Welcome to Gaia! ::

๛xxCHARACTER CREATION

RACE AND TRANSLATION
The general rule of thumb observed in Om: you are limited only by your imagination! Creativity/Muse is the miasma power that fuels Imagineers, and it is how their appearance and manner of offense manifest themselves. In a sense, they are literally engineering themselves from top to bottom!

People recreate themselves upon joining the kingdom, molding their forms to fit their heart's desire. While every Imagineer is still humanoid, the sheer variety of them make every day anything but ordinary: one might see two Dwarves guffawing at a Tiefling's fumbled spell which nearly set the poor Tauren's medicinal stand on fire, for instance, and just call it another Tuesday at the market. Essentially, if it is a PC race from an mmorpg/rpg that fits medieval fantasy, you can probably become it. Think DnD/FF/WoW/Elder Scrolls here.

Player character can also manifest their Muse in one of two ways: Some player characters use their Muse to create a special weapon (or two if you go dual wielding). Their tie to the ambient miasma of Om allows them to breathe life into their weapon, granting it a name and the ability to enchant it in whatever manner they wish (ie. giving it the power to exude flames). Others instead choose to have an animal guide, a beast that manifests based on their personality. They can serve to be familiars or mounts based on the player's choice, from the mundane horse to a semi-mythical pygmy dragon, and become the player's primary form of offense (or with whom they coordinate attacks with).

~ Reapers are not restricted to their weapon or familiar form - they may choose to switch it off for the purpose of this meta (ie. switching a bear familiar to a set of clawed gauntlets, or a spear into a nasty-looking unicorn).
~ Hunters may also switch around from weapon to familiar, or they may become a shapeshifter as their race. This allows them to become and control the natural/anthro form of their weapon's former life, and they may wield its abilities in battle.
~ Horsemen can choose to have either animal companion or a special weapon since they're capable of both naturally.

** AS A NOTE those who choose animal companions are not necessarily weaponless - they simply do not have enchanted weapons.



PICK A CLASS/JOB
Everyone in Om knows how to fight and, if they were not taught at a young age, they are promptly given aid to find their path. How they do so differs greatly, especially if their profession calls for some specific skill. While there are three broad spectrums of fighting style in Om, the very nature of Imagineers and their Muses allows for a myriad of choices.

As mentioned above, so long as the class fits the setting (medieval fantasy), your character can pick it! And again, flip through DnD/WoW/Elder Scrolls/etc. for inspiration. Perhaps you were once a criminal who came to the kingdom in hopes of living a more peaceful life, turning your hands to tending gardens and becoming a druid to be more at peace with yourself. Or maybe you've always loved metalwork and became a spellblade to augment your blacksmithing skills with magic. Or maybe you're one of many Imagineers who indulge in the thriving blackmarket, a thief who "procures" items of interest for your employer while avoiding guardsmen and beasts alike.

Regardless of your class, you make your living somehow! And as long as it doesn't disturb the overall peace of the kingdom, you are very much left alone as far as the law is concerned. After all, Om is about pushing boundaries and satiating curiosities, and sometimes that involves bending the rules a little.

๛xxSPECIAL ABILITY

CHOOSING A POWER

The Green Kingdom's theme is Creativity, its emotion Curiosity, its Miasma color green.

Since this world is heavily based upon video games, an Imagineer's strongest power comes in the form of a Limit Break. Something cool happens okay. In a burst of creative power, your character unleashes a special finishing move that can incur a different effect from player to player. Note that once a choice is made, it cannot be changed for the remainder of the battle. Depending on the character's play-style, you may choose one of the following to customize into your personal rp flavor:

If your fighting style is more about going on the offense ~ Roll 1d10 after your regular attack. That is the extra amount of damage you do along with your finishing strike. Your sword flares into a mighty blue inferno with the final swing, or you call for an extraplanar ally like an elemental to blast your opponent while they're down.

If your fighting style is more about speed/confounding the opponent/tricks/bracing against an opponent's attacks ~ Roll 1d10 after your regular attack. That is the amount of damage you evade next turn. Barrier spells, haste, uncanny dodge, and others can fit into this.

If your fighting style is more about surviving in the long run - Roll 1d10 after your regular attack. That is the amount of HP you heal yourself for. This can be a spell, natural ability, or a potion depending on your class/race capabilities.

The Harvest Festival was well into its revelries: the plaza was filled with the sounds of cheer and song, the bright colors of newly plucked crops, and the smell of fresh food, leather, spices, and ale. The market nearby was bustling and booming with business as trades were made. It was one of the most lucrative holidays Om had, for more than just vegetables and fruits were for sale: treasures too were on display, exotic finds "harvested" from forgotten caves and snatched from dragon hoards, gems gleaming in the eyes of those who purveyed such stands, sheathed weapons itching to be reforged and used once again. Curios were abound in every category, and in the shadows of the mighty trees the greatest celebration of satisfied curiosities marched on.

It was something else to view it all from his castle in the sky. Lanterns twinkled like little stars upon the land, strung through the trees to form paths of light, and people were but tiny shadows flitting underneath them. But The Horned King was not watching at the moment, no - In the floating island castle tethered above, within pale stone constructs like thin teeth chewing clouds, the king stood alone. Guards had been posted at their usual locations of course, but there was little hope of anyone entering the palace at the moment – the king didn’t keep his treasures there so there was little worthwhile to steal, and in any case the real prizes were up for grabs down below. He stood alone in the deepest recesses of the castle, gentle lights lining the room with a soft green flow, eyeing the pearlescent orb as it floated a few inches above its dais. It pulsed with the sound of The Voice and had him spellbound, even as little worried lines began to make their way to his face.

The end was coming.

It was time for pvp.

~ ~ ~

Mort made little effort to hide himself as he strode with his contingent of guards and officers down from the castle, his strides light and long to cover as much distance as possible. There was anxiety beating in his heart, but his face was bright with excitement nevertheless as he parted through the crowd. Some might have heard him humming lightly to himself even as he passed by, his armor gleaming and his eyes ablaze. A merry skip was added even, and eventually conversations and music died down as more Imagineers took notice of their king’s presence. He never did like to make a fuss, not particularly standing out if he had gone without his crown: just another dark-haired half elf drawn to the party.

Today the crown weighed heavily with purpose.

Mort, like a brilliant idea, just appeared without warning this time, and others followed in his wake to see what it was. Garbed in a mixture of clothes and armor and with his trusty sword at his belt, the creator led his people with nothing but an enigmatic grin and a silent promise; his aura seemed to hum from the power of his Muse.

The central plaza was home to a raised platform normally used for gigs, but tonight he had to give the musicians an apologetic smile before asking them to move their things. The stage bare, Mort turned to the growing crowd and waited until Imagineers had settled in and whispers had begun. He began with the wide boyish grin many had seen on his face.

“My friends, it is a blessed time in Om. This year’s harvest I’m told is the greatest array of treasures the kingdom has seen yet! Give yourselves an applause.” He clapped loudly and led the crowd to a short, enthusiastic round mingled with cheers; some might have had too much to drink. “If it isn’t evident yet, then know your king is proud of the risks taken and the determination needed to see through to your own goals. I believe that is what makes our nation great: that in spite of our differences in appearance and lifestyle, we can come together on the same goal: to go boldly where others dare not tread. The tenacity to look danger in the face and laugh, or to come out unscathed or with the perfect scar to regale tales with; the generosity to share one’s wealth in whatever quantity large or small, or to have that compelling nature of kindness and bravery to heal another’s broken bone even as the boss looms over you; and to have the open mindset to believe that maybe the impossible can be possible if you just look hard enough, and that one’s mind is the most useful tool to cultivate.

“And yet I stand here, friends, to tell you that what makes this kingdom great is being threatened.” The Horned King’s brow fell as did his smile. “The Voice has spoken to me and brought disturbing news on this day we might have only satisfaction and pride. War is coming – the truces between kingdoms must end, for we seven must unite under one kingdom as it was in olden times.

“My friends, the greatest expansion pack our world has ever known is upon us.”

He began to step from one side of the stage to the other slowly, his green eyes fixating upon faces in the crowd as he gestured grandly with a determined look. “A decision weighs heavily upon me this day. The Voice has asked me to choose among you those I would send into battle – and for a battle of this size, I can only send my best. There are many of you here celebrating your spoils today, but I’m curious to know.” He stopped in the center of the stage and stepped forward, hands out as if in appeal. “How many of you will step forward to stand in my stead? Who will stand as my moderator, the one who will stand with my authority and power on the battlefield? Who will come forth as my champions, devastating warriors and mages unparalleled in their fields? And who will become my Soldiers of Fortune, my loyalists who move and strive towards the common goal: to advance our kingdom to greatness?”

The king lifted a hand up as if in a religious sermon, grinning. “Every adventure comes with loot as you well know. What can I offer you in return for your services?” The hand curled into a fist. “Glory. The chance to test your mettle against other worthy opponents, to become part of history, to witness the birth of a new age – no-one else will ever have such an opportunity. Those who fight for me will earn the favor of their king as long as they live and will become legendary.

“So I ask again: Who among you will join me? Who will step up to help me create a new world?”

A laugh erupted from the wood elf's lips that were parted in a wonderful grin. Sophie skipped around, palms joining those of her partners and feet stomping to the beat. A twirl here and a clap there. The whole kingdom whirled around her and as the song ended, she scurried off to the side, dizzy with glee and from the mass amounts of twirling that dance involved. She took a seat at a table and nibbled on delicate fruits that were placed before her. The large tankard of spiced wine was ignored. Such things went to her head in such a short time and left her ill the next day and her supplies for a cure were on reserve for tomorrow when she would make most of her business. A hand reached down to a leather pouch and she shook it, the sound of gold coins jingling music to her ears.

Upon her arrival some months ago, she'd made a name for herself. There wasn't an ailment or an illness she couldn't find a cure for. Not a wound her magic couldn't heal or one she couldn't stitch up herself. Of course, this could either be taken as a testament to her skills or simply that she had not experienced every ailment or wound yet. Though her staff could tell her what a patient was suffering from specifically, it was up to her to cure it. She'd seen most of the inhabitants in the Kingdom of Om and all were happy to pay the price for her medicine; even if she overcharged just a little. She'd even had a few inhabitants who had come to her for poisons. Only for official kingdom business. There were people that couldn't exist if we wanted to live in peace and she understood that. So long as the Kingdom was willing to pay the price, she was willing to supply.

Pushing her chair back from the table, she stood and made her way towards the markets, not before leaving a silver piece for the tavern maiden who had been so kind to her. The herb stalls were most useful to her. Rare herbs from distant lands. Sophie was able to tell who was being truthful and who was trying to swindle her. At times, she bought from the swindlers just because their story was that convincing that it made her question herself. Potion bottles, labels, stoppers and droppers, needles and bandages. By the time she'd made her way through, she'd had to pay a citizen - or two - to carry her bags back to her office.

When the King made an appearance, Sophie made sure to stand tall and look her best. Even going so far as to pull her hood down. Her hair was left down, a flowing mass of mossy green that almost looked presentable. Years of tying it up had done its damage and she didn't care enough to fix it. She had to make a good impression. Since arriving all she wanted to do was to be part of the castle. The Royal Alchemist. It had quite the ring to it. Of course, she'd likely still have her own office. But to be a part of the higher ups? To be responsible for their well being? Her eyes sparkled and she might have danced with joy had she not been paying attention to the King.

War? She was not expecting that. She'd volunteer, of course. Was there anyone better suited for the role of healer than she? If there was, she didn't know them which meant they were probably unimportant. She summoned her staff, Esuna, and stepped forward. "I'll be your Champion." Her voice was strong and loud. "A war needs a healer. If there's a wound, I've got a potion that'll close it right up. A soldier close to unconsciousness? I've got fiifteen different stamina boosting potions. Potions to create armor. Potions to enchant weapons. Even potions to poison others, should you require it."

She took a step forward, mindful of the guards and knelt, bowing her head. Her staff she gripped with both hands, stand it tall before her, using it to hold her weight."Your kingdom knows of my skills. Let me show you why they come to me for help."

Sin leaned with casual grace against a mighty tree her fingers curled around a plump piece of fruit while her companion took bites and the juice ran down her wrist. She smiled and rolled her eyes allowing the mess to be made with an air of indulgence. The harvest was quite a sight to behold and her eyes skimmed over the treasures both for sale and those held near and dear to her fellow imagineers. She raised her clean hand to flick a strand of midnight black hair back and lower her green hood watching as the King took stage. She slowly moved away from the tree and carefully shouldered her way forward to hear what he was going to say. A faint smile lifted the corners of her lush lips as she listened happily to the praise heaped on Om. She was content when the kingdom was in full bloom each tree, each creature being created, imagined, cared for.

She frowned faintly as the tone of things changed, threats? Battle…her fist squeezed on the plump fruit turning into a pulp before she shook her hand clean the fruit bat that had been munching giving an irritated squeak before moving to hang off her cloak. She ran her fingers down it's back in a silent apology but her attention was on the King now. She had fought, she had healed, but she loathed large battles, hated the scent of death and blood that followed warpaths. A tactical approach, single combat, and ranged fighting were more to her taste…and yet how could she step back when her King asked for those who step forward in his stead. For his honor, for her kingdom, for Om she would wade through the fiercest of battles.

If she needed anymore prompting his final words struck a chord in her heart and she stepped forward eager to be a part of the creation of something new.

"My King I would not have myself, but Om stand as not only a Legend but a victor. Whatever talents I may possess are for the glory of you and our Kingdom!"

She gave her cloak a flick back revealing elegant leather armor all manner of fantastical creatures embossed up her legs, around her waist, and over her chest. Just as quickly she crouched and a large predatory cat sat where she had stood. She raised a paw and growled low revealing claws like daggers before she shape-shifted once more and stood elegant and poised. The fruit bat landed again it's claws clinging to her cloak and allowing it to hang at her shoulder.

"As a moderator I will use all my knowledge of tactical maneuvers, all my abilities to see with eyes not only my own. As your champion I could unleash all my creative power against any foe you direct me to…or if it would please my King to send me out as a Soldier of Fortune I would be honored."

She inclined her head and gave a faint curtsey as her pupil-less green eyes scanned the crowd examining the other would be champions. Some she recognized, others she did not but she hoped that she would be among those chosen. To stay back and be forced to wait passive for an unknown fate to find her home was unthinkable. She slowly raised her hood again to protect her fair skin from the sunlight streaming down.

Though it had only been a handful of years, not very many at all, since she had arrived to the floating kingdom she now called home, the Harvest Festival had immediately secured itself as the happiest and most looked forward to event of the entire year. Such an exciting and colorful event, full of all the kingdom's inhabitants in their best attire so very bright and happy, it was a sight the young Faerie absolutely adored. That and, as one who sold flowers for a living, Belladonna found it was wonderful for business! Everyone was eager to decorate their lapels, hair and wrists with a blossom, and they were fabulous to sell to lovers eager to show their devotion. Even she had decorated herself in her wares, tying her extensive red curls up into two pigtails behind her long, pointed ears and decorated them with pink roses. And though she had started the evening with a full basket, she'd had to make three trips back to her little shop for more. It was a good feeling, and she was very well floating with her joy. Well, nearly floating as she couldn't flap her gossamer wings altogether too well in this crowd… And the closer she neared to the raised pavilion, the more crowded it became.
The basket she held was pulled in close to her stomach, one hand reaching out to wrap around the flowers and protect them from the tightly pressed people around her. Golden wings, paper thin but still able to lift her curvaceous frame, fell down along her back and pressed tight against her. They wouldn't rip, but unwanted hands and shoulders and elbows touching her winged extensions was not a very pleasant experience.
Whereas earlier in the festival the dais had held musicians, they had since disbanded and left an oddly noticeable silent tone in the air. It was covered up with the sound of chattering and suddenly clapping, and then the girl realized what everyone had gathered for. Her king, their king stood before them and told them of their virtues, but soon his speech turned to something more menacing. War was coming, the Voice had told him so and that was not something to be disputed. And what was more, he was asking for… Their help? For champions to step forward and lend themselves to his cause for this kingdom.
Already Ofelia had stepped forward, all tall and smelling of sulfur, a scent still present even though Belladonna was much deeper in the crowd. But the tiefling had offered her brawn and strength, had pledged her allegiance to the king. Others stepped forward too, offered themselves and their services, promised help above all else.

And had not this kingdom helped her those few years ago when she'd run away from a family that wanted nothing more from her but to be quiet and be married off? When fate had unjustly offered her a life she did not want, it had been this island kingdom that had welcomed her, let her remake herself into something more and given her the tools to start life anew. And if the peace and tranquility of this wonderful kingdom were threatened, in any manner, Belladonna would do her very best to help in whatever way she could.
Though small compared to some, only five foot tall when flat footed on the ground, the faerie pushed her way through the crowd until she broke through the final barrier of citizens that separated the populace from those who had already pledged themselves. So close to the king and suddenly out for the whole kingdom to see, her cheeks flushed, but she only rose her chin up, unafraid in her desire to help. Quickly she enacted a curtsey, her flower basket still tucked in the crook of one elbow.
"I would like to help, in whatever way you see fit to use me for. I cannot offer unparalleled warrior strength, but I am skilled in elemental magic and able to hold my own in battle. I can also offer my assistance and patience. I work well with people, I am comfortable with speaking to all sorts, but I am also good at tending, at taking care of life… " Here she remembered her flower basket and pulled from it a white rose with a long green stem and held it out, a small symbol of hope and help that she presented to him along with a warm smile. "Above all, I pledge myself to you."

A dash between two taller gentlemen and she was OUT. Having done her little song and dance at a nearby tavern, (and gotten some pretty coin for her efforts), Solia was curious to all the gathering people. And to the king. The horny king with the massive sword that would gush with creative juices.

That was the bar song at least.

Solia was a fan of the bar songs, mostly as they meant everyone was drunk and they would give her lots of coin to stay on key and look cute. Staring at the king she just smiled.

It sounded like an adventure to her!