Legend tells of a city that appears once every few hundred years in the middle of the Zael Desert. No one knows why, or what magic it uses. What is known, however, is that when the city arrives, notices are put up in all the large cities across the land, beckoning those who seek something precious.
What travelers read are as follows:
We, the Masters of Aelhurst, call to all who have lost something. Those of you who mourn over deceased friends, or those who seek power and riches beyond your wildest imagination -- gather at the center of the Zael Desert. There you will find us, beings who are endowed with the power to make your wish a reality.
Our gift will only be given to one who deserves it most. This is a competition to see who is worthy, and who is not. Those who enter our gates, be prepared for a One Versus All. The city will be your arena, and your countrymen as your enemies. Once you enter, it is impossible to leave until there is one champion.
Make haste to the city of Aelhurst; our gates shut in no less then a week. Upon arrival, you will receive some provisions and a place to stay. Further instructions will then be given before the competition gets underway.
We look forward to meeting all you who are willing to risk everything for the wish of a lifetime.
-- Master Oregano, Third of the Masters of Aelhurst
-- Arena Battles: All fighting will take place in the city of Aelhurst. The city is shaped like a hill, with commoner buildings in the lower, most outer levels, and the Tower of the Masters highest in the center. Streets and buildings are made of stone with the occasional wood and iron element. Architecture is mainly of a gothic style. If someone tries to flee Aelhurst, they will end up entering the opposite side of the city, as is the nature of the ancient magic.
Battles will take place in one thread for the most part, with fights overlapping one another. Ganging up on one another is allowed, as well as truces -- just be aware that truces won't last long. If you wish to go one on one with another player (and they agree) merely ask and I will create a 1x1 thread for you.
-- The Three Masters of Aelhurst: Not much is known about the legendary Masters. Sources have confirmed that all three are not human, and each hold unique powers that are not of this world. Wish-granting is one of them. History shows that they have never left the city in the centuries they have appeared to man. The reasons behind their One vs. All bloodbath, for the moment, are unclear.
-- Plot Overview: Protest the Wish falls into two basic acts: Killing everyone off in the first part, and conspiring against the true enemy in part two. So, seeing as it's essential to the plot that most players are killed, please don't fret when you're cornered in the arena. Death is not the end, as it's not a true death. All will be well, and all manner of things have been taken care of for your character.
-- Character Sheet: The continent in which your charrie lives is huge, filled with all types of nations, cultures and magic. You can be whatever you wish to be, as this is a dark fantasy styled RP. Human, elf, talking tree, I don't care. The only thing that could bother me is if you go overboard with power. Then you and I will have problems. >_>
If you've absorbed all there is to read, feel free to start filling in your CS:
Name: [What do people call you?]
Race: [Human? Dwarf? Demon? Etc.]
Gender: [Are we dealing with a lady or a gentleman here?]
Age: [If you're not human, please convert your age to human years.]
Appearance: [Image or description, your choice.]
Background: [Tell us how you came to be such an amazing person.]
Personality: [What are you like? How do you treat people?]
Occupation:* [Did you work for anyone before you arrived at Aelhurst?]
Power/Weapon: [Be creative on this one. You are allowed up to a total of three items of epic-ness. Don't go for anything generic, or I'll have to shoot you in the face.]
Weakness: [Every hero has his/her flaw. If you were to defeat you, how would you do it?]
Dislikes/Fears:* [Yay character depth! What drives them mad? What sends them cowering under the bed?]
Wish: [Another creative one. Given their background and mindset, what is the one thing they desire above all else? Resurrection of a loved one? Or perhaps the ability to control everything under the sun?]
Other:* [Anything else you wanna add?]
--GM Fun Facts:
x I work on a mutual respect basis.
x I have about five years experience in roleplaying.
x I enjoy charries with a tragic flaw.
x I plan on carrying this story to the last line, with or without you. No one will hold us back.
-- Quality = An amazing story. Give me that, and I'll entertain your time.
-- Fight fairly. Lose with dignity. Win with logic and glory.
-- No overpowered characters, and no auto-hitting.
-- The GM reserves the right to run the show. If you're disrespecting the thread, you will be removed.
-- The GM also reserves the right to have the last say in all battles. The GM will be your judge and referee.
-- If you have a huge ass siggie, get the hell out. You won't be able to write enough text every turn to compensate for the space your siggie's taking up.
-- If you've read every bit of info in this, put a smiley face as a title in your CS. You will receive a cookie for doing so.
-- Please have fun! Let's enjoy this story together.
Name: Andre Valias
Half-Human / Half-Angel
17 Years Old
Andre is a young boy with the same impetuous smile on his face. His skin is a soft olive, and his hair bright blonde. His eyes are a gentle chestnut color, and he has a slight athletic build. He usually wears his light Sky Steel armour and painted leather pants with red abdominal cloth when he is working as a courier. His Belt and Bracer have Soul Stones embedded in them. On his back, his Shortblade remains in its sheath, orientated so he can draw it in a right backhand.
Andre came from a fairly modest family. He lived with his mother and sister at their home in the woods and helped around the house. Unknown to him was the fact that his never-present father was an Angel, and lived on believing his father died a long time ago when he was young.
Eventually, it came to pass that fate showed her ugly face, and bandits overran their house in the woods. Andre... Was only 13. He and his sister barely escaped after watching their mother die before their eyes, only to be separated once more. Andre's sister was taken away, to be 'used' and then sold away as a slave to the highest bidder. And as for Andre, he escaped after watching everything he ever known die away.
Andre walked a long way, far away from home. He barely reached the gates during a stormy night, and was carried in by the guards. Andre awoke, on the streets of the great city. Soon after, he realized that he had nothing to go back to, nowhere to call home.
He walked the streets long enough to realize how cruel many orphans and beggars in the city were treated. Eventually, he joined up with a small group of orphans and learned their ways. They taught him how to watch, act, wield a light blade, run through crowds or climb buildings, to sprint across rooftops, to escape from any situation if need be.
They taught him everything he knows now.
Andre was 14 years old when he began making his living in that city under the higher motto of the gang:
"Steal from the Rich, Share with the Poor."
Everyday was different, yet the same. And Andre loved it, waking up each day in their hideout the gang had in the sewers and rising to the surface to make a living. It wasn't nice to be living in the sewers, but it was like a larger world beneath the surface. Andre enjoyed exploring it in his spare time, finding more and more routes to get from any end of the city to another.
One day, he stole a sword from a merchant, and Andre began to hear voices after he escaped. After days, he began to hear only one voice, a voice he somehow recognized. But it was faint and indistinct, and Andre learned to ignore it.
Andre eventually rose to the surface permanently and got a job as a courier for the Gold Horse Courier at the age of 16. He used the money he had made with his friends to buy himself the set of garments and gear he wears today, and continued to share some of his earnings from the jobs and deliveries he did. Andre got himself a room in the Gold Horse Courier lodge, and life became easier afterwards.
There wasn't a day that went by, however, that he didn't think of his sister. The one thing he had that reminded him was the doll he had given her, the doll she had dropped and he had picked up when she dropped it. It was uneasy of a thing to keep, but Andre still kept it with him. His friends had told him that there wasn't much hope for her, but in his heart, he thought otherwise.
A year passed, and Andre finally felt his head clear all of a sudden, the moment he turned 17. He heard the voice of his father, with a mixture of shock and disbelief. Andre then felt it, the feeling of knowing his father was still alive.
When they posted the notices for the Masters of Aelhurst, Andre and the couriers were the first to see it, as the Gold Horse Courier was contracted to post the messages by an unknown man. Andre read the notice and began to think...
If anything, I have a chance... A chance to change things...
Andre made haste towards the mythical city, along with all the notices he was given. Since he was the one the Gold Horse Courier respected and relied on, taking those notices with him, he thought...
If I don't post these notices, that would mean less competition!
And so it is now, that Andre heads to the city of Aelhurst.
With a heart built with courage and hope.
And a wish.
Andre is a fairly impetuous and foolhardy boy, with courage where others see stupidity. His emotions may sometimes come before rational thinking, and Andre tends to throw himself into most situations without it. However, he enjoys the thrill of it all, and enjoys improvising with what he has in any situation. Andre is however, a relatively likeable boy and with a sense of humor, he gets along with anyone fairly easily.
Courier - Andre served as a delivery boy for various packages and letters for people using the Gold Horse Courier.
Unknown to Andre, he has Angelic Heritage in his blood. He is capable of using the most basic of Restoration Magic without an Arcane Mentor, which entails to Healing, Protection and Blessings. He would be also able to learn the more advanced Restoration Magic with ease, but otherwise, his Restoration Magic is more potent than any other.
-- Angel's Shortblade : A Sky Steel Shortblade that belonged to an Angel, the slightly curved has Mysticite Soul Gems embedded in the hilt section, and its sharp edge gleams brightly in the sunlight. It seems easily carried by the wind, and Andre has been skilled enough to throw it like a boomerang on occasion.
-- Sky Steel Armour : Sky Steel is one of the more mysterious metals, said to be made by the Angels. Whatever the case, Andre's armour can take more damage than it appears, and parts are embedded with soul stones which enhance some of his capabilities, such as speed, strength and reflex.
-- Andre's Amulet : A link between Andre and his father, Andre's Amulet has Mysticite Soul Gems embedded in it. However, Andre is not aware of the link his amulet provides.
Andre's emotions are his weak spot. It may not seem it, when someone goads him on with something that upsets him, the way he goes berserk and seems to be stronger. However, it's then that he is the most vulnerable.
Andre dislikes a fair few things, such as sweetrolls, guards, noblemen, immobility, dead weight situations and tight spaces. Andre is fearful of losing the more beloved of his friends, as they've come to be like family. Apart from that, Andre also has a fear of feral animals and hideous creatures.
It's hard to say specifically. Andre misses his mother and the house he lived in a long time ago. At the same time, he wonders where his sister is now, or if she's even alive. And now, Andre wonders if he'll ever be able to find his father, who may be alive.
It would seem on the whole, Andre just wishes that he had his family again, and the life they shared a long time ago.
Andre's Theme: Roxas
Neir The Forgotten One
Name: His name is long and hard to say, so it is shortened to Neir. But in the few legends my character is listed in, he is just known as "The Forgotten One"
Race: He is classified as a daemon/Shade.
Age: his age is unknown to the common folk, but he is over 12,000 years old.
Appearance: He looks to be wearing a "hoodie" of some sort. It covers the mask that he wears. The hoodie is Black with glowing marks and designs over it. they glow a light grey color. He wears jeans, a dark blue color, with a belt around his hip, not in the loops of the pants but hanging to the side. He was very into the "Mystified Times" a lost era in which weapons were made specifically for those specified to the combat area or their choice. He chose. Around his gloves that cover his hands, is another glow from his skin, But a dark glow. It seems that there is a mist peeling off his body. His eyes are pure red, but if you look at them, they appear to want to harm nothing. They just long to rest. His hair is jet black and some what long and spiky. ( a lot like anime characters would be ).He has straps over his grey undershirt, they are a dark brown that blend in with his skin color. The mask that he wears is just a blank dark silver mask. the face is emotionless and has no slits for the mouth or eyes. Neir just uses his senses to see. But take off the mask, and you can see the scars from all the years of battle he has been in.
Background: His story is short but that is only because it is unknown to anyone. He was born from the fallen angels and those that were still holy. He was looked down upon as a disgrace, but both angels felt the sympathy for him, seeing as how he is the only of his kind. So they agreed to make him a Daedric Shade. He was to be a shadow of both the good and the bad, having free will to choose which to be and when. They gave him the title "The Forgotten" because he was to be a guardian of souls. But once, when he became to close to a human, a woman, he fell in love, and forgot his priorities. To many people went without the guidance after death and chose where to go, so they always chose to come back to life. This arose horror among the people at the time and the angels saw this and punished him by having the dead, take away the woman he loved and deliver her to a secret place...a place that shall be hidden from all. except for every few hundred years, somewhere on the planet. He has finally found this city, and has come to fight for what he wants most.
Personality: Neir is gentle and kind on most days, because this is what the woman taught him. But other days he is cruel and unforgiving, remembering that he must do his job as The Forgotten and make sure the souls of the dead are sent to where they deserve. Except he has help, a certain being called death, that helps him send the souls on their way. He has death so he can go fight for his love, and have someone at his side.
Occupation:* He worked for the Angels, holy and fallen, carrying out the orders of whatever being they answered to.
Power/Weapon: His weapons are this. A sword made of unknown metal, from which he got in the Mystical Times Era. It is a sword, of a very dark blood red, that also glows, but with a hint of dark blue. It flows in waves around the sword, as if there was an ocean just waiting to burst out. He has a modern day pistol of pure silver, It can alter everything, but the decision shall not physically or mentally harm Neir in any way.( I never said emotionally) And last but not least, he has the power to control shadows. He can look at any shadow and alter in in any way. He can become the shadow, and bend it to his will. This is how he controls the soul of those who he judges. The eyes may be the windows to the soul, but your shadow is where you hide your secrets, and Neir uses those secrets to make your soul come out to get them back.
Weakness: The only way to defeat Neir is to beat him at his own game. You must look into his soul, and command it. But even this does not kill him, only makes him kneel down and follow whoever now controls him. This happened only once before and he created the "Black Plague" which killed so many. The One who beat him was a master of the mind, but became insane, for Neirs mind houses so many secrets, and when you command Neirs soul, his melds with yours and you become one. But to trully defeat Neir, You must hold the sword that is heated with the flames of pure hatred. Flames in general are not a friend of Neir. They harm him, but not by much.
Dislikes/Fears:* What makes him uneasy is Fire, as I've said. This is what will make him lose his temper and go wild, just to get away from it, to put it out.
Wish: What Neir wants, is for his beloved to be released from captivity so that he may live with her.
Other: The Theme music that goes with him is "Dearly Beloved" From Kingdom Hearts II.
I hop you enjoy and use my character. As old as he is, he is very vulnerable. you just have to find his achilles heel ;D
Name: Tancred Santoro
At this point in his life, Tancred is 185 centimetres tall, and weighs in at 95 kilograms without his armour, and most of that weight is muscle, which he packed on and then toned over the course of many battles. His lightly-tanned body is covered in scars, a long list of small miscalculations. Along with the scars, much of him is tattooed in dark blue ink. Starting at the top of his head and wrapping down his chest to his legs, much of him is coated in lines of scripture, detailing every letter written in the codex of his order. His heavy, angular, and somewhat gaunt features are contrasted by his bright, vitality-filled amber-gold eyes, and topped by his hairless head. His close-cropped beard, however, reveals that his hair would be a very dark brown, were it to be allowed to grow in.
Tancred was born in Har'teth, A monastery hidden deep in a mountain pass, far away from prying eyes. There he was trained, from the moment he could walk, to fight the witch and the daemon, the heretic, and the monster. There he also learned the worship of Zarus, god of humanity, perfection, and domination. He remained under the care of the monastery's knights for many years, until they did what they do with all of their trainees. The then-knight-errant was told to seek out an artefact. Some legendary item that might aid him in his desire to destroy the enemies of man. And it was on this quest where he discovered his signature weapon, the Blessed Maul of Kord. The weapon had been captured by a large band of Orcs, who had begun to worship the thing. Seeing the power it had, the knight proved himself to Kord, vanquishing the Orcs and gaining the right to bear his weapon. Upon returning to the monastery with this mighty weapon, Tancred was made a full member of the order. Here was named Knight, Witch Hunter, and Cleric of both Kord and Zarus.
He was then given the blessed, red and gold Gothic plate armour and surcoat of the order, gifted a horse, and told to go out into the world and serve as a champion of humanity. In his arrogance, the warrior took on a Daemon Prince alone, and was defeated, though the beast had a cruel sense of humour, and it left the man alive to return to his home in failure. There, Tancred was stripped of his armour and ordered back out into the world. He was to retrieve his hammer, as well as a second artefact, or die in the attempt. This quest took many years to finish, but he managed it. Seeking out lesser lords of other races, the disgraced knight challenged and slew them, and took their badges of office. Having retrieved the crowns of an Elf, a Dwarf, and an Orc, each more arrogant than the last, and all less skilled than the knight, he traded the crowns to his Grand-Master for a Lance of Zarus, which he used to subjugate the Daemon Prince who had taken his hammer. With the daemon under his control, and his rank re-instated, the mighty warrior locked the Daemon Prince within the hammer and the lance, and he carries both with him, always, along with the flammenschwert that he had wielded while disgraced. Once more he became an arrogant warrior, but this time he was tempered by his experience, and he continued his duties to the world, destroying and subjugating all that he could that was not human. And then word came from the monastery that there would be a contest soon. Tancred was selected, and he was one of the first into Aelhurst, eager to slaughter the inferior races that would be attending...
Tancred is considered haughty and arrogant by most, though he always acts honourably, especially when in the company of fellow humans. People of other races often find themselves on the wrong side of the knight's temper no matter what they might do, and he has only rarely shown mercy to such people. The witch hunter flat out refuses to compromise his beliefs, and will die before he lets anyone who is not human gain much of anything.
Occupation: Knight of the Order of the Scions Zarus, Witch Hunter, Cleric of Zarus and Kord
The Maul of Kord: a massive hammer with a white marble, lozenge-shaped head, marbled with deep crimson veins, and engraved with a prayer to Kord. The haft is carved of hornbeam and it also is adorned with prayers to Kord. The handle itself is wrapped in wire and leather to give it a better gripping surface. It contains one half of the Daemon Prince that originally stole the hammer, and is capable of rendering low-level spells harmless, though it can only manage a few each day. Because of its inhabitant, the maul is also capable of feeding off of Tancred's hate, becoming lighter and easier to wield as it draws more power. This also helps to balance the knight, as it depletes his emotions.
The Lance of Zarus: A ten-foot spear tipped with a wicked silver spike on each end. There is a cross-guard about a foot down the shaft from the main spike and this is also sharp on both ends. The shaft is also carved of hornbeam, but it is unadorned. It contains the other half of the Daemon Prince and can banish all lesser Daemonic Beings withing a six metre radius once per day. Housing the other half of the Daemon, this lance can also feed on the hatred of its wielder, becoming easier to manage as it draws on the wrathful emotions of those nearby. However, this will not deplete an emotional reserve, as Zarus has blessed it to be used against those who are not human, and they must be hated with all of one's might.
A generic Flammenschwert: Tancred carries the weapon he bore while disgraced with him, to remind him of his failings. It keeps his arrogance in check, reminding him that some fights require more than brawn, faith, and constitution. It is two metres long, from pommel to tip, and weighs in at three and a half kilos. It will very occasionally manifest magical abilities, but only when Tancred's hatred is at its peak. At this point the sword gains a mind of its own, manifesting a hate-fueled aura that it feels is appropriate.
Weakness: high-level magic, as well as ranged attacks. Crossbows are particularly unpleasant.
Dislikes/Fears:* He hates all other races with a passion. All of his being is regularly devoted to hating those who are not human. He fears only his own imperfection, and ignominious death.
Wish: Tancred wishes to see the human race united and perfected and in control of the world, with all others subjugated or dead.
Tancred's horse, Praetorian, is a massive destrier, and a prime example of the perfect war horse. The big bay horse is trained not only as a steed, but to fight on its own, and is perfectly capable of defeating other beings of lesser skill. Usually, though, Praetorian is content to use his abilities to work with his knight, rather than risking them working separately. And while not the smartest horse, he take direction well, and is not an animal to be trifled with...
Tancred's armour is not only blessed by both Zarus and Kord, it is also engraved with runes that aid him in battle. Within two metres of him, all spells cast being losing power, and within one metre, they lose a full level of power, reducing the effectiveness of any kind of magic. The energy that might otherwise have gone to the spell is instead converted into hate and used to fuel Tancred's emotions, allowing his weapons to soak up more power from their wielder. As well, creatures that are magical in nature will find their concentration disrupted once they enter the two metre radius, and as they get closer, their ability to focus is disrupted more and more. This ability requires more passionate loathing from the wearer, however.
Obviously he doesn't play very well with others, but I've found that if I sit him down and we have a good talk, he can be convinced to do a fair bit. If you need something from Tancred, feel free to pm me and we'll talk... And his theme is Siegreicher Marsch by Amon Amarth
Name: Raelius “Rae” Tyr
Race: Human, Caucasian
Background: Raelius was born and raised in a city far to the north, known as Teuran. Teuran is not a particularly rich, nor an impoverished, city. Most of its wealth is derived from lumber trading, as it is located at the edge of an abundant forest. Relius became an officer of the Teuran City Guard at the age of nineteen. At age twenty, he found a beautiful wife, by the name of Lizaben, and had a daughter, named Helena two years later.
One season ago, a terrible plague, known only as the Affliction, befell the city of Teuran. Within a fortnight, over half of the city had died of the Affliction. By the next fortnight, Teuran had fallen to complete anarchy. The surviving lower class of the city and the infected began indiscriminately burning homes and tearing the city apart in hysteria. As a loyal member of the Guard, he did his best to keep the peace, but to no avail.
One cold night, little more than a month ago, Raelius was held up from completing his rounds by a small group of bandits attempting to raid a merchant’s weekly shipment. The fight was four-to-one, but Raelius managed to kill three of them. The forth, however, was much more skilled, and seemed to be the leader of the group. He carried an exceptionally large sword, which he swung with ease, and wore a dark cloak that overshadowed his face. Raelius managed to wound the man, but with injury to himself as well. The marauder retreated and Raelius made his way home.
By the time he arrived, however, flames had engulfed the entirety of his home, with his wife and child inside. In front of the burning property, there was a single note, pinned in the dirt by the villain’s blade. The note read: “Follow your hope and hated and you shall find me.”
Personality: Raelius is very quiet and reserved. He says only things he finds necessary to say, and is not one for rhetoric.
Occupation: Officer of the Teuran City Guard.
Power/Weapon: Carries a six-foot-long, seven-inch-wide Custom Two-handed Greatsword. Currently knows no magic.
Weakness:Emotional – Raelius is very emotionally attached to the memories of his beloved family. The possibility of bringing them back only strengthens this bond.
Physical – Raelius’s fighting technique focuses mainly on brute strength, considering his weapon. He can move at a decent pace, but is not particularly agile.
Dislikes/Fears: Raelius fears very little, since he has already lost everything. Whether he lives or dies matters little to him; either way he will be reunited with his wife and daughter.
Wish: Resurrection of Lizaben and Helena.
Other: He hates ignorance. Because reasons.
Name: Leon Verbeck
Race: Human Demonaic
Appearance: Tall man of about 6'3, placed at 220 lbs. He is a muscular, fit man with a scarred, battle worn face. He Keeps his ginger and brown hair long, ties in a ponytail, and wears a neat, trimmed goatee on his chin.
Growing up in the town of New Tamrah, Leon always dreamt of war and glory. Since the day he learned to walk, he had been practicing the art of battle and that of warfare, relishing the thrill of a good fight and the succulent taste ofvictory.
This town has an interesting history, you see. The formation can be dated back to many centuries ago, where a large stretch of land was broken into hundreds of tribes on varying sizes, and with confusing coalitions and connections. Over time, these tribes began to war with one another, with a goal of conquest. A few tribes in particular excelled immensly in this war, particularly the Hauqkuma and Genjic tribes. The Hauqkuma were known for their fierce warriors, who moved with such speed and strength; they were the perfect guerilla soldiers. The Genjic tribe were highly adept in the art of Pyromancy, and their skill and tactics combined devastated many tribes. These two were fairly centralized, and soon they were two large islands in a sea of tiny civilizations. The smaller tribes combined forces to destroy a common enemy. The Hauqkuma and the Genjics, understanding the danger of this alliance, created one of their own. They shared tactics and skills and combined their forces, and decimated the remaining opposing forces. These two tribes did not end the alliance, however. They joined and created a small nation of their own. To this day, they are known as some of the strongest mercenaries and soldiers in all the land, being masters of sword and fire.
The most famous landmark in this place is the Mercenary Academy, a national icon for fighters of all areas and of all races. It was expensive, but they also are willing to fund those who exceed the entrance expectations, potentially allowing free access, like any good university. Students here can learn most of anything, but the main focus is on Warfare, Tactics, Weaponry, Energy Manipulation, Battle and the like.
As you could see, this can easily mold an ambitious childs dreams into a reality, and even the youngest children constantly competed against eachother for the sport, and to see who was the best.
Leons father wanted him to join the academy someday, but he had not the financial ability to do so. Thus, he trained his child as best he could, in hopes for a bursary or scholarship. If not, he could always become a tradesman. However, it had seemed as if that would not be necessary, because it turned out that Leon was unusually gifted, as if he knew what to do before he was taught it. Even greater was his ability to weild energy and perform pyromancy at such a young age. As he grew older so did his knowledge and his strength. By the age of twelve, he was so good and showed so much promise that they let him in to the Mercenary Academy will a full scholarship until he was 18, if he was willing to join the Imperial Army after those six years. He graciously accepted.
Leon took every class offered in the warfare section, and excelled. At that time, he was one of the best in the school, always eager to learn. As a child he learned to fight with a short stick, but he then picked up the naginata, and realized that the strength, versatility and reach of the polearm made it an incredibly powerful weapon, and he specialized in it, while still gaining proficiency in various weapon types.
Some would have accounted his incredible skill to luck, or good ancestry. If you were Leon, however, you would know differently. As far back as he could remember, it had always felt natural, but over time he realized that the alternate presence in his mind was not his own. It was subtle, but it grew with him, in strength and in its connection. It told him things, like when he was writing a test or when pondering a difficult question. it even sometimes guided his motions, like when he was struggling in a fight, and it helped him get out of a sticky spot. In time, he even began communicating with it. Not necessarily as an individual, but as a second him. It felt natural to him.
However, over time the presence grew stronger. Sometimes he would see visions of a wolf covered in vicious, spiky hair, like a hedgehog, or a curtain protruding with blades. He began questioning it, and it told him that it was a demon. A very old demon, in fact; it had told him that as a child, the demon combined its soul with his, but it refused to explain why. Leon was curious, but not scared. The demon was part of him, and felt no different from any other appendage, despite being a mental one. He continued with his life.
At the age of 18, Leon finished his schooling and left for the Imperial Army. His reputation proceeded him, and before he had even walked into the barracks, it seemed as if most of his platoon had heard of him. He became respected and well liked very quickly.
He also shot up in ranks very quickly. He became Captain of his platoon in a matter of weeks, and was promoted every few months. Where most poeple would take 15 to 20 years to become a Colonel, Leon acheived that rank in a matter of seven. His skill would be necessary for what was to come, however.
In the far north was a horde of Barbarian, uncreatively dubbed the Northern Barbarians, who had risen to arms for unknown reasons, and single-handedly decimated an entire province, moving faster than any army, pillaging and destroying. The surrounding nations with the Imperial Army at the forfront took arms against this horde. This was the first true test of Leons abilities, as he had never truly killed a man before. However, when placed with an angry, smelly, screaming barbarian in his face, his bloodlust seemed to kick in well. With his specially awarded Naginata, Flamewarder, personally crafted for his achievement of the valedictorian status, he slaughtered hundreds of barbarians. With his crafted blade he beheaded those who might usurp the peace of the country, and his skill became famous. He developped his own method of pyromancy, in which he would gather incredible amounts of energy and release it in a single point, creating a spectacular display of fire. he was unstoppable.
To cap it all, his connection with his demon reached an epitome when he was surrounded by ten barbarians at once. With Flamewarder being knocked out of reach, blade in his hand. He felt a rush of energy through his arm and a large blade he had never seen before appeared in his hand. Feeling alive and buzzing with power, it seemed to act on its own. As he advanced on his attack, three black spikes flew out of the blade and began attacking his enemies self coherantly. He butchered the rest with his dual blades. a few men saw it, and rumours of his talents spread. He was a legend.
This all came to an unfortunate stop when he realized some of the terrible crimes the army was commiting. He was ordered to slaughter a civilian barbarian camp, full of women and children, defenseless. Leon doubted the ideologies of the army, for he had never seen reason for war to be morally wrong. These people were doing no harm, and he refused to force his battalion to attack. Leon was demoted for insubordination, and was whipped on a post, then returned to the army. However, Leons taste for killing had ended, and with a sick feeling he abandoned the army with no notice. He quickly packed his weapons and left. He never returned to New Tamrah, and found a small town to settle in. A few people there had heard of him, but had no idea what he was like or who he was, so he changed his last name to Verbeck and began a new life there. He built his own house there, and even decided to open up a noodle shop for some income. He started making a nice, simple living, and he had even met a girl there.
When Leon was 28, trouble arose in te town. A gang seemed to have had started terrorizing the town, but there was no force in place to deal with them, so they simply took over. In this time, his wife bore him a son. He was mildly worried about the safety of the town his son was growing up in. He considered going after them himself, but the thought of injuring another person again disgusted him, and he laid his troubles to rest.
One fateful night, a party of thugs broke into his house. Weary from the days work himself, he was not able to arise before the men were already on top of him. They grabbed his wife and held a knife to her throat, told him not to do anything. He heard her screams from the room next over. Crying, but sincerely hoping she was alive, he waited for the men to leave. Laughing the whole time, they promptly exited his house, and he rushed over to the room she laid in. Her dress was ripped off, and she bled from multiple stab wounds. Already certainly dead on the floor, Leon screamed in agony, as he felt his soul torn asunder. Then, a familiar feeling in his mind came back, as his best friend entered his mind once more. He could feel the demons shock as well, then its mind turned into wrath. Their minds connected, their emotions were eachothers and with murder in his heart, Leon walked weaponless into the night.
With his old training, he first tracked footprints. He was led into a forest, and then into a cavern on the side of a mountain. He heared the sounds of laughter and the clink of mugs, ringing into the night. He felt a familiar rush of energy, and it flowed out of him, not into a sword, but into the form of a wolf, the size of a bear, its back covered in black blades. They both began to snarl as they charged into the cave, the sounds of man-screams piercing the night once more.
After that night, Leon created his own persona. He created a leather mask with small leather ridges coming out, as if the form of a dragon, and a cloak, and he defended the small town at night of those that would usurp the peace with the blade of Flamewarder.
He raised his son entirely different from himself. He refused to teach him to fight, and allowed him to help in his noodle shop to try and raise him away from the violence in the world. However, he began to notice by word of mouth word of a tournament with fantastic prozes, and found flyers for the Battle of Aelhurst, in which godly creatures promised a wish for the victor. He loathed to leave his son, but this was an opportunity too perfect for him to pass up. He told his son was leaving for a trip, kissed him goodbye, packed his things and left for the city.
Personality: He is calm and collected, and always tries to do the right thing. He isnt the life of the party, but inside he's a good man. He wants the best for his son.
Occupation: He was a high ranked soldier, then a successful noodle shop owner by day and blade weilding vigilante by night.
Generic weapons: Flamewarder, a specially crafted polearm with a square headed blade, made for powerful slashing and tough spear hits; A one sided blade, as is Imperial Army custom; Tool belt with various tools, such as a dagger, hatchet, throwing knives, rope, string, etc.
Pyromancy: Ability to manipulate energy in the form of fire. Energy can be taxing to use, especially in large amounts. Signature skill, a compression fire blast
Demonaic: Holds the spirit of a demon inside him which he does not control. It sometimes appears as a weapon or in true form when he's endangered or if he's incredibly emotional, but there's no certainty. As a blade, it's similar to his naginata's blade but much longer and on a sword hilt. It launches three spikes controlled by the demon, which can cut, or be deflected or dodged like any projectile. As a demon, he can attack like a wolf, and use his spikes more effectively.
Weakness: He has trouble killing unless he has to or is very angry. Particularly killing someone he knew would be difficult for him. He also can be very emotional. He has nightmares about things he saw in the war, and his wife.
Dislikes/Fears: He has no taste for bloodshed anymore. He fears for his son, and what he will grow up to be.
Wish: He wishes to create a world in which parents or children or anyone would not have to endure the atrocities of hate or violence. Infinite peace.
Name: Fredrick "The Kingslayer" Hanz
Race: Originally human,his body has rotted away in the armor, leaving only his soul attached to the armor giving it life.
Age: He's lost track but he was alive and present at the battle that defeated the Teutonic order. (That would place him at around 602 years.Assuming this isn't the future, years wise.)
Appearance: Fredrick's armor stands at 6ft 5in and weighs at 95lbs, obviously making him fast, because with no flesh and blood to weigh him down, his armor is only like 95 pounds...
Background: Fredrick was one of the elite knights of a noble man of a long forgotten country. He and his compatriots were sent in to break sieges and defenses and slay whomever they were assigned. The Nobleman decided that a nearby King had become to much of a threat so he sent in Fredrick and the other knights. After shattering through the defenses. They stormed the throne room where the King was waiting for them. It was a brutal battle. The ruler was not only a skilled swords man, but a sorcerer to boot giving him magical abilities and superior speed and strength. Eventually though, he was brought down and slain by Fredrick. As he died, The King set a curse upon Fredrick and the last surviving member of the elite squad sent in. While they would be given great power, they would only be able to die through battle and the process could kill them and would seal them in their armor forever. Fredrick remembers intense pain after this and then blacked out. When he awoke, he found his compatriot dead and that he had a few abilities. His master died and Fredrick just went and found a new king to serve when that one died he repeated the process until, he had earned a name for him self as a "Kingslayer" for the few kings he had slain. When the medieval age began to get replaced by the Renaissance, Fredrick realized that the times were leaving him behind and the age of Chivalry and Knights was dieing..he discovered the true power of the curse when he found that he couldn't kill himself to end his life of watching those around him grow old and die and being unable to do what he had been born and trained to do.
Personality: Fredrick is cold, calculating, and utterly ruthless. He shows no mercy and expects none in return. He lives to fight. He fights to die. He is also extremely practical about things, almost to a pessimistic point.
Occupation: Soldier for hire, looking for that one opponent...
Minor Fire control: Things like Fire balls maybe a few flames from the hands and mouth.
Earth control: Send the earth cracking all the way towards his enemies, earth spikes, dirt and sand clones with weapons, fall back into the ground and pop out somewhere else, that type of stuff.
Summon mount: The only thing that can be called "necromancy" that he has is to summon his long dead horse to transport him once more. Bow before the awesomeness.
Shield of Anarcul (Only with a black background): This was the shield Fredrick had taken from the first King he had slain and it is imbued with magic. Upside to this is it can block bullets (though not forever and nothing like a shotgun up close), and can be changed into a specific element (fire,water,earth, etc.) giving it abilities of that Element. Downside is that the spells/abilities of that shield are random, he could launch a powerful wind at you, if imbued with that element, or he could cool you off.
Brendika: This Long sword was crafted and imbued with energy by Fredrick himself. It's energy is that of fire and if Fredrick says it's "true" name it'll burst into flames. Not doing any damage to the metal interestingly enough. (Complete with Blood Channel for Sarpedon)
Fredrick's ring: This ring has a vast store of magical energy that Fredrick can call upon. Which means that he can cast spell for a lot longer while tapped into that. Downside is that he can only access it in battle, and it takes a little bit of time for him to do that, making him distracted for a brief period of time.
Weakness: Honorable: Fredrick comes from a time when knights were expected to fight with honor and dignity, as such he'll never use lowly tactics. Maybe if he feels like the fight has not gone on enough he'll let a downed opponent get up. Stuff like that.
Ranged combat: While having magic, Fredrick has limited amounts of it so his preferred method of fighting is up close and personal.
Dislikes/Fears:Fredrick dislikes cheating in battle (such as throwing dust in the eyes or two or more vs. One),Boasting, and arrogance. He is afraid of not dieing in battle. Despite the fact that he can't he has been searching so long for that final battle it has become his greatest desire.
Wish: Death. He desperately wants to die in one final Glorious battle. One on one. Single combat. Evenly matched. Brutal battle, until one beats the other through strength of arm or magic.
Other: Despite the fact that he is only a soul in a suit of armor, he still can be injured by blades, magic, and other such things. He can also be tired out and loose energy. Just think of the suit of armor as his new body. Without the need to eat, drink, sleep, or go to the bathroom.
25 in human years
The half elf known by the name Naunix does not display many of his late mothers elfish features, in fact the only clear resemblance he exhibits are his cleanly shaved face and the pointed ears whose tips poke out the sides of his mane-like hair. Naunix takes great pride in his birthplace to the north and demonstrates this pride with the color and style of his hair. His hair is quite long and splits color straight down the middle of his hairline. The right side of his hair is an ice-blue color and is spiked from his forehead all the way across his head and down his neck; it represents the ice that spikes across the frozen lands and waters in the frozen northern zones. The left side of Naunix’s hair is dyed as white as the snow that blankets across his homeland and is styled just so: his hair falls in front of his face on the left side and his cleanly laid over his head and down the back of his neck like a fresh coat of snowfall.
The features of his face do not akin him to his elven brothers in anyway. Whereas most elves and half-breeds have a gorgeous complexion and fair skin free of marks; Naunix’s face shows that his years, although not numerous, have been unfriendly. The time spent away from the dark and cold seasons of the north have darkened his kind face into rough tan. Along with mother natures harsh treatment has come the equally unforgiving dealings of her children. Whether it be beast bothered or people prejudiced Naunix has faced his fair share of struggles empowering and demeaning. His journeys away from home accompanied by these brawls have bared his body beaten and bruised. Despite the racist nature of some of his skirmishes, Naunix wears his scars as proudly as medals because he believes they show his ability to overcome. In terms of actual size his good genes and active lifestyle have rewarded him with a strong frame capable of continuing his vigorous existence. He stands proudly at 6 feet 2 inches with his head held high atop his broad shoulders. Depending on the season of year and his luck in nature he weighs anywhere between 200 and 210 pounds on a good day.
However; the most recognizable feature of Naunix Xeduun are his eyes. The pupil and iris of both eyes are just as white as the sclera in which the red veins are visible. Upon first glance many believe that his is blind, but within his culture it is considered a great omen to be blessed with eyes so pure. The apparel in which Naunix is general witnessed reflects his specific clan and upbringing. His arms from the elbow down and his legs from knee down are wrapped in cloth and tightly bound giving his appendages the slight appearance of a mummy’s attire. Underneath his armor he wears a thick leather pair of chaps and a tanned hide vest with no sleeves. Atop his casual under-garb he is donned with a combination of lightweight metal plates that cover his chest, shoulders, biceps, thighs, and shins. These plates are held together by white pelts of various bears, rabbits, foxes and other winter-coated animals that where skinned for the purpose of this armor. The overall set guards Naunix’s most vital areas while still allowing him to move as freely as possible. The armor is a perfect compromise of protection and speed.
Naunix was raised by his mother deep in the mountains of the north where the elven clan of Xeduun resides. Naunix’s father was a human from the central continents of the known world, but was outcaste for reasons unknown to Naunix nor his mother. He wandered across the vast countries of the north in search of friendly faces and was eventually met with open arms throughout his journey. However; no village was able to welcome him as a permanent resident due to the condition of living in such a harsh environment. So his father became a nomad moving from village to village managing his survival. Eventually he made it to the one truly established town in the northern territories and settled in as a blacksmith. While there he eventually fell in love with an elven woman who would come from the deep mountains to trade goods within the frozen metropolis. After impregnating her with the unlucky half-breed that was to be their son Naunix, he set out for the Zael Desert in search of the riches he wanted to support his struggling life and family. Due to the nature of the situation it was unlikely that he would return and alas he did not.
Naunix’s mother did not give up on waiting for him to return until a true human lifespan had expired and Naunix had reached manhood. Her son fully capable of caring for himself and her only other reason for living clearly deceased his mother peacefully surrendered to death’s embrace and left Naunix in the safety of the clan. After years of the some routinely boring life the very human feelings of wonder, greed, and the need for change had began to prick at Naunix’s thoughts day by day until he gave in to his long-ignored urges and left home without so much as a goodbye. Since that day Naunix has been living like his father did in the middle of his younger years. However, his inability to truly belong to one race has made it harder for him to find the same open doors and welcoming faces his father stumbled into before him. With another decade passing since his father’s disappearance, rumors of the city from the sands have reached the pointed ears of Naunix the northern half-breed. He is now dead-set on finding what his father got himself caught in so many years ago.
Naunix is calm and collected and always thinks before he acts. His decisions’ are based on what they may affect later rather than just a current judgment. He is generally quiet, understanding, and not easily angered. Although he tends to avoid conflict if it comes to him he will deal with it the most appropriate means. Despite his casual nature he is a deadly force to be reckoned with and it is recommended that you don’t stand in between him and what he wants. Naunix’s secluded life has also resulted in being a very independent individual. He is far from trustworthy and expects rudeness or a bluntly race-based assault from the majority of the people he meets.
All the previous aside: if someone manages to get on Naunix’s good side his personality adjusts to his more human side or the way he would act among his clan mates. He will start to become cocky around them, but remain clever enough to not make himself look like an idiot. During a serious moment he will still focus on the situation at hand and take on a no bulls**t attitude. However, if he’s outside of any danger he can become quite talkative and amusing to be accompanied by. Regardless of how comfortable he may get with another he still keeps most of his true feelings bottled up inside and is very good at hiding his emotions. Along with that Naunix will still try pass off as the strong silent type that no one would dare to bother when busy despite the obvious camaraderie he may currently be sharing.
The blades carried by Naunix were crafted by none other than his father and were considered to be his greatest achievement. The blades where specifically made for Naunix before his birth. Each blade represents one half of who he is. Both blades are Grosse Messer’s but have specific differences that pertain to each side of Naunix’s gene pool. The blade representative of his father’s southern desert homeland is pitch black from handle to tip and has metal twisted around a ruby in the center of the hilt. The blade itself is jagged like a saw on both sides, but still proficient for stabbing or quickly slashing through an opponent. This is because the teeth along the blade are larger(but still tiny) near the hilt and become very miniscule as they reach the tip of the blade. The blade representative of his mother’s north elven culture is pure white with sapphire in the exact spot as the ruby in the juxtaposing blade. The blade of his white sword is smooth from edge to edge without the slightest hint of an indentation.
At first glance these two Grosse Messer’s seem like well crafted ornamental blades and unsuccessful for the heat of battle. However; the metal that his father used to craft he blades resulted in two massive swords as light as a needle used to sew hide into clothing. Naunix’s invaluable time spent training with his deceptively powerful blades have turned him into a well oiled machine of killing efficiency against a variety of armament or numbers. Naunix is able to maximize his killing power with these unnatural tools due to him having trained with blades of regular weight for the majority of his life. The swords rest in an 'X' shaped sheath that is strapped across Naunix's chest, resting the blades across his back with the handles too each sword on opposite sides. The black blade rests upside-down on Naunix's right side(held in place by it's small teeth) and the white blade rests with the hilt directly behind Naunix's left shoulder.
Although Naunix does not practice the magic of his mother’s people he does contain the same blood as his ancestors and therefore has a power within him that is dangerous to himself and his adversaries. When Naunix reaches a point of pure hatred or rage his body does more than go into an adrenaline rush. The berserkerage releases a magic within his very core that dissolves logic from his thoughts and in it’s place pours the fuel for a blood-lust that can only be stopped by a success in his slaughter or his own death. While other elves are much better at containing this issue Naunix’s human side weakens him to it’s dawning threat.
THIS IS A GROSSE MESSER ^
The Beserkerage previously mentioned^, innocents in need (especially female elves or male humans), the same willpower that drives him may push him to achieve too much, and the need for knowledge of his fathers end/existence.
Strong Magics from a considerable distance, I assume being stabbed or shot with arrows also harm him.
Racism, humidity, stupidity, and most green foods.
Enough power or influence to end any feuds between the races of those who inhabit the world so that they make work together to solve greater problems at hand, rather than be blinding by the ignorance of unreasoned hate. OR a full understanding of his ancestry on both sides (especially knowledge about his father)
Has an awkward soft-spot for animals…didn’t feel this as enough of a weakness to put it in the emotional list.
Airius Caine…to some he was known as: The Left Hand of Zarus
Airius is currently 326 years old but maintains the physical age of his 32 year old self
A mix between Letho of Gulet (the kingslayer from the witcher 2)
And Tychus Findlay from StarCraft
Airius was raised in the desert city of Talmoria by a group of priests and nuns within their abbey. He was schooled and fed like any other orphan under the care of the religious folks; however, Airius was bred to serve a higher purpose than that of a regular citizen. When Arius reached the age of 7 he began his training as a killing machine. An order of assassins who killed in the name of Zarus began to remove the child from his regular studies and employ him to tests and training that would solidify his position as their strongest project. The priests of the abbey, while also followers of Zarus, would clearly not approve of such instruction for a child of their institution and so his training was passed off as an apprenticeship in blacksmithing.
This façade of becoming a blacksmith required Airius to actually participate in the craft and provided the boy with a set of skills required to live as a normal citizen. Once Airius had reached manhood he was sent off by the loving hands of the abbey to join the city as a valuable citizen. While Airius’ brothers and sisters left for the workforces of their individual talents…he did the same...and ventured to the headquarters of Zarus’ Assassins. Once there, Airius was welcomed with the same type loving arms that had just released him from the abbey. Despite what one would think of such an upbringing, Airius was truly loved by those who had taught him and he shared a strong bond with the other members.
And with that Airius began his life as a killer in the name of the righteous god of humanity: Zarus. While maintaining a double life as the cities greatest blacksmith, Airius was forced to complete all his missions at night once the bazaar had closed. Airius was given regular tasks at first: killing a rival priest here... ending an elven cult there…but over a short period of time the 18 year old mans skills truly came to fruition. Airius became what the order had molded him from such a young age to become: God’s Left Hand…the hand representative of Gods necessary evils.
Airius was sent to distant lands with orders of killing religious leaders of other religions and races all in the name of Zarus, the one true god. However, over time with more rigorous tasks finished, the assignments given to Airius became more mundane. Along with the lessening of difficulty came an increase in the number of targets. Airius was being sent on missions requiring him to slaughter villages and at times cities of the opposing nature. His hand, once only spilling the blood of the most highly valued targets, was now being used to paint the streets with the blood of the unarmed, women, and children.
As Airius defeated those opposing his religion, his nation grew in size. The order that had once trained him now rested at Thetus deep within the mountains of his countries ever expanding territory. Once Zarus’ power had enveloped the majority of the surrounding lands, new problems began to arise. Now witnessed as a large force of the world Zarus acquired enemies of a new caliber. To compensate for the new threats more children were being taken off to Har’teth in preparation for the secretive slaughter that would soon be needed behind the deceiving veil of politics and war.
Amidst this change came the turning point in Airius’ life that would shape him into the father and husband that he is remembered as. Airius, now 28 years of age (10 years passed since him leaving the orphanage) received urgent news that the order at Thetus had fallen under attack. Airius immediately left home in a fury with the emotional images of those who held dearest to him being assaulted without protection. After a full day of travel Airius reached the Assassins’ headquarters and was met with a burning heap of rubble.
Airius stumbled silently into the wreckage that was once the home of his closet friends and family. Burnt and beaten corpses littered the scorched stone and wood that previously stood as an institute formed for the creation of killers. As the sick irony of the situation dawned on Airius he fell to his knees and wept for those he had lost. Once he had gathered himself, Arius stood up to make his way out of the forsaken wreckage when a piece of parchment caught his eye. Curious, Airius sulked over to the piece of paper held into a lone wooden post by a knife.
Dear “Left Hand”,
Here lies the vengeance of the lives of all those your ‘work’ has effected. Your past decade of destruction has been a successful one for your country, has it not? The word Zarus now strikes fear in the heart of more than just native tribes worshiping idols, his name is now recognized throughout the world itself as the God of humankind. You started by killing important figures, which, although a gruesome act, is a result of nations with opposing religions. However, your actions quickly elevated to the assassination of beings for the sole reason that they worn born of different blood. You murdered them, not for what they believed in, but because they were born into a different lineage than yourself. Your actions became more than unforgivable; they became deserving of an equally horrible reaction. Alas our scattered nations could never amass enough power to kill any number of human leaders. There was not enough reason to do so…but then…you gave us one. You gave all of us a motive you twisted piece of shit. As your country rose to power your opponents stopped their progress, leaving you with a lack of targets. So they turned your murdering hand into a scythe of slaughter…you, the tool, were sent to reap the fields of our people. Your treacherous massacre founds its way into our villages and towns ripping everything from us. While the capable men were out fighting to protect, you ended the life of every defenseless being in the cover of night. Your actions deprived us from everything. First you took our religion, then our monarchy, and lastly…the family we held dearest. For these actions there had to be a reaction…every man woman and child in this area has been put to death in your name. As they were tortured and cooked they were continuously reminded that their valiant “Left Hand” had brought this hellish end of days upon them. They say that an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind. Well ‘Left Hand’ I will give every limb and organ I posses to make sure that you never feel the love or warmth of another being for as long as you live…
May your life be filled with misery,
The mass of Widowers and Childless Fathers that your destructive reign has created
As Airius finished reading that parchment before him his eyes dropped off the last word and continued to the floor. As he stared downcast at his feet the weight of his actions dawned on him. His past actions lie scattered before him manifested in the corpses of everyone that has ever given him meaning…
The band of reckless killers was captured soon after destroying the order and each member was put to death. They died quietly without a word…each one looking Airius in the eyes prior to his head dropping onto the cold hard ground. Although the rebels had been killed…the realization had already drilled deep into Airius’ thoughts. His life was not the glorious path he had once thought it to be…Airius now understood the true nature of his ‘righteous’ tasks that he had carried out in the name of his God. Were the deaths of thousands truly worth pleasing one God? At that moment Airius made up his mind. The happiness of one being, even if that being was god, was not worthy of so much bloodshed.
Airius cast off his holy armament and left his country upon exile as a traitor for refusing to work any longer as Zarus’ tool of destruction. Although Airius knew nothing he did would ever atone for his actions, the only way for him to maintain his sanity would be to service every being equally for the rest of his life. With that thought being his driving force Airius went north as far as his feet would take him. He was taken in by caring arms more times than he could remember and each night he wept for he knew that he deserved not the kindness these strangers showed him. To many he was the butcher of their priests, kings, and relatives and although they did not know this it weighed heavily on the young mans mind.
The following is an excerpt from the CS of Naunix Xeduun:
[Eventually he made it to the one truly established town in the northern territories and settled in as a blacksmith. While there he eventually fell in love with an elven woman who would come from the deep mountains to trade goods within the frozen metropolis. After impregnating her with the unlucky half-breed that was to be their son Naunix, he set out for the Zael Desert in search of the riches he wanted to support his struggling life and family.]
Although his wife and child were sure of his death, they were mistaken. To them he was a simple father attempting to earn riches to support his family. However, to the unfortunate participants of the Zael Desert competition he was once again…The Left Hand of Zarus…
Within a matter of days Airius had effectively dispatched every opposing person within the ancient city. Despite his lack of combat over the previous 4 years his skill had not rusted in the slightest. While he was in a position of killing every individual in the contest, Airius had not forgotten what he once was and he did not wish to return to that state of mind. Each soul that fell to the might of Airius died quickly and with as little pain as possible. Airius did not with the brutality of slaughter on any opponent and ended each life with much remorse.
At the end of the contest Airius stepped quietly up to the creators of this deadly game and was granted his wish…the thing he desired most. While Airius believed his humanly greed would lead to unsurpassed riches…his heart reacted differently. Airius was granted the inability to age, deep within his soul and mind Airius truly wanted nothing more than to be with his family until the end of their days. Alas the strain of the anti-aging process drove Airius into madness. He suffered a terrible form of amnesia leaving him with no memories other than those he had gathered in the arena of death.
Now a slave to his own mind the champion of Aelhurst he resides within the ancient city his only company being the lost souls of those who have lost their lives in search of the ‘wish’ and a small gem-like feline that watches over the arena for her masters.
Even from a young age Airius was the pinnacle of a good learner. He wanted nothing more than to succeed in any given task and to make his masters and teachers proud. It was this mentality that made him the perfect subject for the Assassin Order’s new project. As a young adult Airius continued to express this outlook on life through his seemly perfect completion of missions and his equally flawless creation of weapons in his smithy. While on a mission Airius’ personality seemed nonexistent as if he had left it behind in his home while he was away. This lack of emotion made it simple for Airius to carry out the task of slaughter without a counteractive thought in his head. However, once the blood had been spilled and Airius returned home he was back to his cheerful self. In the city he was honored for his work as a smith and his alternate/true self was admired as the “Left Hand of God” and the silent protector of the people. Through his actions he kept his countrymen safe and allowed for the advancement of his people.
After the incident at the order Airius’ personality was barely affected. He continued to maintain pride in his works BUT he no longer separated his emotions from his work and was able to realize the truth behind his life as a whole. The sudden clarity that lead Airius away from his life of slaying humbled Airius overall. Although he still managed to be proud of his works as a smith he never allowed himself to receive gratitude because deep within he knew he deserved noting but to have his life ripped away from him.
-An assassin who serves Zarus is different than the silent killers of other nations. Zarus' teaching make it clear that while the enemy is still your target, it is better to fight and kill honorably than to slaughtered those who do not know of the threat at hand. For this reason the weapons chosen by Airius were quite unconventional and nearly useless for an attempt at a silent assassination. Airius carried out his contracts with a bravery that would easily shame the assassin of any other country. When assaulting his marked man Airius would step out into the targets view and begin to arm himself in front of the unlucky individual. By not strapping on his gauntlet before he stood directly before his target, Airius gave each person enough time to ready themselves for their upcoming battle and imminent death. While most assassins lose respect for each kill they bring in, due to their sneaky nature, Airius was honored for each life claimed because each success was a victory in a duel to the death.
Airius does not use any magic but before his birth his soul was imbued with a powerful force that would allow him to surpass the strength and speed of a normal human. Although he was given this ability to unlock its power he would have had to train for well over the basic human life-span…this small detail was unknown to those who embedded the power within Airius. Since his time in the ancient city the only sane thing Airius has managed to do is train…because of this unique position of ageless training Airius has been able to unlock the power within him and achieve a state of inhuman strength. Alas the instability of his mind and lack of purpose for his power has rendered it useless…for now.
Airius’ weapons of choice are quite unique and still have yet to be used by an assassin to date. On his right arm Airius wore a specially crafted gauntlet that possessed edges as sharp blades across its frame. As a child Airius’ favorite form of exercise was boxing and through that skill he developed his own fist into valuable tool capable of liquidating countless lives.
Airius only wore one gauntlet for only one was ever made and attempts at recreating the design have never suited its wielder as well as it did Airius. As not to make his left hand useless in a fight Airius trained in specific use of a sword called a Khopesh. The blade of this weapon relates to both an axe and a sword and can be used in various ways from hacking to slashing.
Airius was famously known for having possession of a precious metal that was said to have been handed down by a god in the form of a falling star. This metal that he had acquired was only used to form three weapons in all of history. The remaining ingots are said to have disappeared but their true resting place is with the people of the Xeduun clan. Two of the blades crafted from this metal were the sister-swords Airius created for his unborn son Naunix…the third and first to be created was Airius’ personal blade.
The handle and sword are fashioned the same as any other Khopesh but the blade holds a reminder for Airius of what he once was. On the blade of the Khopesh across the curved portion there is an engraved statement that was carved using the only thing strong enough to scratch the metal: a diamond. The etching reads: “God instructed that we cast death down upon those unlike ourselves. For that, I turn my back on God himself”
This is a Khopesh:
His past being laid before him causing him to question if he deserves to even take his next breath
His current mental state
He fears falling back into what he once was and he dislikes anything in relation to his old life.
he thought it was riches for his family…but instead he truly desired to live with them and in that received immunity to age.
Centuries after the destruction of Thetus and the Assassin’s order the area was cleared out and the remaining instructors moved to the most well-guarded territory in all of Zarus' lands: Har'teth . The monastery of Har'teth took in the instructors from the ancient order and over time those who preached Zarus' word and those who fought in his name became one. The monastery continued to teach Zarus' law, but soon began to train it's inhabitants to fight for the glory of their lord. The monastery of Har'teth now serves as training grounds for the knights that serve the purpose Airius once single-handedly maintained. Children who come the closest to Airius in his adolescence are raised here as warriors to serve for Zarus. These chosen soldiers carry out deeds pertaining to the extinguishing of the other races, cults, and demonic activity whose evil attempts to seep into the soil Zarus' lands. To date the most feared and respected of these Knights is Tancred Santoro the Witch Slayer and Cleric of Kord and The Almighty: Zarus
[Fun fact: Then continent in which PtW takes place is called Rosaiir. Also, there is no electricity in Aelhurst. The streets are lit with candle lamps, and occasionally houses will have tinder and portable lamps for character use.]
Name: Torenia [tuh-ree-nee-uh, reen-yuh]
Age: Roughly 900 human years.
In essence, Torenia resembles somewhat of a Caracal, a medium-sized cat found in the grasslands of Africa and Asia. Weighing 200kg, she appears to be very lithe and slim with a height of 75cm (same as a grey wolf, FYI). Her bright, iridescent coat is made from a mixture of crushed gemstones. Most noticeable are her large, black-tipped ears and deep lavender eyes. Her tail is similar to the one in Image 2, also made from crystals and is just as long. Due to the precious stones making up her body, Torenia is somewhat translucent. Light traveling through her tends to refract into the colours of the rainbow.
A thick silver chain can be found locked around her neck which has left scorch marks on her stone body. In reference to Image 3, the brand-mark tattoo of what looks like a circuit board begins halfway up her right arm along the carpus, then creeps up to her shoulder, centering around a narrow hole (lined with silver metal) in between her shoulder blades. A few of the tattoo strands wrap both over and underneath her right eye, but avoid crossing over the centerline of her face.
Background: Almost 900 years ago, just as the Masters were about to reveal themselves to man and beast for the first time, they created an arena tailored to their purpose. It was beautiful, albeit dark and a bit plain. They called the arena Aelhurst because of the isolation in all deserts the city appeared in. The Masters didn't wish to interact with the competitors, seeing as they felt their presence was only deserving to the one Champion. To solve this, Torenia was created. She was the product of a unanimous Wish: to oversee all happenings pertaining to the contest, and to protect the city from any unwanted outside interference.
Due to her nature, she was neither golem nor beast. On more technical terms, she was not alive because she was made of precious stones. And, since she was created from the Masters, she lacked a soul. The Masters, though they may try, were not true gods, and were incapable of recreating something as mysterious as a soul. As such, they labeled her race as close to the truth as possible: a Wish.
In the beginning Torenia was limited to simple things, only able to develop emotions and a complex thought process over time. Having magic as the base for her body, the stones that made her were a sponge for purified energy. Being around the city's Mana wells was a difficult task as she required magic to function, but the stones knew no limit. On occasion she made the mistake of staying in the area too long, and she exploded from magic overload.
After a few centuries of observing the one versus all violence that took place in Aelhurst, Torenia developed the capacity to question authority. Witnessing creature killing creature made her feel great animosity toward bloodshed. Not able to silence herself any longer, she went to the Masters and demanded an explanation to their madness. When they refused to answer, she become so frustrated she began to tear apart the city. Before any massive damage could be given, however, the Masters intervened and punished her. Placing a freshly smithed chain around her neck, they sealed the majority of her power within the white-hot silver. Suffering from the inflictions and utter humiliation, Torenia reluctantly submitted to their will once more.
Throughout the years Torenia has observed, fought, and occasionally befriended the contenders that dare enter her gates. Most people she ends up meeting die soon afterward, so friends and enemies are a rare commodity. The resentment toward her masters has been building up for the past 600 years, and she waits patiently for the right moment to strike back.
Personality: Torenia has lived a pretty lonely life, unable to make any deep connections with people. A type of unrelenting sadness accompanies her through the years, reminding her of the empty life she has no choice but to continue. Happiness is just a word, and pain is just a sense.
In the hopes of gaining a form of joy, however short-lived it may be, Torenia pleasures herself in toying with the contenders that wander into Aelhurst. It's a thrill to evoke certain reactions from them, and such fun to see them become more and more frustrated when they try to take out the referee. She refrains from finishing blows, though, as she find no such joy the murder of a living being.
Torenia has yet to make the connection that her unhappiness is caused by two things: resentment to her creators, and her unwillingness to believe she is jealous of Aelhurst's lowly players.
Occupation: Gatekeeper of Aelhurst
Affects only the victim's vision -- no other senses can be tampered with, e.g. visual effects of a waterfall, but no splashing sound. There is an abrupt sense of pain if the victim tries to interact with the illusion, as though the objects within the illusion are on fire. For example, if she creates an illusionary ball and a character tries to pick it up, it feels as though the ball scorches their fingers. Torenia does not require eye contact to initiate an illusion. Rather, characters merely have to be within a 15 meter (49.2 feet) radius of her. And as always, the more she uses her power, the more fatigued she becomes.
[Note: In writing I will not alert you to what is an illusion and what is not. It will be up to you to study your reality and determine your course of action.]
Master Oregano came up with the idea over a millennia ago that if an opponent could be slowed by any means, even if they were parasitic, it was worth delving into. This power is the product of his twisted playtime, and takes form of a tattoo on Torenia's body. In the briefest of words, the Curse is placed on any non-living thing, and a randomly chosen ailment radiates outward, cursing all beings with a soul in the immediate surroundings. As an alert to players, a white light flashes at the center point of the freshly attached Curse, and moments later a random ailment takes effect. The stamp of a Curse (appearing similar to Torenia's tattoo), once placed, can be reused infinitely. However, Curses may only be activated one at a time. A single Curse does not require much magic, but repetition can be quite taxing.
These curses are in order from least to greatest according to effectiveness:
~Drowsy: Intense feeling of sleepiness.
~Dry Throat: Thirst for water.
~Colour Blindness: Vision temporarily lacks any colour.
~Fever: Typical symptoms of a high fever, i.e. Light-headed with chills.
~Migraine: Intense headache.
~Deafness: Temporary loss of hearing.
~Paralysis: Lack of motor responses. Limbs are unable to move for a time.
~Knock-out: Loss of consciousness for a period of time.
~Blindness: Temporary loss of sight.
~Burn: 2nd degree burns targeting the limbs.
~Grenade: Moderately large explosion.
Out of the eleven ailments only four have visual effects; the rest cannot normally be seen -- and they directly attack the body, so holding one's breath won't stop it. The four are as follows: The drowsy effect generates a thick, shiny cloud of gas that, if inhaled, makes the victim sleepy. Paralysis and Burn respectively create bolts of lightning and flames. Grenade, of course, is a mixture of shrapnel, flame, and a loud BOOM.
[Note: In writing I will be using digital dice to determine which ailment will be used. I will not know what ailment I'll have until after I've written the white flash alert in my posts. Also note that even if a charrie is under an illusion, they'll always see the white flash in some form or other.]
Like any caracal look-alike, she has talons and a strong set of jaws. Nothing out of the ordinary about them. Sure, it won't do much against heavy armor or weapons. But exposed skin doesn't stand much of a chance if she can nab it. And due to her large ears, fast legs and cat eyes, she can see, run and hear better than humans.
Weakness: Torenia is fast and light on her feet, but she has little to no defense against melee weapons. Also, there isn't much she can do against armour. She is known for her dexterity and magic, not brute strength. Close-combat is not one of her strengths, as she would rather attack from afar then risk shattering.
Yes, her largest weakness, seeing as she is made up of stone, is shattering on impact. A hammer to the body would without question reduce her to pieces. Due to shock, Torenia is unable to do anything. When she eventually comes to she is aware enough to use the remaining magic in her system to bond the stones back together.
Wish: To be free.
Other: Her theme is Abstract by Touhou. Too lazy to get a link.
Name: Aradeth Laenaren
Appearance: Aradeth has golden-blonde hair which is cropped close to her skull. Her eyes are grass green. She has very little excess fat on her and is built athletically. Her expression is impassive and makes her appear somewhat intimidating. She is battle scarred, though usually the clothes she wears covers the scars. When she isn’t in her armor, she’s usually in a long-sleeved, high-necked dark color tunic and trousers.
Background: In the early years of her life, her country was at war, and had been for a long time. Caejas had been harrying their borders, and many young people traveled to the capital to join the army. Desae, Aradeth’s country, did its best to prevent war to no avail. The ongoing war was punctuated by a series of uneasy truces.
Aradeth was born in a border town during one of those short times of peace. Her town, Aldbush, had somehow remained untouched and apart from all the fighting. Unfortunately, that fragile peace was not to last. As the war drew closer to the border town, those with the means packed what they could and left. Aradeth’s father sold all of the belongings they could spare, and with it, bought a small cart and traveling supplies. They packed what they could, and sought refuge with their relatives. Better safe than sorry, they thought. They never made it that far.
They were set upon by bandits, who had been driven across the border by Caejas’ army. Aradeth’s father was killed, their belongings were taken, and she and her mother and younger brother were taken. The bandits hoped that the women and children would work as hostages, should they encounter Desae’s army or town militias. It didn’t hurt that Aradeth’s mother was still young and not unattractive. That she had children was not a bad thing either. Why should one try to forcibly bed a screaming struggling woman, when one could have a willing, submissive one instead? A mother’s love was a beautiful thing.
In the end, it was not war, nor armies, nor militias that ultimately destroyed the bandits. It was disease. Aradeth’s mother, weakened by the physical, emotional, and mental strain from her “services” was one of the first to succumb. As more of the bandits sickened, weakened, and died, they desperately moved for the nearest town that was liable to possess a healer. They intended to forcibly obtain a healer. Unfortunately for them, the town had its own guard that had well-trained, able-bodied, healthy men in it.
The town guard pursued the bandits who survived the skirmish and eventually found their camp. There was another brief fight, and Aradeth and the other children were found and rescued. Aradeth, by some miracle, or perhaps by her mother religiously telling her what would happen when the bandits were gone, knew the name of her mother’s sister, and the village in which she lived. A message was sent and the wait began. Eventually, Aradeth’s mother’s sister, Aunt Lyran, arrived and took Aradeth and her brother back to her farm.
When Aradeth turned sixteen, she left to join the army. In training, she turned out to be a natural fighter and picked up the drills quickly. When they put her to archery, she turned out to be an amazing shot once she got the hang of using a bow. When her training was done and she was sent out to battle, she was put in the back with the archers. Her archery skills were worth more than her sword skills, but that didn’t mean she let her sword skills go to waste.
During the war she met and befriended quite a few mercenaries. After the war and her stint in the army, she used recommendations from them to get into a good mercenary company, Warrum’s Wolves. They were a relatively well-known mercenary company, and were in good standing with the mercenary guild. She was in Warrum’s Wolves for a good six years when the countries finally settled down and there was peace and the mercenaries fell into some hard times.
Mercenaries enjoyed peace as much as the next guy, especially after a long hard season of fighting, but a peace that looked like it would last was bad for them. Mercenaries thrived on war. Peace didn’t pay their wages or keep them fed. They ended up accepting a contract that they normally wouldn’t have. They had never heard of their client, but he paid well, and there didn’t seem to be any reason not to. His name was Dynroth Lianash. That was the last contract Warrum’s Wolves would ever accept.
Dynroth Lianash was a cruel, vicious, ruthless man. Civilians were not spared. If they sided with Earl Erindale Dynah. He controlled with terror. If there was any resistance, then those who resisted were to be put to the sword. When the Wolves didn’t kill every man woman or child and burn the town to the ground, he sent his own men in to finish the job. The watching Wolves were reminded that there were things that were worse than death. They had done the people of the town no favors. In fact, it would probably have been a mercy to have just killed them instead of leaving them to Dynroth’s men.
The Wolves were honorbound and oathbound to obey their client. They had signed the contract and if they broke the contract, no one would hire them. Mercenaries who turned upon their employer would never be fully trusted by their potential employers. It didn’t take long for them to detest their employer. They hated fighting for him, but they all lived by the mercenary code.
When their contracted term was nearly over, and talks of renewing the contract were to begin, the Wolves were relieved. Soon they would be free of this man. Perhaps they could even switch sides in this war. Warrum made it clear to Dynroth that they would not be renewing the contract. They were sent out on a job. They were to capture another town. It wasn’t supposed to be anything that difficult. Unfortunately, they were ambushed. The ambush was perfect though, too perfect. Everything was set so neatly, as if their plans had been known in its entirety. Few, if any, of Warrum’s Wolves escaped alive.
The actions of the ambushers were too ruthless to be the enemy earl’s men and the numbers were overwhelming. It was as if they were ordered not to let a single Wolf escape alive. They were nearly completely successful at that. Those who were taken alive were as good as dead. Death would have been a kindness.
Personality: Aradeth is an experienced mercenary. She is practical. She follows the mercenary’s code and her own brand of honor. Aradeth is cold and keeps her distance. She is wary of others, perhaps enough to be considered paranoid. She is flexible and will listen to other ideas. She is normally a rational woman.
Occupation: Former member of a mercenary company called Warrum’s Wolves which was last contracted to Dynroth Lianash.
Fetching – the ability to make small items go where she wants them, or make them move to where she wants them to move with the power of her mind. Essentially she can manipulate objects without touching them. Her fetching gift isn’t strong enough to move people or large objects. She’s limited by size, weight, and distance of object. If she cannot see exactly what it is and where it is, she cannot move it. With practice, her fetching ability with her archery takes less concentration and is almost natural to her. It is what made her so good with bow and arrow.
- Boot knife
- belt knife
- hidden knife on her back
- A pair of knives in special sheaths that can be worn around the arm under the sleeves of a long-sleeved tunic. They have special releases that hold them secure until needed. They can be thrown.
- Sword and a buckler made out of a very light material, but very strong and durable.
- Six throwing knives.
Weakness: Fetching only works by line of sight, always keep things between yourself and her arrows. Attack from behind if you can. She only has a limited amount of arrows. Once her arrows are broken or damaged, she can no longer use her bow for the longest ranges. Either that, or break her bow if you can. Jump her when she has drawn her bow and is aiming at someone or something. She won't be able to draw her weapons or shields fast enough.
Get up close and batter her as much as possible. Wear her out, and deliver the final blow. Batter her shield and numb her arm or dislocate her shoulder so she will be clumsier with it and block slower. Snipe the sniper. Go after her two against one or three against one or whatever if you have good team work. Pierce through the gaps in her armor to hurt her. If someone had a mace, send it crashing down on her skull. Catch her by off guard and kill her before she can draw her weapon if you can.
As a member or a mercenary company, she has been trained more in group tactics than single combat. Another thing is, she is a women, and her physical strength won’t necessarily be as great as a man who has trained as much as her. She must make up for that with skill and speed. Break some bones, break some ribs so you can get in a good finishing stroke.
Dislikes/Fears: Her past. It haunts her. Darkness, for when she closes her eyes she sees their faces, their eyes, their corpses. Silence, because in it, she hears their screams and curses. She fears her dreams, nightmares, and memories because so long as she breathes, she will never escape them.
Wish: She isn’t sure what she will wish for. She has two ideas in her head, and figures that if she makes it through this; she’ll choose one of them depending on how it goes. Some of the times, she wishes to begin anew, with her memory of what’s happened to her wiped away and knowledge of skills intact.
The rest of the time, she wishes to know the thoughts of the ghosts who haunt her. She wants to know who exactly, must be made to pay for their actions in more than just blood.
SpoilerName: Sareth 'Bladeborn' Greyhound
Race: Half-Human, Half-Demon
Age: 19 Years-Old
Without facial hair, Sareth bears claw scars upon the left side of his face, the results of a disasterous hunt of which he barely escaped alive. His eyes are a deep brown normally, but when the demon blood in his veins surfaces, they both turn fiery orange and totally blind-appearing as shown above. His hair is a dark chestnut, and his skin is fairly olive. His shape is well toned and exercised, having a more muscular athletic form. On this journey to Aelhurst, Sareth is well-prepared, wearing Steel Plate Armour forged by the Count's blacksmith himself, decorated with the Dragon crest of the county.
Background: Sareth was raised an orphan by a well-standing Mage and Scholar in a manor not far from the city of Drakonhold, in the Dragonheart county. His guardian, Master Phenrig, eventually became Sareth's mentor when he was at a mature age to study the arts of magic, and as well as learn the way of combat.
Over the years, Sareth treated Phenrig as nothing other than his father, not knowing who his real parents were for a long time. As the years went by, Sareth learned many skills essential to survival, as he joined Phenrig on his little 'treasure hunts' out into the reaches of the county. Sareth became strong and dextrous, capable of holding and wielding a sword or bow and arrow. To his mentor's surprise, Sareth also swiftly learned how to bend fire and lightning to his will, and even how to conjure it on his own.
Sareth became a fierce and noble warrior, and by the age of 17, Sareth was ready to go out on his own. With a Letter of Introduction from his mentor to the Count himself, whom Phenrig was a good friend of, Sareth travelled to the city of Drakonhold and became a part of the count's court. Sareth joined the Order of the Dragonheart, and became one of the count's loyal and brave knights.
Over the two years, Sareth has become a headstrong and capable knight in the service of the Dragonheart Count, and has earned the respect of the court. However, after one night, Sareth had a dream. After that night, Sareth began to wonder as to who his parents were, and moreover, who he was and what he was born for.
Sareth wrote to Phenrig often, and asked him about everything. Phenrig had replied, and said that he had no idea as to Sareth's past, only that he had been delivered unto his doorstep without letter or message.
But Phenrig gave Sareth hope, by telling him of a challenge in the Zael Desert. He spoke of the great city of Aelhurst, born of magic and maintained by ancient power. It was there Sareth may have the chance to discover everything, with the price of possibly losing everything.
It is there Sareth travels, to discover who he is, who his parents were, and what he is destined to do.
Personality: Sareth is a loyal, yet impetuous man. He serves those who deserve his respect, yet isn't a dumb dog and gives question to orders that deserve one. He is relatively selfless and chivalrous in the name of the people, and doesn't pass by an opportunity to help the ones in need. He is courteous to those of equal stature, and isn't a cold and anti-social man to pass up a good chat. However, in the face of battle, Sareth is fierce and strong, and is capable of breaking down situations to better serve his planning and tactics. He has learned over countless times of conflict to include any and all factors, including innocent civilians.
Occupation: Knight of the Dragonheart Duchy
As Sareth is unaware of his demonic heritage, he is also unaware of why he is so capable of bending Destruction Magic to his whim so easily, as if it was second nature, to the surprise of his Guardian. Sareth is able to conjure Fire and Lightning, at various levels of intensity and in different forms. He is incapable of wielding Ice, but otherwise his Destruction Magic is potent and powerful if focused perfectly. Apart from that, Sareth is also capable of using spells to shatter magical shields and negate blessings.
Another inherent 'gift' Sareth has is to tap into his demon blood and take on a more demonic form, with enhanced capabilities. The downside to this gift is that it has a price, requiring Sareth to slay foes quickly to maintain his form and strength, lest he grow weaker with each second that passes.
-- Knight of Dragonheart Armour: Forged by the greatest blacksmith in the county, this armour is made from pure steel and forged in the dragonfire itself, allowing it to take the greatest blows and hold under intense force. The chestplate and kite shield of this set bear the crest of the Dragon, and the armour itself takes on draconic aspects in its appearance.
-- Dragontongue: A sword gifted to Sareth by the count himself, a sword said to be once the tongue of an ancient dragon, the Dragontongue is an artifact that takes the appearance of a jagged blade composed of molten rock lined with magma in the crevices, with the ability to wield fire within each strike and crack armour with molten fire.
-- Sareth's Amulet: An amulet Sareth has always worn since birth, it is nothing grand but a loop of hardened string lined with fangs and an amulet piece composed of bone chiseled into the form of a Dragon's skull, flawlessly made to the smallest detail. It may seem insignificant, but Dragon fangs and bone are seen as not only valuable, but mystically gifted as well.
Weakness: Sareth's Demonic Heritage is his strength, and without it he is nothing but a man. Half of Sareth's soul is composed of demonic heritage, and even though Holy Magicks are more to seperate corruption from purity, not unlike smelter and metal, White Magic can be used to deaden Sareth's demonic blood. It requires a heavy amount of purity to cleanse the demon blood entirely, but enough can cut of Sareth's strength in his demon heritage for a long period of time, enough to kill him quickly.
Dislikes/Fears: Sareth dislikes Cold Places, Assassins and Thieves, Necromancy and Betrayal and Treachery. Sareth fears the Loss of Innocent Life, Blinding Light and Demonic Beasts (Creatures infused with Demonic energy).
Wish: To discover who he is, who his parents were, and what his destiny is.
Main Theme: Dragon Age Origins
SpoilerName: Kardos Galas
Race: Dark Elf, Undead
Age: 211 Years-Old, 21 Human Years-Old Equivalent
Background: Born in the noble house of Galas, Kardos was raised in the luxurious life of an upperclass family in Dark Elven Society. But it didn't take long before Kardos grew to believe that he was above all of it. He ran away from home and set out into the wilderness at a young age for Dark Elves, with the goal of making a name for himself in mind.
Kardos might not've wanted it, but he ended up meeting Sandro, that one mysterious person in an Inn at the edge of the forest. After a good conversation across a table, Kardos had blacked out all of a sudden.
The next moment he awoke, in a dark ruin, bare of all possessions he had spare loincloth for modesty. He found Sandro in his study, and witnessed the truth behind it all and began to understand. Sandro anything but alive, as his features which had been previously obscured by a hood were revealed in candlelight, a skeletal man with glowing green wisps for eyes. It was in that night, Kardos signed a contract sealed in blood, and bore the robes of the necromancer for the eternity he could possibly have.
Over the decades, Kardos learned the art of Necromancy under the wing of his new mentor, and over the many years he spent learning, he also spent bettering himself as a necromancer. Learning from who was claimed to be the best of the best, Kardos became attuned to the voices of the Ethereal Realm, and the whispers of Death. It was in that century, he also learned and took up the ideals of his mentor, the ideals of true necromancers. The ideals that speak of absolute peace and order through the death of all existence, through the turning of all the living into the undead.
Over the decades further, Kardos began to go out on his own and forge a name for himself with the fear of the living. It was with his new-found powers, Kardos burned down entire villages and besieged towns under the banner of death, striking fear into civilians' hearts and even attracting the attention of noble paladins.
This in the end, lead to Sandro's demise.
Sandro was slaughtered by a group of paladins waiting in ambush. To Kardos' fortune, he was away collecting corpses for further study. From Sandro's soul was born a Shade, an immortal companion to Kardos, a gift from the deity of all Necromancers, the Matriarch of Silence. By this, Kardos' power was furthered, and he took up the mantle and aspired to be as great as his mentor.
It was so when he learned of Aelhurst by digging up his master's notes, Kardos ventured forth to reach the fabled city of wishes.
Personality: Kardos is as cold as the Northern icecaps, and has no heart to feel any emotions that bear any form of kindness or compassion towards others. If anything, Kardos sees others as tools, items and accessories to further his dominion in the world. Anything and Anyone is useful to him... Dead. He is rather egotistical as well, bearing himself upon anyone as somebody to pay respect to and bow before, before he slaughters them. Kardos doesn't believe in conquering the world, however. He moreso believes in returning all of existence to a state of order, by giving everyone a common aspect to rest under.
The respite of death's embrace.
Occupation: Necrolord of Despair, Master of Undead and Resurrector of Dead Headless Puppies for Amusement
Power/Weapon: A Demi-God in his own belief, Kardos holds the special capability of using undead corpses to create lumbering and festering collossi, or even better... Undead Dragons. However requiring copious amounts of dead bodies and/or skeletons, as well as a mass of magical energy and concentration, Kardos is also able to call upon the Ethereal forces in an area and summon them by their emotional connection to the place. These spiritual forces remain linked to the plane of reality until the emotional connection is dispelled or Kardos is slain.
-- Soul Reaver: Once belonging to Sandro himself, Kardos has taken up this malicious battlestaff and keeps it close to his person. It is not so much as useful to him as a weapon as it is as a tool to siphon magic and souls.
-- Blood Drinker: Once belonging to an 'acquaintant' vampire lord of Sandro, Kardos has taken up this malevolent sword as a substitute to using healing magic. Blood Drinker is an artefact that has the capability of siphoning the lifeblood of all its victims and offering it up to Kardos.
-- Robes of Atrocitus: Another 'hand-me-down' of Kardos, these Robes boost his dark energies and armour him against conventional weapons half the time.
Weakness: His Ego and his Magic. Without his Magic, Kardos is near dead (again) already, as he is literally armoured and armed with it. His 'companion', the Shade of Despair, is the key to his undoing. It is his guardian as it is his reserve of magical energy to which he can draw from to use in his incantations and magic. It may toss itself in the path of anything that tries to kill him whilst he is vulnerable, but as it is incorpereal as it wills, it is difficult to kill the Shade with conventional and/or unenchanted weapons.
Dislikes/Fears: Kardos dislikes Insolence, Refusal to 'Lay Down and Die', Rejection and/or Underestimation of his Capabilities, and the Living (with a passion). Kardos fears the End.
Wish: To kill the World and usher in an era of absolute unity through undeath.
Kardos' Theme: Seymour's Ambition
So, I plan on splitting the IC up into the map's four sectors: TofM, Darkest Towers, Jungle, and Life. These threads will be up tomorrow morning, allowing you to go all out and post as much as you want, only having to worry about those who are in the same thread as you. This makes things less complicated and chaotic. And of course, you can come and go as you please within the sectors.
I've included a brief overview of how traps and self-activating curses will work. All numbers will be randomly chosen using an online generator. Numbers attached to players will contantly be changing as players leap from thread to thread. Let me worry about the numbers, you just focus on surviving.
Weather: Changes every five or so posts.
Traps: Happens every five or so posts, or every time the GM posts. First I'll determine if someone triggered a trap, and if so, what type of trap it is. Then I'll determine who the target is. All magic-based traps, excluding the Reflective Barrier, last for two posts. Reflective Barriers and pitfalls must be escaped from, while spikes and murder holes can be dodged. Monsters must be defeated.
(What awaits at the bottom of a pitfall is a harmless pool of water. Anti-gravity holds the victim suspended in the air, and Black Holes slowly draw the immediate surroundings in, leaving a huge crater in the ground. Reflective Barriers are shaped in a veiled dome around the victim, and reflect both magical and physical attacks back at them. Players and projectile attacks may enter, but cannot leave the dome.)
Curses: Happens every five or so posts. Whether someone activated a curse or not will be determined, as well as the type. The activator and the target are treated as the same individual. Curses last until the targeted person posts, then de-activate.
~No change: 7
TRAP TRIGGERED: [d13]
~Andre Valias: 1
~No trap triggered: 9, 12
TRAP TYPE: [d12]
~Murder hole: 6
~Monster attack: 7-8
~Baby black hole: 10
~Reflective barrier: 11
~Fire storm: 12
TRAP TARGET: [d13]
~Andre Valias: 1
~Everyone: 9, 12
CURSE SELF-ACTIVATIONS: [d15]
~Dry Throat: 2-4
~Colour Blindness: 5
~No curse: 13-15
CURSE TARGET: [d13]
~Andre Valias: 1
~Everyone: 9, 12