Abandoned, dead or deceased characters:
What's your name? Alví Freydísardóttir
Just what are you anyway? Thirsty. Thirsty for blood. Preferably human. Yes, that means vampire! Now be silent and give up your blood!
Seeming age: 21
Actual age: 1010(ish)
Alignment: Neutral Evil
What do you look like? Model not done yet.
Height: 150.55 cm
Weight: 40 kg
What's your story?
Alví has been around quite a while. Over a thousand years, to be exact. She was born to Freydís Eiríksdóttir in one of the vinland colonies, sometime early in the first milennium. The calendars from those days were not very specific, so it is uncertain which year exactly it was. She certainly doesn't care much about it herself.
While her mother was pregnant with her, she had a small altercation with the people called skrælingjar, or as they are known today, native Americans. Something her mother did scared them and their medicine man cast a curse upon her. The exact portents of the curse have been lost to time, but some of it passed on to Alví, eventually resulting in her being turned vampire. Again, the exact way this came about is unknown. However, it is known that while Freydís eventually returned to Europe, Alví did not.
For some six hundred years, she moved throughout the americas, somehow keeping herself out of the sunlight, feeding off the natives. With the return of Europeans she eventually started feeding off them, finding them rare treats in comparison to native Americans. With the Europeans there naturally came other supernaturals, especially vampires. For the first while she kept away from them, knowing that they would have too small a community for her to sneak into undetected.
Eventually she did assimilate herself into it, even if she found herself at a disadvantage with her lacking understanding of european cultural developments of the past six hundred years. Some time after its founding, Alví found her way to LA, where she took up long-term residence.
She doesn't care much about the politics of the supernaturals, both because she is somewhat of a loner, a habit that not even four centuries have broken her of, and because she is quite a bit older than most of them.
Alví will on occasion get involved, but only when she has a reason to. Her allies are just as expendable as her foes, making most less than eager to work with her unless they are absolutely certain about her goals.
What can you do?
Standard Vampire abilities: Unnatural strength, increased speed, improved senses, durability, blood-drinking.
other Vampire abilities: Good at finding safe places to hide in daytime, master at lying & ___________
Fluent (if extremely rusty) in Old Norse.
Moderately skilled in several native american languages.
Almost fluent English (recently learned).
She may also know other languages, but she doesn't make a point of them.
Weapons: Beyond her body and a single dagger, she doesn't have any weapons.
Weaknesses: Direct sunlight, big crosses, decapitation.
Primitive, outright plans confuse her. She always thinks there's some deeper plot.
European ways of thinking can unsettle her, as she has severely limited understanding of such.
She either wont, or cant, read anything written down.
Name: Kel Blothtekur Ravenous
Age: 35 (looks 20ish)
Neck-long golden-blond hair, icy blue eyes, prominent fangs protruding from her mouth. About 175-180cm tall.
1.5-handed, single-blade axe. 1.2m long, 13.28 kg.
hands with hard, sharp nails, bordering on claws.
Empire: Shadow Empire
Powers: Unparalled night vision. Can hide well in shadows.
Personality: Bloodthirsty, easily angered and generally not good at thinking ahead. Perhaps a tad flighty.
Weakness: direct sunlight. Blood depravation. Elaborate plans. Missing ten years worth of memories.
Blood spilled when she is not prepared for it. If that happens, the blood frenzy could hit her.
Compared to most Vampires, Kel is practically an infant. She was turned less than fifteen years ago by a lesser member of the Ravenous clan. The exact circumstances of her turning are not quite known and since she spent the first ten years of her vampiric life a raving monster without any thoughts beyond the next meal, she can't enlighten anyone upon her past.
She has shown to have quite decent skill at fighting with a war axe made from tool steel & Zebrawood. While human, she would barely have been able to carry that axe, let alone wield it with precision.
Family Name: Durinnsdóttir
Favored Weapon: Dagger to the back. Short sword to disembowel.
Reason for being invited to the Knight Academy: Jutha's Mother was a fairly noble lady, nowhere near the ruling elite, but neither was her family poor. While traveling cross-country to visit some relatives, they had to pass through a deep, lawless forest.
As is common with forests like that, it was inhabited by numerous bands of outlaws. As one can expect, the trip through the forest was not uneventful. Their road was supposed to take them through the forest in about a week, but by the forth day, their party had been assaulted by more than nine bands of outlaws. Her honor guard was slowly whittled away. Eventually, the few remaining guards were defeated and Jutha's mother, along with her entire entrouage was captured.
The band of outlaws that captured them was not the ransoming sort, living instead for the thrill of the captures than the money it could bring. The few surviving male servants were worked to death within a month, and the women were repeatedly taken by the outlaws, all against their wills. Though her family searched, they could not find the band that had captured her. Within a year, Jutha was born and claimed as the daughter of the leader of the outlaw band.
Jutha was raised in the ways of the outlaw band, trained to kill from the time she could walk. Though her father's band had little honor, he raised her responsibly. She was trained to kill her enemies effectively, no flourishing style. Her manner of fighting reflects this, both from the way she tends to disembowel her foes and by how she has no qualms about stabbing someone in the back. Dead is dead, is how she recons it.
Though she has an outlaw's view of the world, she long yearned for something more. perhaps it is a small inheritance from her long-dead mother, perhaps it is something else. Eventually, some sixteen years after her mother's capture by the outlaws and some twelve years after her death, the knights of the academy had a campaign to eradicate the outlaws. This campaign destroyed three quarters of the outlaw bands, upsetting the balance of power, causing the survivors to fight not only the knights, but also each other.
The band of her father, Durinn, was a victim of such infighting. In the fighting, the entire band was defeated. Owing to her small stature and innocent looks, Jutha was not considered a fighter. Even her poorly fitted green leather armor was mocked. They took her sword away, missing several of the daggers hidden throughout her clothing. Jutha was understandably upset over the murder of her only family, so she spent her time the next few days planning her revenge. The first three died of severed spinal columns. Only small stab wounds indicated the cause of death. SOme five days later, she had killed off the entire band of outlaws.
A few hours after the last one died, a band of knights caught up with her. They had for days been following the fresh graves of the men and women killed. Upon being questioned on the deaths, she denied nothing. The knights were thoroughly surprised that a girl as small and young as her could kill off more than twenty well-armed outlaws. They might not have liked her style, but they could not deny the effectiveness of it all. Because of this, they invited her to the academy.
Reason for joining the Knight Academy: Jutha wished to learn what knightly honor was, she knew how to act among outlaws, but not how to act among other people. Since knights are allowed to wield weapons in public without comment, she decided that it would be worth checking out. Perhaps it might give her the feeling of satisfaction that her earlier life had not given her.
Personality: A bit naive, she has no experience with higher society, but good understanding of the way things work for those not strictly on the right side of the laws. Having lost her mother at a young age, she's been raised much the same way a boy would have been, which has affected her personality. She can be quite blunt.
Appearance: Though she has reached her adult height, she is often thought of as younger than she is, attributing to her seeming innocence.
Her body is fairly thin and shapely, though this is concealed by her clothing, in particular the armor.
She's got pale blue eyes, somewhat tanned but otherwise pale skin. Her hair is short enough to be covered by the hardened leather helmet.
She is usually dressed in a green leather breast plate that is too large for her and doesn't really fit. At the waist there are several metal plates attached, as well as a pair of gray-brown loose leather pants with red stripes down each leg. On her back, she has a black woolen cloak.
Name: Sigrún "sigga" Eyvindardóttir
Appearance: 141cm tall. Weight: 40kg. relatively thin, otherwise average. chocolate-brown hair, mid-back. pale, blue-green eyes. Fond of non-descript heavy-duty clothes.
Personality moved down to below background as it makes more sense there.
School of magic: Conjuration
Class of Magic: Shapeshifting
How she discovered magical powers
Bad associations. Sigrún was part of an old family. It had been in the same place for centuries and was rather wealthy. It was also set in its ways. New ideas were only reluctantly accepted. This meant that she was raised in relative isolation.
As such, it was expected of Sigrún to marry young. Before the wedding, she never did meet her husband. Her parents took care of that. At the time of the marriage, she was fourteen years old.
Sigga's husband was several years her senior and had his ways with her. Because she did not know better, she accepted anything he did. Within the first month, she was pregnant.
Her husband kept her in isolation from that point, supposedly to protect her "delicate" condition. She did not see anyone but a very few handpicked servants and had no communication with her family for the entire nine months of the pregnancy.
During her pregnancy, it became clear that her husband had less than savory hobbies. Unfortunately, Sigrún had lived such a sheltered life that she did not know what to do about it, nor just how depraved he was. Although he kept her in isolation, he treated her with utmost respect.
Each month or so, she was brought down into a ritual chamber deep beneath his mansion, where she watched as he committed animal sacrifice of some sort. At first, it was small vermin, then with each month, it increased in size. By the seventh month, it had gone from a single rat to a wolf cub. Each time, she felt some sort of tingling that she could not quite place.
It was only after the hard and time-consuming birth of her twin children that she learned the true depravity of her husband. At first, he showed true love for them. For several months, they grew both in size and health. as with the preceding months, her husband continued with his sacrifices. by their fifth month, it became clear that her husband was building up to some sort of climax. on the two-year anniversary of her marriage, she thought that nothing could surprise her about the sacrificial rituals. She could not have been more wrong.
As before, the servants tied her to a throne-like chair, placed at the head of the blood-stained altar. She wondered slightly on what the sacrifice would be this time. A pair of moose, she thought jokingly.
In the end, it turned out that jokes did not belong. Her husband appeared, dressed in ritual clothes far more elaborate than before. No moose were brought in. Instead, her husband drew out an obsidian-bladed sacrifical knife. It looked to be sharper than a razor.
Then, to her horror, servants came back in, carrying their twin children and placing them upon the altar. They were quiet, even as her husband started chanting incomprehensible words. He stood there chanting for a long time, even as she pointlessly struggled against the bonds. Nothing she did loosened them even a bit.
The light changed, darkening. Only then did Sigga understand just how evil his magic was. She had thought it strange before, but not evil. Even as she helplessly watched, her husband killed their daughter, dissecting her meticulously. He looked pleased, his eyes gleaming darkly. Sigga was dazed at first, the loss of her daughter incomprehensible. then she felt anger. Unreasoning anger. As he plunged the knife into the chest of their son, she felt something snap. The anger obliterated everything else in her mind. she knew the leather bands needed to be cut to take revenge, but she had no knife.
As she thought that, she felt her arms burning, twisting. When she looked down, she did not have hands, but instead had sword-like blades where her lower arms used to be. She cut the bonds easily, then struck out at her dumbfounded husband. He had clearly felt power being used, but he had been too caught up in his evil sacrifice to react. Her blade-hand caught him in the stomach, stabbing upwards. she felt her hands return, then grab his heart, ripping it down and out.
He dropped to the floor. Dead.
She turned back to the altar, but saw that it was too late to save the children. They were both dead. The anger, previously like a candle-flame, blossomed into a full inferno. She screamed in pain and anger. Then she threw herself over his body, ripping it to shreds, her limbs occasionally and uncontrollably changing shape.
That was how the founders of the academy had found her several weeks later, having tracked the residue of the immense power unleashed. They knew she was in mourning, but little did they know that a small part of her had died that day those weeks earlier. The soul of her daughter had been claimed by a demon lord as payment for some favor her husband never received. Her son's soul was on its way to the same demon when she slew her husband, then lost its way. This loss left a slight wound in her soul, a crack in her natural shield against evil.
The founders brought her to the school and kept her in isolation to help her mend. Physically, she mended in a matter of days, the uncontrolled shape-shifting limited by the spells placed near her. Mentally, she did not truly recover. The anger, once a foreign thing to her, became part of her nature, sometimes obvious, other times muted.
Upon learning of the fate of her husband, her family had at first wanted her back, intending to marry her off again. The academy founders stepped in, using their authority to keep her with them instead. This made her family angry, but they could not do anything about it.
She stayed at the academy for two years, still untrained but in the care of the best healers they could find. The founders had no idea what to do about her for all that time. She clearly was unsuited to releasing back into society, both because of her times of inexplicable insanity and because of her family, who would snatch her and use her as a bargaining chip in some deal.
When the founders decided to open a school of magical teaching, they decided to enroll her.
Personality: A bit unstable. Not entirely in control of her powers. often angry at herself, others and the world. At times she is quarrelsome. She is vindictive, taking revenge when it is least expected, hiding the festering anger beneath a cold and neutral exterior. The loss of two children in a demonic sacrifice left her soul wounded, open to suggestions from those capable of such. Thus, on a good day, she is a model student, whereas on a bad day, especially a day when some demon or other feeds her anger, she can be truly dangerous. Only the spells upon the academy keep her from slaughter on such days.
What's your name? Alví Freydísardóttir
Just what are you anyway? Thirsty. Thirsty for blood. Preferably human. Yes, that means vampire! Now be silent and give up your blood!
Seeming age: 21
Actual age: 209
Alignment: Neutral Evil
What do you look like? Model not done yet.
Height: 150.55 cm
Weight: 40 kg
What's your story?
Alví has been around quite a while. Not nearly as long as most, but a while. She was born (as a human) on Iceland in the year 1803 in a remote settlement. She had a fairly strong tendency towards taking risks and getting into trouble in her youth. Never any serious trouble, but as she only cared for rules when they were convenient, she did not get well along with her elders.
Eventually, sometime in her twentieth year, a vampire had come to that region of Iceland. Though the vampire did not make itself known as such, it too tended to ignore certain rules, which automatically made it interesting to Alví. As one can expect, the curiosity proved her downfall. At first, the vampire merely used her as a minor snack, taking a little blood here, a little blood there, all while she was oblivious to it, but eventually, as a twisted birthday gift for her twenty-first birthday, the vampire went all the way, turning her.
As should be reasonable, that served somewhat as an eye-opener for her. Whatever means he had used to keep her unaware of her status as a meal previously broke down. She did not really appreciate having been used as food for several months.
The vampire kept her reined in somewhat, but as he tried to enforce rules upon her, he found that in her vampiric state, she cared even less for them. In fact, she made a point of breaking the rules in obvious fashions. She became somewhat of a creature that moved from temptation to temptation. After her master had taught her most of what she had to learn, that vampire abandoned her. Whether that vampire thought her a failure or just too great a risk, is uncertain. Feeling abandoned, Alví reined herself in somewhat, taking greater care to avoid discovery. Sometime in the early nineteenth century, she moved to the Americas, eventually ending up in LA.
Unlike her previous homes, she suddenly found that the master of LA, Prince Lestrand, did not care for lone wolf-behavior. He kept her firmly under his thumb. Having been vampire master of LA since its earliest years, he is not only older and more powerful than her, but also more experienced in getting people to do what he wants.
Alví tried to flount his rules early on, but learned the hard way not to do that again. Since that time, she has slowly grown more adept at intrigue and breaking rules, but never does so openly, having learned that lesson well.
What can you do?
Standard Vampire abilities: Unnatural strength, increased speed, improved senses, durability, blood-thirst
other Vampire abilities: Born liar, animal talk/sight (imperfect).
other abilities: She can defend herself, but she's no born fighter. If she can, she'll much rather stab someone in the back than fight them openly. She has skills in 3D modeling, but no forensic skills.
Weapons: Beyond her body and a single dagger, she doesn't have any weapons that she can really use.
Weaknesses: Direct sunlight, big crosses, decapitation. She may also be illiterate, for she does not like reading anything. Her words can at times be a tad provocative, causing her to more easily get into conflicts.
Name of house: Banímyrkr
It is a Shield-like background, surmounted by a wolf head placed over the blue of the sea, indicating the nickname of banímyrkr raiders, the Sea Wolves.
The family words, "Feel our Bite!", are meant to portray the nature of how the family treats anyone who hurts it in some way or other.
Description of Fief:
The duchy of the Banímyrkr family is located on and around the northern coast of Galenave, both on the mainland and on nearby islands. It is north of the duchy of [Ender Wiggin's duchy] The ducal seat itself is built upon a forbidding rock of an island some distance off the coast.
All cities are walled or fortified in some manner, as a common passtime for a good portion of the civilian population is piracy.
The standing moral of the Banímyrkr is that function overrules form, making the cities fairly grim places.
Rather than work to eliminate the piracy, thieves coalitions and the murderer's guilds, something which would never succeeed, the Banímyrkr work instead towards limiting where they do things.
Vesall rock (capital) [island, very inhospitable]
Eikinskialdi Hold (fortified trading port) [mainland]
Primary source of income is trade. Food comes mostly in the form of whatever they harvest from the bountiful seas, supplemented by small amounts of wild game and produce from the poor farmland on the mainland.
Exports include both meat and fish from the seas, salt and granite. Much of the granite export goes to the capital city, where it is used upon the king's fortifications.
Of those in honest businesses that do not involve fishing or trading, a good amount are stonemasons. The Masons of the duchy are among the greatest in the realm, often sought after for their skill.
Sigbjorn Banímyrkr (Duke): A tough man in his late forties. Unrelenting and slow to forgive. Doesn't like the other dukes, and is generally not well-liked.
Wife: Hallveig Banímyrkr - A woman some nine years younger than Sigbjorn. Rarely seen in public, but known to keep iron-hard control over the servants of the capital fortress.
Five sons of ages 9, 14, 17, 22 & 23. Sveinungr, Korpúlfr, Haki, Geirmundr & Jóarr
Four Daughters, ages 12, 16, 19, 25: Hjordís, líf, Eyja, Ása.
Two brothers, six sisters. Even larger extended family.
House Aurvang - Seat: Geirr Gaman (port town, infamous for its pirates and thieves, who prey on each other) [Island]
House Dvalinn - Seat: Steinnkaupa Keep (inland fortess city, primary produce: Granite)
House Eitrfeld - Seat: ójafnask Hold (city in marshlands near a major rivermouth)
Family culture, tradition:
Victory through any means. House Banímyrkr shies few, if any, means to achieve their goals. Though never proven, they have been suspected of more than one assassination. The family is close-knit, rarely having any infighting. For generations their family has ruled the duchy, never giving ground against their enemies.
All members of the family, even the girls, are trained to fight, the latter mostly with daggers and other small weapons, while the former train more with axes and maces. As a result of the training, they tend to go about armed with at least one dagger each at all times. Some say they even sleep with them.
There are many theories as to there being considerable contact between the various assassin guilds, theieves' coalitions, pirate crews and the ruling family, but there is no evidence that ever proves it.
Máttug (or Máttugr)
19 (137, of which 118 were spent in the egg)
None of your business!
Browns and Greys
Fairly large for his age. Curious about the ancient language. Willing to help riders learn. Decent flier.
Stubborn. Independent. Proud. Curious. Competitive.
Máttugr is the epitome of a wild dragon. Only serves its own whims, and those of its kindred, when that proves suitable, yet he is of intrigued by the fledgling riders and rarely stays away from them long. he is extremely proud of them and wishes them to succeed. While nothing like Saphira in expertise, Máttugr is a good flier, making up for the lack of skill in persistent competitiveness. Like all wild dragons, Máttugr is hard to bend to the whims of anyone when he has made up his mind.
Claws, teeth, fire.
Máttugr is a brown-gray dragon, fond of hiding, especially in desert sands. Máttugr's scales are surprisingly dull-colored for a dragon, aiding in that challenge of hiding. There is no count of the number of brown and gray tones present in the scales, much like Saphira has all the tones of blue, only with grey and brown.
Compared to many, especially younger dragons, Máttugr is huge. At twelve years having reached a size more common for dragons around twenty years.
Máttugr was not the first of the wild dragons to hatch in the new home, but he did hatch within the first year. As such, his personal independence and protectiveness of those not yet hatched were quickly among his primary interests. Although he has complete faith in the riders, he personally would never give up his independence for another, particularly not one of the two-legs. He does often comment, or at least think, that rider dragons are "lesser" than wild ones, though he will never scorn them to such degree as to not teach them what they should know.
Because his egg was laid before the fall of the riders and hidden within the Vault of Kuthían, Máttugr had plenty of time to absorb some of the wisdom offered by the many Eldunarí
also hidden therein. While most of the eggs did not listen, he did, learning many things from them. As such, he is wise for his young age, though he does not always reveal it. Like all dragons, he can wield magic, though like them, he too lacks active control. He does, however, have a burning curiosity about the Ancient language, eagerly trying to wheedle out more words in it, and teaching them to riders who are ready, as well as the first rider, Eragon.
As such, though he may occasionally claim otherwise, Máttugr has shown time and again to be a staunch defender of the riders, especially younger, less experienced riders. He is also a staunch defender of all younger dragons, wishing for them to reach their full potential as early as possible. He is also eager to rediscover many of the habits once practiced by the dragons prior to the fall, spending days with the Eldunarí. Private roosting ground somewhere in the nearby mountains, though just as often found buried in the sands of a nearby desert, claiming that sandbaths are very good for the scales, something many other dragons agree upon, even if they do not like burying themselves in the sand for hours on end. Máttugr's claims that mudbaths are just as good are generally disbelieved. They generally are careful to watch out for suspicious bumps in the muddy riverbanks if they should land there, having been surprised by Máttugr there more than once. Some even claim the dirty-looking, dull color on Máttugr's scales come from these baths, despite evidence to the contrary.
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Last edited by Ellri; 08-26-2012 at 05:28 AM.
Last edited by Ellri; 08-26-2012 at 05:28 AM.
Last edited by Ellri; 08-26-2012 at 05:29 AM.
Last edited by Ellri; 08-26-2012 at 05:29 AM.
Name: Ingunn (former last name: Berg)
Age: 23 physical, embraced in 1942
Height: 168 cm
Weight: 58 kg
Young woman, dark blonde hair braided back and otherwise fairly short-cropped. She typically dresses in extremely durable hiking clothes of neutral colors that blend well into nature. Most of the time she carries a small pack with necessary equipment in it.
When forced to fight, she can grow claws on all her fingers and her eyes begin to glow. This is obviously inconvenient with mortals about.
Clan: Gangrel (land)
Like many Gangrel, Ingun is a loner by nature, thriving with severe wanderlust, curiosity and fierce independence. She also has a strange sense of Right and Wrong that gets her involved in all sorts of causes and conflicts that might better be left alone.
She is distrustful of most, even fellow Gangrel, but not to the point of avoiding kindred company altogether. Sure, she might spend a most of the year away from others except when hunting for food, but she does keep an ear to the ground when around kindred society, where she sticks to the background listening more than speaking. The exception to this is when she gets into the aforementioned causes and conflicts.
Born in the aftermath of World War I, during the hard years then, she did not have an easy life growing up. Nonetheless, she gained an intense interest in how things worked, especially the world as a whole. Not long before the start of World War II she had gone to norway to study heavy water technology and hydroelectric systems. Not a particularly womanly area of study, but her family had given up on stopping her from having scandalous interests.
Details from the years of world war II are sketchy, but it was during these years she was embraced. The german invasion forced her to go into hiding, as she had no interests in serving the third reich. She spent her time traveling through the natural world in Norway, staying far away from civilization and German forces.
Eventually, as chance would have it, she crossed path with an ancient gangrel wanderer from the viking era. He embraced her for some reason or other, then left her to fend for herself for a year. Ingun managed to survive, but had to stray closer to civilization to feed her new bloodthirst. After a year of untaught lessons she woke up to find a small note outside her residence, directing her to a group of other Gangrels, where she was taken in and taught about her nature and the society of the Kindred. This group was caught up in the cause of resistance agains the germans, so by the time the war ended, Ingun had many missions on her record and a high count of german kills. As such, she has a dislike of Germans and a severe lack of trust in their kind.
If she has met her sire after the embrace, he has not made a point of introduction. All she knows is what the small group that instructed her told her of it. They somehow knew that she had been sired by one of the old Norse Gangrels, but would not, or could not, say which one. She naturally does not much care about her sire, though she is curious about him.
Last edited by Ellri; 08-26-2012 at 05:26 AM.
The Broken Masquerade (WoD)
Name: Hild Freydísardóttir
Embraced for: 989 yearsHeight: 167 cm
In torpor for: 500+ years.
Weight: 57 kg
Alignment: Independent, occasionally Camarilla
Appearance: somewhat ragged golden-blond hair of varying length. Thick, strong clothes made from a mish-mash of animal hides, fur and homespun cloth. a worn short-sleeved shirt of chain mail stuck between some of the layers. Braided leather belt. Stout leather boots.
Typically walks around with a simple axe stuck through her belt, stained with blood-red enamel, in memory of her grandfather. Not that she needs it to hurt others.
Personality Traits: Somewhat strange. Having been mostly asleep (torpor) for the last few centuries, she's not exactly up to date with technology. Not exactly humane, she has tendencies towards frenzying far earlier than the average kindred. Believes in a mixture of old norse gods and native american spirits.
Loner. Will stick up for some goals, but only if it benefits her.
Brief Bio: Hild was born in the Viking colony of Erik the red, her maternal grandfather in the region known to them as Vinland. It was about a decade before the turn of the first millennium, but the exact date is uncertain, as records from that era are at best spotty. There are no records speaking how her life as a mortal, but it is known that she was embraced by a gangrel during her twenty-first year. Some say her sire was a viking gangrel, others say it was of the skrælingjar, the people who already lived in Vinland when the vikings settled there. Like many gangrel, her sire abandoned her to teach her survival. She quickly became a menace to the local skrælingjar, who deemed her an evil spirit. Not too far from the truth.
She was taught by fellow gangrel over her many years, but they did not stick around her long. She wandered throughout the land, preying upon the local populace and sleeping through the years. Sometime in the 1700's, right after a great massacre, she went into a longer period of torpor, only awakening from it recently for reasons unknown.
Limited humanity - She regularly frenzies in combat.
No sense of technology - having slept for a long time, modern tech confuses her.
History of Torpor - less powerful than age should indicate.
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Star Wars: Revanchism
Name: Una Dwex (goes mostly by Dwex)
Rank/Title: Jedi Knight (recently knighted)
Planet of Origin/Birth: Epicant
Force Sensitive: Yes.
Standing at around 172.5cm tall, Una Dwex is fairly nondescript when compared to most humans. She, however, is not human. Beyond her faint non-human traits, everything about her screams average. She is neither thick nor thin, her body is shapely but not too so, fairly muscular but not spectacularly so, and so on. Her hair is a mild brown and is also of medium length. When compared to others of her species, she is actually rather short, which in turn means that fewer recognize her as such. She's got green eyes flecked with brown and the notable Epicanthic folds above the eyes, which of course is common to all members of her species.
Her clothes are a conglomerate of light body armor and Jedi robes, as was common with all wartime Jedi. Formally, such clothes were known simply as "Jedi Armor".
The armor segments cover the shoulders and arms as well as thighs and parts of the torso, providing some protection, while not hindering movement. When compared to the typical armor of the average republic or Mandalorian soldier, the armor is weak.
Una Dwex's Jedi Armor is black-on-brown in color, giving her a slightly menacing look while also making sure that she does not stick out further in combat. Like Jedi robes, her armor has a hood, which is the only headgear she ever utilizes, unless of course the planet atmosphere or climate dictates otherwise.
How exactly she procured the Jedi armor isn't exactly certain, but as the council does not approve of Jedi fighting, it is doubtful that it was through council-approved methods.
- Acrobatics and sleight of hand - She's good at both of these, having extensive training not only in using this, but also in utilizing the force to increase the range of things she can do with it. This is also her greatest skill with the Force.
- Lightsaber combat - She's also proficient at this, at least as proficient as anyone can be without significant experience outside practice sessions and bouts.
- Mind tricks, mental influence/domination & mind reading - Immune. Present in all members of her species.
- subtle mental influence, effective invisibility - She can't literally go invisible, but she can make others ignore her with the force. Particularly effective on the weak-minded. Very useful when she's procuring things that are not necessarily hers.
- Computers, slicing, etc - She's a decent slicer and not altogether hopeless at navigating computers. Far from a master and while not up to par with dedicated slicer droids, her creative methods are often effective at making up the difference. Possibly how she's avoided getting completely kicked out of the Jedi Order, as she's covered up many of her indiscretions. She's also never broken into anything truly sensitive, which also helps protect her.
- Basic piloting - She can pilot most basic ground/air/space vehicles, but she's doesn't have the natural talent of greater pilots, nor is she rated for combat piloting.
Skills/abilities specified as lacking:
- Imprinting commands/overt mental influence - She's not mastered this. She never seems to get the art of overpowering the weak-minded and getting them to believe what she tells them. No amount of training has yet managed to teach her this.
- Firearms, blasters and such - Her skill is severely lacking here. The best place to be if she's holding one of these weapons is behind something impenetrable or outside its range. She's lethal to everything except what she actually aims for. Many Bothans plants/rocks have died to bring her this information understanding.
- two identical short-bladed lightsabers, Color: clear (barab ore). Not designed to be connected into a double-bladed saber.
- Jedi Armor (probably filched). Chief colors: Black and brown
- Wrist-mounted computer, custom-designed for slicing.
Una Dwex has generally only got one way of facing any conflict she happens to come into. Face on. Or at the very least with a flanking maneuver.
A conflict in her mind isn't solved until after its cause is removed, preferably permanently. She puts very little faith in diplomacy, finding that it rarely solves a conflict permanently. She has sufficient insight into the average galactic citizen to know that there are always those who will not bow to the commands of others. She knows that such have to be defeated on their own level to truly be stopped. The sole thing Dwex likes less than diplomatic solutions is the act of ignoring a situation. This clearly shows why she was so disgusted with the Jedi Council's stance towards the Mandalorians.
Somewhere in her upbringing, she's not entirely sure where, she gained a rather flexible view of ownership. Throughout her life, objects that were useful to her tend to show up in her possession, much to the chagrin of her superiors. It is rare for anyone to catch her taking them, and even when the object is found in her possession, she always has a reason to explain why. So while her skills were on par with many others who were long knighted, it took longer for her to reach this level because of the concerns of the masters. In the end, her steadily improving skills in other areas, combined with the utter lack of evidence condemning her for anything serious, resulted in her being knighted.
Although she is no good with handheld ranged weapons, Dwex is still a warrior at heart. The council's inaction ground on her nerves, so it was no real surprise to anyone that when Revan left for the war she was soon to follow him.
When it comes to obeying orders, her attitude is varying. If the leader is someone she feels she can trust and believe in, then she is immensely loyal. If the leader is the hesitant, indecisive sort that wants to negotiate, then Dwex rarely has long patience with them, obeying only for so long as she absolutely has to.
From birth and through much of her childhood, Una Dwex was raised with her family in their home upon Epicant. She was born a younger daughter to a family that was neither poor nor truly prosperous. Unlike her siblings and most others of her species, she was relatively small. At the age of ten she was nonetheless sent to receive the customary military training appropriate to her family's station. While she was fairly effective in most training, her small stature made many things more difficult for her, and she showed a remarkable lack of skill with handheld weapons. It was soon clear to her instructors that she would not be suitable as a line soldier. This of course was shameful to her family, but one instructor suggested that there might be other ways she could contribute to their society.
This was how she eventually started her training as a rudimentary infiltrator. Her previously raw talent for sneaking and, for lack of a better term, filching was refined. She was given some additional training in skills such as piloting, computer use, slicing and other skills they would expect her to need. This training went on for several years, even as she slowly matured. However, before they could truly finish her training a Jedi padawan hunting squad came to the academy and it was soon discovered that she had an aptitude for the Force. It was raw and untrained, but it was sufficient for them to want her fully trained. Dwex was given the choice between the academy and the order and eventually, after considerable pondering, picked the order. Thus her life on Epicant ended. Her incomplete military training would turn out to have prepared her for many aspects of Jedi training, but not all.
Her life as a Jedi padawan was not a walk in the park. She frequently got into minor squabbles over her opinions and tendencies to acquire items and bits of information that weren't strictly hers. Had her progress with the rest of her training not been going as well as it was, then it would have been likely that she would eventually have been expelled from the Order. However, the rest of her training was going very well and advancing at a rate well above the average, so her place in the order was not seriously threatened.
After a couple of years of basic exercises, some of whom she easily mastered, she was set to begin her training with lightsaber combat. Considering her history with handheld weapons, this was not something she looked forward to. Great was her surprise when she found that her instructors said she showed natural talent for it. She went into that training with great vigor, advancing rapidly in skill.
Because of her natural immunity to mind influences, her training in these skills did not go as quickly. None of the masters could penetrate her natural immunity, making it difficult to show her the more advanced techniques like imprinting commands and words into the minds of others. She did manage to learn how to make people ignore her, but even that took her a long time to learn. This difficulty, as well as her penchant for minor indiscretions, ensured that she was sent back and forth between the various Jedi enclaves in the hopes of finding someone who could not only teach her these skills but also break her bad habits. She spent much of her training on Ossus, Falang Minor and Haashimut, but she also visited lesser enclaves like Coruscant and traveled with various masters to worlds with no permanent Jedi presence.
As each year of her training passed, it was obvious to her masters that she was clearly improving in skill in most areas expected of Jedi Knights, and even in some areas not expected. Many of them wanted to delay her knighting in the hopes of breaking certain bad habits, but after about eight and a half standard year of training, enough had relented and agreed that her skills were more than sufficient, which in turn meant that she at long last attained knighthood. That was about five standard months before Revan left to join the war, a war she did not wait long to follow him into.
Relationships and Acquaintances:
It did not take Dwex long to form a antipathic relationship with her fellow Jedi, the Selkath Tarra. Her faith in negotiations and fear of actually solving problems permanently do not exactly make her figure high on Dwex' list of people to respect. In Dwex' opinion, Tarra is utterly without any understanding of how the world, and more importantly, people, works. People won't stop fighting just because you tell them it is bad. They will stop it if you hit them with a big enough stick and continue holding it ready to hit again. Dwex knows that the surest way of ensuring that they won't continue is to ensure that they are utterly incapable of it, but she also knows that such view is not exactly what the Jedi council has in mind for the members of the order.
After his Revanchist master disappeared, Dwex was made the temporary master of the padawan Zyro Maholka. They do not get along perfectly well, but Dwex is in no way lenient to his flawed behavior. She has made it clear that it is better for her to be a bit cruel with him, than for him to be subject to whatever the Mandalorians will do to him if he should get himself captured because he's not doing what he is supposed to do.
Dwex is also fairly skeptical towards her fellow Jedi, Journo Tavick. Mostly because he's a diplomat. That dislike might grow or fade with time. He in turn seems to be unnerved by her species' immunity to mind tricks.
Areador: The Struggle
Name:Thora Steinsdóttir (goes by first name for the most part. She never really knew her father)
Race: (mostly) Human.
Homeland: grew up in a small town, around the borders between eastern human domains and those of the wood elves.
Because of her ancestry, Thora is not particularly tall. Considering that she is also female, does not increase that height. (estimated height 157.2 cm)
Build-wise she is thin and lanky, but not waif-like. She grew up in around forests, regularly traveling around. As such she is muscled, but lean, hardly having any notable fat within her body. (weight: 47.6 kg)
The most central factor to her appearance is based on where she was born and her ancestry. The forest-covered border between the wood-elven domains and the innumerable and constantly shifting number of human domains is a place where cross-breeding is normal. The noperhaps a mixed aura? bles generally sit in their halls, drawing careful maps with precisely defined borders. The local villagers smile and nod when informed about the border, then go about their days as normal, oblivious as to exactly where the border is on the ground. Even if the wars of the humans had not disrupted the border regularly, they would have ignored the borders, as friends, partners or even relatives live on all sides of the borders.
Thora is a product of this cross-breeding. There is so much interbreeding between the common humans and the regular wood elves that for the border folk, the answer to the question "is (s)he a human or a wood elf?" is almost always "yes". For countless generations the people have mated oblivious to the differences between the species. Though the exact amount of wood elf in Thora is uknown, she is more or less 2/3rds human, 1/3rd wood elf.
To someone who sees her up close, she is clearly not just human, but she is also more human than anything else. Her face is longer and more angular than human faces, but not as long or angular as that of a wood elf, it is also quite rounded, making her not look as harsh.
Her eyes may be slightly upturned, but not enough to make her stand out in a crowd because of them.
The part that stands out the most is her ears. They are not round like human ears, but not as sharply pointed as elven ears. Anyone who sees them knows that she is not a pure human. (length: 79.3mm, 16.3mm longer than average human ears)
Her eyes are a green-toned, but do not stand out in a crowd. Her hair is a woodsy-brown, draping down to mid-chest. Usually tied up or braided so it stays out of the way.
Class: near-combat scout, slight touch of magic. (just a touch)
Skills: Tracking, dirty fighting, hunting, simple cooking, some skill with construction using rope and wood.
Spells:Fireball - Knows exactly how to summon that, and that alone. 8-22 cm in diameter. No bigger.
She has no interest in learning other spells
Thora never really knew her father. Some say he was a swashbucklin' wizard of no great repute, the sort that wanders the realms their entire lives, seeking something unknown. Others say he was a rogue, drunkard and general pest on society, deserving only a proper stoning. Though her father did not stick around, she did not lack for paternal guidance. Her mother, though young and with an infant daughter, was taken in by one of the local foresters, where Thora was raised like a daughter and treated like one. As such, she has a number of younger half-siblings. Her stepfather taught her his own trade, as well as right from wrong, lessons she gladly took in and absorbed. Through this training she became quite independent and able to rely on her own skills. Much to her stepfather's dismay, she showed a pragmatism for solving problems in ways that were of questionable legality, no doubt inherited from her father.
Though she had no problem with lighting a fire the traditional way, she quickly grew a fondness for using the little magic she had inherited to do it, taught to her by an elderly wizard in a neighboring town. The wizard wasn't a particularly skilled wizard, but he was nonetheless a good teacher, capable of aiding even those with minuscule talents to employ them. He only managed to teach her a single spell before he died of old age. At first, Thora searched and asked around to find another teacher, but none had any interest in teaching her. After several fruitless weeks, she gave up searching and settled down to knowing only that one spell. Eventually, she formed the opinion that she did not need any other spells, slowly mastering the use of that spell.
At the age of eighteen, she left her family home to make her own way in the world, perhaps to seek her father, perhaps to find a place to make her own home. Her stepfather was still young, and the village had no need for another forester anytime soon. She spent a few months working as a woodland scout for some of the many human warlords, but they never fully trusted her because of her impure ancestry.
Personality: Self-secure. She has no problems making her way in the world, especially not in forested lands. Having grown up in the country, she does not really like cities or large crowds. She tolerates them, but if she can avoid it, she does. Thora may on occasion be hard to be around, as things not working as they ought to irritates her and triggers impatience. More than one such problem has been "solved" with a fireball, be it a faulty map, pesky critter or even a locked door. Only her sense of right and wrong has prevented her from hitting other people with those self-same fireballs. Its not that she can't hit them, but rather than she does not want to. Not that they realize this fact.
One of her greatest weaknesses, beyond inexperience with foreign environments and crowds, is that she at times can be a bit fluid as definitions like "yours" and "mine" go. Not exactly popular with guards and magistrates.
She has no idea how to ride any creature be it horse or something else, and she cannot read letters. She can roughly comprehend road signs and map terminology, but books are beyond her.
Equipment and armor:
- Shirt and pants of brown homespun. Sewn to be practical, nothing else.
- One nearly waterproof and hooded, woolen cloak the color of oak leaves. lined with wolf fur.
- Leather boots suitable for walking far and wide with.
- A simple, well-crafted backpack with:- a single set of spare clothesAt her belt she wears:
- a suit of padded leather armor (consisting of brigandine coat, wristguards and greaves. No helmet.)
- some dried meat and cheese, enough to last several days
- a short hunting bow and quiver of round-tipped arrows. (strapped on the side of the pack)
- a poorly cared for sword of cheap make (also strapped outside pack, often used to as a spit when cooking meat)
- a few of maps drawn on leather hides
- a pair of blankets
- a tent
- several lengths of rope
- some animal gut thread and a needle.
- an every-day dagger of elven make
- Several small pouches filled with:- 8 dales, 7 half-dales, 10 quarter-dales (separate pouches for each coin type)- A woodsman axe, with a protective leather hood covering the blade
- some dried meat
- a few herbs
- some tinder
- whetstone and wiping cloth
other characters in rp:
Lucius Cypher's Lucilia
The Nexerus' Idril
Name: Thrymlur Kolbeinarson
Race: He drunk. He dwarf.
Profession: Mead-drinking, whaddaya think? Oh and small-scale squabbling (hardly more than a few hundred deaths).
Appearance: Typical dwarf. About 126 cm of bone, muscle and steel armor. Some say there's about as much mead as there is blood in his veins, but Thrymlur neither denies nor verifies this. He will drink to the question, though.
He's thickly built, He's got wide shoulders, a short, barrel-like chest and thick arms and legs. He looks as if he could crush rock into gravel using his bare fists, but that probably isn't possible. His warhammer on the other hand, a family heirloom, is quite capable of it. On its side, there are the dwarven runes for the prhase "hnéskállar", a name that he does his best to let it live up to (kneecapper).
His hair is unruly and uncropped, as is his beard (color: grayish black). There are numerous scars all over his body, even one crossing right beside his deeply set black eyes.
He grew up in the mountain halls of his people, he had a mostly normal childhood. Like all other dwarves, he was introduced at a young age to weaponscraft, mining and smithing. While he was decent enough at smithing and mining, the only skills he excelled at was fighting, especially in what many dwarves call "squabbles" (most non-dwarves tend to call it "war", but dwarves tend to disagree if anyone is as foolish to say so to their faces. If they survive the disagreement, the fools tend to change their opinion.).
His clan was fairly prosperous, but not among the few most powerful. It is famous for having produced some of the greatest warriors known to dwarvenkind, but not enough to make them immune from scrutiny.
Thrymlur himself takes great pride in both his fighting skill (which is worthy of note), and for rarely having ever drunk anything but mead. As food goes, he tends to be fond of lightly charred, juice-dripping meat.
While his fighting skill is quite noteworthy, he is also feared by quite a few for his lack of "honor" where tactics go. Thrymlur fights to win, not to gain 'honor'. A few months earlier, in one of the frequent "squabbles" between the clans, Thrymlur's clan was in disagreement with a couple of the most powerful clans in the mountains. Unfortunately, while the squabble was short, the end result was that a few score of the warriors of some of the core families in those clans ended up with shattered kneecaps. In the face of the threat of general war (rather than a mere squabble), his clan deemed it best that he make himself scarce while those kneecaps mended.
As such, Thrymlur was sent out of the mountains to make his own way. While not pleased with it, he accepted it. Now he wanders the world, looking for three things. Good mead, a decent fight and for enough time to pass before he can return to his homelands.
Personality: He's a well-known drunkard. Rarely, if ever, sober. He's also irritable, easily angered and generally obnoxious. Besides mead-drinking, his favorite activity is "squabbling", which he excels at. Not very talkative (except when trying to start a "Squabble")
He is rather persistent, not stopping until he's sure that victory belongs to him and those with him. Any tactics are acceptable so long as victory is ensured.
Pros: As a combat-trained dwarf, he is extremely strong. A heavy burden for a human warrior is light for him, and as such, he is always armored. He does everything he can, and then some, to ensure that he wins.
Cons: He's always at least slightly intoxicated. He prefers a straight-up fight, so subterfuge is not something he's fond of. His dirty tactics tend to make him unpopular in many quarters.
He's heavy. anything he climbs on has to take significant weight. He cannot cross ice unless it is at least 30cm thick, preferably more. When armored, he cannot swim (and he's virtually always armored).
He's not the quickest fighter. A warhammer, when compared to weapons like sabers and rapiers, is a slow weapon. (hence stronger armor)
Woolen undercoat, covered by a leather jerkin and thick black-enameled steel scale mail armor. Thick steel pauldrons on his shoulders, as well as custom-made steel plates protecting knees and lower legs.
A well-made steel helm covers his head.
He has a thick fur cloak made from the hide of some indeterminable thick-furred animal. Looks similar to frost wolf or bear, except that it is black. Might be mountain troll fur.
He has a set of throwing axes at his waist, but his favored weapon is a mean-looking warhammer named "hnéskállar".
He has a few pouches at his waist, some with money, others with traveling fare for a few days and stuff like that.
A couple of skins of mead.