Skills/Abilities: Meth’s deity-gift is best described as mechanical empathy. When used, Meth can gain awareness of the workings of any mechanical device. She can sense immediately when, where, and how it’s damaged, as well as what’s needed to fix it.
Even without her deity-gift, Meth is an extremely skilled mechanic, but as mentioned before, she also grew up with a degree of fighting and weapons training. She is by no means an expert with any of these weapons or hand to hand combat, but she is competent. In terms of weapons, she works best with pistols, rifles, staffs, crossbows, and compound bows. She knows how to use a few different kinds of swords and blades, axes and hammers, but with them her offensive and defensive skills are middling at best.
Meth is sadly lacking when it comes to more domestic skills, having decided long ago she’d only learn enough to make sure she could whip up a quick meal if need be, and never have to wear socks with holes in them.
Spoken/Written languages: Common, though some words from Askoupur are more like titles and do not translate.
Items: Meth is pulled into Vertiline while on board the airship Dheshar, and as such has her very heavy, bulky tool belt around her waist. She’s dressed in her work coveralls, has her hair tied back with elastic bands, and a sturdy leather bracelet band mounted with a clockwork movement from Frei around her wrist. Beneath the coveralls, Meth is dressed in a pair of thick denim pants and a soft, cotton, tank top.
Third person sample: “If you don’t put that wrench back where you found it in three seconds, you’re going to find it super-glued somewhere extremely uncomfortable, and I doubt you want to go to Medic Volaris to ask her to help you remove it so you can take a shit,” Meth said a casual tone of voice. She was almost completely under a piece of Dheshar’s secondary energy generator, but there was no disguising the sound of heavy boots on the metal plating of the floor. It had been easy enough for her to hear someone going through her tool box, and to look up to see someone take a wrench from it.
It didn’t matter who it was, they should know better than to try and mess with her tools. They were her livelihood, after all.
“You might consider looking to see who’s taking your tools before warning them off like that, Rezza,” came the drawled reply from Captain Soren Enmessara.
Meth dragged herself out from under the generator, and from her spot on the rolling board, she raised an eyebrow up at the captain.
“Why should I? I don’t want you touching my tools even more than anyone else on board,” she countered, the slightest hint of a smile curving her lips up. “After all, you’re the one that somehow managed to melt my socket wrench while stripping the bolt you were adjusting.” Soren might be the captain, but as far as Meth was concerned, she was the queen of her domain, and that meant everything that contributed to the smooth running of Dheshar.
“Yes well, that was an unexpected and rare occurrence,” Soren tried to counter, averting his gaze guiltily. Meth had told him she would get to his task if he could wait thirty minutes for her to finish recalibrating the main engine’s control panel. Soren, thinking himself experienced enough to tackle any problem on his ship, despite the lack of experience and training, had taken it upon himself to try and do it himself.
It had ended badly, enough so that they’d been forced to dock at a backwater city at the coast of Asaria for a week while Meth made the necessary repairs. That one “small thing” that Soren had wanted done and botched trying to do himself had set off a chain reaction of subsequent problems for Meth. Each required at least a temporary fix, if not complete repair before they could take to the air again.
“Well you didn’t expect it. Now, drop the wrench,” Meth said, giving the captain a meaningful look. Soren tried to meet her gaze, and after a moment dropped the wrench back into the tool box with a resigned sigh.
“Alright, meet me when you can break in your work, I’ve got a project I ne--” he began, but was interrupted mid-sentence by the sound of the level one alarms. The first mate’s voice sounded over the electronic speakers.
“Aether-sharks off the starboard side. Group A to the observation deck immediately!”
Meth muttered a curse under her breath. Blighted Keep, this was the third sighting of those vicious scavengers this week. She pulled herself to her feet, and by the time she’d straightened up, the captain was gone. She quickly unbuckled her tool belt and hung it on the hook by the door. As she walked, she shifted her hands to the sleeves of her coveralls, which were tied around her waist, and pulled the garment on completely. Meth zipped it up to just below her bust and took the lift up to the observation deck.
Captain Enmessara was there, along with First Mate Serev, and crew members Attes, Farian, and Abisir.
Attes looked over his shoulder and spotted Meth first.
“Up to the railing, girl, we saved you a spot,” he called with wide smile. He reached to his side and patted the barrel of the harpoon gun that had been mounted evenly spaced among five others.
“Of course you did,” Meth replied with a fierce grin as she took her place among them. She didn’t object to him calling her girl, as each man there, save the captain, was at least twenty years her senior. “Everyone knows that the five of you are only here for show anyway,” she added slyly.
“Weren’t you the one that was playing tail-piercer just a couple days ago?” Serev interjected mildly, never one to stay out of the banter that was common among the Dheshar’s crew.
“At least she hit something,” Farian countered, giving the First Mate a pointed look and a smirk.
Abisir, an older man who was situated between the two, guffawed but otherwise kept his mouth shut.
“Focus, gentlemen,” Meth interrupted with a sing-song voice. The creatures were drawing closer. Meth loaded her gun in quick, practiced motions and took aim.
She and the others had done this often enough that they had a sense of who would take which targets, based on preference, target movements, and their respective locations. While they lacked mechanical parts for Meth to use her Gift to sense, it wasn’t hard for her to see their group as a well oiled machine.
While observing the creatures through the scope of her gun, Meth began to count down under her breath. In seconds, they would be within range of their weapons.
My father doesn’t care, but my mother despairs at me often over the matter. She tells me it’s unnatural that a girl, her word, not mine, should be so alone so often. Mother loves Father and understands his devotion to his work, understands that it’s the Aspurran work-ethic in him, but for some reason she expects me to be different because I am half and half.
She should know by now I take after my father far more than her, no matter how many different weapons she puts in my hands.
In the end, I simply don’t see the point of these socials and parties she keeps trying to invite me to. I find small talk boring and pointless, and my impatience gets the best of me more often than not. They all talk of such inconsequential things and nothing is accomplished unless you consider eating fine foods and drinking alcohol until you leave the party feeling drunk and bloated an accomplishment.
I’d much rather find myself sitting next to a handsome man at a warm tavern with a mead in my mug and a convenient bed only a brief, drunken stumble away.
My life’s not built for the kind of human companionship that most people seek.
You can find information about your character's appearance to Vertiline here and specific information on their housing here.
Vertiline is not yet open, so please refrain from any IC posting. The mods are planning a special opening event for our first batch of accepted characters and will let everyone know the moment everything is ready to begin!
If you have any additional questions, please feel free to check over our Rules and FAQ once more, or contact a mod with your inquiry.
Even without her deity-gift, Meth is an extremely skilled mechanic, but as mentioned before, she also grew up with a degree of fighting and weapons training. She is by no means an expert with any of these weapons or hand to hand combat, but she is competent. In terms of weapons, she works best with pistols, rifles, staffs, crossbows, and compound bows. She knows how to use a few different kinds of swords and blades, axes and hammers, but with them her offensive and defensive skills are middling at best.
Meth is sadly lacking when it comes to more domestic skills, having decided long ago she’d only learn enough to make sure she could whip up a quick meal if need be, and never have to wear socks with holes in them.
Spoken/Written languages: Common, though some words from Askoupur are more like titles and do not translate.
Items: Meth is pulled into Vertiline while on board the airship Dheshar, and as such has her very heavy, bulky tool belt around her waist. She’s dressed in her work coveralls, has her hair tied back with elastic bands, and a sturdy leather bracelet band mounted with a clockwork movement from Frei around her wrist. Beneath the coveralls, Meth is dressed in a pair of thick denim pants and a soft, cotton, tank top.
Third person sample: “If you don’t put that wrench back where you found it in three seconds, you’re going to find it super-glued somewhere extremely uncomfortable, and I doubt you want to go to Medic Volaris to ask her to help you remove it so you can take a shit,” Meth said a casual tone of voice. She was almost completely under a piece of Dheshar’s secondary energy generator, but there was no disguising the sound of heavy boots on the metal plating of the floor. It had been easy enough for her to hear someone going through her tool box, and to look up to see someone take a wrench from it.
It didn’t matter who it was, they should know better than to try and mess with her tools. They were her livelihood, after all.
“You might consider looking to see who’s taking your tools before warning them off like that, Rezza,” came the drawled reply from Captain Soren Enmessara.
Meth dragged herself out from under the generator, and from her spot on the rolling board, she raised an eyebrow up at the captain.
“Why should I? I don’t want you touching my tools even more than anyone else on board,” she countered, the slightest hint of a smile curving her lips up. “After all, you’re the one that somehow managed to melt my socket wrench while stripping the bolt you were adjusting.” Soren might be the captain, but as far as Meth was concerned, she was the queen of her domain, and that meant everything that contributed to the smooth running of Dheshar.
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It had ended badly, enough so that they’d been forced to dock at a backwater city at the coast of Asaria for a week while Meth made the necessary repairs. That one “small thing” that Soren had wanted done and botched trying to do himself had set off a chain reaction of subsequent problems for Meth. Each required at least a temporary fix, if not complete repair before they could take to the air again.
“Well you didn’t expect it. Now, drop the wrench,” Meth said, giving the captain a meaningful look. Soren tried to meet her gaze, and after a moment dropped the wrench back into the tool box with a resigned sigh.
“Alright, meet me when you can break in your work, I’ve got a project I ne--” he began, but was interrupted mid-sentence by the sound of the level one alarms. The first mate’s voice sounded over the electronic speakers.
“Aether-sharks off the starboard side. Group A to the observation deck immediately!”
Meth muttered a curse under her breath. Blighted Keep, this was the third sighting of those vicious scavengers this week. She pulled herself to her feet, and by the time she’d straightened up, the captain was gone. She quickly unbuckled her tool belt and hung it on the hook by the door. As she walked, she shifted her hands to the sleeves of her coveralls, which were tied around her waist, and pulled the garment on completely. Meth zipped it up to just below her bust and took the lift up to the observation deck.
Captain Enmessara was there, along with First Mate Serev, and crew members Attes, Farian, and Abisir.
Attes looked over his shoulder and spotted Meth first.
“Up to the railing, girl, we saved you a spot,” he called with wide smile. He reached to his side and patted the barrel of the harpoon gun that had been mounted evenly spaced among five others.
“Of course you did,” Meth replied with a fierce grin as she took her place among them. She didn’t object to him calling her girl, as each man there, save the captain, was at least twenty years her senior. “Everyone knows that the five of you are only here for show anyway,” she added slyly.
“Weren’t you the one that was playing tail-piercer just a couple days ago?” Serev interjected mildly, never one to stay out of the banter that was common among the Dheshar’s crew.
“At least she hit something,” Farian countered, giving the First Mate a pointed look and a smirk.
Abisir, an older man who was situated between the two, guffawed but otherwise kept his mouth shut.
“Focus, gentlemen,” Meth interrupted with a sing-song voice. The creatures were drawing closer. Meth loaded her gun in quick, practiced motions and took aim.
She and the others had done this often enough that they had a sense of who would take which targets, based on preference, target movements, and their respective locations. While they lacked mechanical parts for Meth to use her Gift to sense, it wasn’t hard for her to see their group as a well oiled machine.
While observing the creatures through the scope of her gun, Meth began to count down under her breath. In seconds, they would be within range of their weapons.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Reply
My father doesn’t care, but my mother despairs at me often over the matter. She tells me it’s unnatural that a girl, her word, not mine, should be so alone so often. Mother loves Father and understands his devotion to his work, understands that it’s the Aspurran work-ethic in him, but for some reason she expects me to be different because I am half and half.
She should know by now I take after my father far more than her, no matter how many different weapons she puts in my hands.
In the end, I simply don’t see the point of these socials and parties she keeps trying to invite me to. I find small talk boring and pointless, and my impatience gets the best of me more often than not. They all talk of such inconsequential things and nothing is accomplished unless you consider eating fine foods and drinking alcohol until you leave the party feeling drunk and bloated an accomplishment.
I’d much rather find myself sitting next to a handsome man at a warm tavern with a mead in my mug and a convenient bed only a brief, drunken stumble away.
My life’s not built for the kind of human companionship that most people seek.
Reply
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You can find information about your character's appearance to Vertiline here and specific information on their housing here.
Vertiline is not yet open, so please refrain from any IC posting. The mods are planning a special opening event for our first batch of accepted characters and will let everyone know the moment everything is ready to begin!
If you have any additional questions, please feel free to check over our Rules and FAQ once more, or contact a mod with your inquiry.
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