1. Name of character – Comquaerere
2. Real world player/Age – Lutte DeMortuis / 18
3. Class – Blademaster
4. Clothing – For the undergarments, her clothing is simple; consisting of a short top and parti-pant breeches of grey silken material. Brilliant black porcelain armour covers her body, a full chest plate, and grieves along with the gauntlet and doubled shoulder of her right arm. A small black purse hangs from a strap wrapped around her hip loosely. A white porcelain opera mask of Comedy covers her entire face, with the exception of the right eye, which has been broken and fractured to reveal part of the face underneath. On her exposed lower back she has a tattoo of a black butterfly with six slit eyes in its wings. Her hair has been cut to shoulder length and brushed back to reveal two sets of bite-marks on her shoulders.
5. Eye color – Grey
6. Height – 5’9”
7. Hair color – Brown rooted, black hair
8. Personality – A slightly self absorbed and depressed character that is fine to skip between fitful moods of joy and depression almost instantly and often. She often just follows others around and does things her own way, taking in the glory of battle while at the same time generating an aura of depression. She has a habit of attempting or reciting poetry during periods.
9. Weapon/Armour/Skills –
Basic Sword (Cross Slash)
Head – Bandanna (Repth)
Arm – Wristbands (Juk Rom)
Body – Leather Coat (Gan Zot)
Feet – Sandals
10. A writing sample on how you found the world –

There was a cough in the audience. Lutte in turn, cleared her throat. She tapped the microphone before her and hesitantly spoke into it. This was it. Her recital for a piece of poetry she greatly enjoyed. And as she recited the words in her head, she could remember vividly the day dreams it inspired.

“H-hello. My name is Lutte. I will-will be reciting a poem by Edgar Allen Poe. It is called The Conqueror Worm.”

She paused after this, swaying back and forth lightly before speaking again, in a much more confident voice. All her lines had been burned into memory. She could picture someone far out there, an angel, ready to listen and visualize what she was reciting.

“Lo! ‘Tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see-”

She could envision her angel out there in the crowd, sitting attentively, shrouded from her sight by veils of people, just waiting for the curtain to raise and show a play behind her. She could feel the voices of the actors behind the curtain, awaiting the one word that would start them upon their chore. Just waiting patiently.

“Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly-
Mere puppets they who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Woe!”

From this part she could see the curtain rising to show dozens of people in white and black, standing on a bright green hill-like carpet with smoke curling all around. They would all stand proud before crouching and crawling along the stage with their hands over their mouths. Several of them would leave the stage and never return, leaving only a sparse few in between. She could feel her angel just watching intently as the drama unfolded further.

“That motley drama- oh be sure
It shall not be forgot!
Within its phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.”

She was smiling by this part. Most of the audience before her was mumbling amongst themselves by now. They had no interest in poetry. All they wanted was to go home and eat junk food while watching some stupid television show about people committing atrocious acts in the name of greed. She could feel it. They would rather not be at some program held by the school to support its young rising stars. This gave her further resolve, for she knew somewhere in there, her angel was listening, far at the back. Stealing away every word from her lips as if it was a treasure. Her favourite part was coming up soon. She would say it with the mask of Comedy, say it with every fibre of dislike and distaste and glee as possible.

“But see, amid the mimic route
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes! - it writhes! - with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And Seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.”

She practically spits these words at the crowd. She knows how true they ring. The mimes become its food… Her audience, she knows, are the mimes. A twinge of hunger makes her face twitch…just a little though. And after this small tirade she speaks softly her line to her angel. But not without burdening it with her own emotion of disgust for those to whom she speaks. Not disgust for her angel, but disgust for those who surround him. She takes in a deep breath before continuing. It is quick and fills her lungs before the words expel from them.

“Out- out are the lights- out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.”

And once again, she feels she has lost something. Someone in the back stands up and claps loudly. It is a single clap; a lonely clap that is stifled to quickly. She takes her bow and then speaks once more. Her disdain and distaste held back at the next words.

“Next are Johnny Dane and his act, ‘Bottles of beer’”

She lowers her head and walks off stage, a group of rambunctious boys walk past her onto the stage, each with boxes of soda and lawn chairs. She nods her thanks to the English teacher in charge of the event and then walks around the back of the stage, hidden by the back curtain. She crosses quickly, making it to the old ladder leading up to the props room. She stays up there for the rest of the event, lying contently upon a small sofa that she and a friend had put up there last year to pass the minutes during school. Once the event is over she makes her way back and walks home from the school. Her watch reads 11:09pm as she leaves the property and when she gets home it reads 12: 59am. The front door is unlocked and so she enters. The lights in the house are all out, everyone went to bed hours ago. On the banister of the stairs a message has been taped. She reads it to herself quietly.

“Gone to bed, Suppers in the microwave.
Tell me how it went in the morning – Mum.”

She reads it as is, noting the lack of apostrophe and capitalization in supper. She leaves the note on the banister and retrieves her meal, taking it up to her room with a fork and steak knife. It is still warm, a meal of mashed potatoes with extra margarine, grilled tender steak, spicy spaghetti, and an already buttered bun.

“Sure knows how to take care of a girl.” Lutte mumbles to herself.

Upstairs in her room she places the meal on her desk and then looks at herself in the mirror. A young girl, with long black hair and pallid skin looks back at her. Dark lines have etched themselves into her face after years of lack of sleep. She doesn’t feel the need for sleep. But she knows she needs it. She reaches around her back and unzips her dress. It comes off easily, leaving a girl in a large t-shirt and skirt to look back from the mirror.

“Pretty. A rose for the lovely lady?” she mocks, pulling a black rose from her nearby vase. The thing feels rough in her hand; of course, all fake flowers feel that way. Real roses are out of her budget. “Surely a lady as lovely as you deserves a lovely rose?”

She gives a little laugh and then tosses the black rose into its vase. She strides over and sits down in her chair gently. She picks up her fork and knife and proceeds to cut up and eat her meal, eating it gently and carefully, as she always does, as if she were in the presence of someone else and eating. Once finished she moves all her cutlery and such to a desk beside her door, to be taken downstairs with her in the morning. She yawns and prepares for her last real chore of the night. She takes her chair over to her computer desk and sits down in front of it. She checks her mail, eager to find if anyone has sent her a new message. No new messages greet her, and so she opens up the recently appeared icon on her screen. She had bought and installed this game ages ago, at the behest of her friend, but had never played it. She felt that now seemed an appropriate time. She clicked the icon and immersed herself in the game.

She found the character creation section to be quite fun as she changed through all the character designs before settling upon one style of character appearance and one class. She didn’t feel quite like trying something difficult as her opening character and so she chose the one recommended for new players. Now all she needed was a character name. That seemed to be the most difficult thing thus far. She had no idea where to start. A thought occurred to her then, to pick a word from her dictionary. She thought of words, a specific one of which came to mind. Conquer, as in to conquer a world or challenge; to overcome a period of toughness. From the Latin word? She flipped through the pages, looking for something specific to the word, finding it and then investigating it.

“Conquer: from the Latin root com- in the meaning of intensive, and quaerere meaning to seek or procure. Literally meaning to get what one seeks. To take or overcome by physical, mental or moral force.” She whispered to herself. “To better or overtake. A word suitable for stirring up confidence. And what is confidence but not courage to try something new?”

And to herself, she thought of two things. The first from Poe’s poem and the second from her own scrap works: And Seraphs sob at vermin fangs in human gore imbued and Life is a tragedy, so we all wear comedy. And she modified her character design a little more.

The next morning Lutte awoke after a short napping and rose to greet her mother, taking her wares down to the kitchen with her. She gave a short smile and told her mother how the night before went on and on and then she sat down and ate her small meal that her mother had prepared for her. She smiled some more and then thanked her mother for her meal before going out for her walk. It was a quite and peaceful walk for once; no one else was up right now, which meant to her that the day would be fine. It was clear and bright already, especially for nine in the morning on a Saturday. As she continued her walk she came across her antithesis, Judy. The two smiled and went along with each other.

“Judy?” Lutte eventually spoke. “What’s the name of the game you play?”

Judy kept smiling as always and replied kindly to her. Lutte felt a little harsh for always considering her the antithesis of her own self, but they almost were. Not rivals, nor enemies, just opposites. Both remained thin and healthy and both were friends, but Judy ate like a pig and didn’t exercise unless it was for her sports or her food. She herself remained thin because she ate healthy and exercised for her own health. Judy however was a nice tanned colour compared to her skin, and her hard blue eyes always seemed playful as opposed to her own lifeless grey ones.

“Which game?” Judy asked intently. Today’s run was to the local heart attack centre for more food.

“The one you play most recently, the ‘World’ one.”

“Ah, you’ve gone and started too?” Judy inquired.

Lutte nodded in response. They were coming up to that place soon now too. As they turned the corner Judy stopped and reached into her pocket. She continued with her talking.

“It’s good. You may yet like it. It’ll mean that us Morrigan’s will be together online too.” Judy cast offhandedly.

It was that comment, and Judy’s entering of the building which sponsored ill health that stopped Lutte in her tracks. Judy was used to her friend’s refusal to set foot upon ill places and continued without her into what she personally called the home of the golden arches. Lutte had almost forgotten about that incident; that horrible incident three years ago. But she was right in a way too, War goddesses stick together. That was their pact four years ago and that was their pact now. But their ranks were halved by this time. She didn’t want to think of what would happen this time. Her dark thoughts were interrupted when Judy came back out again, with a backpack reeking of greasy fast foods. They continued on their ways home, both silent along the way until Lutte was at the steps of her own house.

“You know how to find me online. I’ll see you later Lu. Great poem last night. I clapped until it was awkward.” Judy said before leaving.

It gave Lutte something interesting to keep in mind. And she walked back into the house, half frightened and half excited, but completely eager to play the game on her computer.

GP Tracking
Registration: +0GP
October: +1000GP
November: +800GP
December: +800GP
January: +1000GP
February: +600GP

Current: 4000GP
Spent: 0GP
Total: 4000GP

Comquaerere's Status

Equipped
Unequipped
Sold


Level: 1
HP: 70
Blademaster: 50+(level *20)
SP: 10
Blademaster: 6 + (level *4)


Weapon:
Basic Sword: Level 1
PAt 2 PAc 1 PDf 0 PEv 0
MAt 0 MAc 0 MDf 0 MEv 0
Earth 0 Water 0 Thunder 0 Body 0
Wood 0 Fire 0 Darkness 0 Spirit 0
Cross Slash

Armor:
Head:
Bandana: Level 1
PAt 0 PAc 0 PDf 0 PEv 0
MAt 0 MAc 0 MDf 2 MEv 6
Earth 1 Water 1 Thunder 1 Body 0
Wood 1 Fire 1 Darkness 1 Spirit 0
Repth

Body:
Leather Coat: Level 1
PAt 0 PAc 0 PDf 0 PEv 0
MAt 0 MAc 0 MDf 2 MEv 6
Earth 1 Water 1 Thunder 1 Body 0
Wood 1 Fire 1 Darkness 1 Spirit 4
Gan Zot

Hands:
Wrist Band: Level 1
PAt 0 PAc 0 PDf 0 PEv 0
MAt 0 MAc 0 MDf 2 MEv 6
Earth 1 Water 1 Thunder 1 Body 0
Wood 1 Fire 1 Darkness 1 Spirit 4
Juk Rom

Legs:
Sandals: Level 1
PAt 0 PAc 0 PDf 0 PEv 0
MAt 0 MAc 0 MDf 2 MEv 6
Earth 1 Water 1 thunder 1 Body 0
Wood 1 Fire 1 Darkness 1 Spirit 4
No skills

Offensive Skills

{K} Single Target: Cross Slash
{F} Single Target:
{H} Single Target:
{S} Area:

Offensive Spells

Rue

Vak

Juk
Juk Rom: Lvl 1 Tornado SP 10

Gan
Gan Zot: Lvl 1 Raise SP 20

Ani

Healing Spells
Repth: Heal 150 Hp on one target SP 10

Status Increase Spells

Status Decreasing Spells

Status Elemental Decreasing Spells

Items:

Rare Items:

Key Items:

Accessories:

Scrolls:

GP: 4000

Quest Log

Events:

([All work done by Giggles.])