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Player
Reserved Names
Expiry Date
Alora
Tadhg, Rowen, Lukas, Ethan, Winifred
24 Oct '18
Aspelta
Kiya, Sennefer, Kharga, Ubaid, Santos, Tempest
14 Oct '18
Cali
Mune, Xayah, Atrian, Oaklynn
6 Nov '18
Dema
Sybel, Amunet, Croe, Crow, Morgon, Wren
8 Sep '18
Edel
Goblin, Nineve, Noelle, Pipsqueak, Pyre, Isobel
13 Nov '18
Fennic
Guinan, Wythe, Casshern, Jura, Seneca, Simon
31 Nov '18
Innocent
Sirius, Jared, Odelle, Adalia, Sherlock, Hemlock
5 Nov '18
Merlin
Ned, Artemis, Spectre, Iseult, Lamorak, Verity
2 Dec '18
Wolf
Kaspara, Andraste, Stiles
18 Nov '18

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something goes here;
IP: 2.24.11.104


Player: Aspelta

Name: Jacopo (yah-co-po)
Sex & gender: Male
Skin colour: Olive
Hair colour: Brown
Eye colour: Brown
Detailed appearance: Thus far, tall and muscular with rough, calloused hands from manual labour and a slight stoop. He has particularly large hands and feet, a permanently grumpy expression and a death stare. Apart from his glare, he has no remarkable features and wouldn't be described as handsome.
Defects: None
Age: 32
Ethnicity: Italian
Sexual orientation: heterosexual
Religion: a rather uncertain Gwythrian

History: Jacopo originally trained as a member of the Divine Scribes, and went on to become an archivist for the same organisation. He was disgraced, fired, and imprisoned in the fairy prison at Etna for selling secrets to rival/enemy organisations to the council. He served his time and returned to his home in Reggio Calabria in southern Italy, where he performed a number of menial minimum wage jobs, trying to keep his work honest.

Impoverished and weak-willed, Jacopo was finally persuaded to accept one last job for a mysterious client which would take him to his new home in Shaman.

Personality: Jacopo has always been rather gruff and unsociable, but his manner with people has worsened since he was criminalised. He bitterly regrets his crime and is trying to stay honest and make things right, but always seems to end up slipping up.

He's always been a religious man but was never blinded by it; since the events on Shaman and Gwythr's subsequent imprisonment, Jacopo has been in a sort of religious identity crisis. It's difficult for him to accept what his god has done, but it's equally difficult for him to give up on his lifelong faith. He tends to deal with this dilemma the way many Italians currently do; with their newfound and heated rivalry against the Spanish. On a good day Jacopo understands that Gwythr was wrong; on a bad day he blames Gwythr's enemies for his god's defeat in the Shaman civil war.



Sample post:


Bleep-bleep-bleep-bleep.

You have one new message.

Bleep-bleep-bleep-bleep.

Message waiting.

Bleep-bleep-bleep-bleep.

Message reads: job waiting.


At this time of morning, with the sun still a vague pink haze on the horizon, a normal person might have reached across and hit the snooze button on the alarm. Jacopo Agani was not a normal person, and had given up pretending to be. He reached into his pocket, pulled the alarm out and eyed it with a gaze which was part contemplating and part loathing, wishing he could crush the tiny device in his rough palm.

Physically, he could. Jacopo had never been held back by any physical weakness: his size and the hard look in his eye tended to cause most people to lend him a wide berth. It was a look which said no matter how bad you think you are, I'm about a hundred times worse. His health had always been good. He'd never suffered from a serious injury or illness, and his only stay in hospital had been on the day of his birth. Despite living on the poverty line in the filthiest, dampest, downtown part of Reggio Calabria, he never had to take a sick day.

No, Jacopo never had a problem physically. Mentally, however, was a different kettle of fish. That morning, as he gazed down at the tiny electronic bleeper, Jacopo knew he had the strength to crush it; what he lacked was the strength of will. He held it for a long moment before tossing it onto the bed and getting up to begin his day.

The job was supposed to be a blessing – a gift from Etna, the highest security fairy prison in the world. The theory was that if you were allowed out of Etna (most weren't that lucky) then you deserved a second shot at life, so you were helped into an honest job; the reality was that life in prison was almost easier. Working at minimum wage doing the shittiest jobs which no self-respecting member of society would take was wearing, demoralising, and held a false kind of freedom. Was it really freedom, barely making enough money to cover his bills? Jacopo was fairly sure that the pre-requisite for freedom was choice, and he was equally sure that no one would ever choose to be unable to afford even two meals a day at the end of every month.

Still, at least he got to see the sun. However angry it made him.

Work that day was unremarkable, and as gruelling and soul-destroying as ever. Jacopo walked the three miles back to his flat and prepared to collapse, as he always did, fully clothed on his bed, when he noticed the man sat on the room's only chair in the far corner of the room.

Esci,” he growled, knowing full well that he was wasting his breath. The man, a tall, heavy-setted fellow who could have passed as a boxer, smiled thinly and replied in English.

You haven't answered your messages,” he replied in a silky voice which didn't match his bulk. “There's a job.”

“I don't want it.”

“Don't be so hasty.” The man stood up, which was probably wise. The spindly chair didn't look like it would hold his weight for much longer. “The client's prepared to pay big.”

“Get out of my flat.”

“Well, if money doesn't motivate you, how about a fresh start?” Jacopo said nothing, and the man's smile tugged up a little higher. Nobody on Earth who lived in poverty would turn down the opportunity to just listen to how they might get a better life. “Have you heard of the planet Shaman?”

“Aura,” Jacopo grumbled. His companion nodded appreciatively.

“Yes, Aura's planet. A new life has been arranged for you there. A country cottage in a little village, and a job on the castle grounds. All you have to do in return is provide the client with some information now and again... nothing you'd feel uncomfortable disclosing, of course.”

Jacopo growled again. Somehow the words he'd meant to say, get the hell out of my flat, were replaced with: “who's the client? And the target?”

The man's smile became smug, like he knew he'd won already. Jacopo resisted the urge to punch it off his face. “The client is a prestigious member of a powerful religious organisation who would appreciate discretion. As for the target, it's a boy. About thirteen or fourteen years old.”

Jacopo's eyebrows almost disappeared under his hairline. “What's a powerful religious organisation want with a teenager?” He demanded to know as the mysterious man started lazily towards the door. “Powerful religious – do you mean the Aurans or the Mallosians? I won't work for the Mallosians.”

“That's lucky,” the man smirked, his hand on the doorknob. “A pack with the details, and a ticket to France, will arrive tomorrow morning. Enjoy your new life on Shaman, Agani.”


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