Protest the Wish [OOC]

[0ubliz]

Name: Raelius “Rae” Tyr

Race: Human, Caucasian

Gender: Male

Age: 28

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 English Claymore. 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.

Very well done CS, Zephyr! You've got a great character going on there. Accepted~

Aghhhhhhh!! The character is not coming to me! They usually come to me! Especially when I have (what I think is) a great character concept!

Dont stress it, Dlay. There's still plent of time. ^_^

[Sarpedon]

Okay, so after some consideration, I've decided I'm too bothered to prevent myself from saying anything. As far as I can tell, from my knowledge and research, the English didn't have a Claymore. There were plenty of styles of two-handed longsword, but the Claymore was not one they used. The Claymore is traditionally Scottish, and neither style reached anywhere near two metres. The German zweihänder is a much larger sword and fits your description much more accurately. I get this is a fantasy world, but I'm still going to nitpick if you're going to reference real weapons wrong. Please feel free to ignore my comments, I understand that I'm literally the only one who cares, but even with that knowledge, I still have to post it. Now, if you have proof that the English used the Claymore at any time, I'll be your best friend, and be super overjoyed to learn new things about weapons. And if you don't care, then I will, and it won't matter...

Cheers!

[Andre Valias]

[Sarpedon]

I don't understand why the ricasso is leather-bound. and slap a blood-channel on that mother, make it a proper weapon.

[Zephyr116]

Okay, so after some consideration, I've decided I'm too bothered to prevent myself from saying anything. As far as I can tell, from my knowledge and research, the English didn't have a Claymore. There were plenty of styles of two-handed longsword, but the Claymore was not one they used. The Claymore is traditionally Scottish, and neither style reached anywhere near two metres. The German zweihänder is a much larger sword and fits your description much more accurately. I get this is a fantasy world, but I'm still going to nitpick if you're going to reference real weapons wrong. Please feel free to ignore my comments, I understand that I'm literally the only one who cares, but even with that knowledge, I still have to post it. Now, if you have proof that the English used the Claymore at any time, I'll be your best friend, and be super overjoyed to learn new things about weapons. And if you don't care, then I will, and it won't matter...

Cheers!

I admittedly have done no research on the subject. In discussions with (obviously misinformed) friends, the Claymore has been referenced as English. Due to your comment, I've done some research, and the Claymore is definitely of Scottish origin. Although I may not have given you new information about weapons, you've helped me educate myself, so thank you.

The Claymore in question, however, should have been described as custom Greatsword or Zweihänder. In my (obviously misinformed) group of friends, we reference Claymores as a very large sword. I will edit.

[Sarpedon]

Wow! I found someone else who cares! Zephyr you are my new best friend. The internet is a dark, scary, and wonderful place!

[Raknarg]

WARNING: Might be really OP. Also, I'm a writer. It's long as hell. I would ask you to kindly deal with it.

Name: Leon Verbeck

Race: Human Demonaic

Gender: Male

Age: 38

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.

Background:
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.

Power/Weapon:
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.

- - - Updated - - -

The Claymore in question, however, should have been described as custom Greatsword or Zweihänder. In my (obviously misinformed) group of friends, we reference Claymores as a very large sword. I will edit.

I believe at the point of a 6' x 7" sword we've outclassed the rank of "great"

[Dlayeth]

In my experience. 0ubliz likes long posts. XD

[Zephyr116]

In my experience. 0ubliz likes long posts. XD

*Fry face*
Can't tell if serious...

Or making innuendo...

[Dlayeth]

Either works. :3