ROLE 1:

“No matter what, you MUST win, for both of our sakes.”
Ternee heard the soft-spoken words echo in her mind as she grabbed a small stick with a barely sharpened rock at the end. This time, she knew, the bully would leave neither her or her little brother alone, and so he had to be dealt with. While strapping on her leather-thronged sandals, she recalled what brought about this state of affairs:

As one of Balator’s orphans, she never had many unique qualities, or chances to show who SHE was. This instilled an almost furious need to be noticed, and this need always came through during the little children’s games that the orphans played to pass the time. When playing tag, she would purposefully kick others in the shins, trip them, and punch when tagging—All to assure that she would continue to be at peak performance while they all suffered. Winning was the most important thing to her.

The bully, Bander, she remembered, came to the orphanage at an older age than most of the orphans. The moment he came into the room, he had the air of a ‘ruler’, and he acted it. He would take other’s gruel, have other children do his math, and use everyone as punching bags. Ternee’s first interaction with him was on her tenth birthday. While celebrating a moment of silence she had in the bedroom, sleeping in late(as all children were allowed to on their birthdays), the bully barged in. Barely turning around at the entry, Ternee felt strong hands rap themselves around her. Struggling a small bit, she felt a hand clasp over her mouth as a phrase was whispered into her ear…”Quiet and I won’t make you damaged goods”. With stuttered breathing, she quieted herself and slowed her breathing. Slowly, she felt a hand slide into her shirt, fondling her. Within fifteen minutes, she had been violated at the age of ten, and she wouldn’t forget it. Left prone on the floor naked, beaten, and red, filled with humiliation.

After that event, Ternee’s assaulter seemed to take a larger interest in himself, becoming more and more aggressive to the other orphans. The action that provoked her the most, though, was when she found her little brother, only six at the time, beaten and bloody on the steps of the orphanage. The only noise he was able to make through his broken and mangled face was a name “B…Bander”, and after the name left his lips, his neck went limp as his chest convulsed, splattering fresh blood on Ternee’s face. As her brother died, so did Ternee’s conscience.
In her head, the words continued to echo “You must win”, taking the sound from her brother’s lips and repeating them in her head.

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ROLE 2:

Bander stood facing away from her a good twenty feet away. She knew he had no idea of her vicinity. Ternee clenched the small makeshift hatchet behind her back, her knuckles turning white. She saw her brother’s mangled face, teeth hanging from his opened jaw, looking at her as she moved closer and closer to Bander’s back. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, her clothes still soaked in blood stains from pulling her lifeless brother to a dark corner. Bander had desecrated her, and killed her brother, there was no forgiveness for him at the blade of the hatchet, only earned pain. No longer did she look at him as a bully, only prey, and with each step towards her target, her mission became more and more clear to her.
It was her birthday, it was his life—Bander had no right to ruin either. She reached within five feet of him, his back still turned talking to his posse. She swung the hatchet with all her strength, slamming the barely sharpened rock into the side of his right knee, the impact being answered by a hair raising scream. “He doesn’t scream like a girl”, she quickly considered in her head, “He should.” His friends quickly sprinted off in search of some kind of authority figure, not daring to glance back at their now crippled social emperor. Pulling the hatchet from its submerged point in his knee. She felt his perverted breath on her neck as she sent the weapon tearing into his now turning shoulder blade, trying to face his attacker. She relived his strong hands pulling her legs apart as she pulled her crude tool from his shoulder and slammed her elbow into the side of his head with a resounding impact. Deaf to the sound of his screaming, numb to her tiring childish arm, mute to answer his cries, and blind to his gushing wounds, she stoically raised the hatchet in two shaking hands above her head. She struggled for air just as she had when he has smothered her face into the bed, bending her over—She stared at him, not mentally present in the moment, still reliving her rape.

Bander could barely see Ternee through his blood-covered eyes. He swayed back and forth, positioned on his knees in front of Ternee, like a monk preparing to worship his temple god. She stared blankly at him, his kneeling form eye level with her young height. Without flinching, blinking, or stuttering for breath, she slammed the hatchet into the middle of Bander’s forehead, ignoring the crunch and sudden gasp of his dying breath.

Turnee calmly turned around, covered in such a massive amount of blood that she resembled some type of miniscule flesh golem. Passing by the Orphanage as she headed south, she walked confidently and determined. The sound of her shallow breathing pierced the silent air as she neared the gates of Hamsah Mutazz. “You must win”. There was no other choice.

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ROLE 3:

Hamsah Mutazz was filled with life. Merchants could be heard babbling about prices from every corner of the city, mixing with the sandy sounds of caravan merchants scrambling towards their newest job. One thing that separate Ternee from this scene, though, was her lack of purpose. She had no job, no home, no family. After leaving the orphanage, she had entered Hamsah feeling detached from the world, washing the blood from her in the garden lakes. She had a pleasant sense of desensitization.

Knowing that she was too young to get any kind of job in this culture filled city besides prostitution, she had all ready decided that it would be better to head west. Hopefully there, she could unite with some form of living style. She found a small band of merchants stocking camels and guards for a trip across the Eastern Road to Galadon, and she immediately began to listen to their conversation.

A lanky, skinny robed man walked up behind a muscular looking guard stuffing supplies into a pack. “The sacks aren’t tied tightly enough, Grintle. We’ll lose all of our food supplies before we even make it out of the gate!”

“Ah, my brother, dramatic as always. I still wonder why you focused on trade rather than acting—You would fit in with those bards like brethren!” The large man packing sacks into the caravan retorted, grinning to himself.

The elongated monk looking man replied quickly, with a hushed breath “By Enililth’s scepter, I’ll see you sent to the nine circles for that teasing” .

Sensing their distraction, Ternee quickly fit herself in between two smelly crates in the back of one of their caravans. Trying to find a comfortable position, she framed herself rigid against these unyielding pillows, and tried to get some sleep while the packing was finished. If things went according to plan, she’d gather a free, safe trip to Galadon and maybe even steal a good meal. Sleep came to her, and it came to her with strength. Even with her determination, seeing two people die in one day tired her out more than she imagined. She dreamed of faces, screaming faces. Only one of them, the loudest, was recognizable to her: Her brother, letting out a vibrating, silent scream mouthing the words “Win…for…me” over and over. She reached her hand out to his youthful face, only to find that touching it turned it from young skin, to rotting and bleeding flesh. The rotting face spoke, its words sounding barely more comprehensible than a gurgle, “ Do not fail me again. “. The dream faded to blackness, and she slept emptily.

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Started on the fourth in math class, but then we had a quiz, so it was just a sentence (A damned good sentence if you ask me).


Went ahead and compared these with roles posted on other characters along with their comments and XP given. When their comment is something like "1500 xp Role Generic Rager Role". I tried to make it a bit more original so it wouldn't be so much of a bore while still trying to write about some story-line I wanted.

ADVICE TO ANYONE EVER: DON'T MAKE AN ORC NAMED GLOOPLE AND RUN AROUND SCREAMING ORCORCORCORCORC OR YOU'LL GET BARELY ANY IMMXP ON ANY AND ALL OF YOUR CHARACTERS(WHEN YOU GET THAT XP, IT'S ABOUT 2 MONTHS AFTER YOU'VE INSERTED YOUR ROLE AS YOU'RE LAST PRIORITY) LOUD NOISES AND ALL CAPS AND YELLING WITH MISTAKES AND STUFF.
I'm an example. Learn.