Family: George Brandstone (father, deceased), Mary Brandstone (mother, deceased), Gennesy Crestwell (fiancĂŠ), Jasmine (daughter), Mary (daughter)
Friends: Joeâs grateful to have a ton of friends. His closest friend is probably Orin @easternkingdomer who he considers a brother. He also considers @tralaia, @ciralinroseshadow @elaianna, and @thomasstalsworth to be close friends.
Relationship Status: single / partnered / engaged / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating / itâs complicated
Libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent
Build: slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy / other (Beefy, strongman physique)Â
Hair: white / blonde / brown / red / black / other
Eyes: brown / blue  / gray / green / black / other (hazel)
Skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other
Height: 6â˛10âł
Scars: Claw marks across half of his face, bite mark on his neck, burns across his chest and sides in the shape of a rod, and lashes on his back where heâs been whipped.
dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future
Songs that remind you of them:
1. Drinkinâ Problem - Midland
2. Whiskey and You -Â Chris Stapleton
3. Simple Man - Lynyrd Skynyrd
Tagged by: @elaianna and @the-fearless-ragamuffinâ Thanks =)
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Joe didnât believe he could be this happy, he had to keep pinching himself. He smiled softly down at the two tiny new faces he and Genny brought into the world, after having climbed out of bed without waking neither her nor Plum, a feat on its own. It was tempting to reach down into the cradle to hold his girls, but they were sound asleep and that was enough.
Normally, being cooped up indoors would not sit well with him. He had no choice in this case, what with the bounty still on his head and still the urge for strong drink. It hardly seemed to bother him this time, none of it seemed to matter. He was able to stave off his urges whenever he looked at his beautiful daughters. Jasmine and Mary were their names and they were two new bright stars shining in his life. He wondered what they were going to grow up to be someday.
He sighed with a smile still on his face. He guessed it was time to go back to bed. âGânight, my sweet lilâ angels,â he whispered. âSee you in the morninâ.â He couldnât wait till then.
crucial muse development questions.  send a number in my inbox to find out more about my character as a person ( because often, the most important things about character development have nothing to do with their shoe size or netflix queue ).
what would completely break your character?
what was the best thing in your characterâs life?
what was the worst thing in your characterâs life?
what seemingly insignificant memories stuck with your character?
does your character work so they can support their hobbies or use their hobbies as a way of filling up the time they arenât working?
what is your character reluctant to tell people?
how does your character feel about sex?
how many friends does your character have?
how many friends does your character want?
what would your character make a scene in public about?
for what would your character give their life?
what are your characterâs major flaws?
what does your character pretend or try to care about?
how does the image your character tries to project differ from the image they actually project?
The faint glimmer of the gold pocket watch flashed the prisonerâs eyes each time it went left and right. The cell within the Stockades was cold and dark, lit by only a few torches, yet the watchâs face shone brightly as it swung on itâs chain held by the raven-haired woman who sat across the old wooden table. The sight of a pretty face in a lonely place like this was enough to draw any manâs attention, yet now the only thing in the room that captivated him was the luxuriously decorated timepiece, his eyes following ever more intently with each passing.Â
Though however bright the man found the watch to be, a dark glow emanated from it, trying to swallow what little light there was left in the cell. He felt his eyes grow heavy.
âThatâs it, Mister Stuart...â her voice came as soothing and smooth as silk while her grey-green eyes pierced into his soul. âLook deep within the watch and you will find yourself. You will see the truth... You never wanted to hurt anyone. You were a family man, you loved them and you couldnât just sit by and watch them starve or sell themselves. So you stole. Plundered with a crew of pirates, and sent your share back to your family. It wasnât enough though. You needed more, they needed more... so you stole all the plunder for yourself, right under the nose of your captain.â
The man nodded along with her words as his eyes struggled to remain open, but still they followed the back and forth of the watch. âI... I buried it all,â said the man.
âYou had to. You had to keep it safe for them. But now you must get back to your family Mister Stuart. You will tell me where it is. It is the only way to absolve you of your crimes, the only way you can be free again. Where is it buried?â
âI buried it... under an old ruined chimney... behind Stone Cairn Lake.â The man spoke plainly, the tone of his voice, unanimated.
The woman smirked. âThank you. Now, when you see the watch stop, you will fall asleep and when you wake, you will have no memory of this conversation. You will behave for the rest of your time here and your freedom will soon follow.â With that, the womanâs gloved fingers pinched the watch to a halt and the man fell asleep in his chair. âGoodnight, Mister Stuart.â
She got up from her chair and turned to the lone guard who stood by the door. She slipped a hefty sack of coins into his gauntleted hand. âSee that the treasure is found and delivered to me by morning. And if you should have any thoughts on serving yourself when you find it, just remember what happened to the last man who thought the same.â The guard simply nodded, not daring to say a word and held the door as she left.         Â
The evening was becoming night fast and his wounds were bleeding ever faster, the world around him fading into a blur as he struggled to maintain consciousness. Joe never before realized more than in this moment how comfortable it was to lie on a cool bed of grass, alone, in the quiet peace of night. He let his heavy eye shut for what seemed like a single second before he drifted.
He saw friends, ones who had passed and ones who still remained waving to him. He saw his mother and father, beckoning to him, calling out to their boy in the fields to come home for dinner. It was warm, like under a cozy blanket by the fire. He wanted to fall asleep under that blanket, to just drift off. His leg didnât hurt so much anymore. Everything was okay... Then he saw her. The next image he drifted to was of Genny smiling and then to the waving and kicking of tiny hands and feet, the cry of newborn babies filled his ears. It settled then back to Genny, her smile gone, replaced with a frown and eyes of such sadness.
Joeâs eye shot open, the world returned. Slow at first, taking in his surroundings, the road, the sparse lamplights along it, and then the blood. The dire situation that he was in was revealing itself rapidly. He felt himself breathing too fast and tried to calm himself down, taking deep breaths. No one knew he was out here. He had been left for the crows to feast on. It was up to him to get back home now. He took another deep breath, huffing it out before tearing his pant leg, letting out a cry of pain. He took off his hat and stuffed it in his mouth, biting down hard as he began to bind his leg wound with the fabric. He screamed into the hat as his arms shook from tightening the fabric around his wound. It was a cob job but it would have to do. He fell on his back, chest heaving after having completed step one. The next step would be even more difficult and lengthy, however.
Keeping the hat bit down in his mouth, he flipped himself onto his stomach with a shaky growl and then began to drag himself along the grass, leaving a trail of blood as he went. He stayed off the road in case if there were any others who were out hunting him and screamed into the hat whenever the pain was too much to bare. He was going to make it home. Whenever he started to doubt, heâd remind himself of who was waiting for him and promised himself over and over that he would make it back even if it killed him.
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One thousand pieces of gold. That's how much someone wanted for his head. It was good enough cause to make anyone paranoid, especially Joe who was weeks away from starting a family. He never had a hit placed on him until now, supposedly for someone wanting revenge on him for an arrest he made back when he served as a guardsman in Stormwind. He was lucky enough to have Amelia open a portal for him out of the city to avoid taking the portal back to Boralus in the Mage Quarter, where he was warned the woman who put out the bounty frequents.
After a magical twisty journey, he'd begin to make his way out of Boralus and onto the road back home to Genny in Stormsong. It was a quiet evening walk, not too many people on the road in the valley which was a relief to him. Still, that did not make him less on edge. In between scanning the horizon and what was to his sides and rear, he would look over the bounty, re-reading it again and again.
Joseph Brandstone. Wanted dead. One thousand gold for his head, five hundred gold for any lesser proof. Payable in the Mage Quarter, Stormwind. Ask Jarel for a dark and stormy at the Slaughtered Lamb.
He sighed, still trying to reason who could he have angered so much to put such a price on his head, but to no avail. He scanned his surroundings again after crossing the stone bridge just before Brennadam, seeing nothing out of the ordinary but a cluster of pretty wildflowers that he thought might bring a smile to Genny. He lowered his guard for just a moment to stop and pick a few.
That was when his troubles began...
Two travelers had crossed the bridge behind him as well and stopped to question him. The one man dressed in dark colors and wore a hat, the other, Joe recognized as Audric, a paladin he caught disturbing the private gravesite of his parents while trying to bury his own friend beside them. He had forgiven him for the offense and allowed for Audric to bury the man on the condition that he consecrated the gravesite, so that nothing unholy could disturb their rest again. The two were not on bad terms afterwards, but they were not too familiar either, and now it had been a good while since they had seen each other.
Only this time, Audric had greeted him with one of the same bounty posters of him, waving it about in his face, prodding and poking him with questions. His behavior was not what Joe expected of the man, but perhaps he had judged him better than for what he was. Joe denied that he was the man on the poster but they did not believe him. That was when Joe took the first swing at Audric, who jumped out of the way. The other man, who seemed more interested in his cigarette than the fight, was then clobbered when Joe took another swing at the both of them, Audric managing to dodge out of harm's way again. Joe grunted and was staggered when the weight of Audric's sword came down on his pauldron.
The fight went on, not looking so well for Joe, as he was crippled and brought to a knee with a scream of pain. Audric stood over him and placed a hand on his shoulder, offering a spar with just him, an easier way out, he wanted him to beg. It was too late for that now, nor did Joe trust him to spare his life. Thoughts of his soon to be family are what pushed him through the pain. He had to get back to them.
A huge hand locked around Audric's arm, pulling him in close as Joe roared and clamped his teeth down on the man's ear. He bit a solid chunk of it off before letting him go, holding what was left of his ear in pain, roaring and cursing. Joe then turned and caught the hatted man's staff in his hand, holding it in the air when he tried to bring it down on his head. He spat the bloody chunk of ear out at his face. Blood ran down Joe's chin and around his mouth as his gaze turned menacing. He would fight like a wild beast if it meant he would make it back home.
In anger, Audric brought his blade back down into the same wound on Joe's leg, deepening the wound and bringing forth another pained cry as he fell onto his back. Joe managed to roll out of the way from another swing to his leg, probably crippling him for good if he had not, and hurled his hammer at Audric taking him out momentarily as he hit the ground. The hatted man had tried to intercept the hammer but was too slow. To avenge his friend, he brought up his staff and shot a bolt of arcane at Joe, who was too slow and too weak to do anything but shield his face with a hand. With a moment of blinding light, the bolt exploded and the fight was over.
The two men bickered for a minute afterwards on how they were to prove Joe was dead, without actually killing him. The hatted man tugged at Joe's tabard after finding that he had no papers, stirring Joe from unconsciousness, though barely. He was confused on what was happening but he held onto the tabard of the Anchor Trading Company.
"Let go," said the man. "We are taking your tabard, not your life you fool. We take it, we leave, they think you are dead, you are free."
Joe groaned drowsily in pain and finally submitted. They were going to spare him, though he had no idea why. He didnât argue or question at that moment, but only let go as he was told and let his arm drop dead as the two started off back from the way they came, leaving him laying bloody on the grass.
"Joe is very... Steadfast in his beliefs. If he thinks something is true, it takes hours upon hour of convincing to even plant the seed of doubt in his mind that it's not. Which is, I suppose, pretty admirable in some cases."
Most attractive physical feature:
"No."
Most annoying habit:
"It's not -annoying- so much as it is -worrying-, but I seriously think he's got the situational intelligence of a twelve year old.
Something they would like to do with them:
"Nothing, really. Just. Stop getting into trouble. Maybe that's what I'd like to do. Lock him in a nice room where he just sort of sits, and no one can start any trouble for him."
been cheated on | been bullied | told a horrible lie | stolen something of value | overdosed on drugs | been drunk | passed out | cheated | bullied | punched someone in the face | been beaten up | broken a bone | been admitted to hospital | had a near-death experience | been drugged | done drugs | smoked | kissed someone you werenât attracted to | bled severely | killed someone | had an attempt on your life | made an attempt on your own life | lost someone | loved someone | gone without food for over three days | gone without sleep for over three days | been tortured | been slapped by a parent | been abused by someone who should have loved you | had a panic attack | had a threesome | had sex | had sex with a stranger | passed out from pain | cried yourself to sleep | spent a whole day in bed | hurt yourself | taken your anger out on yourself | taken your anger out on someone you love | been used | used | been terrified | played a cruel game on someone | been dominant | been submissive | felt too many things at once | laughed when you felt like crying
41. Is your character aware of who they are? Strengths? Weaknesses? Idiosyncrasies? Capable of self-irony?
For the most part Iâd say he is. He knows heâs sometimes intimidating to folks who donât know him due to how big he is and how that could be a good thing in some instances but he also knows heâs good at making people feel comfortable around him usually. Heâs always been aware that heâs not as smart as a lot of people and that heâs always had a problem with alcohol. Only now heâs just starting to face it. Usually though, he might not be able to tell if someone is using him for their own gain. Heâs always been one to trust and give people the benefit of the doubt. Lately though heâs slowly beginning to change his view on that.
Is he capable of self-irony? Iâd say yes. Joeâs always been able to laugh at himself.
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Ciralin stared at the blank piece of paper in front of her with arms crossed over her chest. In her left hand she drummed a quill against her right arm. Scraps and crumpled papers littered the area beside her. Garnering an occasional, bitter scowl from the elf. There was nothing she wrote that seemed to properly explain what it was she wanted to get across. This was her last piece of parchment though, and sheâd be damned to visit the shop again for more in the same evening.Â
With a resounding sigh, Ciralin leaned forward once more, she dipped her quill into the inkwell and pressed the tip to the paper.Â
Dear Elaianna.
There are no words I can write that I know you would believe without viable proof. As much as I would prefer to tell you this in person, I am unable to make it to Stormholme at this time.Â
I have returned. Though in my absence it seems much has changed. I do not recall much of anything that lead up to my apparent demise. Though it was disclosed to me that I was not the only one.
Ciralin paused and took a deep breath, blinking back tears. She was still coming to terms with the knowledge that Sigurd was gone too. Joseph didnât tell her how it had happened other than there was an explosion of sorts. Every time she tried to remember anything about the events that lead to her death, there was a heavy brain-fog.Â
She sniffled once and ran the back of her hand across her eyes clearing the blurring tears away before returning to her writing.
I would also like to apologize for my behaviors in a time where I might not have been coherent. As a Steward for your company, I realize how fatal that could have been on the image of Anchor Trading, as well as the members. I ask only for your forgiveness, though I understand if it is not easily given.Â
For any further questions, as Iâm sure there will be many, please seek me out in Stormwind. I will meet you any where on your terms.Â
Sincerely,Â
Ciralin Roseshadow
There. It was done.Â
Before she decided she hated it, she dusted some powder over the letter to dry out the fresh ink and promptly placed it into an envelope that had been addressed earlier. She laid some fresh sprigs of lavender freshly purchased onto the backing before pouring a purple wax, similar in colour to the herb into the center, and pressed a rose seal to stamp the envelope closed.Â
Hastily, she pushed herself from her seat and managed her way down the stairs of the tavern she stayed in, bringing the letter to the innkeeper with prompt instructions to deliver it, along with a gold tip. Ciralin then made her way back to her room and slowly rolled onto the bed. She stared at the canopy of the bed above her as anxiety gnawed at her insides.
1. How does your character think of their father? What do they hate and love about him? What influence - literal or imagined - did the father have?
2. Their mother? How do they think of her? What do they hate? Love? What influence - literal or imagined - did the mother have?
3. Brothers, sisters? Who do they like? Why? What do they despise about their siblings?
4. What type of discipline was your character subjected to at home? Strict? Lenient?
5. Were they overprotected as a child? Sheltered?
6. Did they feel rejection or affection as a child?
7. What was the economic status of their family?
8. How does your character feel about religion?
9. What about political beliefs?
10. Is your character street-smart, book-smart, intelligent, intellectual, slow-witted?
11. How do they see themselves: as smart, as intelligent, uneducated?
12. How does their education and intelligence â or lack thereof - reflect in their speech pattern, vocabulary, and pronunciations?
13. Did they like school? Teachers? Schoolmates?
14. Were they involved at school? Sports? Clubs? Debate? Were they unconnected?
15. Did they graduate? High-School? College? Do they have a PHD? A GED?
16. What does your character do for a living? How do they see their profession? What do they like about it? Dislike?
17. Did they travel? Where? Why? When?
18. What did they find abroad, and what did they remember?
19. What were your characterâs deepest disillusions? In life? What are they now?
20. What were the most deeply impressive political or social, national or international, events that they experienced?
21. What are your characterâs manners like? What is their type of hero? Whom do they hate?
22. Who are their friends? Lovers? âTypeâ or âidealâ partner?
23. What do they want from a partner? What do they think and feel of sex?
24. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually?
25. What are their hobbies and interests?
26. What does your characterâs home look like? Personal taste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance?
27. How do they relate to their appearance? How do they wear their clothing? Style? Quality?
28. Who is your characterâs mate? How do they relate to him or her? How did they make their choice?
29. What is your characterâs weaknesses? Hubris? Pride? Controlling?
30. Are they holding on to something in the past? Can he or she forgive?
31. Does your character have children? How do they feel about their parental role? About the children? How do the children relate?
32. How does your character react to stress situations? Defensively? Aggressively? Evasively?
33. Do they drink? Take drugs? What about their health?Â
34. Does your character feel self-righteous? Revengeful? Contemptuous?
35. Do they always rationalize errors? How do they accept disasters and failures?
36. Do they like to suffer? Like to see other people suffering?
37. How is your characterâs imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories?
38. Are they basically negative when facing new things? Suspicious? Hostile? Scared? Enthusiastic?
39. What do they like to ridicule? What do they find stupid?
40. How is their sense of humor? Do they have one?
41. Is your character aware of who they are? Strengths? Weaknesses? Idiosyncrasies? Capable of self-irony?
42. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain?
43. Does your character have any secrets? If so, are they holding them back?
44. How badly do they want to obtain their life objectives? How do they pursue them?
45. Is your character pragmatic? Think first? Responsible? All action? A visionary? Passionate? Quixotic?
46. Is your character tall? Short? What about size? Weight? Posture? How do they feel about their physical body?
47. Do they want to project an image of a younger, older, more important person? Does they want to be visible or invisible?
48. How are your characterâs gestures? Vigorous? Weak? Controlled? Compulsive? Energetic? Sluggish?
49. What about voice? Pitch? Strength? Tempo and rhythm of speech? Pronunciation? Accent?
50. What are the prevailing facial expressions? Sour? Cheerful? Dominating?
A woman and her daughter stood upon the rocky shore on a blustery day. The woman held the child by the hand, guiding her along. The child, no more than five, stumbled along on legs too gangly for a child her age.
âCome on, âMelia,â the mother chimed. She wore a pouch on her hip that clinked softly with every sway of her hips. Long dark hair tumbled down her back, blowing loose as the waves themselves. Storm grey eyes peeked at her daughter over her shoulder, meeting the little girlâs gaze with a bright grin. Her daughter was her spitting image. Tall for her age, with the same hair and same face sheâd had when she was small. Green eyes, not too far in hue from her husbandâs, peered back up at her, and the child flashed a toothy smile. There was a gap in the front, where one tooth had recently fallen out.
âMomma?â The little girl asked. âWhat are we going to do with what we pick up?â
âIâm going to show you,â the mother replied. âBe patient, my dear.â
Amelia was far from a patient child, though. As the pair made their way further down the strand, fatigue had begun to wear upon her mood. She stumbled, toes catching between the stones, and stopped. She looked to her mother, who looked back with very little urgency on her face, and let out a shrill, childlike whine.Â
âI donât want to go any further!â she complained. âItâs too cold!â She crossed her arms over her tummy, little lips jutting out into a pout. âI want to do it here!â
Her mother took a long step, stopping in front of where Amelia stood. She crouched down, her gaze warm despite the circumstance. âIf we stop here, weâre going home and going over your maths. Do you want to go do your maths, or go learn about the glass?â One slender hand came out to rest upon Ameliaâs shoulder.
In truth, it wasnât too cold at all. Amelia was warm as could be, bundled up in a coat and scarf that her grandmother had knitted her for Winterâs Veil that year. But she was small, and tripping over the stones made her toes hurt, and the strand seemed so long when every step was just a bit too hard for you⌠But maths were boring, and Amelia really did want to see what her mother had planned. So her pout changed. Her lip quivered, just a bit, and she nodded. âThe glass.â she muttered.
It, truly, wasnât a far walk. About a quarter of a mile from the beginning of the shore. But it was far enough for a child. After a time, the two came to a big rock, big enough for them both to sit upon with flat space on all edges. Ameliaâs mother lifted her up with a grunt before clamoring up herself. She untied the pouch from her belt, and spilled its contents upon the stone. Little bits of sea glass, in a myriad of colors, skittered about for a moment before rolling to rest.
Keerian mumbled the incantation quietly under his breath. He focused more on the intent rather than the words. Words he had spoken and used many times before, but never on such an important subject. Especially not one he cared about the outcome for. Beneath his hands was a relatively fresh corpse, lying in a chalk circle laid out by Mary. Salix and himself had procured the body themselves the night before, keeping it preserved until Keerian could get into the city with their ice magics.Â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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