A bit of fair warning: Seadus is meant to be somewhat over-powered, as he will be serving the role of both protagonist and antagonist. I will not be "playing to win" when I RP as the Prince. Anything I do with him will simply be to advance the plot, and more often than not I will simply not RP Seadus at all, preferring instead my other and more reasonably powered character.

Name:
Prince Seadus

Aliases:
The Mage Prince
The Wizard King

Gender:
Male

Race:
High-born Human

Highborns are a sub-set race of humanity, known for lightly brown skin color vaguely reminiscent of gold, eyes of blue or hazel, hair of night black or stark white, and rough features. They posses firm, thin lips and paranoid eyes which, coupled with heavily arched eyebrows, tend to lend them a look of unfriendliness and aristocracy.

Appearance:
Like so many of his fellow royal highborns, our good Seadus has paper-white hair (which he brushes exactly three-hundred times at the start of each day) lingering down to the small of his back, thin and clearly plucked eyebrows, pristinely manicured pearly and absurdly clean nails, smooth and hairless skin, plus a lightly muscled tone.

His features are of the more rounded variety, but his body as a whole is thin and tall, almost elf-like.
He also has sapphire eyes, but don't look at them. Perhaps it is the telepathy, perhaps it is the royal bloodline, but when you gaze long into the Prince's eyes you may just feel yourself becoming slowly lost, like you're being pulled into him and his regal will...

Backstory:
Prince Seadus was born into a family of two- his father, King Verus, and his lovely mother, Queen Chira. It was a fairy-tale existence. His early childhood is, to this day, naught but a blurred series of memories centered around candied sweets, kind servants, infinite toys and undying parental affection. If true happiness can be achieved through material means, it had been for young Seadus.

But then, shortly after his seventh birthday, the war came. Like a flood, a strange army from the a northern nation- named Rrial- swept across the Highborn land, burning farms, homesteads, cities, and people. The peaceful and the hostile both died bloody and alone at the hands of their conquerors.

Soon his parents were both caught up in this blitzkrieg war the North, leaving their only son desperately clobbering for attention and, as he interpreted it, love. His child's mind had no comprehension of why his father would even care for a nation that must be, "like, a bajillion miles away" (as Seadus put it), or why he felt like his Father spent so much more time on that stupid war than him.

It was then that he learned to influence others. How fitting, that the war he hated would lead to the magic he loves.

Sometimes, late at night as he lay his head down for rest, he would imagine that he could feel his parent's love, although they no longer outwardly showed it. He somehow knew that everything they did, they did for him and his safety.
Little did the Prince know that this was his telepathy first coming about, and all he had to do was close his eyes and focus, and he could have sent a message to them that truly showed his mother and father how lonely he was without them. But how could he? No magic ran in his family, no Elven blood tainted their veins.

His gift was not discovered until he was deep into the teenage years, when he ended up trapped in a bar fight. Somehow he managed to force the attacker to stab himself in the throat. He was shocked and repulsed to realize he may have killed an innocent man, (intentionally or not, he would never have been able to forgive himself) so he ran over to the now-dying bar patron. As our Prince rested his dainty hands against the burly throat of his victim, it began to heal. Within minutes, the man's flesh had sealed up, as if there nothing had happened at all.

From then on, his parent's funded whatever studies he chose to partake in, but he found his skill lay mainly in the mental art of Telepathy and the physical art of Alteration.
At twenty-five, Seadus had mastered Telepathy. He was now able to control the thoughts and bodies of whomever he willed, and there were no secrets that one could keep from him. The King finally gave in and began confessing all his plans to his son, for he knew that, if he didn't, Seadus would simply find out by probing his father's mind- a most uncomfortable experience.

At thirty, the war with Rrial had not even come close to stopping. Almost a quarter of the Highborn Kingdom had been smashed, burned and claimed by the enemy.
At thrity-two, Prince Seadus took up a new post as a military general. It was simply...astounding. He found that his groups of soldiers worked better and more efficiently than any other, as he knew what every soldier on his side was going to do, what foul plan every enemy had hatched, and how to control both his soldiers and Rrial's like puppets.

By forty, he left the army, having become the most decorated and successful military leader in the history of the world. Highborn managed, under the Price's rule, to not only reclaim the stolen land, but also to completely conquer and enslave all of Rrial. To this day, it remains as a neglected province of the Highborns. Such is the fate of all who defy Seadus.

Now he has taken up residence in the Idolized Tower, which lies between the ocean and the forest of Highborn (for Primus himself was a Highborn).

Weapons:
A jewel-encrusted saber eternally hangs from his side. A fine sword indeed but, if you study it closely and zealously enough, you'll notice a distinct few defining features.

The blade is dyed faintly blue from being soaked in an extraordinarily long-lasting and fatal poison, which refuses to be cleaned away. This is so that it may easily slay any man or beast to stand against our most noble leader.

With a sense of irony, Seadus also installed- engraved into it's onyx and diamond encrusted hilt- a small but complex rune of protection, so that it may stand strong against any threat on the Prince's life and never break or falter.

But there is one thing that makes the other two aspects look tame by comparison- it has demonic magic. Nobody knows why, nobody knows how, but he seems to put have somehow stolen a bit of the Archdemon Uklist's power and infused it into his blade. This fact alone makes it the most powerful weapon to exist on the face of the world. Everytime he unsheathes the blade, the room he is standing in darkens. It can cut through any metal, any defense, and any one. It can cause the ground to shake and fire to burn through everything that foolishly dares stand in his path.

On those rare occasions when the Prince reaches for the hilt of his sword, he is not to be trifled with.

Personality:
A smile is not at all times a friendly gesture. For some, it is only a way to hide one's real countenance.
This is so for Seadus. He can seem at once both charming and deadly, or both strong and gentle, as any natural-born leader should be capable of. His deep and determined voice can bring energy or conviction to those who listen, and implants deep fear into his enemy's souls. There is no greater dread than that which he curses his foes with, and no greater joy than that of his fellows.

But underneath his willful bard's voice, there hides a mind that is immobile and stubborn to a fault. He is absolutely certain of his claim to the Tower above all others, and he will back away from no threat. None can frighten him away nor change his mind once he has decided on a course of action. His will is like a stone wall that cannot be toppled, his vengeance like a flash of lightening that cannot be defended against. To alter the ways of the Prince would be like moving the earth itself.

This is not to say he is foolish. Seadus is, after all, a telepath- there are few that match his sheer cunning and intellect. Every interaction with him- even casual speech- is like a game of chess. You must move your pieces in just the right way, or he will see your weakness and extort it for everything it is worth. He has no shame in manipulation or cheating, nor, it seems, will he ever.

There are some who would label him selfish and greedy, there are some who would call him a blasphemer and defiler of Primus' great name, but there are still more who would call him a hero. He has managed to somehow maintain wondrous relations with commoners, especially those near to the Idolized Tower. Mysteriously, it seems the physically closer one draws to his home, the more they are under his sway.

Magic School and Skill:
Spending years living in the tower is not without it's benefit.
He was originally a master of Telepathy, but only a beginner of Alteration. That all changed. The Tower is designed to serve it's owner, and so it gifted him with greater powers. Now only a select few could compete with him in this field.

---

Gender:
Male, although this is only in the body, which you may soon find matters not to the White Goblin.

Race:
Goblin

Appearance:
Ironically enough, the White Goblin posses shockingly darker skin than most others of his kind, to the point of being black, a feature which he has always felt alienated for. This is made worse when his starlight-silver colored hair insists on drawing further attention by contrast, and his flawlessly pearl nails always appear as though they have meticulously cared for.

Some may even wonder if he is truly a goblin at all. What with his short limbs and rounded features, or his large eye(sockets) and flat, herbivorous teeth.

A human even once called him attractive. Attractive!

Name, Aliases and Backstory, all smashed together:
Name? The name does not matter, only the soul. Nonetheless, you may call him "Xulemuzti" or- as it is spoken in the Commoner's Tongue- Crystal.

He came into life as a goblin of the IceSpear Tribe- that miserable little settlement only a small ways south of the arctic- and was first named "Leasom", which means "twisted". You may believe that to be an insult, but he was only called so because he suffered some rare infant deformity, and his face held a most unique feature.

He had no eyes.

The eyelids and sockets were there, but only taunting void was held inside them. His mother always told him that he was born groping at the empty spaces like he knew, even then, that he was missing something precious. As was goblin custom, his parents mourned for the passing of three moons, before surrendering him to the Trial of Flame.

The Trial was a spiritual test, designed to judge whether the Demons desired an infant born with a defect to live. The babe was tied to a long pole, and a fire lit underneath him by a masked goblin titled the "flame-setter". If the child survived a full day, it was believed that Uklist has protected them, and thus they were freed and allowed to grow.
But if it died, the parents were forbidden from ever expressing sorrow or shedding tears over the loss of their son or daughter, for the offspring was obviously not worthy of life.

Leasom's Trial went a bit differently, however. Upon being put to the stake, a whistling could be heard, one which grew and deeper with every step the flame-setter took towards his infantile victim.
But they ignored it.
Then, as the flame-setter took up the flint and steel, a small object could be seen like a flame in the sky.
But they ignored it.
Finally, the flame-setter crouched down to light the base of the stake, and the flame in the sky grew dangerously close and large.
But he ignored it.
The flame from the sky struck the flame-setter directly in the temple, and he fell in death. The tribal goblins who had come to watch the "performance" were suddenly left speechless, but only for a moment. They rushed forward to encircle the dead goblin and found that it was not a fire that slew him, but a meteor. Two, to be exact.

At first they were understandably a little uncertain on how to react. Voices began to rise up from all around the village, each one claiming a different opinion. A few said it could be an extremely unlikely coincidence, another that the child was a demon in disguise, some that the flame-setter had displeased the Demon-gods. The village idiot even tried to blame it on life from other planets.

After many days of deliberation and debate, it was firmly decided that these fallen stars were messages from the Demon-Gods, and so Leasom was, instead of being burned, trained as a Mystic. Some may question the logic of training a blind boy in the arts of seeing through stone, but these heathens do not understand the unquestioning and unwavering faith of these people. If the Demons send you a message, you follow that message to the letter, or all goblinkind will come down on you with a vengeance beyond description.

At the age of fourteen, he had learned to use Seeing-Stones that fell from the sky when he was a child in a rather unique way. Although he was still unable to see with his own eyes, he could see through the stones and use them as surrogates. The first time it really happened, he was astounded and confused. He saw the skies, the trees, the clouds, the earth, himself, his mother, his father and everything else for the first time.

On his twentieth birthday, Leasom was struck with a brilliant idea. Seeking out a local Alterist, he managed to infuse the Seeing-Stones into the actual flesh within his head, meaning he now had two large crystals where the eyes would be on most goblins. He found that, after the transformation, his farsight was ever improved. Now he could watch events on the other side of the world as easily as you or him or myself could watch ones directly in front of us.

Finally feeling free and self-suffiecent, he set out to explore the world.

It didn't last long.

As much as he loved travel and new experiences, the point of even walking was soon lost on him, as he reched new levels of Mystic ability which had yet been left untrod, that the Seeing-Stones within him had caused an unintended side-effect. Normally, they can only be used to see, but now he was able to project. When he desired, he began creating an image of his inner soul. This image would appear most often like a pale ghost, thus leading to his nickname, "the White Goblin".

He now lives within a cave, where he studies his mysticism and gains knowledge by appearing in spectral form to scholars all around the world, without ever leaving home.

Weapons:

Our White Goblin carries no weapons on his person, with the exception of a bit of wax. It may seem innocent enough at first sight, but please do not forget that he has been trained in voo-doo. In his hands, this bit of wax can control your every move, or simply decapitate you. His fingers are skilled and fast, and are thus capable of forming a doll even in combat, if he has a moment of peace to do so.

How did you find out about the tower?:

Scrying, of course. Leasom had been mystically spying on the Tower for some time, when he received a telepathic message that declared, in no polite terms, that he would be punished for his gazing if his aid was not needed as soon as possible.

Personality:
Curious and intellectual, but also withdrawn from the physical. He does not care for such mundane things as the body, gender, age, species or anything of the such. What matters to him, rather, is a soul. Should he believe that you have a good, non-corrupt one, he will gladly befriend you.

On the other hand, Leasom honestly believes that the Demons choose him for a purpose, and as long as he feels that it has not yet been fulfilled, he will never truly risk his life for another. His life is far too valuable.

Magic School and Skill:
He is a prodigy of magic, and perhaps the greatest Mystic ever to walk the face of this world.

Name: Imogen
Aliases: Desirae
Gender: Female
Race: Elf
Appearance: Long burgundy hair that she braids a lot of the time. She rarely shows her ears, keeps them covered under her hair. Shes taller than the average human. Other than that she looks practically human. She wears a leather jacket and jeans a lot of the time, she goes around in bare feet.
Back story: Has lived out in the woods by herself most of her 17 years, she doesn't remember anything about her parents. One day someone came and she paid for information and he told her all about the wizard tower. No one could stop her now, she had to fend for herself all these years and now she is promised some freedom,oh hell yeah.
Personality: Kind, caring, loving and over-protective. If you mess with the ones she loves though than she can get fiesty. She cries easily and tends to hide her other feelings though.
Magic skills: Precognition and telepathy

Name: Irina Blue

Alias: The Violet Witch, Deep Blue.

Gender: Female

Race: Human

Appearance: Irina is a youthful woman of middling height and striking lavender hair, hanging wildly down to her shoulders. Her eyes are a hue of pale violet, giving her an unearthly appearance much unlike her rather ordinary human heritage. Her features are soft, and maidenly, giving her the impression of being the beautiful daughter of some long-running noble household. She has large breasts, becoming of her figure, and hips that show a matching image of fertility and health.

Her dress frequently favours blending in to the lowborn folk, consisting of basic, practical women's garbs such as dresses of common woolen cloth, of which she has three. However, no amount of commoner's clothes can hide her noble descent from a careful eye, and when she is not blending in, Irina's noble clothing allows others the sight of the full grace of all of her highborn heritage. She owns four distinct outfits, of high-valued silks and cloths, hand-made by famed craftsmen in the city of her birth. She keeps them, in case she must ever engage in business with nobles or other wealthy folk who would look down on her for wearing the clothes of a commoner.

She also has a hooded cloak, for when she wishes not to be seen, although she finds that this is quite counter-productive most of the time.

She looks to be in her early-mid twenties.

Backstory: Hailing from a city called Blueport, Irina is a descendant of the noble line Blue, which has held political dominance in Blueport since very early on in its formation. Her father, Heinrich Blue, and her Mother, Lily Blue (Maiden name, Sparrow), were as indulgent as parents that there could ever be, encouraging Irina's studies into magic while shielding her from those who might harm her development. She was their beloved, and for a while their only, child.

As a little girl, much of Irina's life was spent reading, often at her Mother's legs as the cheerful woman went about her daily sewing. Irina herself never liked sewing, but she did like reading. She read about all sorts of things, from adventures, and stories of brave knights and romantic princes, to complicated academic subjects such as mathematics, and the sciences.

And, of course, magic.

While her family library didn't have a whole lot about magic when she was born, she quickly found its shelves being filled with important information, likely at her parents' behest. And then, one day, a new person was introduced to her life.

He called himself "Ashworth".

Under Ashworth's tutelage, and with the careful supervision of Irina's parents, the little girl soon began to find her true calling. The magical arts came to her more naturally than any other subject had, even her much favoured mathematics, and by the time she reached her thirteenth summer, she had already reached a level beyond "Novice".

However, Irina quickly discovered that the sort of Magic this Ashworth taught her was not the kind of magic she wanted. So, she called for him to be taken away once she mastered the basics, and soon went a-studying for the magic that she felt most suited her style of thinking. In a sense, she was searching for herself, trying to find a place where her thirst for knowledge could be sated fully and properly.

When she was seventeen, she left her household. She has not returned since.

For a while, her location could not be verified. She didn't stay in one place for long, living off her own personal wealth and her skills in accounting to make money where she could. She was something of a wandering scholar, seeking out information on the ancient arts of magic, trying to find her purpose in life.

And then, one day, she found it. It was rainy, an evening in late-autumn in the small village where she was chasing the shadow of a century-old wizard's research. It was here that she found the grimoire, long-lost behind a secret passage in the local elder's small library.

It contained seemingly insane scribblings, incredibly detailed magic circles and runes that almost seemed to leak with an otherworldly power. And, most importantly, it contained a formula. Beneath it, was written in a simple, plain scrawl-

"Tdorbta."d

Personality: Irina is a cool, calculative pretty face, the sort who is equally as capable of enjoying a light drink over the ocean in a wealthy, Blueport cabin as she is of spending days on end studiously searching through a wealth of grimoires deep in some musty library. Despite her various flaws and booky nature, she is not unpleasant company to have, owing much to her noble upbringing and loving parents.

Once, she was a social creature, but time has twisted this nature and turned it into more of a sick interest than true enjoyment. To her, interactions with others is often more of a game than reality, and much of the fun she has with her social experiences is as a result of her own, slightly sadistic delusions.

She has been driven partially insane by her explorations in the field of Planar Magic, leaving her to experience elabourate and vivid delusions of whispers and visions from other worlds, polluting her mental landscape with images glimpsed through half-shut rifts in dimensional space. Her perception of time is slightly off, and there are days when she doesn't seem to notice the passage of time at all. Despite all of this, she possesses a deep intelligence and incredibly sharp reasoning for somebody of her... complications.

That isn't to say her intelligence and insanity are her only traits. Her early exploits and nurturing childhood ensure that she has at least a passing interest in matters of romance, of politics, and heroism. She is not a truly virtuous person, but she could hardly be called incredibly sinful either (at least as far as others know).

If you talk to her for a long time, you might find that she sounds a little older than she looks. This, and her intensely academic nature, seem to lend weight to the theory that Planar Magic has some subtle effects on the body and mind. Those who look into her eyes deeply, might find her to be incredibly difficult to read. Indeed, much of what truly goes through her mind is veiled in smiles and glamours and wit. Even those with minds twisted enough can only catch quick glimpses of her true intentions behind the violet haze, and those people who do lose what remaining sanity they hold onto in her hearts.

She is Irina Blue, a woman who delved into worlds beyond our own, beyond even the worlds of demons, and came back. What she saw, only the gods can know, and some of it even they can't comprehend. Whatever she saw, it warped her thoughts, turning her into a twisted husk of the human girl she might have once been.

How she found out about the tower: Due to her heretical nature, it has always been important for her to keep her ear to the ground for incoming danger. In some curious whim of the gods, she caught wind of the invitations going out to established mages, and sent a letter asking to join them as well.

The response she got was enthusiastic enough, likely due to her at least being mildly known among the Magical community, although only in rumours, and with much of the details of herself and her work shrouded in mystery.

Weapons: A single, ornate dagger, concealed for usage in "self-defense".

Magical Skills: Irina studied briefly beneath a single Master, by the name of Ashworth, who taught her the basics of the magical arts and the theories behind them. She has never had an Apprentice, or taught a single pupil in her life. Her heresy and strength has caused her to be pursued relentlessly by many enemies, but she has evaded them throughout her entire life.
-Knowledge of general Magical mechanics, Magic Theory and the applications of practical Magic.
-Capable of incredibly complicated multi-dimensional planar calculations, predictions and analyses.
-Can recognize and diagnose spatial anomalies and distortions.
-Knowledgeable about worlds beyond our own, and their inhabitants.

Name: Alrin Nevran.

Aliases: Alrin the Black

Mentors: Lankhar the Enternal, Asphixious the Overlord.

Gender: Male.

Race: Half-Elf.

Appearance: Alrin is tall and lithe yet still athletic looking as an elf would look but still looks are deceiving, his eyes are coloured hazel brown with a mix of grey, his skin is a pale pallor and he has a large scar that overlaps his mouth, Alrin has long dark brown hair that reaches his shoulders, Alrin is dressed in a billowing black hooded robe that has designs of Elvish leaves the design is around the shoulder,cape and neck areas.

Alrin also underneath wears light leather protection and when not in battle sometimes dons a tunic of his tastes.

Backstory: Alrin used to be a young farmboy who tended to sheep and cattle in a small unnamed thorp he used to call home, Alrin never knew his father but he knew that his father was an Elf and his mother had left him with her brother Sam Granar a dashing Ranger who was fond of the drink, music and women Alrin loved Sam as he would a father and Alrin had a happy life for at least 20 more years until he was 22 when a band of orcs raided the thorp and pillaged an destroyed everything he had cared for, he even witnessed the brutal death of his Uncle Sam hewn to pieces by an orcs mighty axe.

As Alrin waded in battled until he met a one of the largest orcs he had ever seen in his life almost 8 ft tall with a large great sword it took one swing and Alrin was sent to the ground and as he sat their blood streaming down his face he felt around his body for the wounds and he felt a large cut along his chest and an even larger cut across his face from a piece of wood probably on the ground it should have made him blind but it hadn't, the large Orc had been approaching and was about to deal the final blow when he heard a loud voice and saw a pair of black boots appear in front of the large Orc the voice said.

"Don't kill this one I will need him I have dreamt of this day!"

And that was when he met his mentor Lankhar who taught him the way of magic and trained him in the Arts of Necromancy for the next five years he became more and more potent and his wounds healed from battle only leaving the scar on his mouth that lead to his chest.

Lankhar passed Alrin down to a master but it was with great difficulty because he was forced to because Asphixious the Overlord commanded he teach Alrin the ways of the true Necromancer and he learnt to master the magic but it took a long time until Alrin was 37 to completely master Necromancy then only then Asphixious let Alrin set out on his own Asphixious passed on to the place where great Necromancers must make a choice and so did Lankhar but it was not Alrin's right to interfere.

How did you find out about the tower?: On his travels Alrin stumbled upon many things and met many people along the way but once on one stary night Alrin was hunting a few yards away from his camp when he met face to face with a small gnome dressed all in green.

"A message for a Spellcaster from Prince Seadus"

The little gnome gave him the letter and then vanished into thin air, besides the odd little gnome the letter stated about the tower which Alrin had heard whispers about in the minds of those long dead and those Alrin had killed and he was interested he knew the letter was a plea for some kind of help and that is Alrin had time to read about other than that he read the directions and then he bolted for camp preparing for the journey to the tower.

Personality: Quiet and softspoken but very adaptable and friendly, Alrin is very driven by his goals but he is often distracted by his studies, but he is very fond of music, especially Elvish music although he does love normal music he also loves a good Ale once every so often eventhough he isn't a drunkard, Alrin is good humoured but dark at times he is always somewhat sad or depressed because of his life and his history but he never lets his depression get to him that is why he surrounds himself with activity, he tolerated his mentors but truthfully hated them both for making him what he is and for destroying his life and Alrin also loaths Orcs but keeps in mind that they are people as well.

Magic School and Skill: Normal magical understandings:

- Understanding of the culture and standard spells.

- Understanding of the castings and rituals of magical spell scrolls and Tomes.

- Understanding of the magical tongue and pronouncements of spells and rituals.

- Common Spells such as Detect magic and etc...

- Knowledge of the other planes of existence.



Weapons: Darkwood Quarterstaff, a Sickle (or A.K.A: Sacrificial Dagger) and a Silvered Scimitar that his uncle once owned.

Name: Umbrix of House Manskr

Aliases: Ulyncromaux (Means “Patriarch of Un-Life”)

Gender: Male

Race: Fenneca

Appearance: Umbrix stands tall at seven feet, eight inches, which is considerable even for a Fenneca. He possesses unkempt, dark brown fur, four pale red eyes, four large teeth grown over his upper lip, two jagged antlers formed in an almost decorative fashion, and two long, hairy ears. Some would say he looks something like an unholy deer-man, which wouldn’t be too wrong a moniker. Umbrix dresses himself in what the Fenneca consider a royal garb – an outfit strewn from several miscellaneous animal pelts and hides, all sewn together and adorned with ceremonial markings.


Backstory: In a scant few forests dotting the lands, there reside sentient creatures known as the Fenneca. Commonly referred to as “deer-folk”, the Fenneca are a tall, unsightly people who live lives of isolation from other races. They operate on a structure of Houses, with each woodland territory they claim to be theirs belonging to one or two Houses total. The Houses are divided amongst Vauber, Dilhauk, Hrolus, Pkeltra, Manskr, and Rouxs. This division correlates to each House’s preferred school of magic, which all Fenneca are avid practitioners of. Their appearances differ from House to House, wildly so. The Houses are small, but the Fenneca are adamant, well-lived folk, and their living conditions hamper their pursuits in no way at all.

Umbrix belongs to House Manskr, which revolves around occult magic. They reside within the forest of Selenwood in the southeast, alongside House Vauber, who employ destructive magic. Manskr is known for being the least numerous of the Houses, though this is mostly in regard to the actual Fenneca comprising it. Manskr is notorious for its multitude of undead servants raised from both animals and would-be assailants. They work in close association with House Vauber, who do much of the killing for them and leave them the bodies. The other Houses look down somewhat on this activity, being more in touch with the nature around them, but they do not interfere.

Umbrix himself is one of the leading figures of House Manskr, and he is responsible for a good deal of the advancements they have made in their practices. At a young age, Umbrix began his practicing raising deceased beings to suit his needs, and at a slightly older age, he found himself striving to “improve” his subjects. It was around that time that Umbrix and the rest of House Manskr began taking the solidified fragments of life energy and twisting, contorting them into “augmentations” for their experiments. With House Vauber assisting them, they began turning their undead servants from frail, atrophied zombies into even more grotesque, abominable, horrifying creatures. Umbrix’s efforts quickly earned him a respectable position among House Manskr’s numbers, and he was even gaining a reputation amidst the far-off Houses. This, as well, increased the rate of witch hunters appearing in Selenwood, which in turn just supplied Manskr with more and more fodder. Manskr continued their experiments, with Umbrix spearheading the effort. But eventually, things grew stale. No improvements were being made.

And then along came the lingering word of a certain tower.

Weapons: Umbrix possesses a multitude of embalming and extraction tools, though none of those are necessarily weapons. What he owns instead is a ceremonial sword crafted and granted to him by the good people of House Vauber, as both a parting gift and a token of recognition. He doesn't use it much.

How did you find out about the tower?: The Tower has always been a topic of curiosity amidst all of the Fenneca, but never have any of them considered actually traveling to it. They are a people that are not held in the greatest regard outside of their forests and woods. Most don’t travel outside them whatsoever for the entirety of their lives. Umbrix, however, has grown increasingly curious of what the Tower has to offer, especially in House Manskr’s pursuit of creating the most powerful, capable undead minions. To what end, he won’t say. But nonetheless, he has left his home to venture for the Tower, and hopefully bring back the means to raise House Manskr from its current rut.

Personality: Umbrix is cold, composed, and observant. As is common for the families among House Manskr, he possesses a downright disturbing sense of curiosity, always wondering what the life force of an individual can be split into and used for. Umbrix himself has often been observed as a well-worded, cryptic individual, optimistic in the worst ways. Nothing seems to wipe off that wry smile of his, riddled with looks of mischief and possibility.

Magic School and Skill: As is the mainstay of House Manskr’s very existence, Umbrix is versed in the school of occultism, having been raising dead beings since he was ever so young. However, unique to his practices and the rest of House Manskr is the action of “modifying” their subjects. From the corrupted life forces of myriad organisms, Umbrix has devised ways to improve his subjects in both form and power drastically. He could turn a rabbit into a man-eater, and a man into a hulking abomination. For Umbrix, the base corpse is not enough. In death, a creature has the potential to become something much more. In death, greatness lies. Or so he believes.

Rowan Blackhoof

Name: Rowan Blackhoof
Aliases: "Row" "Horn head" "Flea bag"
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Race: Satyr

How did you find out about the tower?: A wizard brought him there. He's been hanging around ever since.

Personality: Playful, irresponsible, and a bit aggravating. Rowan means well, but he's often underfoot more than he is a help. He tends to be overly curious and nosy, enjoys inviting friends over, and plays music all times of the night. He's also a bit hard headed; having been transformed into a chair once and still not changing his ways.

Rowan enjoys harassing the female patrons of the tower, though he does so with completely harmless intent. He seems to enjoy attention from just about anyone, but he has a whole bag of tricks just to get the ladies to talk to him.

Although, this is a far cry from what satyrs are typically known for. Most people know them as the nasty creatures that play tricks on travelers and kidnap women from villages for sport. Although it's a fairly small group of the species that does these things, it gives the rest of them a bad name.

Magic School and Skill: Rowan doesn't really own any traditional magic. Although his common skills include pan pipe playing, gardening, and beast keeping.

Appearance:
Rowan is a full blooded satyr. His human half has olive skin and curly, reddish brown hair. He has a bit more hair than your typical man, his arms sporting shaggy, almost furlike growth near his elbows. His form is muscular, particularly his arms.
He was cursed with a boyish face, which he hides under a trimmed beard and mustache. His goofy, floppy goat ears don't help. He's rather small, standing at 5'6". The horns on his head curl backwards and are very strong.

His goat half is that of a tahr, with long, brown fur and larger hooves. He's very nimble on his feet, faster than a human, and able to climb and balance uncannily well. As for clothing, Rowan often goes without. With his bottom half so heavily furred, he doesn't really have anything to hide. If he's attending a more proper occasion, he has a couple tunics to pick from in various colors.

History

Rowan was born and raised in a clan like most normal satyrs. They dwelled in a forest near a human town, with whom they tentatively shared land with. When Rowan was a kid, he liked to go spy on the human, his curiosity too much for his own good. His clan didn't like this behavior, but although they told him to stop, he kept on.

Eventually, in his teenage years, Rowan crossed the line and went into the human village to seek a job there. He wanted to learn how to blacksmith, and make the wonderfully shiny things that the humans could make. Although it was a strange desire, the local blacksmith found the young satyr to be a charming little creature, and allowed him to be an apprentice.

Rowan's clan did not take to this idea kindly. They saw this a servitude towards the humans that so often persecuted them. Rowan spent a whole week in the human village before returning to the forest to tell his clan of his adventures. But instead of returning to a welcome party, he was attacked.

Rowan was forced to flee his home, injured by his own family for what he'd done. The satyr managed to escape him before he fell onto a dirt road, too hurt to continue on. It was there that he was found by an elderly human wizard. The man helped Rowan into his carriage and offered to nurse him back to health, in return for his servitude. Rowan was wary of serving a human, the thing that got him into trouble in the first place, but seeing as he had no better option, he agreed.

The wizard was kind to Rowan. Being elderly as he was, he often had Rowan run errands for him, pick up ingredients and help move heavy items. It wasn't a bad job. Rowan was eventually brought to the tower with his wizard master, who died there only a year later. Rowan was allowed to stay, if only out of pity, and is now technically owned by his first master's son, who now stays at the tower as well.

Name: Matuna

Aliases: -

Gender: Male

Race: Troll

Appearance: While no human or Elf would call Matuna attractive, for a Troll he is pretty good looking, with his dark green skin and wards covering his back. The two yellow fangs protruding from his lower jar are both unbroken, and while he is 6 feet 11 inches he looks smaller because of his hunchback.

Backstory: Matuna was born in the largest and most powerful Troll tribe there is, however as the fifth son of two of the weakest members; magic and combat wise, his chances to survive weren't good at all. Because he had to constantly fight to get food and other essentials his potential for Combat Magic was discovered early.

From that point on his life became both easier and harder in different ways. His skill in combat and the related magic were above average for someone his age, but since the Trolls were created by demons it was practically a law that every mage among them learned at least the basics of either Occultism or Mysticism. Not wanting to rely on the powers of others too much Matuna choose Mysticism. something it would turn out he had nearly no talent for. Combined with a lack of falling stars to make Seeing-stones from, this cost his family almost all the status they had earned thanks to him.

Eventually when he became an adult he left the tribe knowing that they would kill him if he ever returned, in order to focus on the magic he was actually good at. Not a week later he found a fallen star and considering it an omen from either the demons or less likely the gods he changed his mind about abandoning Mysticism, and made it into a Seeing-stone. Ever since he had been practicing both Schools again .

Weapons: An old rusty but still sharp Greatsword.

How did you find out about the tower?: Like most "monster"races Trolls aren't exactly popular with the Gods, especially not with Firla. This has led to a tradition among magic users of trying to find a solution. One day Matuna tried, not expecting to find anything, only for the Tower to show itself in his Seeing-stone.

Personality: Personality he is pretty much a typical Troll. When you hear him speaking he sounds simple due the fact that all Trolls have trouble with the common language, this is an image most Trolls prefer other races to have since it causes them to be underestimated. While he has great respect for those stronger or smarter than him, during conflicts he will usually side with whoever is the leader of the group he is in at the moment, extreme circumstances notwithstanding.

Magic School and Skill: Combat Magic (mid level) and Mysticism/Far-seeing (beginner)

Name: Aurelius Ingem

Aliases: The Alchemist

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance:

Aurelius is a 5'10 with cropped hair that was more salt than pepper. Below his crow's feet and golden eyes lay a beard not more than an inch thick the color of his hair. While his mind is young and virulent, his body groans with old age most days, but given enough time he can make a potion to suppress age related maladies.

Backstory:

Aurelius was the youngest of seven brothers, like his father before him, and that meant he was a seventh son. Seventh sons of seventh sons are special, they're seven times seven, it comes with certain abilities. The abilities vary from person to person, but it always makes the son's magic stronger. Aurelius knew nothing of magic, thinking it only to be a myth he thought nothing of it. His father was a trader and wanted young Aurelius to follow in his footsteps, but he was more interested in his mother who ran an apothecary. Maybe it was because his father was always gone or something deeper, maybe destiny.

When he was twelve, much to his father's disappointment, he chose to follow his mother. Within three years he knew the name of all but the most obscure herbs, in their true names, and their uses. Within another year he had learned a dead archaic language and all his mother had known, so she sent him to learn more. He was sent to a cottage, that almost looked derelict and in the middle of nowhere. Inside was a wizened old man with a stereotypical curling white beard and thick spectacles. He was poring over notes muttering absent mindedly. He was a very strange man and the pipes and flasks full of luminous liquids were even stranger than the old man.

In the following two years Phineas, the old man, began to teach him of things stranger than he ever would have know, how to change common metal to gold, coal to diamonds; he learned how to create the cures to disease, how to make a universal solvent. The wonders of transmutation allowed for innumerable possibilities, only if you could set your mind to it and work with absolute precision.

At the age of 18, Phineas told Aurelius of some of his own work, the search for Panacea. It is a mythological substance that can cure all sickness, even death, and Phineas believed he could create it. So Aurelius and his master set on trying to discover the recipe. The journey took them to the great deserts, to the wise men in the east, and back again. Over the years his master had been slowly falling deeper and deeper into the depth of insanity. Refusing food for days and speaking in gibberish, then we gained clairity, it was a day he knew to be his last he pulled out an old leather bound book, yellowed with age. Aurelius was just entirely happy to see his master, somewhat well. He tried to get up and go grab water. Phineas told him to stop and listen sternly. He beckoned him closer, his voice weakening with each second and told him his journal contained notes on Panacea, he said he was close and all he needed was one agreement. Just one, but then he expired. Rather than weep over the corpse of his master, Aurelius, decided to continue his master's work.

So for thirty more years he continued to travel collect the notes and information trying to piece together the information that he needed to complete his master's work and preserve his memory.

Weapons: A staff of wood hardened from al;chemic processes that leave it harder than stone with a retractable blade for combat purposes. It's also a handy walking stick.

How did you find out about the tower?: Written in ancient glyphs and symbols was a message, for Aurelius, it said cryptically, "I have the knowledge you see" and then it gave directions.

Personality: He is a scholarly man and is not one to make rash decisions or have flashes of anger. He works with a single mindedness toward every project until he finishes. He may be stern and withdrawn at times, but he can be talkative after a glass or two of mead.

Magic School and Skill: Alchemist

Name: Bonorix

Aliases: The Bear King

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance:



Backstory: Bonorix from the day he was born was told that he would one day become a great druid among his people. He was born to a tribe of humans who lived outside of civilization and lived in mutual respect and peace with nature. They followed the beliefs and philosophies of the ways of the wild. A human is an animal and nature is both beautiful and cruel. Balance is what his tribe believed in and these beliefs allowed them to avoid conflict when necessary.

Bonorix's people were known for producing Moon Druids who specialized in transforming into creatures all shapes and sizes. The sheer power of some of the ancient druids of his tribe were legendary, but over the many generations the number of druids in his tribe decreased and only a handful were a part of tribe now. At age seven Bonorix displayed his first sign of magical talent and made plants grow to unnatural lengths. At age ten he had his first transformation and transformed into a dog. The druids took him under their wing and began to instruct him on the ways of druidry and the secrets of the Moon.

Bonorix made impressive progress and had the potential to be a great druid, but terrible tragedy struct. Bonorix's tribe was attacked and wiped out by an army of invaders under the command of a powerful dark wizard. Those of tribe that survived were captured and Bonorix was sold into slavery by the invaders. Life became miserable for him and he spent several years under his oppressor's rule. Eventually he managed to escape and sought to find power to destroy his enemies.

He soon heard about the fabled Tower and decided to go in search of it to gain power and seek his vengeance.

How did you find out about the tower?: (Most wizards will be invited to the tower by the owner, named Prince Seadus, but some will have gotten there by...more creative means?)

Personality: Bonorix is very aggressive thanks to both his shape-shifting abilities and the years he spent as a slave. He almost literally has a beast within him and it takes sheer will to keep his bloodthirsty impulses in check and not slaughter people. It is one of the side effects of being a moon druid and it can sometimes make him act more like animal than man. Despite this Bonorix is good deep down and will remain loyal to those he calls friends and allies. He will help those in need and tries to keep his word.

Magic School and Skill:

Shape-shifting: Bonorix is a very skilled shape-shifter with the power transform his body into an assortment of beasts. When in these forms his ability to speak becomes compromised, but his physical capabilities change to fit the creature. He can tranform into creatures ranging from very large to incredible small. The list of animals he can transform into are as follows.

Brown Bear.

Mountain Lion.

Giant Osprey: This bird form is large enough for someone to ride on its back.

Water Dragon: this transformation is a little bit larger than a normal human and amphibious.

Dog.

Cat.

Rat.

Elemental Conjuring: Bonorix is also learning the art of summoning elementals, which can be used in and outside of combat.

Druidry: This school of magic allows one to learn the proper uses of herbs and plants for medical practices and communing with nature. Bonorix is able to speak with animals and plants thanks to this magic.

Name:
Percival Dwallings

Aliases:
Ol' Crazy Barktooth, The Hermit

Gender:
Male

Race:
Human

Appearance:
Percy is a middle-aged male with dirty blonde but slowly greying hair that is
cropped close to his head. He has a medium length, bushy beard extending out
past his ears at its widest points that goes down to the top of his sternum.
Often times his beard has an odd leaf or twig in it from wandering around
surrounding forests. Percival's tanned, weathered face face shows aging
around his soft brown eyes.
He isn't much for a traditional wizard's robe and instead wears a knee length
piece of rough burlap fabric with a hole in the top. His pantless tunic is tied
up with rope at the waist which often allows a good breeze up. On his feet are
hardened leather sandals, the most expensive thing he owns. Tucked into his
belt is a twig from a yew tree.

Backstory:

Mary and Vyall Dwallings were peasant farmers who often took out loans to save
their failing beet farm. For 17 harvests they labored over thier hard won beats
and sold them at the local market hoping to turn a profit that may pay back
some of their debts.
As Mary was nearing the end of child bearing age she was offered a job. She was
sitting at her husband's stand while her husband went to go relieve himself at
a nearby oak tree. Any sale of course would have helped them but no one really
wanted to buy beets, even at their nominal prices because no one likes beets.
Mary was approached by an older man with shocked gray hair wearing once
extravagent robes. Surely he'll buy some beets and not just walk away
She thinks.
"Not much buying today?" asked the gray haired man.
"Not much today, or ever really." Mary bluntly puts their struggles out there.
"Well how does a gold coin sound?" the man eyes up Mary as if she was an animal
in a fair.
"It sounds like our year's salary" laughs Mary.
"Well I'll cut to the chase. You can have coin if you'll sire my seed."
Taken with aghast she twisted her face in disgust. Upon further contemplation
she realized that she'd be helping out her loving husband. She agreed at 3 am
the next day she'll have his child. And so she did. She told her husband that
they were blessed with the fortune of the church. He was suspicious about this
large sum of money coming in but decided to accept it without question.9 months
later she gave birth to a handsome baby boy named Percival after Mary's
favorite grandfather. Vyall was suspicious that his child had blonde hair, yet
his wife and hisself are dark haired. From then on Vyall believed it wasn't his
and harbored slight resentment. Percy cried a lot through his infant years
giving many sleepless nights to his parents. At that time in their lives that
was their only worry. Their beets began to yield a healthy harvest which, along
with the gold, greatly helped pay their debts. Which was probably a shame to a
local pub owner to whom the family owed money to, one more missed payment was a
free beating.
It wasn't long for Percy to start exhibiting signs of magical endowment. At the
was lifting rocks that would be heavy to the average infant, curious Vyall
lifted the rock and it was as light as a feather. Now this could be misconstrued
as just a very light rock so no worries there from anyone. Then one day at the
age of eight Percy was helping with farm work. Hoping to impress his distant
father he unleashed the plow and attempted to pull the plow, now at such a
young age he couldn't control his gifts so the whole plow went floppy. His
father was puzzled yet angry. He wanted his plow back the way it was, yet he
amazed that at the touch of his son the iron resembled rubber. But to the
dismay of Percival his father's amazement wore off and he was beat. With the
idea of suppressing magic in mind Percy tried not to use it fearing a beating
but eventually curiosity won him over and in secret he began manipulation of
an object's make up. This continued for several years until Percival was 17.
His aging father wanted Percival to take control of the farm and had his offer
rejected. Percival wanted to explore the world beyond the Dwallings Beet Farm
and hopefully learn about his gift.
And so with no money or blessings in hand Percival headed east to the seas. To
pay for his fare Percival worked on the Salty Fairy for 2 years. The Salty
Fairy was a passenger ship that ferried people across the seas. Having no
money Percival sheepishly admitted so upon boarding of the ship. He was allowed
to work for his share at first by cleaning up and slowly by helping the other
deck hands. In his first week of preparing to be a deckhand his hands were so
blistered that touching the salty railing of the ship would cause him to jump
back and exclaim loud curses. Which were looked down on in the ship by the
captain; the way he saw it was that this was a passenger ship and they pay for
customer service. Allowed to wrap with bandages Percival went into crew
quarters and sat on his hammock. Running his left hand over his injuries wished
that his blisters could heal faster and form a callous.
Knowing what good wishing did he instead cursed his hand think-shouting Just
heal damn you! From his left hand sprung a tiny green spark. The spark
branched out as it made contact with the skin. The spark touched the blister
and the skin began to knit it self together. With the contact of the spark to
the skin and his skin coming back together led to another curse coming out of
his mouth from the burning sensation. It was heard on the floor above and a
fellow crew member stomped his foot down and said, "Keep it down, you know how
the cap'n don't like cursin'." Percival said nothing and held his right hand to
his left and thought heal. Again, the green spark branched over his many
blisters, healing up the skin. Clenching his jaw Percy allowed his skin to be
brought back together at the expense of pain. To not arouse suspicion Percival
went and wrapped his hands just so it would look like nothing had happened at
all. From then on Percy would endure the pain caused by the rope burn and
blisters. Whenever he healed himself it was new skin that appeared not callous;
eventually, Percy gave up on healing his hands so they would adapt to the world
they live in. The indentured servitude ended and the greenhorn magician left to
learn as much as he could.
After months of traveling without money, the goodwill of people faded and so he
wandered through the forests hoping to scrounge up some food. In a summer
midday Percival sat on a log, the sun shining brightly into his eyes decided to
retreat into the darker treeline to perhaps eat a mushroom. Without a minute's
notice the mushroom grew as heavy as a stone and he dropped it jumping out of
the way to make sure his feet would remain unharmed.
"I wouldn't eat that if I was you." A mysterious yet aged male voice emanated
out.
"Well I would have liked to until it became heavy, I think this sun is doing me
in." Replied a hungry Percival.
"No son, it is not the sun, I did that." Percy's eyes widened in amazement when
he realized that this random man was like him. A wiry, lean muscled old man
walked out of the shadow wearing a rough looking robe.
"I can do the same thing" says Percy as he manipulates the mushrooms weight to
make it lighter with his thought as he picks it up. This time a blue spark
tingles over the mushroom and Percival picks it up about to eat it.
"No just don't eat that, it's poison, dipshit."
And thus the apprenticeship began when the poison set in and the poorly dressed
man was forced to intervene. He was simply known as the Sage and most knew him
in the local area. He offered wise counsel, settled disputes, and was a healer.
He healed using herbs, poultices, and alteration. From this wise man, or the
Sage as he was known, that Perc learned how to heal with herbs and magic.
Percival trained under this man for 10 years where he helped townsfolk.
After 10 years a 30 year old Percy took his leave and just began his walk
through nature. And so on the way with no money to purchase a night at an inn,
Percival slept in the boughs of trees. While he stayed in trees he took good
care of them as they had taken good care of him. He mended broken
branches and scratches in the bark of the wood, feeling he was doing a little
bit of right in a world so wrong. It was one tree that he stayed in after
healing a wood nymph a single twig fell from the tree. Percy felt that this yew
tree's guardian sent its thanks. The tree is part of the wood nymph and so
removing the twig was painful. Knowing the pain it must have caused the tree,
Percy patted the side of the tree and headed on wards where he felt the road
would take him.
10 years pass and soon Percival finds himself in a familiar
forest.On his path Percival subconciously found his way back to his old
master's tree. His master had altered the tree so that it formed a single room.
It was in this room that a note lay upon a table with a small paper weight.
Pinned to it was a sealed invitation addressed to the Sage, Percy's mentor.
The Note
[i] My student I hope time finds you well. You made a good apprentice, I had a
feeling you'd be when I first saw you. Now let me cut to the chase, there is an
invitation pinned to this letter. It is addressed to me but my old bones are
weary, I'm tired, so I fused with this tree. It's served us well over our
times, and it has served me even longer. It only feels right to help out this
old tree. Now about the letter. It was addressed to me but i feel that you are
younger and better suited to the task ahead. Remember thsoe stories I told you
about Magist Primus? Well as powerful as he is, he vanished and a Prince Seadus
took his place. Read the invitation. Follow it's instructions.
-The Tree formally known as The Sage.[\i]

Weapons: A twig

How did you find out about the tower?:
Percival's old master offered Percy as himself to the tower.

Personality:
Percival is a quiet man talking to himself and nature rather than people. In
his healing profession he is kind he won't over exert himself, the way he
learned is where he uses his magic efficiently. He lives off the land and cares
for nature a great deal. Often times he ponders off in though in the middle of
sentences if he chooses to talk. His mind is like the trees he sees everyday,
strong.

Magic School and Skill:
Percival is trained within the ways of Alteration. After living in the forest
with many obstacles in his way the weight and shape of an object can be changed
with ease from him. To do so he has to lay his left hand on the object and
think hard or speak aloud. An easy way to put it is that Percival is a master
of his craft. His healing skills slightly extend past flesh wounds. Although he
can sort out poison from someone's bloodstream by making the poison heavier so
that it drops to the bottom of the vein and slowly diffuses out is something he has become proficient in.