Warriors are still the heavy hitters of Thedas. With the invention of firearms Warriors generally use single revolvers, shotguns, and repeaters. Though some still use the classic weapons such as swords, and shields. Some use a shield along with a gun in a riot-shield-like manner.

Rogues are still the nimble-footed, and tricky rascals that they have always been. With the invention of firearms Rogues have adepted well, using stylish dual revolvers, and long range bolt-action sniper rifles. Some still keep to the classic daggers, and bows, given the less than quiet nature of firearms.

Not much has changed for Mages. They can still shoot fire from their finger tips, and be possessed by demons. They still use staffs to focus their power, though some may use a revolver.

[url=]Song(Optional)[/url]



Name
Answer
Nickname
Answer(If any.)
Gender
Answer
Age
Answer
Race
Human, Elf, Dwarf, or Qunari
Class
Warrior, Rogue, or Mage


Height
Answer
Weight
Answer
Hair Color
Answer
Eye Color
Answer
Appearance
Include at least a paragraph, this includes clothing style, scars, tattoos, etc.


Personality
At least two paragraphs. The longer the better!


Specialization
Answer
Weapons

History
At least two full paragraphs. The longer the better!

The Clockyard // Tribal Nomad // The Circus At The End of The World // Pity The Free Man //
Steampunk Revolution // I'm Glad I Lost You




Name
Tythius
Nickname
(Among "business associates") Chatterbox
(Among close acquiantances) Ty (pronounced like "tie")
Gender
Male
Age
24
Race
Human
Class
Rogue


Height
168 cm
Weight
58 kg
Hair Color
Hazelnut
Eye Color
Jade
Appearance
Toned and slender, though slightly underweight for his height, Tythius considers himself in top form for pickpocketing, petty thievery, and minor arson--mainly because he can prance away from the scene of the crime faster than any of his pursuers. When not cloaked-and-daggered for shady schemes, Tythius enjoys browsing shops in a simple white tunic with front lacing and decorative black stitching on the sleeves coupled with close-fitting, dark gray breeches tucked into a pair of scuffed, knee-high boots that have seen more than its fair share of wear and tear--they're so dirty he can barely discern their original color ("Maybe these boots were black when I first bought them?"). In ornery weather, he throws a sturdy, well-worn mantle over his usual ensemble, enjoying the contrast between the mantle's black dye and the tunic's white fabric.

If he has his rifle with him, his artificer toolkit will also be equipped as his gear is stowed in a large, rectangular box with multiple tiers--the top tier houses the bolt-action rifle, scope, shoulder straps, and the rarely-used bipod while the lower tier consists of varied compartments filled with bullets, traps, mines, powders, strange liquids, and what-have-yous. Tythius either carries the box against his side, its strap slung over his shoulder, or strapped vertically against his back. When questioned, he tends to open only the lower tier and select compartments, claiming he's a traveling pharmacist/alchemist, depending on the situation.

While not the most beautiful man in Thedas, Tythius has broken enough hearts to realize he's attractive enough for many women (and some men!), though he swears prostitutes simply don't have hearts and that women hath no wrath like a lady (or gentleman!) of the night scorned. His brothel dilemmas stem from a heart-shaped face accentuated by strong cheekbones and a slender jawline while thin lips constantly curled into a smirk emphasize a coy mischievousness that promises an alluring adventure under the sheets. After trying out various hairstyles, he's finally settled on a angular fringe cut with short sides that fade out to a tapered back he was too lazy to deal with which currently reaches past his shoulder blades. ("Look, when I grow eyes on the back of my head, I'll make that tail look good.")

When dealing with the inevitable pillow talk after every kinky escapade Tythius tends to skirt smoothly around any inquiries behind the vivid scars along his neck, around his thighs, and the undersides of his arms--evasions made easier by his inability to speak.


Personality
Tythius hides his general distrust of people behind a well-worn facade of jovial mischief. Cheerful and easily amused--though a little self-deprecating--what he lacks in verbal communication he more than makes up for in gesticulations and facial expressions. With the look of someone who wears his heart on his forehead, Tythius is often mistaken for a happy bumpkin instead of the cold-hearted mercenary he actually is. While mellow in casual situations, he will not hesitate to kill anyone in his way of completing a job, whether they be man, woman, or child. His lack of social tact, however, tends to wear on people and he often finds himself alone despite all his merry frolicking in taverns and inns. While not expecting much from his superficial personality display, Tythius still finds himself capable of feeling deeply hurt when he winds up all alone again despite his best efforts to present a welcoming countenance.

Tythius is actually an excellent cook, though he prefers mooching from a ready meal instead of making his own. His laziness hides a meticulous precision when it comes to work or maintaining his tools of the trade and when the lights and sounds of company have faded into the sighs of sleep, he'll often be awake cleaning his rifle or tinkering with more traps. The silence of the night makes him think too much, however, and provokes a surprising amount of self-pity for his current state of affairs, living contract-to-contract simply because he didn't have the ambition to be anything more than what he is. At that thought, he'll often abruptly stop his busywork to try and sleep, only to find himself wide awake and tinkering all over again. There are nights when sleep simply doesn't come to him.

After losing his voice, he keeps a journal of amusing events, daily musings, and any other thought that interests him. He is afraid he'll one day forget the sound of his own voice and does his best to read over his thoughts in his spare time to remind himself of what he probably sounded like. His overt displays of emotions are his attempts to compensate for being unable to properly speak with others anymore, and, despite his carefree attitude, he does care greatly about being misunderstood. His journal is also filled with bits of poetry he sometimes attempts to write in an effort to feel like he has more talents than simply killing people and monsters. Somewhere in the pages, he did once wish for a lifelong friend, though that line was vigorously scribbled out some time later and blots of ink smudges dot the page like someone had been crying.


Specialization
Marksman and Artificer
Weapons

History
Restless and trigger-happy, Tythius has long worked as a mercenary and jobs are now more plentiful than ever as the world bursts at its seams with strife and political turmoil. A dead politician here and there and a well-guarded one in some safe corner kept the landlady off his back (and out of his bed) while small-time theft kept him going between jobs. Growing up in the slums of Denerim didn't exactly enamor Tythius to the ruling class and he started his life of crime at 10 years of age by ruining the trailing skirts of noblewomen and breaking the wheels on parade carts. His family found his troublemaking, well, troublesome and left him in the care of a negligent uncle before moving elsewhere in the hopes of a better life. He hasn't heard from them since and doesn't care to, even going so far as to pretend he doesn't have a family name.

When his uncle racked up a little too much debt against the wrong parties, Tythius found himself without a home and a caretaker, forced to steal and hide to survive. In doing so, he wound up running with a small band of thieves that slowly merged into a large mercenary band with contracts and clients spanning several cities, eventually taking on jobs that involved more dead people than stolen heirlooms and realizing he had less friends in this cutthroat organization than he did as an urchin on the street.

But even mercenaries feel camaraderie and after a year of slavish work Tythius had grown close to a fellow mercenary nicknamed Trick. While Tythius never found out Trick's real name, the man had an uncanny talent for the bolt-action rifle and often took work in tandem with Tythius's jobs. Only later did Tythius understand that Trick had been keeping him safe on jobs he was vastly underqualified to complete, ensuring there were never too many enemies for the inexperienced teenager to handle. Before long, the two became close friends, often sharing swill in a tavern over comforting small talk before Trick eventually suggested--every time, without fail--that they head out and do some target practice, teaching Tythius the ins-and-outs of the rifle and situations to avoid when using it on a job.

The rifle, however, was not the reason Trick earned his nickname. The man was an artificer of the highest caliber, earning himself the nickname when he led a large group of guards on a wild goose chase through Denerim as trap after trap picked off his pursuers until the final few were finished off by several lyrium bullets through the skulls. In hearing that story, Tythius had insisted on learning the craft and Trick had reluctantly obliged, as a doting father would to a child, while introducing Tythius to the merchants and contacts that would be his suppliers of artificer materials and lyrium ammunition from that day forward. The makeshift family, however, didn't last long. In the perpetually increasing chaos of the Bullet Age, jobs naturally became deadlier as the world slowly grew more and more inhospitable. Many of the urchins Tythius once stole bread and butter with were killed on jobs while others were shot dead for attempting to run from the organization's generous benefaction after all the trouble they went through to take care of kids off the street.

On an ambitiously solo contract to hunt down a renegade noble mage before the family's reputation suffered for it and before the Templars caught wind of it, Tythius never realized Trick had tailed him deep into the Brecilian Forest with the intention of keeping the young merc safe from both the mage and the dangers of the forest itself. When Tythius finally cornered the mage, he came face to face with an abomination born out of fear and desperation. In the ensuing chaos of battle, the abomination dragged the young mercenary back even as he desperately scrabbled to escape, its claws vise-like around his legs as it prepared to tear him to pieces. Trick's pinpoint precision with a bullet stunned the creature in time to save Tythius's life, but not in time to prevent it from tearing into his throat. As Trick's bullets decimated the abomination while it stumbled towards the artificer and his many traps, Tythius could think of nothing but the hot blood rushing out of his body from the gash on his throat to the deep lacerations on his legs to the torn and jagged skin left on his arm as a result of trying in vain to crawl to safety. When a final bullet finished the creature for good, Tythius lost consciousness, waking up a week later in a small inn with his room already paid for and injuries tended to, only to find out in a burst of panic that he was no longer able to speak. Trick was nowhere to be found and a terrified maid reported--after Tythius had finally calmed down--that his companion had left a day ago. Only then did Tythius realize that Trick had left behind his toolkit and rifle, with no indication of where he had gone.

After searching in vain, Tythius's return to the mercenary headquarters in Denerim resulted in an interrogation as Trick's disappearance lengthened into desertion. By the time the dust settled, there was a bounty on Trick's head and Tythius was finally released from the interrogation chambers once they were convinced he truly knew nothing of the older man's disappearance. Without any other means of earning income, especially with the loss of his voice, Tythius remained with the mercenary organization, much to his chagrin, though he took up Trick's rifle and toolkit as his own, practicing until he was skilled with both methods of combat. Taking his silence to mean his obedience, Tythius's associates assigned him most of the leftover jobs--ones other mercenaries found too risky or low-paying to be worth their effort. With little choice in the matter, he simply nodded and agreed, risking life and limb for people who saw him as simply another expendable warm body. As job after job came and went, a nagging fear in the back of his mind eventually broke the surface of his forced serenity: the realization that his experiences had shaped nothing for him--no epiphany, no purpose, no reason to live. He was only alive in the barest sense of the word, going through the motions of the only work he knew how to accomplish. When Grey Wardens passed through Denerim as talk of a Sixth Blight spread throughout the taverns, Tythius begged to be conscripted, desperately scribbling his request on a piece of parchment the Grey Warden produced after much confusion and gesticulation.

"If I am to die in battle, let it be with a purpose I chose. Make me a Warden."

"Peacekeeper" by Fleetwood Mac

"If it hurts its your own fault for being an idiot."

The Basics

Name
Cora Vallon
Nickname
None
Gender
Female
Age
25
Race
Human
Class
Mage

In The Mirror

Height
5'9
Weight
140 lbs
Hair Color
Dark Red
Eye Color
Blue
Appearance
Much to Cora's dismay the first thing that people, particularly men, notice about her is that she is quite curvaceous. She has a medium build and was endowed with an ample bust and hips giving her a distinctly hour glass figure. Given this no one has ever called her delicate or dainty instead she hears terms like statuesque, striking or even handsome. Her skin is smooth and has not scars or tattoos, her scars are on the inside.

She is not pretty, her mouth being a little too large and her eyes a little too wide for that, but she has an attractiveness about her. Her dark blue eyes, pale skin and dark red hair lend an air of mystique to her face that takes her from ordinary to striking. Her dark red hair is long, reaching well past her shoulder blades, and is more often than not worn loose or in a simple braid.

Cora is usually seen in woolen dresses in darker shades of blue, green, brown or grey. Though simple, almost plain, in style they are well made and well fitted and as such compliment her figure nicely. She does not wear armour, having never felt particularly comfortable in it, and relies instead on her magic to aid her in surviving. She is rarely seen without her sturdy black walking boots and hooded dark grey cloak.

Beneath The Surface

Personality
Cora is someone who has spent a lot of her life either on the run or controlled and because of this she is very strong willed, stubborn and independent. She has never been one to give in or lie down and accept her fate simply because it was the easier choice, she will fight to the bitter end and will do so with a grin on her face if she manages to take her enemies down with her. She comes across to others as direct with a no nonsense attitude and a self confidence bordering on arrogance. She has a fearsome temper that is quick to flare up but thankfully it is equally quick to die down again.

Like most people however this is her facade, her mask for hiding her vulnerabilities and insecurities. Underneath she is self conscious and somewhat insecure. She has not had many lasting relationships with other people and this has made her believe herself to be something of an outcast. Consequently she keeps others at a distance and actively discourages anyone who tries to get close to her. After all she might have to run again and it only hurts more if she got too close before doing so.

However if you can get her to open up to you then you will discover a warm and vibrant woman with her own sense of fun and mischief hidden beneath her prickly exterior. She can be opinionated and somewhat judgmental with first impressions being very hard for her to change. But over time she will somewhat reluctantly acknowledge she was wrong about someone. She is also a passionate healer and will always try and heal those who need it, but always with a healthy dose of her sharp tongue. Her bedside manner is somewhat lacking but she more than makes up for it in skill.

What Makes Me Special

Specialization
Gunsmith/Spirit Healer

Weapons
Staff - deliberately simple in design.
Revolver - Backup weapon again simple.
Both look worn and well used but good quality.

Strengths
Confident - Cora comes across as confident and self assured and this often works in her favor with people deferring to her and she can often use this to talk her way out of difficulty.

Spirit Healer - Cora is adept at magical healing as well as healing via plants etc and she can make potions if the need arises.

Gunsmith - Cora is a strong gunsmith who is quite capable of using this to defend herself.

Strong willed - Cora is self taught and has been resisting demons all her life and therefore has a particularly strong will. She is not easily manipulated, coerced or possessed via magical means.

Determined - Cora will not give up, end of. If she is healing someone and there is battle going on all around her then she will stay where she is until her patient is either saved or dead. This also translates to a calmness in a crisis.

Weaknesses
Melee Combat - Cora is a mage and as such she has no skills in close range combat. If an enemy gets close and breaks through her magic then she's dead.

Short tempered - Cora can fly off the handle very easily and this can make her an unpredictable ally in any situation.

Unarmoured - Cora does not wear armour and is physically weak having had no training in building strength or muscle mass.

Healer - Cora is at heart a healer first and mage second and therefore dislikes harming others if she can help it. She will defend herself and those she is with but will often try to avoid outright killing anyone, other than darkspawn, and if she does end up killing someone it affects her deeply and for a long time.

Proud - Cora is a fiercely proud and independent person who finds it next to impossible to ask for help or admit she cannot do something. This means she can end up in situations that are seriously out of her depth.

Skeletons In The Closet

History
Cora was born in Ferelden, specifically in Highever, her parents were well known and well respected Merchants who sold goods in both Highever and Denerim. Cora had a younger brother, Caymen, and the two of them were very close. During her youth Cora was different, she was much more openly passionate wearing her emotions on her sleeve. She was known for her deep love for her family and for her fearsome temper which was quick to flare up and equally quick to die down.

When Cora was fifteen she discovered her ability with magic but unlike some hers was not a pain free discovery, she and her brother were arguing as siblings were wont to do when Cora lost her temper. She remembers little of what happened after except for her brothers screams which haunt her nights even now years later. She had killed him with magic and thus her life was changed forever. Her parents discovering what she had done were stricken with grief and fear and sent for the templars. As she was taken away Cora remembers how her parents would not look at her.

Brought to the reservation in Ferelden Cora had a difficult time both with controlling her magic and accepting her life in the reservation. By the time she was eighteen many of her teachers and mentors had despaired of ever getting through to her and many thought it best she be made Tranquil. Cora discovered this and realised that she would have to at least appear to accept her role and become a biddable mage. And so she turned things around, for the next two years, becoming a model student and earning the trust and respect of those around her. She passed her Harrowing without incident and continued to study until she was given the coveted prize of being allowed to leave the reservation to travel with a group of mages to Denerim.

Cora had never given up on freedom, her independent spirit constantly chafed at the restrictions placed upon her, and she saw this as her chance. She found her phylactery, after a great deal of time and effort, and destroyed it ensuring no one knew she had done so. She then left on her journey with the other mages, but as soon as they camped for the night and the others were asleep she left them fleeing south. She has been on the run for five years now, always watching over her shoulder and never staying in one place too long. She traveled a great deal always afraid of the Templars catching up with her. She spent time in the Korcari Wilds, Kirkwall and the Free Marches and even spent a little time in Antiva.

She survived by running underground healing centers in larger towns and cities or by selling the potions that she brewed herself. After living in Tevinter for the last year aiding the slave rebellion with her skills, Cora had returned to Ferelden after a narrow escape from several Tevinter Magisters. She now feared Magisters might well be chasing her as well as Templars and realised that she needed some kind of security against them. She saw the recruitment poster for the Grey Wardens and petitioned to join them. They did not hesitate to accept, uncaring of her status as an apostate, and Cora has dared to wonder if she might have finally found her place.