Areador Medieval RP

[Irean]

To explain the retrieving arrows part of the fox, he grabs fallen arrows. Missed shots, or ones than glanced off armor.

[Metronome]

Are spots still open?

[LJCOMICS]

Three are, yes.

[Durandal]

Name: "Thorn"

Age: Unknown, presumably quite old.

Gender: For sake of convenience, Thorn is referred to by a male pronoun, however, he appears due to his illusionary visage to be, well, just about anything he pleases himself to be, be it male, female, or anywhere in-between.

Race: Rumored to be a High Elf, although shunned from their realm.

Class: Illusionist - Exceedingly skilled in Illusion Domain spells. Crippled in everything else.

Homeland: Elven Islands, although again, he rarely, if ever, spends any time there. Calls the whole bunch of them "A bunch of BORES!".

Appearance:



Thorn's appearance changes on a day to day, sometimes less, basis, due to the constant weaving of illusions around himself. What remains constant is that his robes or whatever clothing he deems suitable for the day is an outrageous riot of ever-shifting colors that makes concealment almost impossible, in addition to a mask that sometimes manifests as a full face mask, and sometimes as a half-face mask. Almost everything screams ostentatious and obscenely decorative, and the illusions constantly being weaved around him generally portray him as floating or lounging in mid-air.

It's been a very long time since Thorn has actually been seen under his variety of illusions. Some hold that there is nothing there under the illusions, and that the man himself is generally watching from afar, while some hold that he is, actually, there. The truth may be somewhere in-between.

Skills: Thorn possesses little to no actual skills, being a rather specialized and "special" kind of person.

Spells:

* Master of Illusion: It is fairly safe to say that Thorn knows most, if not all, of the Illusion school spells. He can effectively cast any of the lower level ones at will, and does so frequently mostly just to show off and cause trouble.

* Utterly Specialized: Thorn is laughably bad at just about any spell other than Illusion domain spells. Even if he learns them (which he probably won't, considering he doesn't have the patience for them), he'll probably fail at casting them.

Background:

"AHAHAHA! You want to learn about ME?! That's HILARIOUS! You see, I was born inside of the skin of a giant cosmic peach by the name of Belegarth, who spawned several dragons from its pit....."

Thorn is either praised as a brilliant genius who has revolutionized the art of illusionary magics, or as a raving lunatic whose pranks are horribly dangerous, depending on who you talk to. The general consensus behind his history is that he started off as an apprentice in the Mage's Guild somewhere in the time frame of 200-400 years ago. The reason the timeframe is not entirely clear is that the general identity of Thorn has been, unfortunately, lost to known history.

Studying under a great master, he was attracted less to the actual study of magic and more to the study of why and how magic functions. Driven by what some say was a pure vision, and what others say was the mere beginnings of his madness, Thorn tried to study the very secrets of the universe in order to understand the ultimate questions of Magic.

Some say he found what he was looking for, and the revelation shattered his mind. Others say that he went mad in the seeking. No one can really say for sure, however, why he has insisted so firmly on illusionary magics.

Generally appearing in and out of random places at random times, Thorn has proven himself to be no real actual threat to, well, anyone. He pops in and out of towns, and is just as likely to cause mischief and trouble as he is to entertain the masses wildly.

Personality:

Thorn is, unfortunately, irrevocably insane, with an ever-shifting mood and a tendency to see things that aren't, well, actually there. He takes this all with a rather light heart, though, and it seems that his greatest test as an illusionist was to actually fool himself with his magic. Despite the fact that he rambles incessantly, and makes about as much sense as a chicken that lays eggs out its mouth, there is, on occasion, glimmers of truth and incredible insight that pour from his lips. He is deeply concerned with the entertainment of others, and automatically assumes the best way to do so is to use his formidable powers of magic to put on a show, or pull some kind of major prank.

Equipment and armor:

Thorn doesn't usually wear armor. If he does wear anything under the illusions, it's likely basic robes. He is unarmed. He carries basic provisions that he usually steals by turning himself invisible.

[The Nexerus]

I'll be posting a CS eventually. Hopefully I don't end up getting cut out - a lot of applications in already.

[Huscarl]

I'll be editing my character, if that's ok. I found something that I'd rather play. Check out my post on the first page to see the new version.

[Durandal]

I do hope that my character is looked at well. :>

[The Nexerus]

Name: Idril Saralonde.

Age: 135 years.

Race: High Elf.

Homeland: One of the two great High Elven cities, on an island off the eastern coast of Areador. Idril is quite accustomed to her home, and very much unused to travelling on the mainland as she has recently found herself doing.

Appearance: Idril Saralonde is a woman of grace, finesse and elegance, as can easily be discerned by a cursory glance at her. She always seems to have a condescending smile perched on her lips, betraying her perceived predominance, and her grooming and general aesthetic upkeep is famously impeccable. While Idril does value her life over her outwardly appearance, she still maintains herself even when travelling, and even when in situations where it would perhaps warrant a curious glance. Idril usually dresses in either earthy tones, black, or red, the colours which she believes best define her personality. Idril has very long, slender legs, and is tall, among both her own kind and most humans. Idril typically wears a finely crafted, Saralonde family robe when travelling, which magically amplifies her pyromancy and serves to identifies her as a woman of scholarly arts and class. The robe is a slightly darker colour than her hair, and has various sigils and symbolism etched into it in a black, extinct variant of old High Elvish text. Idril is a relatively frail woman; she can be easily bested in hand to hand combat, due both to her inexperience with melee and her unimposing musculature, forcing her to dispatch or discourage her prospective opponents from a range.

Class: Mage. Idril specializes in pyromancy, the magical "art form", as she calls it, which has been practised by her family for generations.

Skills: While pyromancy is, of course, Idril's primary skill, she has many secondary abilities with which she is exceedingly competent. Most of these are non-combat talents however, a consequence of her upbringing. Idril is a beautiful singer, easily one of the greatest in her entire city. She played at it for awhile at family events before turning professional, and adding a pretty penny to her family's already considerable wealth. Idril is also a skilled linguist and general woman of knowledge. She can both speak and write all of the dominant languages of Aredador, and is a walking, talking map when it comes to geography or the classical sciences.

Spells

Flames; Idril can release a gout of flames at will, both from her wand or from her hands. This attack is relatively simple and easy, and does not drain Idril by any significant amount.

Fireball; Idril can release a projectile of fire that explodes on impact, destroying whatever is in the direct centre and scorching anything in its immediate proximity. This attack requires either use of Idril's wand or use of both of her hands.

Fire Wave; Idril's personal favourite spell. Fire Wave is very difficult to evade, and covers a wide arc in the area of the release of the spell in fire. Inanimate objects and people alike burst into flames, hit with a solid wall of flame coming in their direction. The spell is more dispersed and less powerful the further it must travel.

Mend; A relatively simple healing spell. Idril aims her wand at a wound, on herself or another, and the wound heals exponentially faster for as long as the wand is aimed. The spell also gives a feeling of pleasure and happiness to the person on which it is used, in order to counteract the pain. Similar to Flames in that it's very easy to cast for an extended period of time.

Background: Idril left her rich, privileged upbringing in the High Elven Isles to explore the rest of Aredador. Elven exploration of Aredador was common, she had heard, at least among her Wood Elf cousins, and so she decided to put her knowledge of geography and her pyromancy to the test and go on something of an adventure. Idril chose not to travel accompanied by her family's guard due both to her arrogance and her desire to become more independent of her family's affairs. Idril is bored of the court intrigue and international economics that her home life offers, and much prefers partaking in the arts and relishing her magical talent. Idril is something of a scornful woman, and so typically tends to stick to herself. She is not antisocial, however, and in fact quite enjoys interacting with other people; even the uncultured foreigners she most commonly runs across on the continent.

Personality: Idril has an aura of elegance around her, befitting of her place in the higher classes of High Elven society. She's always impeccably groomed and maintains her appearance with a militaristic diligence, though she's not incapable of setting aside aesthetics when the need (thankfully rarely) arises. Idril is arrogant, but well aware of her arrogance, and prefers putting others down to being put down herself. She's used her beauty, both natural and manufactured, to her advantage on enough occasions that she's gained a measure of notoriety for it. She's not a Succubus, though, and as advantageous as looking pretty is, Idril acknowledges it can also attract negative attention, for which she is thankful her robe has a hood.

Equipment and armor: 12 Golden Dales; A Saralonde family robe, a similar colour to Idril's hair, with a hood for personal concealment; an artisan crafted brownish-red wooden wand, which operates similarly to how other Mages use a staff, but is less cumbersome; a plain bag which contains various books and works of knowledge, mostly for entertainment purposes; a small dagger; a small quantity of food (Idril usually eats in towns); three identical potions known to cure most studied diseases, poisons, or infections.

[Werther]

Kegger.
Trolls are cunning beast like humanoids who posses low intelligence.
I don't think you're all that interested in that.

- - - Updated - - -

Ty, here is my CS.


Name: Shayndra featherleaf
Age: 27
Race: Wood elf
Gender: Female
Homeland: South eastern forests, Shalfor, a large city of the wood elves.
Appearance: Stands at an average hight for a wood elf. Has hair brown like the trunk of a tree, and extremely straight, it is typically in a tight braid that goes down to her shoulder blades. Her eyes are grey blue. Her skin is a very light brown. Her face has slightly softer angles than an average elf, and almost always possesses a slight frown. Her armor is dark brown leather. Her quiver is slightly lighter in color than her armor.
Animal companion: She has a fox as an animal companion, named Iris. He has grey blue fur, and is slightly larger than most foxes. While he rarely gets in the middle of the fight, he can be a savage ankle biter. He will also retrieve lost arrows for her after a fight.
Class: Ranger
Skills: Communicate: Can communicate with some animals, though angered ones that are attacking can not be spoken with. Archery training: Can shoot a bow reasonably well. Sword training: Trained in the use of a sword, but not nearly as well as a warrior.
Spells: None
Background: Father was an archery trainer and trained her to use a bow. Was also taught basic sword use by her father. Mother taught her how to evaluate situations quickly. Has a fear of things flying at her face, that she has not yet been able to break, though if she expects the item to be thrown, she can catch it, an improvement over what it was a few years ago.
Personality: Calm, with the ability to think quickly when needed. Patient, and kind when she feels kindness is deserved. Tends to hold grudges. To those who have angered her, she is harsh, and does not often forgive. Tends to follow the idea that actions speak louder than words.
Equipment and armor:
12 golden dales.
leather pants (lightly used)
Leather chest piece (lightly used)
Leather boots (moderately used)
Soft leather gloves (moderately used)
Leather helm (lightly used)
Bow (moderately used)
Quiver (lightly used)
Arrows-quiver ~ 3/4 full
Sword (lightly used)
Days rations-2


Are animal companions allowed?

Accepted, animal companions allowed.

- - - Updated - - -

Name:
Farin Grey

Age:
20

Race:
Human

Homeland:
The Eastlands

Appearance:
Tall, lean and hard of body, Farin bears a passing resemblance to a starved predator. Haunted eyes of dark brown are framed by a widow's peak, raven black hair falling in waves to his collar, and ever-present dust and grime lies in smears across a granite-hard face. A wry smile is commonplace upon his lips- that, or the fierce snarl of battle.

With a willowy and muscled physique, Farin carries himself in a way that suggests a casual power, like that of a hunter stalking his prey. His right arm is considerably more impressive than his left, a common feature among swordsmen, but he is not completely lopsided; a decade of broken wrists from sparring have forced him to learn the basics of swordsmanship ambidextrously. Despite a body that is bruised and damaged all over, one mark is more noticeable than it's peers- below his right armpit, about halfway down his torso lies a knotted scar, though it's cause is a secret he prefers not to impart.

Across Farin's shoulders is slung a weather-worn cloak of black wool, fastened at the collar. The hem is torn and ragged, the result of many days on the road and many nights in the wild. Beneath the cloak is a grey tunic of surprisingly fine cut- it seems a strange thing for a wandering beggar to possess such clothing- but this again is stained by dusk and grime. Loose leggings cover his lower body, and hard leather boots his feet. Across Farin's midriff is strapped a leather belt, wound twice around his slight figure. Two daggers hang in sheaths, one from either hip, but perhaps most surprising of all is the blade slung across his back. A simple leather scabbard, unadorned, is bearer to a plain longsword of burnished steel. While plain to look at, the blade's beauty comes from its condition; blazing silver steel, shining like the day it was forged. It's only adornment is a simple engraving on the wooden pommel; a sigil of a griffin.

Class:
Fighter (Although with a striker flavour, as opposed to the traditional defender fighter)

Skills:
Farin has a wide range of skills, and is knowledgeable to a scale that seems unlikely for a lost refugee. He is perfectly literate, and has a conversational knowledge of herbs, numbers and history for reasons unexplained. However, his finest talent is doubtless his prowess at arms. He fights with all the grace of a leaping panther and the speed of a mountain wolf, flying from foe to foe in a mesh of whirling steel. He scorns the cliché that a fight is like a dance; a fight is a two opponents facing to the death, and should be met with all the ferocity and brutality implied.

Spells:
None

Background:
(Obviously, there is a lot I am keeping to myself here. Rest assured that his full history explains the possession of an expensive sword, his education and his rather cliché last name. If the GM wants to see it, I can PM the details.)

A refugee from the war-torn east, Farin shared the fate of so many other refugees like himself; cast out, scorned, and forced to sell his services to the highest bidder. In Farin's case, that service was his sword. He spent nigh upon a year sworn to every hedge noble and petty lord in the lands, each who kicked him aside once they had no more use for his blade. Finally, tired and bitter from disappointment and deprecation, he left his masters to carve for himself a life of honour and riches with the keen edge of his sword.

After months on the dusty road, the inns getting seedier and his clothes more ragged with each stop, Farin began to realise that this life of bravado and glory was not to be. He became bitter, secluded, abandoning his pride and ambitions in favour of having food on the table. His already opaque morals became shrouded in a haze of self-pity and wry satire, his already withdrawn personality became inclined towards introversion and alcoholism. It is in this state that he is found today, a man unwound and at odds with the world.

Personality:
At best a satirist and at worst a pessimist, Farin is not one to see the gold at the end of the rainbow. While he is able to make light of the direst of situations with wry jokes and sarcastic comments, his overall outlook on the world is tinged with dusk and gloom. He enjoys the company of those who have a similarly cynical personality, but finds it difficult to interact with those who have a more positive view of their environment, either seeing them as idiots or envying their lot in life.

Though not a craven, Farin is certainly no brave knight. In dire straights, he is a realist and will not hesitate to run should it seem like the only way forward. He is not immoral and does not believe in leaving friends to die, but he also does not believe in unnecessary sacrifice and pain. However, when he does fight he is ferocious- putting his entire being and willpower behind the desire to rip his opponent to shred.

Towards morality, Farin has a confused approach. He does not believe in the existence of "Good" and "Evil", as in his eyes there is no sense pondering over greater questions when life is such an insignificant thing. His sole concerns are for his happiness, and for the happiness of the people he cares about- whether they be saint or sinner. That said, he does not needlessly put others to pain, nor is he a psychopath; he is merely practical.

Equipment and Armour:
Cloth armour
Hand and 1/2 longsword
Two daggers, balanced for throwing
Backpack

• Trail rations
• Bed roll
• 5 unlit torches
• Flint and steel
• Hempen rope (50ft)
• Waterskin

Obviously accepted. Interesting personality and well written.
50 ft of rope really seems a lot.

#Lucius Cypher
Only one character per player.
Orc isn't accepted, it seems to be very overpowered, and doesn't fit in from what I expected from RP. If you can remake it, without having the steel shell, it might be a go. Otherwise, well written and interesting story.
And... do you really mean High Elven meat?
The alchemist counts as accepted if you wish to play as her. Interesting story and skills.

[Werther]

I do hope that my character is looked at well. :>

Might accept it, but is he really master of illusions? Doesn't that make him more advantaged than most players? Can he actually do any harm, or he eludes his enemies?
What are the chances he would join party led by Paladin and how useful he'd be?
Otherwise, might count as accepted. I guess I will have to raise character limit.

#The Nexerus
Accepted.
Your character looks so beautiful.

#Huscarl
More than accepted, wanted to see halfling in my party.