>ITT: Post an image and someone else posts a name and background

>>51492196
What kind?
As in an image background?
Or a story "background"

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>>51492196
Rufford Dancer had always been a loud type, not that he didn't know how to keep his mouth shut when he needed to. The youngest child from a poor family, his many talents he put to work on the street. A pickpocket or burglar some days, but in good times times a juggler, carpenter, sword-swallower, duelist, gambler and professional dare-taker. While he had never known opulence, his life in the city certainly would've been livable enough, but Rufford wanted more. He lusted after the genius of the character actor and the soul of the playwright; and he wanted to share the glory of those skills with everyone he could, but it seemed that is was not to be. Until one day, a brightly-painted wagon rolled into town, promising a show. It's owner was a man who introduced himself as Dr. Farwen, who with glittering arrays of masks, contraptions, props and backgrounds wove a fevered tale of love, fury and death, anguish and resolve, gods, ghosts and mortals; It was more of an enchantment than a performance, but it began to flag in the third act, and Rufford even detected a plot hole. Furious, he sprung to his feet and accused Dr. Farwen of doing wrong by his first two acts; only for the doctor to introduce Rufford as a new character whose introduction filled the hole, shed new light on the first two acts and took the story in an exciting, unexpected new direction. The one man show then doubled its cast, and by the end the doctor asked Rufford if he wanted to join the show on it's travels, and so Rufford began his life as an actor, bodyguard, set-builder, tailor and promoter.

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>>51493889
Alonzo Guerra, initially, had no intention of becoming a warrior of any sort. He was a man of taste. A man of poshness, raised in high society and wanting for absolutely nothing. His family was just as equally surprised as him when he ended up killing Reynauld Bergenni, the next-in-line as the head of the Bergenni Trading Company.It had started out as a simple argument over chess and ended with Reynauld's skull bashed in with a stool.

Of course, he'd never MEANT to kill him, but that didn't change the fact that there was a corpse, and not just a commoner's corpse, but the corpse of the son of one of the most powerful mercantile lines in the whole of Salgria. So the punishment for Alonzo was intended to be execution. But of course his parents wouldn't settle for that.

Sent away in the night, Alonzo was quietly exiled from Salgria, being sent to live with the retired captain of the guard, Hafner. What ensued was training of the body and the mind. Hafner would not have some limp-wristed layabout to be kept under constant watch at his cabin. He would train him to make something of himself, and in the best profession he knew of: that of a warrior.

Fast forward five years, and Alonzo Guerra has made a surprising name for himself, although now he is known primarily as The Iron Comet, after a daring (and admittedly foolhardy) victory acquired by launching himself from a catapult into the quarters of a rival mercenary company's leader.

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>>51493889

Baurus Lockebone, warrior. He'd been conscripted to a small army led by his close friend and the jarl of the piece of kingdom outskirts he lived in. Over the course of his service, he fought in three different wars, each more violent and advanced then the previous. While not without injury, he survived through each and every one with zero casualties to his unit, and even saved the jarl during the last one. Soon after, peace fell upon his homeland, and bored out of his mind, Baurus set out to find adventure beyond the sea. Armed with his trusty splint mail, tin targe and both his own iron blade and the small, gilded sword awarded to him as a sign of his prowess, he is sure that whatever may come, he will prevail.

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>>51495317
Francis Jauncey never did do things in a conventional manner. Whether this was due to his mother worshiping an ancient god of chaos during her pregnancy, or young Francis drinking copious amount of mercury during his childhood, we shall never know. Despite his madness, he managed to transform his fathers failing courier business into a respected firm in his small city. One afternoon, he received a proposition from a local socialite, to ship twelve antique grandfather clocks across the nation to a wealthy nobleman. This would make Francis rich, but he had no carriage to make this journey. Rather than take out a loan from a bank, as he had a crippling phobia of bankers, he instead sold every item of food, weaponry, supplies, and clothing he owned, save for his lucky hat, and bought the second finest horse and carriage he could find. Will Francis deliver the antique clocks and get paid a shit ton of dosh, or will he end up face down in a ditch? Only time will tell.

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>>51495016
"You know something funny? They've got Dustman stories everywhere."

Eleks paused for a moment, bringing his index finger to his upper lip, before turning to his friend. "You mean the guy with the green eyes and the coat who went and got the Old Spider to help us? That old story?"

"Yeah, him. Now i've been around my fair share, and i've spent time with people to the east." Jaysohn made a clicking sound with his tongue as his face brightened with memory. "The far west some too, in the places where they don't have winter and the earth-dances sometimes. Mostly trading and scavenging along the way, you know. Now some of the time I had to rely on the hospitality of peoples I didn't know too well, you see? And it got awkward sometimes. So I made a habit of telling em' stories when I couldn't give 'em much in return."

Elecks nodded. "Yeah."

"Now every time I told 'em stories about Dustman, they'd tell me it reminded them about a story they had of someone like 'im. 'Cept they never called him Dustman. Out by the far west they called him Harra-Canna, and in the east they called him Sea Eagle. Not that i've been there myself, but i've heard it said that he's named Antlered-man in the north, around Tario. They always said he had big 'ol boots, and green eyes and a hat with a wide-brim, sometimes with a staff. He's always there BEFORE things happen, you know. Like when he went to get Old Spider, he always shows up, bad things happen, and they he somehow helps people out of it. And he's always got the boots, the staff, and the green eyes. Some folks told me he was a ghost, or an angel, or... something."

Jaysohn looked out solemnly at the old road, black and smooth in a way that only the ancients had known how to make. "Me, I just think he's something that's been around for a while."

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While most barbarian tribes simply prefer to hunt, gather and pillage anything they needed and pass any time left by fighting each other, Barbarian Shamans instead commune with the ancient barbarian spirits to summon older barbarians so that they do the fighting instead of them.

However when the stars are right and the light of the far realm shines its maddening powers brighter than ever a barbarian Kessarat is born. In barbarian society Kessarats are weak compared to the hulking ton of muscle that is the typical barbarian or even shaman. However the Kessarat naturally knows how to perform Shamanic rituals but can also commune and control nature as well if not better than druids.

Unlike druids Kessarats care little for the protection of forests and instead use them to become grand rulers of barbarian tribes and inspire fear in anyone below him. They will hide their face with alien masks and use their powers to integrate certain animal parts into their own shape in order to become more intimidating and powerful. Legendary Kessarats have been known to conduct raids agaisnt much more civilized socities and are especially dangerous agaisnt the elves living in communion with nature as Kessarats will rot and corrupt the forest Elves use to protect themselves from the outside.

Nobody knows exactly what causes Kessarats to obtain such power and how they can use them without any training. It is strongly advised to only fight a Kessarat alone and in a place without many woods or animals such as plains.

>>51497332
Shit sorry. forgot to put the reply to this. >>51496526

I'm enjoying this thread

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>>51496357
Lies often spiral out of control for those unable to maintain the facade, but not for Artimus Carbuncle, a man with as much confidence as he had charisma. In order to get the medicine for his ailing sister, he disguised himself as a student at the alchemy school in the capital, in the hopes of larceny, but found not a drop of the wanted elixer in sight. He continued to attend classes to much of the headmaster's suspicion while he constantly searched for something to cure his sibling. The responsiblities started to pile on, while the knowledge did not. He plagiarized, blackmailed, and stole his way through medical school, but to little avail, as his sister died while nearing the end of his 'education'. Having not seen her since they were children at this point, he found himself not stricken with grief as he thought he should be. While still uncertain of what to do with his future, he graduated medical school, when the prince, with his poor, frail body, suffered a choking episode during the graduation ceremony. Artimus saved the boy by hitting his stomach, earning his gratitude, and a position as royal physician. Now, he is forced to treat the upper echelon of the kingdom without any medical knowledge of his own.

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Let this die, or post a pic that isn't retarded. Something enjoyable.

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>>51497499
Not much is known of the old world. After the catastrophe ravaged the lands bringing down our monuments to progress, civilization, and culture, there was a change. People felt no longer inhibited, chaos reigned as marauding tribes and bands of bandits, savages, and mutants did as they saw fit. Suffering was brought down upon the people who sought to eek out a life in the new world. Survival was only manageable by giving periodic bribes and tributes to local overlords. For any who sought to stand against them was faced with a slow, painful death.

This was the new world. A shadow and a mockery of the former.

Until one day a traveler stumbled upon the steel ruins of a structure long battered by rust and the unforgiven embrace of time. The ruins were filled with decayed cloths, signs of colorful emblems and symbols just barely remaining on the moth and time-eaten material. Within the rubble, he discovered two things. A bright fabric adorned with stars and a surprisingly intact document. The cloth he planned to sell for a nice sum, it was decorative, colorful, and nearly unscathed. The document he knew had no value.

That is until he read it.

Once his eyes graced the parchment tears welled up in his eyes. The statements it made declaring the value of human life and the rights assigned to it filled him with anger. Not at the faded names of those who signed it but at those who allowed such a world to exist.

As dawn rose, the man made a solemn swear. Donning the flag as a cloak, he would preach these words to the ravaged lands. Every man, woman, and child would hear these words. He would seek to reintroduce the value of human rights and liberty; he would strike down those who held people in terror, bondage, and destitution.

On that day the traveler died. Shedding his name and life he would take up the name of a man upon the document. On that day Sir Roosevelt was born.