie." With that, he awaited their order as he blinked thrice to begin heating up various appliances for cooking.
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Milton
New
Roleplay posts: 6
Physical Description: A large, furry creature with large eyes and a mouth full of tiny razor-like teeth. Claws, horns, and yellow eyes adorn his heavy, 8-foot tall form.
Registered: Oct 24, 2018 4:10:10 GMT -8
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Post by Milton on Feb 13, 2019 17:05:29 GMT -8
Just as the man began speaking, the tell-tale 'ding' of the door could be heard. Milton entered the Montcalme Cafe in much the same way he'd entered the commander's office. The furry, 8-foot-tall creature pushed the door open with one finger and poked his head in. He peered around the cafe, and then ducked down enough to pass through the doorway. Once inside, Milton began moving toward the table with the three other 'men' and of course the wait-person who was running down the bill of fare for the cafe. Milton moved slowly, and took small steps as he clutched a bit of rolled up bit paper in both his clawed hands in front of him. If the commander's memory was good, Chauncey might have recognized the tattered and ripped paper as the same one Milton had brought to his initial interview, but only in slightly worse condition. Milton took small steps, and ended up near enough to table to take his seat as Francois was just finishing his speech.
Milton sat, and immediately appeared a little stiff and unsure. He was obviously not used to dining in such fancy places, nor had he come into the city proper in a long time. Milton wanted to help, else he wouldn't have been there, but exactly how he would contribute remained a mystery to him. Nonetheless, he pushed that thought aside in favor of trying to solve a much smaller problem; what would he eat or drink? Milton would eat just about anything in his woodland home on the outskirts of Isra, but he was nervous. He didn't want to eat while he was nervous, and certainly not something so exotic as food unknown to him might upset his stomach. Milton couldn't help but think of Abby - his human friend who only a few years ago would have helped with these easy decisions.
For now, Milton would remain quiet and see what the other at the table would do first.
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