My sheet is finally done.
MonkeyBusiness
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1 yr ago
WilsonTurner AKA / OfWindAndRain
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7 yrs ago
Withdrawing my interest; too busy as it is.
Zendrelax I am Spartacus!
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6 yrs ago
Name:
Cewri “The Mountain” Iorwerth
Age:
34
Gender:
Male
Race/People:
Half-Giant, which is (as one would imagine) a half-breed. Specifically, of a full-blooded Giant and a Human.
Appearance:
The most immediately noticeable thing about Cewri is his size. Being Half-Giant, he towers over most anyone he meets at an imposing seven-and-a-quarter feet. His skin is the peach that one might expect from humans from some parts of the world, but his eyes are the color of burning embers. Unclothed, he is covered in scars both large and small, both pale and grotesque which might have been cleared away with magic were it possible to do so (read on to see the reason why it is not). His wardrobe is either simple garb or his armor, always overlaid with a faded green traveling cloak. Atop his head is his short, dark hair, almost always concealed by a hood or a helmet.
Traits:
Skills
-An innate resistance to magic.
-Training in the use of a broadsword.
-Years of experience in using his size to his advantage in a fight.
-Fluency in Giant, and passable skill in most major languages.
-Cartography and Geography
Flaws
-His resistance to magic makes it all but impossible for him to receive magical healing or other aid.
-An inability to use, or even learn to use magic.
-Because of his size and bulk, his agility is sorely lacking.
Personality
When he isn’t entrenched in a thoughtful silence, Cewri is a warm person, universally. While he would not name someone a “friend” quickly, that is borne more from valuing the term highly than it is from excessive caution. His deep, bellowing laughter is frequent, and can be heard from clear across a dwarven feasting hall. Since final fight with the Necromancer, he has been given to occasional bouts of deep melancholy.
Background:
Cewri’s tale begins with the Giants of old. Once, their grand cities and fortresses covered much of what, to them, was the known world. Exactly what led to their downfall—be it a cataclysm, a great war, or simple decline—is unknown to the broader population, but their ruins are scattered about the landscape. Those Giants who do still exist do not even approach the grandeur of their lost civilization. While even they have lost much of the knowledge they once had, they remember their fierce gods, their martial practice, and how their glory came to an end. They live far away from most other civilizations, usually in clusters of villages spread out over remote landscapes.
The Giants’ reclusive nature, however, does not prevent contact with the wider world—as Cewri’s mere existence shows. His conception was one of pure lust, a peasant woman and the exciting, gargantuan stranger she met on the edge of the fields one day. They never met again after that, never knew each other’s names, and probably didn’t even know they could conceive a child together. But they did. The pregnancy was ordinary for a human, so no one actually believed her stories about Cewri’s father, and he was the size of an ordinary infant when he was born. As he grew older, however, the truth revealed itself.
The farm on which he lived was in no way out of the ordinary, asides from its relative prosperity, and was considered part of a nameless village—much like any other. Other farmers would congregate their on market days, and numerous tradespeople made their home there. It was nestled along one of the main roads passing through Carnelia, a human kingdom of some prestige towards the north of what was considered human territory.
The most immediate occurrence happened when he, adventurous-but-fragile toddler that he was, broke an arm. The farm was prosperous enough, so they called on a nearby mage to heal him. When he tried, though, he met with a significant amount of resistance. As it turned out, Half-Giants are naturally resistant to magic, in all of its forms, a trait derived from full-blooded Giant’s near total immunity—though this does have its work-arounds for those so inclined (as an example, while almost no mage could use their magic to set a Giant on fire, they can still catch flame from foliage underfoot that has been set alight by magical means). This, on its own, revealed nothing, because an innate resistance to magic—while uncommon amongst humans—was the sort of thing one would hear about from time to time, in stories passed along by travelers coming through town. With significantly more effort than initially thought necessary, Cewri’s arm was healed. That mage made sure to charge extra to heal him from then on.
As the years passed by, Cewri’s heritage revealed itself in his physical changes. He built up far more muscle mass than the other village children, and he surpassed even those several years older than him in height. By the time he turned fifteen, he was the size of a fully-grown human, and could eat twice as much. This lent far more credence to his mother’s story, but that in turn revealed him to bastard-born. One would expect people to start turning their noses up at him, but he was capable of greater physical feats than anyone else to have ever come to the village in living memory, and he had known everyone there for years, so they ignored that fact. Well, his mother’s husband was upset, but that was not directed toward Cewri, since he had the most to gain from the Hal-Giant’s strength. And since Cewri adored his mother, his great capacity to render both aid and harm protected her as well.
Then the village was attacked. All told, the bandits were not particularly competent, not helped by the seven-foot-and-change Cewri’s mere presence sapping their morale, and their raid was a resounding failure. It did manage, however, to tot take the lives of some villagers, including the husband of Cewri’s mother. With his death, ownership of the farm passed to Cewri’s elder half-brother, who had never like the half-breed. In his jealousy of Cewri’s strength and long-nurtured spite, the now-farmer cast Cewri from his land. Cewri would later learn that his mother died shortly after. Her demise was assigned to the grief of losing both her husband and one of her children, but one knowledgeable in such matters would doubtless say differently.
So Cewri began to wonder. He was the only person to believe his mother’s stories about his father, and the Giants had fascinated him since childhood. Despite grieving over the loss of his old life, he decided not to be consumed by self-pity, and instead set out to learn about his ancestry. The open road was a harsher place than Cewri had imagined, but he made do. His world changed when he met a man from far to the south named Athklotep. As it turned out, Athklotep was a wandering scholar, and specialized in the Ancient Giants. He took Cewri under his metaphorical wing, and toured the young Half-Giant around the out-of-the-way ruins of fortresses, temples, and crypts to large to have been built by anyone but the Giants, taught Cewri to read the Giants’ language, and showed him all sorts of ancient wonders. Travel was harsh, of course, and so Athklotep taught Cewri how to fight. Cewri being so taken with the Giant half of his heritage, Athklotep commissioned a weapon for which the Giants are known: a two-handed blade longer than any man I tall, the pommel and cross guard engraved with swirling patterns in the style found in the old ruins.
Of course, all good things must come to an end. While exploring an ancient tomb, recently discovered and already renowned for how well-preserved the bodies there were, the Necromancer’s spells raised the long-slumbering Giants, their forms still wreathed in flesh from their embalming. Athklotep fought them off, commanding Cewri make his escape. He did so, and with a roar, Athklotep plunged into the risen hoard, where he died.
On the trail of the Necromancer’s misdeeds, a party of heroes had—by a stroke of pure luck—found themselves in the village that Cewri had fled to. He told them of the risen Giants, and all agreed that it could be the work of none other than the Necromancer itself. Cewri agreed to lead the heroes to the crypt, and there they made a horrifying discovery: the risen Giants retained the near-immunity to magic they had in life. If it had not already been clear, the immense power that it would have taken to bind the Giants to his will proved to everyone just how powerful the Necromancer truly was. The adventurers cut their way through the undead, the mages discovering along the way discovering some ways they could work around the Giants’ resilience. In the deepest part of the crypt, they fund something that shook Cewri to his core—ringed by Giants stood Athklotep, the rot of death having not even set in yet. He did not speak—could not speak—but it was clear that the Necromancer had raised the scholar as well. And so the battle began, and while his new companions fought the Giants around them, Cewri found himself locked in combat with his former mentor. The scholar’s speed and skill had been notable even in life, but something about the Necromancer’s magic had amplified his abilities, making him that much more dangerous. Covered in wounds from the fight, Cewri found an opening, and with a cry of mixed grief, rage, and triumph, he brought his sword down on a chink in his mentor’s armor between the shoulder and neck. The armor shattered, and the sword cut halfway down Athklotep’s chest. Cewri would swear from that day on that just before Athklotep’s body grew limp, a small smile graced his mentor’s lips.
Ultimately, the fight was won. The following day, they made several sweeps of to crypt, to make sure no more undead remained. They found not a single corpse—risen or unrisen. Behind a hidden door, though, they found an ancient set of armor. It was clearly designed for a small Giant—or perhaps an important Giant’s half-breed child. Whichever, it fit Cewri perfectly. It had been inscribed with runes designed to improve its ability to protect its wearer, but the magic within had long since faded to protect against nothing more than rust. The more academically inclined of the group, Cewri included, were shocked—the Giants’ immense resistance to magic, as it was understood, should have made it impossible to use magic as well. Cewri claimed the armor, and made time to cremate Akthlotep’s body—cremation used to prevent the Necromancer from taking their loved ones from their tombs. Once all was done, it was not even a question whether Cewri would join the heroes, his skills were known, and his thirst for revenge was obvious.
So they fought on. Cewri’s resistance to magic, while nothing compared to a full-blooded Giant’s, tripped up many of the Necromancer’s few living servants, and his size and strength were a benefit in almost every fight. Then the fight with the Necromancer came. His resistance to magic served him well against the vile creature as well, but the Necromancer’s power was not to be underestimated. With the vilest of mages slain, the time had come for both immense joy, and the time to finally grieve. Cewri was made to wait a week longer, as he fell into a deep sleep. The Necromancer’s magic was able to seep into him during the fight, and the same forces that helped him resist its harmful effects kept it there and doomed any attempts to forcefully dislodge it to failure. His sleep was haunted by terrible nightmares for years, but none worse than that week. He has never spoken in detail of what he saw, and never shall say more than thus: “I was taken to the realm of the dead, where I saw such things that made me weep and shriek like I was a babe again.” When he woke, his companions were overjoyed—having feared that, even though the war was over, they might lose another friend to the Necromancer.
Having sworn an oath to remember the dead, Cewri set off to find living Giants. He did not believe that he would find his father, and was convinced after his “Week of Nightmares” that his blood-father was dead. So he wandered for several fruitless years, questing for his elusive half-kin. To keep track of whence he had and hadn’t been, he purchased many maops, and even made several of his own, charting lands hitherto unexplored by known civilizations. Eventually, as he neared his third decade of life, he saw a gargantuan shadow fall from behind him. He spun around, and for the first time since the crypt he was dwarfed by another being. But this was no risen corpse, this was a true Giant, eight feet in height, and rippling with muscle. Her—and this was a female Giant, which would be clear to anyone who saw her—skin was like polished granite, and her eyes like fire. They stood there in silence, both prepared for a fight, but Cewri was, for the first time in years, truly giddy. He spoke aloud in common, and she replied in a rough, guttural language that could only have been Giant. Cewri took a stick up from the ground, and called upon his memory of what Athklotep had taught him to write in the Giant’s tongue. The Giantess was surprised, and wrote back.
He told her a summarized version of his quest, and she agreed to take him to her home. It was a village, surprisingly similar to the one that Cewri had grown up in. There was a much less pronounced high differential between male and female Giants than in the smaller races, and the women were just as bulky as the men. At first they were wary of him, but over several days they grew to trust him—or at least, trust that he was honest about his seeking them was no more than a quest for knowledge. He was disappointed to learn that much of the ancient lore of Giant-kind had been lost to time, but much more remained than could be gleaned from the ruins. First and foremost, they taught him to speak Giant, which he took learned quickly. They taught him of their gods, to which Cewri has found himself now devoted to. And he learned that the magic of the Giants of yore was done by calling on spirits and having them imbue objects with power—but the ceremonies behind this, like so much else, have been lost.
His quest completed, he took a new mission upon himself: find all the villages of Giants that still exist. He knew that they preferred their isolation, which stemmed from blaming the smaller races for their decline. Indeed, to hear them tell it, they had been scattered to the wind by the invading armies of multiple lands, some of which actually still existed. Nevertheless, he had to know what the different Giants knew, to piece together as much as he could. By this time, the Necromancer’s magic had faded, taking Cewri’s Nightmares with it. Life was undeniably good for Cewri Iorwerth,
Then, as he journeyed to remember those who died fighting the Necromancer, the Nightmares returned.
Items:
-A Broadsword longer than a human is tall, regularly cleaned and sharpened.
-An ancient set of armor engraved with swirling runes that, as of the present, protect against only rust.
-A faded green traveling cloak.
Miscellaneous:
Nothing in particular.
Cewri “The Mountain” Iorwerth
Age:
34
Gender:
Male
Race/People:
Half-Giant, which is (as one would imagine) a half-breed. Specifically, of a full-blooded Giant and a Human.
Appearance:
The most immediately noticeable thing about Cewri is his size. Being Half-Giant, he towers over most anyone he meets at an imposing seven-and-a-quarter feet. His skin is the peach that one might expect from humans from some parts of the world, but his eyes are the color of burning embers. Unclothed, he is covered in scars both large and small, both pale and grotesque which might have been cleared away with magic were it possible to do so (read on to see the reason why it is not). His wardrobe is either simple garb or his armor, always overlaid with a faded green traveling cloak. Atop his head is his short, dark hair, almost always concealed by a hood or a helmet.
Traits:
Skills
-An innate resistance to magic.
-Training in the use of a broadsword.
-Years of experience in using his size to his advantage in a fight.
-Fluency in Giant, and passable skill in most major languages.
-Cartography and Geography
Flaws
-His resistance to magic makes it all but impossible for him to receive magical healing or other aid.
-An inability to use, or even learn to use magic.
-Because of his size and bulk, his agility is sorely lacking.
Personality
When he isn’t entrenched in a thoughtful silence, Cewri is a warm person, universally. While he would not name someone a “friend” quickly, that is borne more from valuing the term highly than it is from excessive caution. His deep, bellowing laughter is frequent, and can be heard from clear across a dwarven feasting hall. Since final fight with the Necromancer, he has been given to occasional bouts of deep melancholy.
Background:
Cewri’s tale begins with the Giants of old. Once, their grand cities and fortresses covered much of what, to them, was the known world. Exactly what led to their downfall—be it a cataclysm, a great war, or simple decline—is unknown to the broader population, but their ruins are scattered about the landscape. Those Giants who do still exist do not even approach the grandeur of their lost civilization. While even they have lost much of the knowledge they once had, they remember their fierce gods, their martial practice, and how their glory came to an end. They live far away from most other civilizations, usually in clusters of villages spread out over remote landscapes.
The Giants’ reclusive nature, however, does not prevent contact with the wider world—as Cewri’s mere existence shows. His conception was one of pure lust, a peasant woman and the exciting, gargantuan stranger she met on the edge of the fields one day. They never met again after that, never knew each other’s names, and probably didn’t even know they could conceive a child together. But they did. The pregnancy was ordinary for a human, so no one actually believed her stories about Cewri’s father, and he was the size of an ordinary infant when he was born. As he grew older, however, the truth revealed itself.
The farm on which he lived was in no way out of the ordinary, asides from its relative prosperity, and was considered part of a nameless village—much like any other. Other farmers would congregate their on market days, and numerous tradespeople made their home there. It was nestled along one of the main roads passing through Carnelia, a human kingdom of some prestige towards the north of what was considered human territory.
The most immediate occurrence happened when he, adventurous-but-fragile toddler that he was, broke an arm. The farm was prosperous enough, so they called on a nearby mage to heal him. When he tried, though, he met with a significant amount of resistance. As it turned out, Half-Giants are naturally resistant to magic, in all of its forms, a trait derived from full-blooded Giant’s near total immunity—though this does have its work-arounds for those so inclined (as an example, while almost no mage could use their magic to set a Giant on fire, they can still catch flame from foliage underfoot that has been set alight by magical means). This, on its own, revealed nothing, because an innate resistance to magic—while uncommon amongst humans—was the sort of thing one would hear about from time to time, in stories passed along by travelers coming through town. With significantly more effort than initially thought necessary, Cewri’s arm was healed. That mage made sure to charge extra to heal him from then on.
As the years passed by, Cewri’s heritage revealed itself in his physical changes. He built up far more muscle mass than the other village children, and he surpassed even those several years older than him in height. By the time he turned fifteen, he was the size of a fully-grown human, and could eat twice as much. This lent far more credence to his mother’s story, but that in turn revealed him to bastard-born. One would expect people to start turning their noses up at him, but he was capable of greater physical feats than anyone else to have ever come to the village in living memory, and he had known everyone there for years, so they ignored that fact. Well, his mother’s husband was upset, but that was not directed toward Cewri, since he had the most to gain from the Hal-Giant’s strength. And since Cewri adored his mother, his great capacity to render both aid and harm protected her as well.
Then the village was attacked. All told, the bandits were not particularly competent, not helped by the seven-foot-and-change Cewri’s mere presence sapping their morale, and their raid was a resounding failure. It did manage, however, to tot take the lives of some villagers, including the husband of Cewri’s mother. With his death, ownership of the farm passed to Cewri’s elder half-brother, who had never like the half-breed. In his jealousy of Cewri’s strength and long-nurtured spite, the now-farmer cast Cewri from his land. Cewri would later learn that his mother died shortly after. Her demise was assigned to the grief of losing both her husband and one of her children, but one knowledgeable in such matters would doubtless say differently.
So Cewri began to wonder. He was the only person to believe his mother’s stories about his father, and the Giants had fascinated him since childhood. Despite grieving over the loss of his old life, he decided not to be consumed by self-pity, and instead set out to learn about his ancestry. The open road was a harsher place than Cewri had imagined, but he made do. His world changed when he met a man from far to the south named Athklotep. As it turned out, Athklotep was a wandering scholar, and specialized in the Ancient Giants. He took Cewri under his metaphorical wing, and toured the young Half-Giant around the out-of-the-way ruins of fortresses, temples, and crypts to large to have been built by anyone but the Giants, taught Cewri to read the Giants’ language, and showed him all sorts of ancient wonders. Travel was harsh, of course, and so Athklotep taught Cewri how to fight. Cewri being so taken with the Giant half of his heritage, Athklotep commissioned a weapon for which the Giants are known: a two-handed blade longer than any man I tall, the pommel and cross guard engraved with swirling patterns in the style found in the old ruins.
Of course, all good things must come to an end. While exploring an ancient tomb, recently discovered and already renowned for how well-preserved the bodies there were, the Necromancer’s spells raised the long-slumbering Giants, their forms still wreathed in flesh from their embalming. Athklotep fought them off, commanding Cewri make his escape. He did so, and with a roar, Athklotep plunged into the risen hoard, where he died.
On the trail of the Necromancer’s misdeeds, a party of heroes had—by a stroke of pure luck—found themselves in the village that Cewri had fled to. He told them of the risen Giants, and all agreed that it could be the work of none other than the Necromancer itself. Cewri agreed to lead the heroes to the crypt, and there they made a horrifying discovery: the risen Giants retained the near-immunity to magic they had in life. If it had not already been clear, the immense power that it would have taken to bind the Giants to his will proved to everyone just how powerful the Necromancer truly was. The adventurers cut their way through the undead, the mages discovering along the way discovering some ways they could work around the Giants’ resilience. In the deepest part of the crypt, they fund something that shook Cewri to his core—ringed by Giants stood Athklotep, the rot of death having not even set in yet. He did not speak—could not speak—but it was clear that the Necromancer had raised the scholar as well. And so the battle began, and while his new companions fought the Giants around them, Cewri found himself locked in combat with his former mentor. The scholar’s speed and skill had been notable even in life, but something about the Necromancer’s magic had amplified his abilities, making him that much more dangerous. Covered in wounds from the fight, Cewri found an opening, and with a cry of mixed grief, rage, and triumph, he brought his sword down on a chink in his mentor’s armor between the shoulder and neck. The armor shattered, and the sword cut halfway down Athklotep’s chest. Cewri would swear from that day on that just before Athklotep’s body grew limp, a small smile graced his mentor’s lips.
Ultimately, the fight was won. The following day, they made several sweeps of to crypt, to make sure no more undead remained. They found not a single corpse—risen or unrisen. Behind a hidden door, though, they found an ancient set of armor. It was clearly designed for a small Giant—or perhaps an important Giant’s half-breed child. Whichever, it fit Cewri perfectly. It had been inscribed with runes designed to improve its ability to protect its wearer, but the magic within had long since faded to protect against nothing more than rust. The more academically inclined of the group, Cewri included, were shocked—the Giants’ immense resistance to magic, as it was understood, should have made it impossible to use magic as well. Cewri claimed the armor, and made time to cremate Akthlotep’s body—cremation used to prevent the Necromancer from taking their loved ones from their tombs. Once all was done, it was not even a question whether Cewri would join the heroes, his skills were known, and his thirst for revenge was obvious.
So they fought on. Cewri’s resistance to magic, while nothing compared to a full-blooded Giant’s, tripped up many of the Necromancer’s few living servants, and his size and strength were a benefit in almost every fight. Then the fight with the Necromancer came. His resistance to magic served him well against the vile creature as well, but the Necromancer’s power was not to be underestimated. With the vilest of mages slain, the time had come for both immense joy, and the time to finally grieve. Cewri was made to wait a week longer, as he fell into a deep sleep. The Necromancer’s magic was able to seep into him during the fight, and the same forces that helped him resist its harmful effects kept it there and doomed any attempts to forcefully dislodge it to failure. His sleep was haunted by terrible nightmares for years, but none worse than that week. He has never spoken in detail of what he saw, and never shall say more than thus: “I was taken to the realm of the dead, where I saw such things that made me weep and shriek like I was a babe again.” When he woke, his companions were overjoyed—having feared that, even though the war was over, they might lose another friend to the Necromancer.
Having sworn an oath to remember the dead, Cewri set off to find living Giants. He did not believe that he would find his father, and was convinced after his “Week of Nightmares” that his blood-father was dead. So he wandered for several fruitless years, questing for his elusive half-kin. To keep track of whence he had and hadn’t been, he purchased many maops, and even made several of his own, charting lands hitherto unexplored by known civilizations. Eventually, as he neared his third decade of life, he saw a gargantuan shadow fall from behind him. He spun around, and for the first time since the crypt he was dwarfed by another being. But this was no risen corpse, this was a true Giant, eight feet in height, and rippling with muscle. Her—and this was a female Giant, which would be clear to anyone who saw her—skin was like polished granite, and her eyes like fire. They stood there in silence, both prepared for a fight, but Cewri was, for the first time in years, truly giddy. He spoke aloud in common, and she replied in a rough, guttural language that could only have been Giant. Cewri took a stick up from the ground, and called upon his memory of what Athklotep had taught him to write in the Giant’s tongue. The Giantess was surprised, and wrote back.
He told her a summarized version of his quest, and she agreed to take him to her home. It was a village, surprisingly similar to the one that Cewri had grown up in. There was a much less pronounced high differential between male and female Giants than in the smaller races, and the women were just as bulky as the men. At first they were wary of him, but over several days they grew to trust him—or at least, trust that he was honest about his seeking them was no more than a quest for knowledge. He was disappointed to learn that much of the ancient lore of Giant-kind had been lost to time, but much more remained than could be gleaned from the ruins. First and foremost, they taught him to speak Giant, which he took learned quickly. They taught him of their gods, to which Cewri has found himself now devoted to. And he learned that the magic of the Giants of yore was done by calling on spirits and having them imbue objects with power—but the ceremonies behind this, like so much else, have been lost.
His quest completed, he took a new mission upon himself: find all the villages of Giants that still exist. He knew that they preferred their isolation, which stemmed from blaming the smaller races for their decline. Indeed, to hear them tell it, they had been scattered to the wind by the invading armies of multiple lands, some of which actually still existed. Nevertheless, he had to know what the different Giants knew, to piece together as much as he could. By this time, the Necromancer’s magic had faded, taking Cewri’s Nightmares with it. Life was undeniably good for Cewri Iorwerth,
Then, as he journeyed to remember those who died fighting the Necromancer, the Nightmares returned.
Items:
-A Broadsword longer than a human is tall, regularly cleaned and sharpened.
-An ancient set of armor engraved with swirling runes that, as of the present, protect against only rust.
-A faded green traveling cloak.
Miscellaneous:
Nothing in particular.
Tunks A Succulent Scent
Member
Seen
9 yrs ago
Character Sheet
Martox Orihime (Or-eh-hyme)
Character name
44
Character age
Male
Race/People
Tundal
A race of humanoids from the icy Northern tundras. Often born with a higher proficiency in magic, especially with fire-type spells to help them keep warm. Typically used as battle-mages in the military because of their innate ability to use more destructive spells. Typically shorter and with thicker hair.
Appearance
Relatively tall compared to most Tundal people, Martox stands at 5'7" with a more athletic build. His hair is dark brown, almost black, and he often keeps a 'messy' look to the hair on top of his head with his beard being trimmed to look more scholarly. He carries a sling bag on the his back to hold extra books and any other goods with him which also has a sheath of sorts for him to put his staff in when not in use. On his left leg is a bag which he holds his personal journal, any money he has, and any food when he has it. Under the bag on his leg he keeps a concealed steel dagger. His clothes are light, making it easier for him to move freely, with patches of leather over vital/more commonly hit parts on his body to help guard against attacks. On his left side his rank in the military is sown into the leather, a staff to symbolize that he is a mage superimposed on two yellow chevrons pointing down to the ground.
Always wears the cape/robe but often puts his hat on his hip.
The middle crystal being ice with the swirls going around the crystal being red.
Traits
Skills
-Master in fire magic
-Proficient with ice magic and lightning
-Novice in illusion spells and with necromancy
-Knows one self healing spell and one friendly healing spell
-Good at sneaking and stealing
-Skilled with staff fighting
-Good with people
Flaws
-Slight temper; While he won't blow up to minor things that happen to him, he will hold grudges
-Despite wanting to be a great mage he doesn't know much healing magic
-Not very strong; He mostly relies on his magic to help him out, but he's more nimble than tough
-Lazy; He likes to take a lot of breaks and take shortcuts whenever possible
Personality
While Martox is typically considered friendly and kind to people he meets once, he's often considered cocky or arrogant to people that know him longer than a few days. Despite this, he's very critical on himself. He wants to be a great mage, and sees his shortcomings as a handicap. But, he also uses this to further improve himself. He has a lot of drive to do good and to better himself, even though it doesn't show often because of his laziness. After the battle with The Necromancer though, it's clear that most of that cockiness has left him, though traces of it still obviously remain. He is more devoted to do the right things in life, trying to free himself of his guilt after helping The Necromancer.
Background
Items
Quite a bit of coin, one magic book on necromancy and one on illusion, his journal filled with teachings and runes, and Ignis et Ice, a staff which increases the range of his spells significantly and increases the power of ice and fire magic spells.
Martox Orihime (Or-eh-hyme)
Character name
44
Character age
Male
Race/People
Tundal
A race of humanoids from the icy Northern tundras. Often born with a higher proficiency in magic, especially with fire-type spells to help them keep warm. Typically used as battle-mages in the military because of their innate ability to use more destructive spells. Typically shorter and with thicker hair.
Appearance
Relatively tall compared to most Tundal people, Martox stands at 5'7" with a more athletic build. His hair is dark brown, almost black, and he often keeps a 'messy' look to the hair on top of his head with his beard being trimmed to look more scholarly. He carries a sling bag on the his back to hold extra books and any other goods with him which also has a sheath of sorts for him to put his staff in when not in use. On his left leg is a bag which he holds his personal journal, any money he has, and any food when he has it. Under the bag on his leg he keeps a concealed steel dagger. His clothes are light, making it easier for him to move freely, with patches of leather over vital/more commonly hit parts on his body to help guard against attacks. On his left side his rank in the military is sown into the leather, a staff to symbolize that he is a mage superimposed on two yellow chevrons pointing down to the ground.
Always wears the cape/robe but often puts his hat on his hip. The middle crystal being ice with the swirls going around the crystal being red.Traits
Skills
-Master in fire magic
-Proficient with ice magic and lightning
-Novice in illusion spells and with necromancy
-Knows one self healing spell and one friendly healing spell
-Good at sneaking and stealing
-Skilled with staff fighting
-Good with people
Flaws
-Slight temper; While he won't blow up to minor things that happen to him, he will hold grudges
-Despite wanting to be a great mage he doesn't know much healing magic
-Not very strong; He mostly relies on his magic to help him out, but he's more nimble than tough
-Lazy; He likes to take a lot of breaks and take shortcuts whenever possible
Personality
While Martox is typically considered friendly and kind to people he meets once, he's often considered cocky or arrogant to people that know him longer than a few days. Despite this, he's very critical on himself. He wants to be a great mage, and sees his shortcomings as a handicap. But, he also uses this to further improve himself. He has a lot of drive to do good and to better himself, even though it doesn't show often because of his laziness. After the battle with The Necromancer though, it's clear that most of that cockiness has left him, though traces of it still obviously remain. He is more devoted to do the right things in life, trying to free himself of his guilt after helping The Necromancer.
Background
Martox was born in the Northern Tundras in a small village of about 20 filled with other Tundals. There he was raised to use his magic abilities to primarily keep warm and to hunt for food. But Martox wanted to know more about magic and more about the outside world than just staying in the village like most of his generation would be content with. When a caravan came through one day, heading down to the main city, Martox, only 16 at the time, quickly hid among the cargo in the back of the wagon. When he arrived at the city, he didn't plan on what exactly he was going to do, just that he wanted to expand on his magic knowledge. After asking around the city for a while he was pointed in the direction of a prestigious mage that was said to often take in pupils who wished to learn. Eager, Martox rushed to the old mage and requested to be his apprentice. But Martox was too young and didn't have any money on him so he was sent away. After that, Martox struggled to scrape up coins to afford food and inns. He went hungry for many nights before he took up the art of theft. He would primarily try to steal at night and, after a few years and getting caught several times, he started to get pretty good at it. Taking food was an easy chore for him. At 20, he had plenty of friends and even started to work for the local blacksmith as a fire tender. He often attributes the only reason that he wasn't in jail was because of his charm.
He continued to work for the blacksmith and to steal food, to save as much money as he could, for about 5 years. When he was 25, and with a purse full of coin he again went to the wizard. Who, this time around, took his money and started to train him in the art of magic. The wizard started teaching him more destruction type spells until Martox became proficient at them. After that, Martox started to learn illusion, which he thought would help him steal more easily, and the very beginnings of healing. But, before he got very far along with learning those, he was caught for stealing again. But this time, it wasn't one of his friends in the guard that had caught him. So he was left with a choice. Join the military, or go to prison for 5 years. While the second option appeased to his lazy side, the first option seemed to suit him better. It would give him a chance to further his magic training and he would be fed with a warm bed to sleep in every night.
In the military, Martox was actually very happy. But, instead of being able to continue the training he was working on, he was made to work on his destruction skills more. Eventually, he was able to work his way through the ranks and actually became a pretty well respected mage in his unit. Martox decided not to leave after just his 5 years of required service. He continued for another 2 years, placing him at 32. After that, he had a good bit of coin and was incredibly good with his destruction magic. Martox desired to work his other arts further though, so with a half-heavy heart he left the military and began to travel. Training with who he could, when he could on his illusion skills, ignoring his healing.
After traveling a bit, he had heard news of a powerful necromancer. Instead of immediately thinking the worst of this mage, Martox was excited. What he had heard, instead of dangerous or evil, was a teacher. Someone who could train him in the art of necromancy, something Martox had never been able to learn and always wanted to, another magical art to put on his resume. So he went in search of The Necromancer, picking up clues here and there of him. Eventually, Martox had found him, before his rise to power and before his armies had been risen to fight against the living. Martox requested to be his apprentice, and that he would pay any price The Necromancer demanded. Instead of coin though, The Necromancer just asked that Martox gave him undying loyalty. Martox obliged, knowing that he would do whatever he felt like doing in the end regardless. So The Necromancer started to train Martox slightly, but using him mostly for other things. Martox was never asked to go into a village and kill any people, so he never knew of The Necromancers true intentions. When Martox was eventually taught to raise the dead, he did so for the Necromancer, unknowingly helping him increase the size of his army for the future war. One day, while raising dead and studying to better himself in the skills he knew, The Necromancer came to him and requested for him to follow. So Martox did. When they arrived to their destination, Martox had finally seen the army being conjured.
Appalled and taken by surprise, Martox demanded that The Necromancer explain what the massive undead army was for. So he explained his plans to destroy the world and how he was going to kill every living thing in his path. The Necromancer reminded Martox of his vow to be loyal, and offered immortality to him by making him into a lich. But Martox refused, and even attacked The Necromancer. But he was quickly dispatched. But, before the killing blow could be dealt, The Necromancer was distracted by a militaristic attack. In the few seconds Martox had, he ran away. When Martox had heard of a team of Heroes being assembled, he knew he would have to join. Some of The Necromancers massive armies were his doing, but he didn't want to go back there. It took him several weeks before he joined the team, joining only a week before they were planning to attack. There, he met another wizard named Concara who was more than willing to help him learn more magic. Martox kept secret that he was once in The Necromancers apprenticeship. Two days before the team planned to attack, Martox came out and told the group that just a month before he was helping The Necromancer build his armies. At first, Martox was attacked and subdued. But he explained that he didn't know what The Necromancer was planning and that he could help them attack, giving them weaknesses and other things that would help in the battle. Eerily, the team allowed Martox to help them.
Concara still accepted Martox and trained him as if nothing had happened. They became very close in that week, and Concara explained that it didn't matter what Martox's past was. Just that he was there doing the right thing now, and he knew that Martox just had a strong desire to learn any magic he could. When it was time to move out, Martox was noticeably nervous. He did not want to return to The Necromancer and fight him again, he had almost lost his life once already. But he pushed past his fears and went with the team to fight. Martox fought valiantly in the fight beside Concara. Both of them taking out hundreds of undead, eventually making their ways to the last lines, inching closer to The Necromancer. When they finally pushed through and Martox encountered The Necromancer, he obviously recognized him. The Necromancer had quickly hit Martox hard blowing him back and then fighting Concara. Before Martox could get back though, Concara was downed. The Necromancer looked at Martox and grimly smiled at him before firing an icicle through Concara's chest. Before Martox could react though, The Necromancer fled to deal with the other heroes attacking on other fronts. When Martox got to Concara, Concara smiled and handed him his staff, Ignis et Ice, before passing away.
Martox then spent the next ten years training and bettering himself in magic. Though he still never focused much on healing. He traveled a lot and tried to do as much good as he could. But he started to stray away from necromancy spells until recently. He never totally forgave himself for helping The Necromancer come to power.
He continued to work for the blacksmith and to steal food, to save as much money as he could, for about 5 years. When he was 25, and with a purse full of coin he again went to the wizard. Who, this time around, took his money and started to train him in the art of magic. The wizard started teaching him more destruction type spells until Martox became proficient at them. After that, Martox started to learn illusion, which he thought would help him steal more easily, and the very beginnings of healing. But, before he got very far along with learning those, he was caught for stealing again. But this time, it wasn't one of his friends in the guard that had caught him. So he was left with a choice. Join the military, or go to prison for 5 years. While the second option appeased to his lazy side, the first option seemed to suit him better. It would give him a chance to further his magic training and he would be fed with a warm bed to sleep in every night.
In the military, Martox was actually very happy. But, instead of being able to continue the training he was working on, he was made to work on his destruction skills more. Eventually, he was able to work his way through the ranks and actually became a pretty well respected mage in his unit. Martox decided not to leave after just his 5 years of required service. He continued for another 2 years, placing him at 32. After that, he had a good bit of coin and was incredibly good with his destruction magic. Martox desired to work his other arts further though, so with a half-heavy heart he left the military and began to travel. Training with who he could, when he could on his illusion skills, ignoring his healing.
After traveling a bit, he had heard news of a powerful necromancer. Instead of immediately thinking the worst of this mage, Martox was excited. What he had heard, instead of dangerous or evil, was a teacher. Someone who could train him in the art of necromancy, something Martox had never been able to learn and always wanted to, another magical art to put on his resume. So he went in search of The Necromancer, picking up clues here and there of him. Eventually, Martox had found him, before his rise to power and before his armies had been risen to fight against the living. Martox requested to be his apprentice, and that he would pay any price The Necromancer demanded. Instead of coin though, The Necromancer just asked that Martox gave him undying loyalty. Martox obliged, knowing that he would do whatever he felt like doing in the end regardless. So The Necromancer started to train Martox slightly, but using him mostly for other things. Martox was never asked to go into a village and kill any people, so he never knew of The Necromancers true intentions. When Martox was eventually taught to raise the dead, he did so for the Necromancer, unknowingly helping him increase the size of his army for the future war. One day, while raising dead and studying to better himself in the skills he knew, The Necromancer came to him and requested for him to follow. So Martox did. When they arrived to their destination, Martox had finally seen the army being conjured.
Appalled and taken by surprise, Martox demanded that The Necromancer explain what the massive undead army was for. So he explained his plans to destroy the world and how he was going to kill every living thing in his path. The Necromancer reminded Martox of his vow to be loyal, and offered immortality to him by making him into a lich. But Martox refused, and even attacked The Necromancer. But he was quickly dispatched. But, before the killing blow could be dealt, The Necromancer was distracted by a militaristic attack. In the few seconds Martox had, he ran away. When Martox had heard of a team of Heroes being assembled, he knew he would have to join. Some of The Necromancers massive armies were his doing, but he didn't want to go back there. It took him several weeks before he joined the team, joining only a week before they were planning to attack. There, he met another wizard named Concara who was more than willing to help him learn more magic. Martox kept secret that he was once in The Necromancers apprenticeship. Two days before the team planned to attack, Martox came out and told the group that just a month before he was helping The Necromancer build his armies. At first, Martox was attacked and subdued. But he explained that he didn't know what The Necromancer was planning and that he could help them attack, giving them weaknesses and other things that would help in the battle. Eerily, the team allowed Martox to help them.
Concara still accepted Martox and trained him as if nothing had happened. They became very close in that week, and Concara explained that it didn't matter what Martox's past was. Just that he was there doing the right thing now, and he knew that Martox just had a strong desire to learn any magic he could. When it was time to move out, Martox was noticeably nervous. He did not want to return to The Necromancer and fight him again, he had almost lost his life once already. But he pushed past his fears and went with the team to fight. Martox fought valiantly in the fight beside Concara. Both of them taking out hundreds of undead, eventually making their ways to the last lines, inching closer to The Necromancer. When they finally pushed through and Martox encountered The Necromancer, he obviously recognized him. The Necromancer had quickly hit Martox hard blowing him back and then fighting Concara. Before Martox could get back though, Concara was downed. The Necromancer looked at Martox and grimly smiled at him before firing an icicle through Concara's chest. Before Martox could react though, The Necromancer fled to deal with the other heroes attacking on other fronts. When Martox got to Concara, Concara smiled and handed him his staff, Ignis et Ice, before passing away.
Martox then spent the next ten years training and bettering himself in magic. Though he still never focused much on healing. He traveled a lot and tried to do as much good as he could. But he started to stray away from necromancy spells until recently. He never totally forgave himself for helping The Necromancer come to power.
Items
Quite a bit of coin, one magic book on necromancy and one on illusion, his journal filled with teachings and runes, and Ignis et Ice, a staff which increases the range of his spells significantly and increases the power of ice and fire magic spells.
Tunks A Succulent Scent
Member
Seen
9 yrs ago
Alright, sorry for posting twice in a row. But, if anything is really bad let me know. I can change it. This is my first time in about 2 years making a character sheet haha.
EDIT: Also, when I first started making this I thought were going to do the battle with The Necromancer and that was going to be the RP. So, if anything seems funky like that that is why. My bad haha
EDIT: Also, when I first started making this I thought were going to do the battle with The Necromancer and that was going to be the RP. So, if anything seems funky like that that is why. My bad haha
Animus I live in Singapore.
Member
Seen
10 mos ago
Ten more hours~
Bed time for me, but I'm excited and hopeful to see what happens with this!~ ^.^
The_written_John Professor Screwball
Member
Seen
4 yrs ago
Name:
Ivar Hofmeister
Age:
34
Gender:
Male
Race/People:
Deus Lycanthrope:
Those who become lycans generally become mad and hungry for blood, seeking to gnaw their flesh into the bodies of the innocent plus the not so innocent before them in a blind bloodlust, however, there have been some cases where some infected Lycanthropes have rejected the primal carnage of the blood have have transcended above regular lycan standards, retaining their sapient intellect, their strength and their minds. Becoming full-fledged intellectual walking Lycanthropes, a mix between both Lycan and Human, becoming superior to their feral cousins in all manners while becoming more intelligent than their human sides. With improved speed, strength, cognitive abilities and smell, Deus Lycans, Ones that have mastered their new found mix of power have the ability to cause massive amounts of destruction or save many lives, it all depends on the will and desires of the person. Deus Lucans however revert back to human form rarely, as they become humans upon the visage of the full moon, rather than in reverse, but will only last a single day.
Deus Lycans also must consume a vast amount of solid and liquid food and drink to maintain their strength, and are much weaker when in their human forms. They are also weak to silver like regular werewolves along with holy magicks.
Appearance:
Ivar physically can be described as a huge 8 foot tall Anthropomorphic dark brown furred wolfman, Possessing sharp wolf ears, crystal like emerald green eyes, and a black nose upon his snout, along with sharp well maintained fangs under his muzzle. Due to his mix of Wolf and Human genes, his body consists of a very athletic and muscular figure, however along his stomach area rests a rather rounded stomach, due to the appetite of the Deus Lycanthrope which helps him maintain his strength (that and being a cook and chef of his own establishment hasn't helped, though it does help with the ratings!), it has made him rather comically fat and adorably soft around the belly, which makes him look a lot less threatening...!
As for his clothing, Ivar wears several gold rings on each finger, for his chestpiece he wears a dark brown doublet, a slightly brighter shade of pigment than his fur, with half the buttons removed from the bottom to the the pudgy werewolfs tank breath, a layer of mithril steel rests under his doublet to give him some protection from attacks, not making him totally armorless, he also wears a silver fauld at his waist and a set of custom made full leg length black dyed and steel armored leather breaches tied to him with a silver dragon scale belt tucked under the fauld, and is unable to wear shoes, or rather decides not to.
Ivar also possesses a full length white cape which can clip at the front and become a full length cloak, the cloak is inscribed with many black pigmented foreign gaelic designs.
Traits:
Skills:
Cooking:
An alchemist brews potions, a mage buffs allies with magicka, but how does Ivar boost the skills of his companions? With a well balanced breakfast of course! Ivar is a professional cook and is known where he comes from well, and thus, using his expert cullinary artes this huge pup can conjure up mouth watering delights, power enhancing meats, spell restoring spirits and the strongest and most health regenerating foods to put your white mages to shame! (exaggerated obviously, but you get the idea XD)
Beast claw fighting techniques:
Being a Lycanthrope, Ivar trained and has learned to use his bodyweight and claws to his advantage to leap, tear and ravage his foes, using his sharp powerful claws to rip apart his opponents or incapacitate them, this style of fighting requires him to be up close to his opponent, providing great power but a lack of range.
Flaws:
Lack of armour:
His lack of much defence leaves him open to wounds as he is assaulted, reducing his defensive capabilities and causing him to take more damage from attacks.
Lycan weaknesses:
Being a Lycan, he is severely weak to silver and holy items, though not as much as a normal lycanthrope, so it requires the silver or holy item buries through his flesh if it wants to cause damage
large target:
Due to the werewolf being so large, it makes him an easy target for arrows and other projectiles.
Personality:
Most would expect a werewolf or a large figure to be imposing dark, broody yada-yada-yada, however! To many peoples surprise, Ivars personality is actually quite an outgoing and positive one, possessing the energy of a puppy, and with the mindset of one on occasion, Ivar is an incredibly protective individual possessing a happy-go-lucky personality, always putting on a cheerful smile and always making sure his allies are kept with high spirits, either by making himself look like a fool or conjuring up a meal for his companions! With his cheerful attitude, Ivar can appear as a jokester and a little bit immature at times, but his heart is mostly in the right place... Aside from eating, it's usually in the right place!
If you enjoy loud, happy and affectionate individuals, you'll find ivar to be quite the friend! Of course, due to his immaturity, he will become incredibly puppyish when it comes to something he wants, causing him to howl, whine and growl on occasion, but those phases are harmless! And come on, who wouldn't find a big canine acting like a puppy adorable?
Background:
As a human, Ivar was born into a middle class family in a fairly populated civilised city named Dierthalia, named after its Queen, Thalia, from description it was described as a city that looked like a tower, with its lower civilians crowded around the bottom, threatened by falling stone and disease, the middle which situated in the middle of this massive tower was where the more elegant working class worked, and died in moderate happiness, and the top, where the nobles and where its castle resided, in the air and with lots of oxygen for its snobby rules to live in.
Ivar was born into a family of culinary artists, being born into such a family helped to improve and make his cooking skills grow while being educated as his middle class education allowed him as such. Ivar studied under both mother and father and was described as a prodigy when it came to cookery, surprisingly being incredibly skilled in many different fields, which saw him being friends with many people around his middle-class circle, and became best friends with a boy his age, known as Wade, who the man would eventually fall in love with, a secret hidden away from the world around them, his life was set out for him the moment he was born, a lover, a well paid life, it was to be a wonderful existence... but as he grew up, things took a turn for the worst, as they always do, by the age of 16.
The Queen of his city was a ruthless one, glorified as a Goddess by the mindless and slandered as a Powerhungry Whore by the less fortunate and intelligent, her craving for power saw her mindlessly invading other territories not under her control, and while she had soldiers, she didn't care for civilian casualties, and with her, it was either obey or die, a stupid woman... the poor were slaughtered as they were forced to be meatshields, while the middle class went on full assault, and the high class stood back with cover and range, Wade and Ivar were in the same batallion, and had to trek along with their unit through a selection of previously undiscovered caverns to reach their target in time, what they didn't know was it was a nesting ground for as you can guess, savage lycanthropes.
To make it short, Wade and Ivar watched their allies get devoured like flies, all while the two tried desperately to work together and save themselves. They were bitten, infected and weak, and were dead men, had luck and skill not had their side, using the caves and powerful fire magic, thanks to wade, the caves collapsed, but not before the two could escape with their lives... They sat out in the blistering heat, under trees, suffering as the infection invested their bodies, and their blood boiled with rage.
Ivar was the lucky one... Wade trembled and twitched, held in his lovers arms, the two shared a single kiss, all while they weeped and bled together. Wade howled in agony, over and over again fear consumed him, all he could say was how he didn't want to die, and how he wanted to be back home, with Ivar comfortable without having to see so much blood. All Ivar could do was weep, and stroke his lover to relax him... but it did nothing. The lycanthropy soon twisted him, and melted his consciousness, turning the once human being into a mad, monstrous fiend, which soon pounced for Ivar, his own lover, intent on consuming his flesh. Ivar, on instinct, was able to dodge it, and Wades throat planted straight into the sharp stump of a tree, his neck completely pierced, causing an echo of pines and growls to escape, as it helplessly flailed, like a dog being shot.
What could Ivar do, kill it? Even if the one he knew as wade had left this world, those eyes still screamed wade, Ivar couldn't do anything but cower and run while the infection coursed through him... eventually he collapsed, and the transformation took place, but the madness never came, he felt stronger, more powerful, even more intelligent... but he wasn't mad, he was stronger... it was incredibly rare for one to overcome such a transformation, but he stood there, tall, and alive... But why couldn't his lover? Why not Wade?
Ivar ran away, and for years hid from the world, he could pass for a civilised humanoid wolf, but the trauma was too much for him to bare, he made clothing for himself, and hid out in the jungles and forests, using his talents to feed himself for over 4 years, it wasn't until he was 20, when he finally decided to set foot in the normal world again.
It felt great however, returning back to a normal civilisation in a normal city, he found out that the city he lived in was torn to shreds, the Queen baptised in fire and stabbed till she bled no more, a fitting end Ivar thought. Living in normal civilisation for 4 years, and setting up a soup kitchen in the poor district of his new living area, he fed and helped the sick, with a little shop named the Puppy Bowl, eventually he would have encountered a group of heroes setting off to stop a necromancer, being told it was a dangerous threat to the world, Ivar felt like he would need to make sure these heroes stayed fed and healthy, and joined them on their quest to stop the necromancer, and survived the ordeal. Along the way to the necromancer he was able to come across a wizard, who placed a bet with Ivar and offered a bag of holding as a reward, and as a trick forced Ivar to offer his mind as a result of a gambling game, however the heroes were relieved as Ivar was able to use tricks to win, and defeated the wizard, and collected the bag of holding, while killing the nefarious wizard in the process.
Between then and now, Ivar, using the money he collected since the journey was able to start up his own Inn, offering luxurious beds, a plethora of mouth watering foods and a cheap cheap price together, giving those with poor incomes the opportunity to live happily, offering him much business and many helpers to make sure the Inn stayed maintained and well kept after, the name of the Inn? The Pudgy Puppy, as a reference to himself. Many references to wade were in the Inn, along with artistic paintings, and menu names for the best Ivar could cook, it's what his late lover would have wanted...
Soon, at age 34, he would have gotten a letter, a letter to meet up with his old companions, how could Ivar not agree? Taking his bag of holding, and as much ingredients as he could, he put the Inn under management of a helper and went to meet his companions again, it would be a wonderful sight to see!
Items
Bag of holding:
A costly satchel which Ivar carries around, conjured by a strange wizard, it allows Ivar to hold the plethora of cooking ingredients and items within its near limitless space, without ever increasing in weight, being a lifesaver for him to hold everything he needs.
Frying pan:
Clean and looking as if it was brand new, Ivar sometimes uses this as a weapon, possessing silver on one side and corrode-nullifying steel on the other, this cooking tool is the perfect item for monster bashing and serving up a couple of sunny side eggs! Mmmm! Nutrients!
Misc
During the original quest, Ivar would have been there to practically feed the group and keep them at their top strength every day, however between then and now, they would have noticed their pudgy friend hasn't exactly been losing the pudginess... if comically having gotten a lot "softer" since last time!
Ivar Hofmeister
Age:
34
Gender:
Male
Race/People:
Deus Lycanthrope:
Those who become lycans generally become mad and hungry for blood, seeking to gnaw their flesh into the bodies of the innocent plus the not so innocent before them in a blind bloodlust, however, there have been some cases where some infected Lycanthropes have rejected the primal carnage of the blood have have transcended above regular lycan standards, retaining their sapient intellect, their strength and their minds. Becoming full-fledged intellectual walking Lycanthropes, a mix between both Lycan and Human, becoming superior to their feral cousins in all manners while becoming more intelligent than their human sides. With improved speed, strength, cognitive abilities and smell, Deus Lycans, Ones that have mastered their new found mix of power have the ability to cause massive amounts of destruction or save many lives, it all depends on the will and desires of the person. Deus Lucans however revert back to human form rarely, as they become humans upon the visage of the full moon, rather than in reverse, but will only last a single day.
Deus Lycans also must consume a vast amount of solid and liquid food and drink to maintain their strength, and are much weaker when in their human forms. They are also weak to silver like regular werewolves along with holy magicks.
Appearance:
Ivar physically can be described as a huge 8 foot tall Anthropomorphic dark brown furred wolfman, Possessing sharp wolf ears, crystal like emerald green eyes, and a black nose upon his snout, along with sharp well maintained fangs under his muzzle. Due to his mix of Wolf and Human genes, his body consists of a very athletic and muscular figure, however along his stomach area rests a rather rounded stomach, due to the appetite of the Deus Lycanthrope which helps him maintain his strength (that and being a cook and chef of his own establishment hasn't helped, though it does help with the ratings!), it has made him rather comically fat and adorably soft around the belly, which makes him look a lot less threatening...!
As for his clothing, Ivar wears several gold rings on each finger, for his chestpiece he wears a dark brown doublet, a slightly brighter shade of pigment than his fur, with half the buttons removed from the bottom to the the pudgy werewolfs tank breath, a layer of mithril steel rests under his doublet to give him some protection from attacks, not making him totally armorless, he also wears a silver fauld at his waist and a set of custom made full leg length black dyed and steel armored leather breaches tied to him with a silver dragon scale belt tucked under the fauld, and is unable to wear shoes, or rather decides not to.
Ivar also possesses a full length white cape which can clip at the front and become a full length cloak, the cloak is inscribed with many black pigmented foreign gaelic designs.
Traits:
Skills:
Cooking:
An alchemist brews potions, a mage buffs allies with magicka, but how does Ivar boost the skills of his companions? With a well balanced breakfast of course! Ivar is a professional cook and is known where he comes from well, and thus, using his expert cullinary artes this huge pup can conjure up mouth watering delights, power enhancing meats, spell restoring spirits and the strongest and most health regenerating foods to put your white mages to shame! (exaggerated obviously, but you get the idea XD)
Beast claw fighting techniques:
Being a Lycanthrope, Ivar trained and has learned to use his bodyweight and claws to his advantage to leap, tear and ravage his foes, using his sharp powerful claws to rip apart his opponents or incapacitate them, this style of fighting requires him to be up close to his opponent, providing great power but a lack of range.
Flaws:
Lack of armour:
His lack of much defence leaves him open to wounds as he is assaulted, reducing his defensive capabilities and causing him to take more damage from attacks.
Lycan weaknesses:
Being a Lycan, he is severely weak to silver and holy items, though not as much as a normal lycanthrope, so it requires the silver or holy item buries through his flesh if it wants to cause damage
large target:
Due to the werewolf being so large, it makes him an easy target for arrows and other projectiles.
Personality:
Most would expect a werewolf or a large figure to be imposing dark, broody yada-yada-yada, however! To many peoples surprise, Ivars personality is actually quite an outgoing and positive one, possessing the energy of a puppy, and with the mindset of one on occasion, Ivar is an incredibly protective individual possessing a happy-go-lucky personality, always putting on a cheerful smile and always making sure his allies are kept with high spirits, either by making himself look like a fool or conjuring up a meal for his companions! With his cheerful attitude, Ivar can appear as a jokester and a little bit immature at times, but his heart is mostly in the right place... Aside from eating, it's usually in the right place!
If you enjoy loud, happy and affectionate individuals, you'll find ivar to be quite the friend! Of course, due to his immaturity, he will become incredibly puppyish when it comes to something he wants, causing him to howl, whine and growl on occasion, but those phases are harmless! And come on, who wouldn't find a big canine acting like a puppy adorable?
Background:
As a human, Ivar was born into a middle class family in a fairly populated civilised city named Dierthalia, named after its Queen, Thalia, from description it was described as a city that looked like a tower, with its lower civilians crowded around the bottom, threatened by falling stone and disease, the middle which situated in the middle of this massive tower was where the more elegant working class worked, and died in moderate happiness, and the top, where the nobles and where its castle resided, in the air and with lots of oxygen for its snobby rules to live in.
Ivar was born into a family of culinary artists, being born into such a family helped to improve and make his cooking skills grow while being educated as his middle class education allowed him as such. Ivar studied under both mother and father and was described as a prodigy when it came to cookery, surprisingly being incredibly skilled in many different fields, which saw him being friends with many people around his middle-class circle, and became best friends with a boy his age, known as Wade, who the man would eventually fall in love with, a secret hidden away from the world around them, his life was set out for him the moment he was born, a lover, a well paid life, it was to be a wonderful existence... but as he grew up, things took a turn for the worst, as they always do, by the age of 16.
The Queen of his city was a ruthless one, glorified as a Goddess by the mindless and slandered as a Powerhungry Whore by the less fortunate and intelligent, her craving for power saw her mindlessly invading other territories not under her control, and while she had soldiers, she didn't care for civilian casualties, and with her, it was either obey or die, a stupid woman... the poor were slaughtered as they were forced to be meatshields, while the middle class went on full assault, and the high class stood back with cover and range, Wade and Ivar were in the same batallion, and had to trek along with their unit through a selection of previously undiscovered caverns to reach their target in time, what they didn't know was it was a nesting ground for as you can guess, savage lycanthropes.
To make it short, Wade and Ivar watched their allies get devoured like flies, all while the two tried desperately to work together and save themselves. They were bitten, infected and weak, and were dead men, had luck and skill not had their side, using the caves and powerful fire magic, thanks to wade, the caves collapsed, but not before the two could escape with their lives... They sat out in the blistering heat, under trees, suffering as the infection invested their bodies, and their blood boiled with rage.
Ivar was the lucky one... Wade trembled and twitched, held in his lovers arms, the two shared a single kiss, all while they weeped and bled together. Wade howled in agony, over and over again fear consumed him, all he could say was how he didn't want to die, and how he wanted to be back home, with Ivar comfortable without having to see so much blood. All Ivar could do was weep, and stroke his lover to relax him... but it did nothing. The lycanthropy soon twisted him, and melted his consciousness, turning the once human being into a mad, monstrous fiend, which soon pounced for Ivar, his own lover, intent on consuming his flesh. Ivar, on instinct, was able to dodge it, and Wades throat planted straight into the sharp stump of a tree, his neck completely pierced, causing an echo of pines and growls to escape, as it helplessly flailed, like a dog being shot.
What could Ivar do, kill it? Even if the one he knew as wade had left this world, those eyes still screamed wade, Ivar couldn't do anything but cower and run while the infection coursed through him... eventually he collapsed, and the transformation took place, but the madness never came, he felt stronger, more powerful, even more intelligent... but he wasn't mad, he was stronger... it was incredibly rare for one to overcome such a transformation, but he stood there, tall, and alive... But why couldn't his lover? Why not Wade?
Ivar ran away, and for years hid from the world, he could pass for a civilised humanoid wolf, but the trauma was too much for him to bare, he made clothing for himself, and hid out in the jungles and forests, using his talents to feed himself for over 4 years, it wasn't until he was 20, when he finally decided to set foot in the normal world again.
It felt great however, returning back to a normal civilisation in a normal city, he found out that the city he lived in was torn to shreds, the Queen baptised in fire and stabbed till she bled no more, a fitting end Ivar thought. Living in normal civilisation for 4 years, and setting up a soup kitchen in the poor district of his new living area, he fed and helped the sick, with a little shop named the Puppy Bowl, eventually he would have encountered a group of heroes setting off to stop a necromancer, being told it was a dangerous threat to the world, Ivar felt like he would need to make sure these heroes stayed fed and healthy, and joined them on their quest to stop the necromancer, and survived the ordeal. Along the way to the necromancer he was able to come across a wizard, who placed a bet with Ivar and offered a bag of holding as a reward, and as a trick forced Ivar to offer his mind as a result of a gambling game, however the heroes were relieved as Ivar was able to use tricks to win, and defeated the wizard, and collected the bag of holding, while killing the nefarious wizard in the process.
Between then and now, Ivar, using the money he collected since the journey was able to start up his own Inn, offering luxurious beds, a plethora of mouth watering foods and a cheap cheap price together, giving those with poor incomes the opportunity to live happily, offering him much business and many helpers to make sure the Inn stayed maintained and well kept after, the name of the Inn? The Pudgy Puppy, as a reference to himself. Many references to wade were in the Inn, along with artistic paintings, and menu names for the best Ivar could cook, it's what his late lover would have wanted...
Soon, at age 34, he would have gotten a letter, a letter to meet up with his old companions, how could Ivar not agree? Taking his bag of holding, and as much ingredients as he could, he put the Inn under management of a helper and went to meet his companions again, it would be a wonderful sight to see!
Items
Bag of holding:
A costly satchel which Ivar carries around, conjured by a strange wizard, it allows Ivar to hold the plethora of cooking ingredients and items within its near limitless space, without ever increasing in weight, being a lifesaver for him to hold everything he needs.
Frying pan:
Clean and looking as if it was brand new, Ivar sometimes uses this as a weapon, possessing silver on one side and corrode-nullifying steel on the other, this cooking tool is the perfect item for monster bashing and serving up a couple of sunny side eggs! Mmmm! Nutrients!
Misc
During the original quest, Ivar would have been there to practically feed the group and keep them at their top strength every day, however between then and now, they would have noticed their pudgy friend hasn't exactly been losing the pudginess... if comically having gotten a lot "softer" since last time!
Apps done! I hope it's enjoyable!
GM
Thrashy smashy-splashy
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
It's time.
The characters I've chosen as protagonists of the game belong to:
@SuperTacticalDerp@ArenaSnow@Zendrelax@Tunks
Congratulations and thank you for your awesome characters :) You can go ahead and post them in the Character Tab.
As for the rest of you: thank you SO MUCH for your interest and contributions! I've had a good time reading everything you've posted here. If you are still interested in the game and want to be kept on board as a reserve, let me know.
I'll begin work on the IC right away.
The characters I've chosen as protagonists of the game belong to:
@SuperTacticalDerp@ArenaSnow@Zendrelax@Tunks
Congratulations and thank you for your awesome characters :) You can go ahead and post them in the Character Tab.
As for the rest of you: thank you SO MUCH for your interest and contributions! I've had a good time reading everything you've posted here. If you are still interested in the game and want to be kept on board as a reserve, let me know.
I'll begin work on the IC right away.
2x Thank
The_written_John Professor Screwball
Member
Seen
4 yrs ago
Your only accepting four?
okay...! I guess...? Man, talk about me having spent 3 hours for that...! I wouldn't mind being on the reserve but... I doubt i'l get picked...! Normal rps, hell even advanced rps i've been in have had ten! I totally dont mind NOT being picked but, i feel sorry for everyone else! D:
okay...! I guess...? Man, talk about me having spent 3 hours for that...! I wouldn't mind being on the reserve but... I doubt i'l get picked...! Normal rps, hell even advanced rps i've been in have had ten! I totally dont mind NOT being picked but, i feel sorry for everyone else! D:
Jangel13 The angel of fortune
Member
Seen
11 hrs ago
If an extra is needed let me know
Tunks A Succulent Scent
Member
Seen
9 yrs ago
Oh man, haha first CS I've made in like a year and a half and it got accepted. That's pretty crazy. Thanks Thrashy, I won't let you down!
SuperTacticalDerp The New Monarch
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
Aerandir The old guy
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
I feel kinda jipped... Not gunna lie.
GM
Thrashy smashy-splashy
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
I'm sorry if there has been any misunderstandings, but I have used the "small group" tag (although, admittedly, it could be easy to miss).
Well wasted my time on a CS competition again. I should've know though, haha... I never win. Well have fun guys. Maybe if I'm lucky someone else will make a plot like this.
Treepuncher121 Lover of the color pink
Member
Seen
7 yrs ago
Are you still accepting characters? I lve fantasy. I've been playing D&D since third grade haha.
ArenaSnow Devourer of Souls
Banned
Seen
3 yrs ago
Are you still accepting characters? I lve fantasy. I've been playing D&D since third grade haha.
Characters closed already, sorry.
Treepuncher121 Lover of the color pink
Member
Seen
7 yrs ago
Dang. Well I'll make a character and keep him on hold in case you need one. I'll gladly play any time! Just PM if you need an extra player ^-^
GM
Thrashy smashy-splashy
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
And so begins the game!
Any of you players may be the one currently inspecting the cabin. You will find, as you meet and greet eachother, that it must be Celeste that came before you, and that she is currently away somewhere.
You have the cabin, two barrels of beer, a large chest of foodstuffs and a days worth of firewood at your disposal. Feast to your delight :)
Any of you players may be the one currently inspecting the cabin. You will find, as you meet and greet eachother, that it must be Celeste that came before you, and that she is currently away somewhere.
You have the cabin, two barrels of beer, a large chest of foodstuffs and a days worth of firewood at your disposal. Feast to your delight :)
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