**UserName:** Lucius Cypher **Character name:** Tyrael Marchosias (His current alias), Karnage Urabrask Vorinclex (His true full name), Master Demonology Professor (College Title), Forge Master (Occupation Title) **Age:** 361 **Mageblood type:** Obiligatio **Favoured Magic Class:** Demonmancy **Previous Magic training:** Currently the Demonmancy Teacher **Race:** Fallen Orc **Appearance:**  **Short Bio:** Karnage was once an orc who was part of a great roaming clan, Clan Vorinclex, in times long ago. The son of the clan's forge master, he took up his father's craft at a young age to succeed him when he dies. Karnage was skilled starting out, but took many years before he could even begin to emulate some of his father's more decent creations. His father could create powerful weapons from simple iron, and could turn sticks and bones into weapons that would put the fear into even the most powerful warriors. His skill was unparalleled in all the clans, and Karnage sought to do better than he could. His father approved of this. But he didn't simply live his life as an armorer; in orc culture, an aspiring smith must gather his own materials until he's proven worthy or having others work for him. This meant that Karnage couldn't even buy metals to work with, not until he's proven himself by gathering and making a worthy weapon or armor. And since Karnage didn't really begin his training as a smith until he was twenty, he had muchg more experience gathering his materials. Materials that were guarded by either enemies of his clan, or some of the most horrific beasts he does his best to forget. His adolescence was spent as a hunter, using his own weapons to gather necessary materials while also fending off beasts who sought to use him as a quick snack. Should he manage to slay the beasts, he would also drag their bodies (If possible) back the the clan for meats and materials. After time he had to do this alone though, due to his status as the son of the best armorer of the clan. His own fame fueled the irrational rivalry he had with others he didn't even know. He just wanted help. Alas, in the end while everyone else began to begin their training thanks to their teamwork, Karnage couldn't begin his training until he was twenty two. And that was only out of necessity rather than any effort on his part. War broke out among the clans. His own made alliances with long time friends and former enemies, while he and the other orcs of his age were either shipped off to battle or sent to the forges to supply those sent to war. His own father made sure that his son worked along side him in the forge, confident in his skills, but Karnage always heard whispers of how he was saved by nepotism. This petty rumor soon began to grow, and soon orcs who learned that Karnage forged their weapons and armors discarded them, ashamed that their equipment was being forged by a "Pretender" like him. Karnage didn't know how to stop this hatred. All he could do was what his father said, to ignore the words and keep doing his best, and respect should come to him. But Karnage decided that it was time to stop clinging to his father's shadow and out of his protection. Karnage hung up his hammer and traded it for an axe, and went into war as a warrior. Ten years he's fought, ten years the war waged on. Karnage found alongside his fellow clansmen, who begrudging came to respect his willingness in battle. Karnage fought and killed, took many injuries for his clansmen, and did many things that he'd sooner forget. Entire clans were wiped out. Women raped, children killed, some of them done by him. They even attacked non-orc settlements for supplies and materials, than pinned the blame on an enemy clan so that the other races would attack them instead. Cunning tactics. Karnage gain notoriety as a brutal warrior who preformed vile acts in the name of victory, from sending refugees covered in flaming pitch towards the enemy to desecrating burial sites to use the bones of the dead as arrowheads, nothing was "too much" if it meant winning. Because he was told to do whatever had to in order to achieve victory. So he did. After sustaining an injury that took him out of the battle, Karnage returned to forging weapons as the war was winding down to an end. His relationship with his father and family was strained at best. Because despite leaving to fight in the war, Karnage chose, on his own accord, to leave the family against their wishes to achieve his own desire. He couldn't live in their family home, wasn't allowed to use their forge, and even some of their family friends had trouble being seen with him. His friends and allies during the war were either still fighting or dead, and soon Karnage was out of a job when it came into light that the clan now had a surplus of equipment, making his job rendered moot. It seemed for all his attempts to find a place among the community, all he's done was improve the way he was alienated from it. At around thirty years old, Karnage discovered he had the ability of mage blood, specifically Demonmancy. During the time, magic was an unexplored phenomenon, so not many of the orcs knew what to do for him. Only the Clan's Blood Priest had any tangible idea of what to do, being a mage himself, and so he directed Karnage to the College of Aerta, a school for mages. Karnage didn't feel sad to leave, knowing that he had lost his place in his clan. Taking what little he could, Karange set off from his current clan camp ground and headed towards the College... But he never made it. Along his way to the college, he was in Djarkel. There he found what his Clansmen called "The Ravine of Demons", a realm underneath the ground where the veil between the Inferno and their world was next to nonexistent. He found one of their larger entrances in Djarkel and contemplated entering it. He was at a moment in his life where he had neither the support or love of friends or family, where all his efforts went unnoticed and yielded no benefits, and he was really, really bored. He set up camp that night next to the Ravine, and attempted to use his magic. He was not prepared for what happened next. He did not expect a demon to show up, but due to being so close to the Ravine he was much easier, but this demon was incorporeal. In order to sustain itself in the mortal realm, it needed a host. It figured that Karnage, being an unexperienced mage, would be more than suitable for a takeover. The demon tried to possess Karnage, but he had the willpower to fend off its mental attacks. During the struggle however, Karnage fell into the Ravine, surviving the fall only because of his armor he had. But the fall itself gave the demon an upper hand in the struggle, and it began to morph Karnage’s body. He began to fuse with his armor, creating a mesh of flesh and steel. Karnage and the demon struggled for control for days, and by the time Karnage had regain control of his body and body, his physical form had been warped to the point that it looked nothing like a traditional orc. When Karnage saw this, he knew he could not return to the surface world without further hatred and alienation from the people there. So he moved into the Ravine of Demon, and settled to live among monsters. Much of Karnage’s life was spent in the Ravine. He didn’t have a home for longer than a month or so due to its constantly shifting nature, or that it would get raided by other demons when he’s away, or that he gets chased off by monsters and can’t return. He constantly lived on the move, but he did not fret nor feared. In fact, the struggle brought him a sense of pleasure in his life. The new monsters he fought and killed provided him new materials for creating weapons, which he found immensely useful as he continued to live in the Ravine. He increased his skills as a hunter and a smith, using everything he can find in the Ravine, whether it be the tooth of a massive Earth Wurm or a couple of rocks he picked up tied to vines, to even the ever rare catches of Godstone and other exotic ores. He grew close to his creations, often giving those names personalities as he began to slip further into madness. Eventually he began to lead of Legion of weapons. Completely mundane weapons, but he didn’t know that. The demons in his head convinced him otherwise. During his time in the Ravine, he found himself in the service of an Archdemon. How it came to pass is a bit of a mystery on both their parts. Rumor would have it that Karnage defeated one of the Archdemon's entire Legion, others would say that he bested the Archdemon himself. Some would even say that he worked up from grunt level all the way to the Archdemon's court. These, of course, are all rumors with little basis in truth, or heavily exaggerated in order to perpetuate a fearsome image. If you asked Karnage, he would simply tell you that he proved himself, and that's all. Either way, Karnage found himself working under the Archdemon, making weapons for him. Not entirely out of his own will either; the Archdemon was a master Psychomancer and used illusions to trick Karnage into servitude. Still, Karnage liked the work well enough. It gave him purpose and a permanent place to reside. It also began his training in Demonmancy. Karnage’s skill in the forge quickly allowed him to rise in the ranks of the Archdemon’s hierarchy, becoming his personal armorer. Karnage was given certain benefits, including education with Demonmancy. This was mainly to allow Karnage to summon his own servants in the forge, but on his own he begun to search into improving his magic. So between gathering materials and creating arms and armors for the Archdemon, Karnage was slowly mastering his Demonmancy. It took him about two hundred years, but by the time he was finished, he could have very well taken over as the new Archdemon (Even though he was a Fallen). Instead however, he simply left after his many years serving the Archdemon. Karnage had raised a handful of highly-skilled smiths to replace him, though the Archdemon was somewhat possessive of Karnage. They managed to strike a deal however, a deal that the Archdemon has yet to call upon though. Karnage continued to travel in the Ravine, now determined to settle down and make a home for himself. During his travels, he found himself among the Naga. These strange snake people initially were hostile to him, and indeed they and Karnage were rather antagonistic towards each other. But after some communication, they managed to, more or less, get along. He still wasn’t trusted, but they at least stopped trying to kill him, and he to them. He traded and worked with the naga, offering them his services and getting paid through supplies and education of their culture and crafts. Karnage settled down not too far away from one of their villages, and served to help them deal with outsiders either through communication or execution. Soon he began to wonder how things were on the surface, and decided that he would try to ply his craft in mercantile. So he left the Ravine with his Legion, and headed topside. The first place he really tried to sell to was at the Twilight College, when it came to light that the former Aerta College has long since been reduced to ruins. There he faced his first issue; communication. Most of the demons he spoke to used telepathy, and the naga hardly ever used words. The Twilight College required actual speaking, and he only knew the native tongue of his people, which had been phased out for the common tongue long after he fell into the Ravine of Demons. He spent a good while trying to learn the language first before he eventually got himself an amulet that translated his words into something legible. Around the same time he began to fine tune his magical abilities, and after ten years of both language courses and magical training, he was hired to be the Master Demonology Professor, as well as Forge Master on his off hours. He goes by “Tyrael Marchosias” at the college, mostly to protect his students from his past. Even now he has enemies in the Ravine from Demons he’s dealt with and the sins from his time as an orc still haunts him even now. **Good Attributes:** Master Crafter – After many years of practice and experimenting, Karnage is skilled in a variety of crafting, from tailoring to fletching, armoring and engineering. Well Connected – Though the Ravine is a hostile place, he has many contacts and allies in there, allowing him to get his hands on some rather questionable goods or services when they’re needed the most. Perspective – In a physical sense anyways. His prey cannot hide from him; assassins will not ambush him. He has a sixth sense for danger, as well as a seventh or eighth for raw materials. He can tell were someone has gone and who they might be, and he can sniff out gems still in the ground. There’s no hiding for him; it’s not a matter of if he finds, it’s a matter of when he wants to. Skilled Combatant - Years in the Ravine and years of war before that has turned Karnage into a veritable threat even without his magic. He is skilled in hand-to-hand, and give him a weapon and he's even more of a threat. He's been known to set up traps that could take down even giant monsters, and would do even more harm to smaller opponents. Demonic - After Falling, Karnage had obtained massive power thanks to his demonic blood, as well as power shared with his Familiars. Super Strength is one notable skill of his, as he could sunder walls and tear apart most mortals. His durability is also another trait of his demonic powers, as he can survive a fall down the Ravine no worse for wear. **Bad Attributes:** Tyrannical – Karnage’s methods can be “Cruel and unusual” if you want it paraphrased. While he can’t be overtly abusive now that he’s a teacher, he can certainly be harsh and sadistic. It doesn’t help that he’s fairly extreme in his teaching methods, with a penchant with dealing with morally questionable demons. It doesn’t help that his own morality is whatever suits him for the moment. Violent - Working with demons (And those who would control them) is not for the soft or the kind, as death and violence is a common problem and situation when dealing with demons. Even Karnage has been known to quickly resort to violence when dealing with problems, be it rogue demons or troublesome students. As a teacher he can't simply beat you within an inch of your life, he won't hesitate to knock some sense into you or destroy your property. Repeatedly if need be. Of course, he's also always willing to help his students using violence as well, and may even encourage his students to solve their problems through combat and other forms of physical catharsis. Possessive - Don't touch his things. He doesn't like it when people mess with his things without his permission. This may even include people, if you've somehow managed to get on his good side. This also applies to people on his good side too; even if they mess with his things, expect a stern talking to, and perhaps a beating. **Secret Word:** Rebrith

**UserName:** Lucius Cypher **Character name:** Lucilia Riovas, Master Herbamancy Professor (College Title), Owner of Scarlet Traveler (Trade Caravan & Occupation Title), Sanguine Rose (Alias in Vampire society) **Age:** 233 **Mageblood type:** Natura **Favoured Magic Class:** Herbamancy **Previous Magic training:** Many, many years studying in the Aerta College. **Race:** Naerse Vampire **Appearance: **  **Short Bio:** Lucilia was born to a couple of alchemist who lived near the college of Aerta. They themselves once went there as they both were mages, and it came to no surprise when their own daughter turned out to be one either. They supported her through her earlier years, and made sure that she had a place at the college when she was at age. Back then, Lucilia was rather shy. Her home was away from most places, and she made friends with random fauna. She named plants after people she’s read in books, fed wild animals, and sometimes would follow strangers to see where they would go. Even after heading to the college, she didn’t change much. At the college, Lucilia was a quick study, but terrible in group work. Half the time it seemed like she was stuck in her own world, and even when she had her orders they came after her own whims. She had difficulty working in large cooperation. Mostly, it was simply because she had no tact. She spoke honestly about her feelings, which often times offended those she had to work alongside of. She ignored them just as much as they ignored her. She was worked alone most of the time, but also wanted company. Lucilia felt that people were just too sensitive, and the life of lying and pretending just didn’t suit her own beliefs. Despite this, people still felt that she was simply too unsocial to be of any use to them. This made her life in the college a lonely one. Until the one day she met [i]him[/i]. She didn’t know him. She didn’t even remember where he came from. But even after she said harsh things about him, he still stayed by her side. He made her feel important, that she could do more than what she has. But it was all a sham; the man was a Vampire, who used his powers to trick Lucilia into complacency. He drained her of her blood to the point it would have killed her, had it not been for one thing; Vampirsm. Without it Lucilia would have died, but it was not a blessing but a curse. Lucilia never knew she was infected with it. She simply thought she had been attacked, and soon began to grow ill as she began to become starved of blood. Her family took her in to nurse her back to health, but their good deed would not go unpunished. As she became blood starved, she killed her parents, drinking their blood until they were shriveled corpses. When she came around, she realized what she had done, what she had become. For the next few days, she simply ran in denial, sure that it wasn’t her, that it was someone else. After a while, her lies became truth to her. Lucilia never went back to the college afterwards. She fled to Djarkel, where she began to menace the countryside when she would go into hiding, starve herself, and then go on a rage to refuel. It got so bad to the point that Djarkel officials hired vampire hunters to find her and kill her. She rampaged for a good year before she was finally caught, but not by just vampire hunters. She was caught by vampire hunters who themselves were Vampires, but they were gifted their powers from Aarem himself. They took her in, taught her their ways, and made her join a coven worshipping the evil god. It took time, but time was all she had now. After many years, she managed to regain a semblance of sanity, as well as begin to make better use of her immortality. Lucilia returned to the college. Or at least, it's replacement. She had long since been forgotten, and indeed she had forgotten herself from all those years ago. So now she entered the college a new her, expanding not only her skills but her own life. She made friends, made enemies, but also managed to live, despite all that had happened. She lived long enough to work under three different Herbamancy teachers, and after fifty years of study and practice, she found herself the new teacher of Herbamancy as well as Alchemy. She also started up a thriving trade business, using her contacts from her Coven to improve and protect shipments as well as open up a market to wealthy clients. **Good Attributes:** Vampirism – Thanks to the Coven who found her, Lucilia has mastered her vampirism, and gains the benefits from it. Charismatic – Lucilia has an air of dignity and nobility about her, allowing her to stand as an equal to various aristocrats and even get in touch with lower class people. Well Connected – Lucilia has made a long list of connection in various businesses, from mercenary companies to wineries, mine overseers to even royalty. Given time, she can get anything on the mortal realm in her office. Lucky – But no matter how much skills Lucilia amasses or doesn’t have, it seems like her luck factors into everything. The wind of fate blows at her digression, and while not something she can manipulate directly, it’s always something she can use to her advantage. Protective - Lucilia watches over all her students and friends, and makes sure that they are in good health. She can't stand by and let bad things happen to them, but at the same time she knows what it's okay for her to get involved. There are some things people need to do on their own, and she understands that. She just makes sure that if it goes wrong, she's there to help them out. **Bad Attributes:** Manipulative – Behind Lucilia’s words isn’t always kindness. She’s more than willing to sacrifice people if they can serve a greater purpose over all, be it friends or enemies. Lucilia will use whatever methods she needs to get on someone’s good side (Or trusted side anyways) even if it means giving up something or even if she just plans to betray them later on. Her tendency to do this, when discovered, has made her loose many friends and allies, and worse, turned them into enemies. Vampirism – Despite the great powers it can bestow upon her, even Lucilia suffers from the weaknesses of Vampires. Gambler – Though Lucilia always ensures that the cards are stacked in her favor, she’s often lets things boil down to chance and random occurrence. While her luck and manipulations can help tilt the favor her way, her plans and schemes have many moving parts, parts that if interrupted or change, can alter or even bring down the entire idea. **Secret Word:** Rebirth

User Name: EliteCommander Character Name: Ssarak Dyreackthanose Age: 27 Mageblood type: Lues Mageblood Favored Magic class: Psychomancy Previous Magic Training: Mostly self-taught, with some training from elders in his clan. Race: Esyire Appearance: [http://www.deviantart.com/art/Your-Soul-is-Mine-147402964](http://www.deviantart.com/art/Your-Soul-is-Mine-147402964) with much larger wings in relation to the body and this: [http://www.deviantart.com/art/Comish-So-Close-397900213](http://www.deviantart.com/art/Comish-So-Close-397900213) armor, but black in color and with full gauntlets and boots. Short Bio: Ssarak, being an almost eight foot tall Esyire, looks even at a glance to be a seasoned warrior. It was a role he was born into, a role that shaped his entire life. He was born into clan Dyre, in a nomadic village in the Eastern Scorched Lands. His father Taraesar, like himself, was born with Lues Mageblood and was a proud warrior of their clan. Lues blood was rare among the Dyre clan, and due to the stigma they held against Noxomancy, most of that blood pursued Psychomancy. Ssarak would have been trained in the use of his mageblood by his father, but unfortunately, he perished in battle early in Ssarak’s life. Since Taraesar had been the only practicing Psychomancer in his village, he was left to learn to use his gifts by his own devices, receiving only basic training in the use of mageblood from the clan elders. In the Dyre clan, all warriors must have and be able to use magic, so no matter how skilled he became in mundane combat, he would have been ultimately rejected if he could not learn to control his blood. Nevertheless, his fervor for his training allowed him to learn enough to become a warrior his father could be proud of by the time he came of age. Despite his intense training, Ssarak is more skilled in martial combat than with magic. He inherited in arms and armor from his father, who crafted them by his own hand. Ssarak has a good deal of physical strength to back up his axe, and though he was at a disadvantage with magic compared to his fellow warriors, he was generally intelligent with its use. Since he lacked a proper tutor, Ssarak’s casting was inefficient, but he was able to teach himself to create a number of different types of illusions that could be used for misdirection in combat. He was less successful with the more direct applications of psychomancy, as the only minds he can have a forceful, direct influence on are those of simple creatures. Part of Ssarak’s duty as a warrior was to escort trading groups between the Dyre’s villages and Felldor. The relationship between the Dyre and the Esyire who settled in the city was sparse, but peaceful. They traded from time to time for resources the Dyre could not gather on their own, so Ssarak received more exposure to outside cultures than most of his village. He became somewhat familiar with the territories of other races beyond the Scorched Lands through these trips to the cities, but he was still very much focused on the needs of his own people. Most of Ssarak’s early career was wrapped up with fighting the Dyre’s rival clan, the Xhoth. The two clans had been at odds for generations, and since they were far too large of clans for large-scale warfare, neither made significant attacks. His village was one of the most active in the fighting. Ssarak survived several battles with them, but he never felt proud of those achievements. In his eyes, he was simply a participant, unable to really influence the tide of the conflict. He longed to be the warrior his father was, to be the hero that could end the conflict in its entirety. While in his early twenties, Ssarak found a wife and had children of his own, but secretly, he was still dissatisfied with his life. He loved his family, but still desperately wanted to bring an end to the conflict that consumed his village. After years of conflict, he finally thought he found the answer. For as long as they had been fighting, it had been a battle strictly between their warriors. Ssarak viewed the Xhoth as a plague upon the land, one that deserved to be wiped out completely. Over the course of a few months, he drummed up enough support from his fellow warriors, mostly younger ones, to plan an attack to completely wipe out a Xhoth village. Both clans had several villages, but Ssarak hoped that, by eliminating one entirely, it would push the war enough in their favor to finish it once and for all. Under the cover of darkness, Ssarak and the warriors who supported him made their way to the outskirts of the village. Ssarak took a small team with him and used his skills with misdirection to stealthily eliminate a few of the lookouts. His team then proceeded to slit the throats of as many warriors as they could find before they were discovered. Ssarak then sounded the horn to signal the attack. The battle was quick but bloody. About half of Ssarak’s force was killed, but they won the battle. Instead of taking prisoners and accepting the village’s surrender, they slaughtered everyone they found, save for a few that managed to escape. Once they returned and reported their actions, there was an intense debate among the village’s leadership. They had violated the honor that had driven their warfare for generations, but enough of their warriors had supported Ssarak’s plan that they could not be punished outright. The debate had been raging for about a week when they received word of an impending Xhoth attack on a neighboring village. Ssarak was among the men who was sent to aid them, but to their surprise, they found no Xhoth forces anywhere in the area, and the village they had been sent to protect had no knowledge of this attack. They returned home as quickly as possible only to find it in ruins. Evidently, messenger who informed them of the supposed Xhoth attack had betrayed them to get the majority of their warriors away from the village. The few survivors explained that the few soldiers remaining had not been enough to defend from by the massive attack by the Xhoth. Just as in Ssarak’s attack, they killed everyone indiscriminately…including all of Ssarak’s family. Ssarak was overwhelmed with grief and anger. He wanted to personally execute the traitor responsible, but was powerless to do anything to attain his vengeance. He considered suicidally attacking the Xhoth alone in the hopes of killing as many as possible before being killed himself, but he eventually decided to leave his people entirely. Many of his clan resented him and the other soldiers who took part in the initial attack, but he simply wanted to be away from it all. Ssarak left the Scorched Lands and wandered for a while, acting as a mercenary for about two years to support himself. During that time, the anger he felt toward the Xhoth had been replaced by immense regret. It had been his actions that had instigated the Xhoth’s attack, his fault that his family was dead. He continues to wander from place to place, unsure of what to do. Part of him wants redemption, but mostly, he believes himself a lost cause. After hearing of a College that could teach him to use his mage blood more effectively, he decided it would be as good of a place as any to begin a new chapter of his life. Good Attributes: As an Esyire, he is capable of flight. He has a great deal of strength and is a rather intelligent individual, capable of planning tactically to make the best use of the skills he has. Bad Attributes: Ever since the traumatic event that caused him to exile himself from his home, he has been prone to fits of rage that can severely impact his judgment and make him more violent than normal. Reminders of his family can also lead to episodes of depression that harm his ability to motivate himself. Secret Word: Rebirth

UserName: Rtron Character name: Uicle Age: 195 Mageblood type: Obligatio/Aqua Favoured Magic Class: Necromancy/Hydromancy(not by choice, by necessity. Those are the ONLY mageblood classes he possesses.) Previous Magic training: A variety of Necromancy teachers, as the God Aarem is easily displeased, and Uicle had the unfortunate luck of having the teachers to do that displeasing. His Hydromancy training came from years of study in Twilight College. He is currently the Necromancy teacher. Race: Yarosmere Human(Formerly) Appearance:  A cruel joke from Aarem. Uicle's soul is bound to the staff, but he can stretch it out to possess whatever, or whoever, is holding the staff. In this case, it's a suit of armor. The suit of armor is about seven feet tall. Short Bio: Uicle was born in Yarosmere, roughly a 100, a 110 years ago. For most of his life he worked with his father and his mother, helping them run their general store. He didn't display his original mageblood of Obligatio until the age of 29. Rather than be forced into the military for his mageblood, he left to go to the Mage College. He made it across Yarosmere easily enough, but when he got to Djarkel things got considerably more...difficult. Uicle wasn't a soldier, he was a store owner. He didn't even have his own mageblood yet. So when some bandit's came and decided they wanted both his money and his life, well, he put up a paltry resistance, but he still ended up with a dagger in his stomach, bleeding his lifeblood out onto the ground. There were very few Gods one could pray to who would stop the natural course of life. The only one who came to Uicle's mind when he was dying was that of Aarem. Having no other choice, and not wanting to die, Uicle offered his soul to the God Aarem in return for his death being prevented. Aarem granted his wish, though it didn't stop at preventing his death right then, it stopped his aging entirely. Uicle was immortal. And what was he to do with his new found immortality? Cause as much suffering to as many people as possible. For majority of his time as an immortal, Uicle shoved his morals and disgust at the actions back into his mind and did what he had to do. Hundreds, thousands, have died because of his actions. More have experienced days, months, years of intense suffering because of him. Poisoning wells. Burning down homes. Torture. Causing a local lord to crack down viciously on his subjects. Inciting a riot or a doomed rebellion. Causing a Snow Elf tribe to tear itself apart. Anything that would cause suffering, he did it. Over the years, however, it became harder and harder to repress his self-disgust and guilt. But he managed to hide it. He'd seen what Aarem did to those who started regretting their decisions publicly. It wasn't pretty, and it usually happened to his Necromancy teachers, ancient men who had grown sick of their foul work. Regardless, as he continued on, he began moving more and more away from innocents, and more into criminals and people he classified as 'evil'. He grew more reckless, hoping for a death that Aarem could call natural and not suspect the truth behind it. At first, Aarem didn't notice, and Uicle remained frustratingly alive. Eventually, however, the God [i]did[/i] notice his actions, and demanded an answer. Uicle gave an honest, and very hateful, spiteful, and regretful, answer. Naturally, Aarem was...displeased, to put it lightly, with this revelation. Still, he didn't immediately doom Uicle to a hellish existence. Uicle had been one of his most successful and longest lasting servants. Rather, he tried to 'persuade' Uicle to reconsider his decision. Which meant lots of pain and torture. Finally, when it became clear Uicle had resigned himself to his fate, Aarem just threw him away into one of his realms of eternal agony. Or, the god tried to at least. For reasons still unknown to Uicle, the god Ren intervened, saving his life...or what passes for life now anyways. Rather than letting Aarem throw Uicle into an agonizing existence, Ren forced the God of Evil to return Uicle to life. Perhaps he should have been a bit more specific. Uicle was returned to life, but as he is now. Trapped in a staff that used to be carried by a Hydromancer, whose armor Uicle now possesses. The Hydromancer was killed in Uicle's process of being returned to life. Aarem tried to cut Uicle off from his mageblood completely, but did something...peculiar by accident. Rather than leaving Uicle a soul in a staff, he only cut off half of his mageblood, and gave him the other half of the poor Hydromancers. Uicle suspects Ren had more to do with the latter than Aarem, but hey. When you're given such a gift, you don't question it. Up until about fifteen years ago, Uicle wandered the land, righting his wrongs. Unfortunately, he couldn't rebuild the tribe, it being destroyed. But he could do more for those who he didn't kill or destroy. Rebuild their homes, give them money. Help them out anyway he can. Eventually, he had done all he could to help, he decided to learn his new found mageblood a bit more. Years of study followed and he was offered the position of Necromancy teacher, as the other one had died of age. He accepted, and has remained in the College till this day. Good Attributes: Painless: Do to the nature of his soul, Uicle doesn't feel pain, and what would normally be a killing blow isn't. One could chop off his armor's head and he'd still be alive and kicking, as long as he possessed the armor. This, however, doesn't mean he can use unlimited blood. That, in fact, is where his green glow comes from. The more blood he uses and the closer he comes to over using his power, the dimmer the light becomes. Third eye: Uicle can have 'an eye in the back of his head', so to speak. He can be watching from the front of his armor, while at the same time facing the glowing green part of the top of his staff backwards, seeing through that as well. Therefore, sometimes it is rather hard to sneak up on him. Restless Soul: Uicle can't sleep. At all. He physically cannot go to sleep. Torturer:Don't have Uicle interrogate you. He will use very painful methods designed to cause a large amount of suffering. Aarem was good for something at least. Bad Attributes: Trapped: Uicle's entire existence hinges on that staff touching someone or something mobile. The second he's alone in the staff, he's useless. He can't manipulate liquids, or summon spirits from the Pit. If he's alone in the staff and someone breaks it...Uicle ceases to exist. No Pit. No rebirth. Just eternal torment at Aarem's hands. Cursed by the Gods: Just because Uicle is no longer a servant of and can't be killed by Aarem, doesn't mean he still isn't punished by the God. Aarem, it seems, has made it a pet project to make Uicle pay for his betrayal. Uicle's life can be turned hellish in a second. To the casual observer he just has really, really, [i]really[/i] bad luck. The God of Evil is sometimes joined by others who don't feel a hybrid blood user should be walking around unpunished. Secret Word: Rebirth > [/hider]

UserName: Rtron Character name: Althalus Marik Age: 32 Mageblood type: Lues Favoured Magic Class: Noxomancy(Shadows) Previous Magic training: On the job training, so to speak. He's fairly quick at gathering shadows around himself to prevent horrid death. Race: Human, Naersan. Appearance: Armor: The mask is nothing more than a scare tactic, having made a name of it(and thus, himself) when he worked as an assassin. Why fight when you can intimidate people? As a matter of practicality, his armor has runes of silence engraved(through Subscription) upon it all, combined with his, now unconscious, tendency to move in almost complete silence it gives him the unnerving(to some) habit of unconsciously sneaking up upon people, who only figure out someone is behind them through sound. Face: Althalus stands at five foot seven inches, a couple inches taller than your average Naerse human. He has golden eyes and a rather nasty scar going horizontally across his throat that gives his voice a slight rasp. Short Bio: Althalus was born in Port Slaughter, son of a tavern owner whose wife was a rather skilled Vitalimancer who healed all the patrons who were injured. For a fee of course. For him, his older brother, and his younger sister born a few years later, it was a happy time. He had a caring father and a loving mother. Protection, warmth, shelter, food, and clean water. It wasn't so for a large amount of Port Slaughter. There are a few things one has to realize about Port Slaughter to appreciate how lucky Althalus was to be born to a Tavern Owner. There is only one rule that governs that town. Loyalty to Family. Whether they be adopted or related by blood, one doesn't betray, manipulate, cheat, or whatever else they do, their family, for any reason. Anyone who isn't family is a potential target or a potential victim. Most of the population is poor, and most of the population is tearing itself apart to survive. Muggings, scams. murders, thefts, the list goes on. Althalus grew up in this world, yet he and his siblings were sheltered from it. A tavern owner had wealth, denizens of Port Slaughter liked to drink away their pain, and wealth meant power. Althalus's father was able to pay bodyguards to not only protect his tavern, but also his children. Still, his father taught them how to survive on their own. How to be ruthless, cold, efficient. For Althalus and his younger sister, these never really stuck. It wasn't that they [i]couldn't[/i] be ruthless, it was simply that his sister was too young(just having turned four a couple weeks ago) and Althalus preferred to be friendly, rather than terrifying. Respected and liked, rather than feared. Of course, that wasn't able to work in Port Slaughter, but he never stopped giving people at least one chance. The lessons stuck with his brother. Perhaps too well. Althalus was 13 when he began displaying his aptitude for Noxomancy(rotting a coin, rather than someone's face thankfully), around the same time his brother(two years older than Althalus), began displaying an aptitude for Psychomancy. While their father began to search for a teacher for one or both of them, their mother began making sure they wouldn't accidentally do something stupid...like kill themselves by overusing their blood. She even went so far as to delve into the legends of Wild Magic. Much to Althalus's brother's interest. In the following year his brother grew more withdrawn. Scribbling on a journal, talking, muttering, and snapping to himself, sneaking off at random times during the night(though only Althalus noticed this), he was jumpy, hostile, and seemed to be suffering from a decided lack of sleep. The family grew ever more concerned. He grew ever more withdrawn. The night of his fourteenth birthday(where his brother wasn't there) Althalus, overcome with curiosity, sneaked into his brother's room, determined to get a look at the journal. He had been lucky, and came at a time when his brother was gone. After a few minutes of dedicated searching, he was successful. Not the journal, but a page from it. Hidden behind the dresser, it appeared to be a list of names when Althalus unfolded it. That's when the screaming began. Shoving the paper into his pocket, Althalus ran too the noise, picking out the baritone roars of rage from his father, the shrieks of his mother, and the terrified wails of his young sister. The screams were coming from the Tavern, a purplish light glowing behind it. Just as Althalus reached the door, the wails were abruptly cut off, and the roars of rage and the shrieks grew louder, torn with grief. As he opened the door, he saw what should have been impossible. His brother, bloody sword in hand, over the still bleeding corpse of his sister muttering something Althalus was only able to make out part of. '-ld!'. In quick succession, the blade flashed again as Althalus stood their, frozen. Two more corpses hitting the ground. Every part of him screamed the need to run, to [i]flee[/i], before this purple eyed monstrosity that had become his brother noticed and killed him. Too little, too late. Even as his feet began to move in retreat, his brother noticed him. And spoke only one word. "[i]Stay.[/i]" Althalus froze. His brother approached, slowly, blood still dripping from his blade. There were no explanations. No final words. No taunting. Just step, after step, until he was close enough to swing a the sword in a lazy arc towards Althalus's throat. To this day, Althalus has no clue what allowed him to break free. His own will? A mistake on his brother's part? Some small part of guilt? Whatever it was, it allowed Althalus to leap back. Far enough that he wasn't killed, but close enough that damage was immediately done. What happened next was a blur with brief moments of clarity. His brother, howling and gibbering as his body glowed with the purple light, twisting in inhuman ways. Stumbling out onto the street, looking for help. Collapsing in an alley. A terrible mask leaning over him, a voice speaking to him in a strange accent. Then, darkness. The mask wasn't, as it turned out, the person come to loot his corpse. Rather, it was someone to who Althalus was better off alive than dead. The man didn't give any name, didn't remove his mask, didn't do anything but be Althalus's mentor. "I need a partner. Getting too old to go alone on my missions. You're the lucky one who I decided wouldn't kill me later." 'Missions' turned out to be murdering people for money. Or, as Althalus's mentor insisted upon calling it, assassinating problematic people for a small fee. Though, he never did explain how a young girl could be 'problematic' to a young noble. By the time Althalus was 22, he was good at his job. He helped his savior, and never even thought about betraying him. Name or no name. But, as the years had wore on, his mentor grew ever more paranoid. Till, the very night the man had been celebrating Althalus's birthday with him, he tried to kill Althalus. Althalus won, leaving the man gasping for breath with a knife in his ribs and his lifeblood pouring onto the ground. Althalus took the mask with him. Ten more years passed, and Althalus made a living for himself. Even gathered a small guild of Assassins to help him out. But his brother was always a persistent one. Mages came. Mages came with their spells Althalus could do nothing to respond forcefully too, and killed his guild members. Althalus, barely escaping with his life, decided to run to the College of Mages. There at least, he would be able to learn how to use his long neglected magic. Good Attributes: Patient: Althalus is patient, very much so. It takes a lot to get him angry..or generally upset for that matter. Career Killer: Althalus is fairly well versed in moving, and killing, silently, he's accurate with his throwing knives and competent with his array of daggers(hidden). He's killed at least one of the creatures on the face of Tien(Stretching from Naga, to Foreas, to even a Harmony). He can recognize most races and knows how to kill them quickly. Even if he's only had one of them as a target, he does his research. He's also quick to react and quick with his reflexes. Optimistic: He always has an optimistic, slightly defiant, outlook on life. Bad Attributes: Procrastinator:Some, actually quite a few, would call him childish. Lazy. Cheater: Due to his profession, open combat isn't exactly his style. He fights openly only when he has to, and even then he fights dirty and to get out of the open fight as quickly as possible. There's no such thing as a fair fight in his book. Trusting: Despite everything, when you've earned his trust(after all, an assassin doesn't just go around trusting everyone he meets), he often refuses to believe that you would betray him, and makes emotional attachments quickly after. Secret Word: Rebirth

UserName: Crossark Character name: Cynn Ellime Age: 19 Mageblood type: Natura Favoured Magic Class: Geomancy, with some barely-tapped potential in Herbamancy. Previous Magic training: Some shared learning by her friends, but nothing official. Race: Forest Elf Appearance: Is fairly tall, standing at 6 feet. Has brilliant white hair that she prefers to keep short, in a sort of thick pixie cut. (By the way, this might seem pointless, but her cup size is 36B. Trust me, it will help.) Has a very fair face. Short Bio: Cynn was raised as the daughter of an important family in her tribe. She had no siblings, but her parents were the wealthy owners of a major technology organization. From an early age, her parents noticed her potential as a trophy, and brought her to every business party, corporate meeting, and publicity stunt that they scheduled. When they learned about her magical ability, she suddenly became not only a trophy, but a parlor trick, as well. She was never good with people, and talking to strangers wore her out. The only escape she could find was in her private tutoring times and fencing practice. However, other than in those two safe areas, she never felt in place, and always felt used. Luckily, at the business events, she could often escape to a quiet place to work on her trinkets or read, but she was not so lucky when it was a simple family matter. Her father turned a blind eye to her, which hurt Cynn, but it was her mother who caused the real problem. It was her mother who would find her and harass her about not being social whenever she would disappear. It was her mother who, when she noticed that Cynn's tutors were assisting her in avoiding the situations, fired every one of them and got new ones who weren't permitted to leave the family home. It was her mother who blamed Cynn for any mishap the company was undergoing, and insisted that she still loved her daughter. And, alas, it was her mother who sought out Cynn in the courtyard at a particularly lengthy holiday party, when Cynn was just 14. "Honey, I have someone I want you to meet," she said, sitting down next to her daughter. "The Happs's son made a comment earlier on your beauty. He's a few years older than you, but I think you two could get along well. You just need to come out of your shell a bit." Cynn couldn't remember this Happ family, much less their son. Frankly, she didn't want to talk to them. She was worn out already. And she didn't feel beautiful. She haited how her mother forced her to keep her hair long, and wear froofy dresses. "I don't want to meet him," Cynn whispered under her breath, not looking at her mother. "I don't...I don't want to meet anyone else... I'm too tired for this." At this, Cynn's mother's face darkened. "Cynn Ellime," she said, her voice returning to her normal, angry tone. "You will go in and meet that boy." Cynn stood up, facing her mother. "I said I don't want to, mother. Just this once, I ask you to take my needs into account, or else your little business trophy is going to wind up getting tarnished." It felt good to be on a topic she'd had enough time to think about. Ranting was a relief. "I want to do what makes me comfortable, and that isn't going from party to party, meeting to meeting, smiling at people I don't know and don't care about, making conversation that doesn't progress at all. I'm a living being, and it's time I get the respect I deser-" A sharp pain spread across her left cheek. Her mother's hand retreated back to her side. "That is no way to speak to your mother, young lady." She stepped closer to Cynn, invading the small amount of space Cynn had left. "I have done everything for you to give you a good life. I have given you books, tutors, everything an heir to a business needs. So, when I tell you to do something, you do it! No back talk! You owe me the respect any mother deserves! YOU ARE NOT EXPERIENCED ENOUGH, SMART ENOUGH, OR SOCIAL ENOUGH TO DO ANYTHING IN THIS WORLD, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? I KNOW HOW THIS WORLD WORKS, AND YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME-HE-WHOA!" Cynn's crouched, balled up figure was surrounded by the gravel from the courtyard path. Her mother now lay on her back, the part of the path she'd been standing on moments earlier now hovering as chunks of earth in front of her trembling form. Cynn screamed, hands over her ears, to get the self-doubt and sadness out of her head. Unfortunately, she wasn't prepared for the gravel projectiles that resulted from this, battering her mother and leaving her unconscious, but alive. She ran away, sobbing, wondering how one person could be so illogical and hurtful. The first thing she did was cut her hair. Quickly, she found a new family, a close circle of friends that stuck together. That had lasted two years. Slowly, though, Cynn's inability to phrase things properly caused divides, and she eventually left them to save them the trouble. She wandered about, selling books for three more years, She learned how to act like a salesman, as much as she despised doing so, to get by. However, she caught rumors of a college for mages, and she set out to find her way to it. Good Attributes: Cynn is a major reader. She has a very logical outlook on the world, and can understand technologies easily. She also has a very inventive mind, and will come up with her way of solving issues, despite the possibility that the solution might already exist. She understands strategy. Bad Attributes: She is such an immense introvert that not only is it difficult for her to accurately connect to people in the first place due to her need to think her sentences out so far in advance, but she probably won't stop stuttering for a good while after she actually does connect with someone. She also has some trouble with keeping her mind in reality, her imagination having a tendency to run wild at random. Secret Word: Re-fucking-birth, baby! P.S.: Her butt is was a magician, but became known as half of a slowly rotting lemon. </IRCRef>

UserName: Enalais Character name:Korgal Vorinclex Age: Seems to be around twenty but in reality is centuries old. Mageblood type:Aqua Favoured Magic Class:Cyromancy Previous Magic training: N/a Race: Orc Appearance:  Short Bio:Korgal was born to a small orc tribe in the north, his mother was a seer and his father was a warrior who left shortly after the boys birth. While Korgal never knew his father all that well, his mother spoke highly of him, the great warrior Karnage. He used to go to bed at night dreaming of being great like his father, dreaming that one day he would meet his father and they could fight together. Korgal grew up like his mother he cared for people, and cherished all life. He lived a pretty carefree childhood, it was shortly after his thirteenth birthday in the dead of winter, that another tribe threatened their way of life. It started with small harassing raids then it esclated. It ended with them attacking the tribe and killing many, the great warrior that was his father was still nowhere to be found nor did he interfere on behalf of the tribe. The raiders enslaved his mother and some of the other females and they tried to catch the young orcling. They chased him out into the wilderness nearby and eventually pinned the boy against a frozen lake. Korgal had two choices attempt to run across the frozen lake, or be taken prisoner, choosing the first option the boy ran across the lake. He didn't even make it halfway before the ice cracked and broke under the orcling. The cold took the boy, what happened next he couldn't explain but he reached out with his mind and he froze the whole lake encasing himself in ice like a tomb. The lake remained frozen for centuries all season round, people spoke of it being cursed, others spoke of a sad tale. But as time moves on legends and stories are forgotten and things change. A town had recently been established not far from the lake and the orclings now abandoned tribal lands. And a few men from the town decided for an ice fishing trip, as soon as the ice was cut the lake returned to normal and the orcling found himself gasping for air on the surface of the lake. When the villagers pulled him from the water they asked all of these questions that the orcling did not understand nor did he care to listen, running back to his home he found that his tribal lands had long since been overgrown and nothing remained of his home, it's said that his cries echoed for miles around the centuries old orc had lost everything he loved and now he was alone with strange pink men. The squishy pink men brought him to their tribal homes, their buildings were strange. They all argued about what to do with the orc, he didn't understand their language he was confused. Later he would understand that some of the more racist people within the town wanted him dead and the others wanted him to live amongst them. One of villagers a innkeeper stood up for Korgal and offered to take him in. He couldn't understand the man, but his daughter spoke the orcish tribal trade language. He understood her and through her the innkeeper spoke to Korgal. The daughter was a kind girl she showed Korgal kindness and compassion, it wasn't an alien concept to Korgal who returned his kindness back to the girl and his new adoptive family by bringing in flowers to decorate the inn every week. The innkeeper on the other hand was a violent and cruel man who used Korgal as a over glorified bar maid and bouncer, when the orc didn't respond the orc was whipped with a massive bull whip he barrowed from the farmer. But still Korgal was grateful to him for giving him a home and didn't fight back. Korgal spent eight years in the inn, his body finally aging the way it should be after being frozen in ice, during those eight years he had learned to speak the pink skins language, they called themselves humans. Most of the humans in the town have come to accept the orc as their own with the execption of the innkeeper and some of his closest friends. During a busy time in the inn Korgal made a mistake an spilled some drinks, instead of understanding the innkeeper grabbed his big bullwhip and went for the orc. Fed up of her fathers treatment of Korgal his daughter took a stand and took a nasty lash meant for the orc, it was at this moment the kind orc faded away replaced with the beserkers of old, grabbing the whip mid lash he pulled the innkeeper by it and began to beat the inn keeper, his fists taking on that of solid ice making them into deadly weapons. But the fact that this man took him in stopped Korgal from killing him. The town shocked about what happened, and shocked about the orc manfiesting the ability to use magic the town convened to discuss the orcs fate. When they were done they told the orc about the college and said he could go there if he wished, or he could stay in town with someone else. Feeling bad for what he did the orc left heading to this mysterious college and his new life. Good Attributes: Korgal is a kind and sweet orc he loves everybody he meets and is quick to make friends, his loyalty to his friends is a good trait as well as a bad trait he will keep his friends safe until the end but he can easily be manipulated by people through his loyalty. Bad Attributes: Going back to his loyalty, he also will not fight any living thing unless it's hurt one of his friends, he isn't easily provoked for an orc and his peaceful ways tend to get him into all sorts of troubles. Secret Word: Rebirth

UserName: Ryonara Character name: Meirin Kurenai or just Mei Age: 22 Mageblood type: Ancient Favoured Magic Class: Weaving Previous Magic training: None Race: Naerse Human Appearance:  Short Bio: Meirin grew up an orphan in the mountains of Djarkel. She was adopted in a martial arts monastery based in the mountains, who help travelers on their way to cities. She spent much of her life there, training and living among the artists. She would, at times, assist travelers and traders by escorting them to the nearest city or town, sometimes accepting payment if the monastery needed money. Most of the time she just spent her days training herself, hoping to one day leave the monastery and open up her own sanctuary someone to help others. When she was sixteen years old, the monastery was attacked. The attackers were not mere bandits and highwaymen, like the ones they've been used to fighting, but demons. No one knew why they came that day and the demons did not make the time to explain themselves. Many of the artists were killed during the initial attack, but after the Master rallied the artists together, they managed to force the demons back into retreat. Meirin was in the thick of it, being one of the first few to be attacked, but also one of the only few to survive. After they repelled the first attack, the Master organized a few artists to find he source of the demon attacks, and Meirin volunteered to go. Though she was young and not the strongest of the artists, she did do quite a number to the demons, and the more experienced artists needed to stay back and prepare the monastery for future attacks. Originally, the Master only sent a small group to scout for the source of the demon attacks. But Meirin sought vengeance for the death of some of her friends. When She and her group did find the source of the demons, a Demonmancer, she convinced the others to help her kill the mage. She planned an ambush and it almost succeeded, if she did not underestimate the abilities of the Demonmancer. Meirin and the scouting party managed to kill a good number of the demons that served the mage, but when they came to finish him off, they fell into a trap themselves. Meirin was the only survivor out of luck, as she was thrown off a thirty foot drop and left for dead at the bottom of the cliff. By the time she had come to, Meirin's allies had been killed down to the last man, once again making her the only survivor. And even though she also found the corpse of the mage who started it all, it was an empty victory for the price they paid for it. Years passed. Meirin truthfully told of what happened that day, including her part in convincing the others to help her ambush the mage. She expected to be exiled for her foolishness, but instead she was given a chance to repent. However, while the monastery may have forgiven her, she never could. She became lethargic, sleeping for hours on end and having nightmares that she doesn't wake up from. Her fellow artists tried to console her, but she could never get over the guilt she felt for essentially sending her friends to death for a vengeance that only she wanted. She tried her best to ignore her nightmares and work on her redemption by being kinder to others, helping them when they need it and not being a bother herself. It worked some of the time, but to her it was just a sorry attempt to make up for her own selfishness. Fairly recently Meirin discovered that she had latent magical abilities which no one in the monastery had much knowledge with. She first discovered her ability with magic when she was practicing a new form, and used some sort of spell that caused her to shoot flames from her hands. She thought she had been cursed somehow and immediately sought the assistance of her fellow artists. Not many knew much in the ways of magic, as even the Master was not a mage, but a few of the elder Artists did know what she may have done. Weaving Magic; an ancient magic that involves movements. The Monastery had once been a place for Weavers, but the practice had slowly died out in favor of more conventional Blood Magics. Nonetheless, they suggested that Meirin go to the mage college and figure out what powers she had within her. After packing up her essentials, she went off to the college and began a new life outside the walls of the monastery. Good Attributes: Martial Artist - Meirin is highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat, well versed in both practical and aesthetic applications of her martial arts. She's also well trained with swords, knives, and spears. Athletic - Meirin Is quite durable and agile, as her training has emphasized those two traits more over than raw strength. Her endurance is indeed almost supernatural, and while she speed isn't quite the same level, it's still better if not as good as some others. Her strength is nothing to dismiss either, as she could throw a growth man a fair distance with astonishing accuracy. Friendly - Meirin is a nice person, even if others aren't being so nice to her. She wouldn't be the type to ignore someone who needs help, and she'll do it for her own sake rather than any tangible reward. She knows that there are people who would take advantage of her kindness or never appreciate it, but she still keeps up her friendly demeanor for those who aren't going to abuse her attitude or for those who need some kindness. Bad Attributes: Narcolepsy - Meirin has a bad habit of falling asleep very easily when she's not doing anything for more than a minute, and it takes a lot to wake her up. She wouldn't wake up until noon if it was up to her. Now she has to take medicine to help her sleep normally, but without it she'll be back to having bad cases of Narcolepsy. Nightmares - When Meirin falls asleep, she has nightmares from what she did when she tried to seek vengeance against the demonmancer. Not all her nightmares are like that however, and new ones tend to pop up, but even when she goes through old ones they always put her in shock. Unbeknownst to her, this isn't just survivor guilt: She has been cursed by one of the demons she fought against that day. It was simply an illusion to alter her perception of the fight, but now it grows more powerful the longer she lets it lingers in her mind. The medicine and therapy helped deal with these nightmares just a little, but sometimes they seep into her mind and leave her rattled. Cocky - Meirin is quite arrogant with her ability as she believes that the time and effort she put into it (Eighteen years or so) has prepared her to face any problem. While the truth of the matter varies on the situation, she's still very confident in her abilities, too much for her own good. She would think that she can single handily deal against opponents who seem weaker than her, despite other factors that she may not be accounting for. Secret Word: Rebirth

[b]UserName:[/b] Asura [b]Character Name:[/b] Warwick Blight [b]Age:[/b] 20 [b]Mageblood Type:[/b] Obiligatio [b]Favored Magic Class:[/b] Demonomancy [b]Previous Magic Training:[/b] No official training, although he's experimented enough to know the very basics [b]Race:[/b] Human Carsaeus (Werewolf) [b]Appearance:[/b] Warwick is a rather imposing male, standing at just over six feet in height and weighing in at roughly two hundred pounds. His physique is one of power, one expected of a predator. Every inch of his body is plated in lean, chiseled muscle giving him the strength and speed one would expect of a feral beast. Covering his muscular body is a layer of fair white skin marked with a variety of scars and marks to define it's owners reckless life style. While appearing more human than many of his kin, it is very obvious to the common bystander that Warwick is far from human. This face is one of the more noticeable indicators of this. While they're quite 'rugged' and what many would call 'handsome', the inhumanity in them is obvious. His face is angular and sharp. Predatory in nature and dangerous in design. His teeth are unlike any human's, entirely pointed and suited to ripping meat from prey rather than grinding food down normally. His eyes are a sharp, piercing yellow color and seem to glower on their own with an unsettling energy akin to that of the Inferno. His ears, while in the place one would expect human ears, are pointed much like those of an elf and covered in a thin layer of fuzz. His hair seems to be a cross between the long locks one would find on a human's head and the thick fur one would find on a wolf. It's soft and warm, yet wild and untamed and kept in a shaggy mop that only adds to his disheveled appearance. More features become apparently as you move down his body. Patches of 'fur' like those found on his ears and fairly common along his form, particularly around his limbs. His appendages are just another indication of his heritage. Unlike human fingers or toes, each of them ends in a sharp hooked claw rather than a rounded nail confined to the top portion of the digit. His palms are calloused in a manner that also seems to resemble the 'pads' found on a dog or its more wild siblings, allowing him superior grip. The last obvious indication lies along his back. Particularly, the tail that hangs from his back at the point where his spine fuses into his sacrum. It's rather thick and covered in a form of hair similar to that on his head. [b]Short Bio:[/b] To truly understand Warwick's story, you must first understand who his parents were. His mother, a kind young woman by the name of Marianna descended from a poor family. For all her life, she grew within a healthily sized village within Eania's countryside as the daughter of a shepherd. Living outside the feeble walls of her village and assisting her family in raising their livestock, as one of the only children of her parents to have made it past childhood, Marianna exposed herself to a variety of dangers. One of those dangers just so happened to be the one to conceive Warwick with her. Attacks on their cows from creatures of prey were not an uncommon occurrence. Many predators would wander onto their farm looking for an easy meal and occasionally make off with one of their cows or sheep. What was uncommon, however, was a string of these attacks night after night. Such an event plagued their farm one balmy summer. Her father, an aging man at that point, did what he could with the little help he could afford to patch up their fences and ensure nothing could get into the farm. But nothing he could do truly stopped the beast, who returned every night and tore apart animal after animal. With their village having no true militia to call for help with such a terrifying turn of events and their coffers running low on coin to replace the animals with, Marianna took it upon herself as the eldest of their children to try and foolishly put an end to the attacks. Camping out one knight with her father's bow, she intended to wedge an arrow in the beast when it came for her livelihood and return a hero to her assorted siblings. What she found was no mortal beast. Having lived reasonably close to the border of Djarkel, a land of darkness where foul beasts ran amok, it was a shock the peasants hadn't expected what Marianna found that night. Instead of a mountain lion or some coyote, what descended upon the cows that night was a massive, bipedal creature that smelt of fire and brimstone of thirsted for blood. It stared down upon the peasant girl with curiosity. An emotion which quickly turned to amusement as she drew an arrow from her quiver and shot it uselessly into it's dark fur in an attempt to strike it down. Her fiery attitude impressed the demon, who decided that rather than feeding on her for nourishment, he'd feed another hunger of his. The demon forced himself upon the unsuspecting farm girl before disappearing into the night, leaving her family to discover her in the morning, bloodied and broken. Recovery from the various traumas inflicted upon her that night was quick, or as quick as being raped by a demon could possibly be. She was always a determined girl, a stalwart one. It was something she could overcome. Indeed, the demon had intended just that. For only the bravest mortal women could undertake the horrors that would befall her in life. Horrors which revealed themselves several months after the event, when a bump formed its way in her belly. A bump that would one day become Warwick. Try as they might, her family couldn't convince Marianna to rid herself of the... thing that grew within her. Spawn on a demon or not, she insisted that it was her child and that depriving it of life would be more wrong than birthing a half breed. Nine months after the tragic event Warwick came into the world, kicking and screaming like a bat out of hell, as one would expect of his kind. He was an exceedingly healthy baby, as much as it pained his family to admit. It was certain he would make it through the earliest years of his life. For the most part, his early years were the easiest. His family kept him locked away from the world, hoping to avoid the shame and mockery that would come of his existence. From the moment he could walk, talk and even remember he was shunned by those meant to be closest to him. All aside from his mother, whom did her best to nurture and care for him. To shield him from the coldness of the world. But she couldn't be around forever. He would eventually need to forge his own way into the world. His grandfather knew as much. Perhaps in a form of tough love or spite for the little 'beast' that had come of his kin, the old farmer sent Warwick, a mere boy off into town by himself on an errand. His first real glimpse into the world outside of his family's farm was amazing... until the people of town noticed him. They shouted names at him, threw things. The abuse eventually culminated in them chasing him out of town, calling him a monster and nearly doing worse than simply shooing him off. It was a prelude of things to come. All throughout his childhood he was subject to it all. The bullying, the harsh whispers behind his back, the cold glares from all those around him. He was shunned for what he was, for something he had no control over. The fear and prejudice caused the fine folk of his village to torment the poor wolf as he developed. For all the damage it did though, it hardened him. For every wound they caused he grew stronger for it, colder, but stronger. But his existence didn't just harm himself. His family were right in hiding him away. They were subject to nearly the same amount of abuse, his mother in particular. Called a whore for birthing a demon, a heretic and even a demonmancer. As much as she tried to protect him from the world, he could see the barrage wearing down upon the one person who had been there for him through it all. So, rather than continue to bring his own parent and the others of his kin down, he decided to run away. No matter where he went, he'd always be the target of some form of mockery. But maybe if he left to be on his own, he could take some of the suffering away from them. A boy, no more than thirteen years old at the time, Warwick scribbled a note with what little knowledge of writing he had been given and made off into the night with nothing more than a knapsack at his side. As hard as the journey was, he trekked on, day after day, town after town. Surviving was difficult but for once in his life, his demonic heritage came in handy. He was fast and strong. His senses keen. He could survive out in the wilderness where a softer lad could not. It was three long years of this, sticking to the woodlands and escaping into towns now and again to stir up some trouble and grab some supplies before the populace chased him away. He'd often get attacked, the more ignorant assaulting him and forcing him to fight back. He mauled many a man during his occasional town visits, forced to run before the authorities were called in and inevitably blamed him for the altercations. A miserable existence it was, but he managed. Day after day he survived, alone in the world and wandering aimlessly for a place of acceptance. Something, much to his surprise, he would soon find. He had heard stories of his kind, half demons, or werewolves as the common folk tended to label his particular breed, banding together to form groups. Clans of the unwanted who helped each other survive in the world that wanted nothing to do with them. It was by luck alone that one day, Warwick stumbled upon such a group. Or rather, they stumbled upon him. While searching for a place to rest for the night, he had inadvertantly stumbled into the territory of one of these clans. They tracked him, as those of their particular blood tended to do, to the cavern he managed to claim for himself. Had he been a mere mortal, he likely wouldn't have escaped the handful of scraggly looking half breeds that stormed the cave. But he wasn't. He was one of them. The small clan, consisting only of a dozen or two their breed, happily accepted Warwick into their ranks after a mildly violent run in within the cavern. For the first time, with these other 'monsters', he found peace and acceptance. They helped each other with tasks, looked out for one another and functioned like a little family unit of their own. Like a pack of the animals their corrupted fathers took the form of, they carved out a niche just large enough to live comfortable in the wilds, far from where harm could be done. It was a good time in Warwick's life. As such, he should've expected it to all come crumbling down. For the deities of the world seemed to have it out for the young wolf. Having lived among the ever growing clan for several long years, Warwick had done well for himself. He had moved up the 'hierearchy' thanks to an unnatural charisma with his fellow half-demons. Made some friends, conquered a few of the clan's women for his own. It was all going well. But the leader of their little 'pack', their 'alpha' had grander plans. Having lived on the fringes of society for so long, having been outcasts all their lives, they had finally grown to the point where they could make a difference. Where they could strike back against those who would oppress them. Consisting of roughly fifty five individuals, their group of mangy mutts had turned into a small army of Carsaeus. Enough to challenge some of the weaker villages that surrounded their home. Despite strong protest, some even from Warwick himself, their leader decided to lead a crusade against the humans who had wronged them all. It was the beginning of the end for their clan. Leading ten of his fellow wolves into a farming village much like the one Warwick was born into, they slaughtered the unsuspecting inhabitants in the night and took the backwater town for their own. Livestock to feed them, houses to shelter them and a healthy dose of revenge against people who had never done them any wrong empowered the wolves of their clan. With numbers on their side, the humans could do little to stop them. In a land of holy crusades, hubris was the last thing those tainted by demon blood needed. Unbeknownst to the foolish wolves, not every man, woman and child in that village had fallen to their warriors. Some had managed to escape in the night while the werewolves snorted and celebrated their victory. They sent word to the other villages and soon, their find homeland responded with the force one would expect at such a grievous infestation. Soldiers, hardened of battle and possessing powerful magics assailed the village one day. The arrogance of the wolves leader prevented him from calling a retreat. Instead of running for the hills as they should have, many of Warwick's comrades made a stand against the troops that came marching to retake the village. They were slaughtered like the animals they had always been. One by one, Warwick watched as his 'family' were cut down by blessed swords and holy silver. He himself had been attacked by the soldiers in his attempt to flee the losing battle.Cornered by several of Eania's best, it was then that for the first time, Warwick tapped into his mageblood. He had always held the ability, an affinity for controlling the more vile creatures of the world. It was perhaps his latent abilities in demonomancy that had helped propel him through the ranks of his clan. But this was the first real use. The first obvious use of his abilities. Cornered like a beast, in fear and rage, sorrow and hatred that came a rift in the very space of their plane. It wasn't a large one, but that day Warwick tore himself a portal to the realm of Inferno in sheer desperation. From the rift poured forth imp after imp, minor demons who slipped through the fabric of the tear and scattered through the battlefield, free of control thanks to Warwick's inexperience and allowed passage into the mortal realm. It distracted the soldiers long enough for him to turn tail and rush, self preservation prevailing as he ran into the wilderness once more, shocked, terrified and amazed all at the same time. By the time he had stopped running, he was far from the scene of the terrible massacre. So far he could no longer smell their scents, or hear their cries. He was alone once more. Stripped of all he had known, the mourning wolf aimlessly wandered once more, with no where left to go and no where to rest in the fear those soldiers who came to claim his companions would too hunt him. Left an emotional wreak, he had merely one thing to compose himself. One thing to focus on. That godforsaken rift he caused. He knew very little of it, but he was certain what he caused that terrible day was magic. It wasn't entirely unheard of for mages to summon forth demons from what he had heard. Perhaps he was one of them.. no, he had to be one of them. In the tragedy of his loss, he had found something of value in himself. Something that could provide him with a future. It was near impossible to live within Eania and not hear of the Twilight College, even with his limited contact with civilized people. A place where mages were accepted and trained. If he managed to make it there, he could start anew, in a place where he wouldn't be hated and more importantly, hunted by the natives of his land. So he set forth for it. To the college and to a new life, one he could only hope wouldn't be stripped away again. [b]Good Attributes: [/b] Werewolf Physiology; As a Carsaeus, Warwick has inherited attributes from his father's corrupted blood. His half demon heritage has blessed him with an enhanced set of physical attributes. Of his particularly heightened attributes his strength reigns supreme however, allowing him to keep up with and even overpower the most physically oriented races of the world. He has also inherited many physical features to show his ancestry as well. His teeth are nothing like an average human's, with every single one pointed and naturally crafted to tear meat from bone with his incisors even longer than normal. His fingers and toes also end in hooked claw like nails rather than only covering the top portion of his digits and growing to rounded points. His senses are enhanced to the superhuman as well, with eyes more than capable of seeing in the darkness of night, ears capable of picking up the most minute of sounds and most powerful of all, a sense of smell that dwarfs what more civilized races can dream to have. His regenerative capabilities are also heightened, allowing him to recover from wounds at an increased rate although no where close to instantaneous. Transformation; In times of great emotional strife or physical danger, Warwick is prone to succumbing to his instincts as a self defense mechanism. Should he ever give in, his physical form morphs to that of a massive bipedal wolf demon roughly eight and a half feet from head to toe and several hundred pounds. In this form, he gains a thick layer of thick black hide, rife with the smell of brimstone and incredibly resilient to damage. Additionally, his physical attributes are further boosted. Loyal; Perhaps owning to his species, Warwick is an incredibly loyal companion. While his very abrasive behavior can turn away any who wish to call him a friend those who do find a place close in his heart. Having never had anyone look past what he was to get close with him, he cherishes any friends he manages to make and will defend those who earn his trust violently much like an alpha protecting his pack. Combat Ready; Having to fend for himself in a world that holds, at best, a disdain for his kind, Warwick was forced to verse himself in the ways of combat to defend himself. Using his bestial features and unnatural physical attributes, he's managed to mold himself into a fearsome warrior who favors unarmed, close quarters combat above all else. While he lacks more traditional technique, he makes up for it with feral unpredictability and tenacity. [b]Bad Attributes:[/b] Werewolf Physiology; As a half demon, Warwick also boasts the weaknesses of his tainted family line. Holy artifacts that would fend off demons also effect him much as they would a full blooded Inferno walker. Like demons, he is also susceptible to demonology spells and while he cannot fully be banished to the Infernal Realm, those who practice that particular school will find him to be manipulable should their skill surpass his own. Additionally, a weakness that belongs to his wolf lineage alone and not to all demons is his vulnerability to silver. While its effect vary widely on how pure the metal is, coming into contact with such a substance can cause him anything from a moderate rash to burns akin to touching a hot iron. Transformation; While transforming gives Warwick great strength to defend himself with, it comes at the loss of his humanity. In this form he becomes a feral monster akin to what many would assume of the Inferno, rampaging against [i]all[/i] those he comes into contact with, friend or foe. In such a rampage he'll happily murder his closest companions and either must be physically restrained or worst, killed to put a stop to it prematurely. In this form he is far more susceptible to other demonologists and his weakness to many demon banes grows even stronger. Socially Challenged; Warwick's social skills are very lacking. Not only was he an outcast for most of his young life, but being judged and looked down upon by so many people has ruined his outlook on many. He is rude, aggressive and more often than not violent to those around him, partially out of spite and partially to protect himself. It's difficult for him to rely upon others, let alone trust them and he finds himself at odds with many of those he comes into contact with simply because of his behavior, let alone his demonic traits. [b]Secret Word:[/b] Rebirth

UserName: Ryonara Character name: Myrn Vaan'Atisha Age: 27 Mageblood type: None Favoured Magic Class: None Previous Magic training: None Race: Wood Elf Appearance:  Short Bio: "Blade that cannot bend will break." That was the quote that defined Myrn's life. She was born in the Atisha Clan, nomadic wood elves. While they have a homeland in Ghannos, they travel far and wide to wherever they are welcomed, seeking to spread the ways of their people to anyone willing to entertain them. As a Wood Elf Myrn took to the bow in her early years. She excelled at the sport, and by the age of fourteen, she had joined the hunting party in her clan, a long distance shooter. Around that time there was some tensions between some of the clans for political reasons, and eventually it turned into a war that lasted for about five years. Myrn was just sixteen when she was made into a scout, and that was when she first took her steps into becoming a Vaan'Dred. At the beginning, Myrn killed plenty of others with her longbow. They wwere just blurs on the horizon where she aimed her bow. It meant no more to her than shooting animals. It wasn't until the first winter of that war that she learned what it was like to see the face of a person when you kill them. It was a scout from the opposing clan who surprised Myrn while she was on watch. They caught each other by surprised; Myrn had her bow at her side and panicked, trying to string an arrow when he was half a yard away. It was the only thing she knew to do. Of course, he struck first with his blade, and Myrn just fell back in shock. But his mistake was assuming because he had drawn blood and she had fallen, that Myrn was dead. She rushed at him the moment he turned his back on her towards the sleeping camp. He was caught off guard and Myrn wrested his blade away from him. She didn't know how many times she stabbed him. By the time she had stopped, when the next watch came to relieve her, she was gasping for breath. There was not a solid peice of him left; she had literally cut him into pieces. At that time, Myrn had no concept of how to fight or how much it took to kill someone. The war lasted a little over two years before it came to an abrupted end. Other clans intervened and put a stop to all the fighting, but even to this day Myrn could not dicern if they had won, or even why they had fought. But even so, it was during this war that Myrn began to teach herself how to use a sword. While hunters were common amongst the Atisha clan, what made them unique from other clans were their Vaan'Dred, Blade Dancers who could not only move with the grace and speed of the winds themselves, but sunder their foes with a single blade. Unlike other Blade Dancers who florished with two light blades, Vaan'Dreds specilized in using one large, two-handed weapon. After the war had ended Myrn spent much of time learning the ways of the Vaan'Dred; their technique, their philosiphies, and their stories. Myrn trained as a Vaan'Dred for five strait years. She was about twenty-four years old before she decided to strike out on her own. She felt that she learned all that she could from her teachers about being a Vaan'Dred, and now that she was an older, more mature woman, she wanted to see the world for herself and make her own fame and fortune. So with her clan's blessing, she went out and became and adventurer. For a while, the adventurer's life was good. Vaan'Dred's weren't just skilled warriors, but also preformers. When there wasn't much swordplay to be had Myrn was an actor, a dancer, and occasionally a singer. Being a fairly attractive wood elf Myrn had no trouble attracting an auidence, which was all the better when a fight broke out as she could show the audience that she could fight as well as dance. Yes, life was good, if a bit aimless. Myrn was glad that she could use her skills regularly, but she wanted more. She wanted purpose. Than one day while she was traveling through Djarkel Myrn made a nearly fatal mistake. She was thinking of taking out a bandit hideout when she heard cries for help off the road. Myrn went to investigate, only to be ambushed by vampires. They held her down to feed off of her. She fought as hard as she could, but as soon as they sunk their fangs into her she could feel her very life leaving her body. She was scared and couldn't beleive that this was how it was going to end for her. But it never was. She didn't know what happened after the attack. All she knew was that she was saved by a brown orc. She never saw a good look at his face or caught his name. All Myrn could remember was his voice and what he did to help her. He saved her, but before Myrn could even thank him he was gone. All he left behind was a crown made of some of the local flowers. That's when Myrn decided that she would repay him with her life; he saved her life, and thus she would serve his. It sounded like a good deal to her, and if nothing else, something interesting to do. Good Attributes: Swordsmanship - Myrn has trained in the ways of the Vaan'Dred of the Atisha clan. Known as Blade Dancers or Dervishes, they are quite adapt at using swords for both preformances as well as combat. Unlike other dancers the Vaan'Dred style of swordsmanship uses two-handed weapons to fight with speed instead of strength. Best used with the traditional Dar'Misaan, a curved elven greatsword. Archery - Myrn was a decent sharpshooter back when she was just a hunter for her clan. She's good with hitting targets from very far away even if they're moving, however she actually as more difficulty dealing with enemies when they close in on her. At that point she'd have to drop her bow and take out her sword. Bardic Knowledge - The Vaan'Dred weren't just warriors; they also cultured scholars and storytellers. They knew a wide range of tales and history from around the world and are quite capable of collecting new stories wherever they go. This makes them good informats and teachers. Bad Attributes: Vampires - Myrn HATES vampires after her near-death brush with them recently. While she normally controls herself enough not to kill them on sight, she'd have a very low opinion on them and can be quite ignorant to see past their vampirism. Hates being touched - Myrn can be rather violent when someone touches her, even if it's something as innocent as a handshake or poke. This was due to not only her experince with vampires, but also during her time at war, where her most trumantic experiences were when she was in physical contact with others. Specialized Weapon - Myrn's training in Swordsmanship limits her to her Dar'Missan, as any other type of two-handed sword wouldn't be designed or balanced for her fighting style. Additionally, her unique weapon may get the eyes of collectors who care more for the exotic value of the Dar'Missan than the fact that it's in Myrn's possession. And while the art of creating a Dar'Missan isn't a secret, it's unlikely that anyone would know how to fix or repair the blade if they haven't trained with Elven Smiths. Short People Fetish - Myrn has a... Unhealthy obsession with small people like dwarves and snow elves. She can hardly take them seriously as she ogles them. She finds them "Cute". Myrn lets her guard down around small people and can be much more tolerate of physical contact (As long as she's the one touching them).