The Mark of the Demon enables the user to go into a bloodthirsty frenzy, seemingly unaffected by any pain or suffering when they activate the Mark. It's power is drawn from the energies of the Daemons, rage overcoming the user's senses. It also temporarily blinds those who are of Lyte (not that that matters of course) for a few seconds, the anger that festers within is too much for those who follow the path of righteousness. The Mark of the Demon was enchanted on Jannilius' back after fighting in the Guild Wars, a brief but bloody revolution of Light forces who wanted to overtake the Dorn. After the Mark is done with its intended use, it drains the energy from the user and fatigues them. The Dragoon has never used it before.

The Mark of Flight enables the user the power of flight, sprouting feathered wings on the user's back. The process of growing the wings is quite quick and can be folded to hide it easily behind the user's back. Before use however, the user will need to clean themselves physically and have peace in mind. The wings will fold back into the mark after the user deems it unnecessary. Jannilius uses the Mark of Flight almost constantly and gained it when he accepted to be one of the envoys to the other land.

The Mark of Mutation enables the user to grow another limb, organ or otherwise but with the cost of fatigue and possible death. This mark cannot regrow limbs and organs nor fix them, they merely give you another. The effect is permanent and entirely irreversible. The Mark of Mutation makes the user's body evolve and adapt quickly, so the newly added limb or organ is not rejected by the body. But sometimes this safety mechanism does not function and the user dies within seconds, turning into some sort of mutated ghoul. The process is long and laborious, very painful to the user. Jannilius has used this Mark to grow another heart and was given to him after saving the High Lord Tarvitus. It appears on his chest.

The Dorn are a race quadrupeds originating north of the main continent. They are mammalian race, blood an oozing red and warm. The blood however, has an incredibly potent poison that is deadly for other races if entered into their bloodstream. The Dorn are known for their natural curiousness and martial prowess. They come in all shapes, every one of these beings have a certain uniqueness to them be that their skin colour, eyes, size, tail, etc. They speak through a mouth hidden under their tentacles, usually unseen until thoroughly looked for. Their strong legs makes them able to run incredibly fast and flexible tail can pierce any who anger them. The Dorn have thick hides that act like armour. They are a very tall race, averaging at about 6 feet.

Second to come to sentience on their Homeworld, Krieg evolved from the usual primate mammal. The Krieg are a sad race race. They were evolved on the sorry piece of land under the main continent. This land was filled with highly dangerous diseases, poisonous gas and killer inhabitants. The Krieg now wear their suits permanently, out of remembrance of the strife and war of their home land.

They are a cold, vicious race with short lives. They live for only 20 years before dying of the overwhelming amount of poisons in their bodies. Attempts to fix this has failed tremendously as the poisons are now part of their genome. This makes them the most able to adapt and overcome out of all the races on the home world. They are humanoid in shape and the only real difference they have appearance wise to the human race is that their race has purple skin and their eyes are pure white.

Their language is literally hell. A conglomerate of words that really do not fit together, words that mean the same but are said in specific sentences, words that are supposed to be whole paragraphs worth of text, it is a translators nightmare.

The Tarviant Order

Highly esteemed in Orrors society, the Tarviant Order is made of natives from Tarvia, hence their name. Bold, willing and trustful, they were the founders of this great Order. Standing six foot tall, slim and agile, they are warriors in every right. The Tarviant lifespan is quite average for such a race, 100 years to be exact. They are quick to adapt and recruit at a very young age. They are Spartan like in concept, killing the weak to hold the strong. To discipline whenever possible, the slightest flinch or groan and they will get 10 strikes with a baton.

Their body structure is quite.... strange. They have very high bone density, especially in the ribs but they are also extremely light. If one was to pick up a Tarviant without his armour on, they would be surprised as they weigh like a feather. Their genders are also very strange. The way it works is that females will almost never see the outside worlds, protected in huge monasteries. The female is hold almost sacred in Tarviant society, so their protection is outmost important.

Unfortunately for the Tarviant Order, the male birth rates are declining, meaning less troops for the Orrors. The High Leaders still refuse to send women into battle, they are to be protected and defended, not used as soldiers in the front line. The Tarviant Templars have also noticed strange behaviour in the Tarviant females they are protecting. They have grown..... almost scheming. It is heresy to think of these thoughts but the Templars give a close eye.

Te Chi

These 7 foot Giants are the second race to come into the Orrors. They are natives of Ching V, of the Tarlinius system. Ching V was a very harsh planet, the thin air and the huge sand dunes that covered it did not make it of the most hospitable ones. Te Chi developed a very strange face mask because of this, their heads almost seeming like helmets. Their skin is hard, almost rubbery, and their supposed "exposed" insides did not help their look.

They are a silent race, almost never communicates with speech and when they do.... it is like music to the ears. A lyrical flow of words that appeals and makes you almost fall in love with it. Only their kin, trusted ones and male or female's Kei Ling have heard this beautiful speech. Other than that, Te Chi communicate through a series of hand signals and body movement to show their intent. They also have a weird bonding mechanism, called Kei Ling. When they their Kei Ling, they will protect, love and defend this lucky sentient until the end of one of their lives.

Te Chi live very long lives, 500 years is not something to laugh about. Most of their race are bold and trustworthy, if you become ones friend, they will defend you and be your silent guardian. Te Chi are also very cruel and quick to anger, one of the few negatives they got from such a cruel world. They try to hold it in though. Te Chi have ever since meshed into the Orrors, silent and worthy.

Nar

The third and final race to come into the Orrors, the Nar have proven themselves worthy of the Templar. They hail from Tak'Yo III, of the Jap system. Tak'Yo III is not barren but nor is it a paradise, it is an ore world. Filled with metal and riches beyond desire, this world is a miners dream. Gold, jewels, metal and other mysteries are hidden behind this rock. The local wildlife have adapted to this otherwise harsh environment. The Nar have developed a metal Exoskeleton that covers their whole body, tough and flexible. Due to their metal exoskeleton, they are very heavy and hard to carry.

The Nar had a very tribal society before joining the Orrors, warring over edible food and such. They are also very guilty for what they have done in the past. The Purge is an event that changed Nar society forever. A race before the Orrors came to Tak'Yo III and performed xenocide to the Nar. They killed in the millions, searching every home and every land to collect Nar body mass. They died to the heavy metal atmosphere, after killing 189 million Nar and mentally scarring the rest. This has made the Nar humble and very wary of others.

Other than that, the Nar have developed a kinship with the other two races in the Orrors, after they got over their xenophobic ways. They have since joined the Orrors and fought, bled and died in the name of the Templar. For the Great Crusade.

---

Name:
Jannilius Zephry the Third

Alias/Titles:
Dragoon of the Dorn Republic, Thirdson of Lord Jannilius the Second, Main Protection Branch Lieutenant

Age:
78

Gender:
Male

Personality:
Jannilius is a more silent character, seemingly contemplating past conquests and failures. He almost never talks outside the battlefield, his face looking resigned. If he does need to talk, he communicates in hand signals and grunts. It is unfit for a Dragoon to be so modest but many say that it is due to PTSD more than anything. In the past, his youthfulness bought made him boisterous and confident. Now, drained from fighting for years in the name of the Lords, the Dorn has become wise and withdrawn. In the battlefield however, it is a different story. He is renewed, charging into the mass of enemies with no fear. He shouts, howls, screams at them, using his unusual appearance to make them fear him. In battle, he is a Dragoon again, using fear as his weapon.

Biography:

Jannilius was born into the noble family of Zephry, Thirdson of Lord Jannilius the Second. Keeping with tradition, as the Thirdson of a noble family, he was immediately sent to the High Dragoonate for training to become a Dragoon. The parting between parent and child was brief, as they were prepared beforehand and expected the departure. When the two Dragoons took their baby away, there were no tears shed nor goodbyes. Lord Jannilius merely turned and walked back into the infirmary. The little baby grew in the hands of nuns and started to go to the school.

There he was educated like he would've been when he was still a noble, mathematics, science and language being the main subjects. He was taught how to fight and handle a sword, command men and learn strategies of war. That is where Jannilius excelled at, destroying straw dummies with brute strength and remembering strategies step by step. He was alone most days, only seeing his private tutors and guards. He was stuck in his room when he wasn't in class or the training yard and spent his days drawing or reading. It was a lonely life but it was the only life he knew.

One night, on his fifteenth birthday, Jannilius was woken by the sudden crashing of a door being broken into. He was quickly muffled, blinded and carried out of his rooms with army-like efficiency. The boy was scared, frightened of what was to come. He was thrown into a wagon and there he waited. It felt like days of just travelling, no food was given to him and water was scarcely given only because his kidnappers wanted him alive.

The wagon stopped one night and he was dropped off on the edge of a forest, blindfolded, muffled and bound. His kidnappers took them all off and left him there. Jannilius, now knowing what true loneliness felt, slept at the edge of the road. Fatigued by the endless travelling and lack of sleep, the boy closed his eyes and fell unconscious. He awoke to a new day and a new world, awoken in the middle of the forest. The first few days of survive was harsh and brutal. With only the basics of survival training covered, the 15 year old struggled with each step. The first night was the hardest as the calfling had to build his shelter and make fire. He had to fend off the creatures of the night, dark bipedal creatures with limited intelligence and sharp claws.

After a week in the forest, Jannilius quickly adapted to his situation and carved a section of the forest as a safe zone. His territory was marked with burning faeces and urine, observing how the creatures, "Nightlings" as he called them, marked territory. His shelter was a wooden hut with stone foundation, large leaves bound together with flax for the peaked roof. He learned very quickly that it rained here frequently and collected water using flax jars and filtered them using bits of cloth. Food was no longer a problem as he grew crops in a clearing found in his territory. Nightling attacks became rarer when several of them were killed using traps and the quadruped's carved spear and club. He had become the Bear Grylls and Tom Hanks hybrid survivalist.

It was unknown for how long Jannilius stayed in the forest, months or even years spent surviving on his own. He made several attempts on his life due to the sheer loneliness and fatigue but stopped just before stabbing his heart, slicing his wrists, jumping from the top of the highest tree. The forest seemed infinite and no matter how long the Dorn explored, he couldn't see the edge. The sheer loneliness was enough to kill but he stayed alive, but only just.

One night, Jannilius was woken by the sound of scurrying feet and he immediately leapt on his hooves, grabbing his wooden spear and club. The sight he saw made his heart sink. The forest was burning, Nightlings scurrying around with torches and burning everything in sight. Anger grew in him and his patience finally cracked. He roared, kicking up and going on his hind legs. He came down with a crash before charging at an unsuspecting Nightling, burning a field of crops next to his shelter. He trampled the creature under him, head bursting with a satisfying squelching sound. He continued his charge, mowing down Nightlings as they set fire to years of hard work. He clubbed, stabbed and trampled them to death until there were none left. He stood there, broken club in hand, breathing heavily over the corpse of the last enemy. He heard the sound of a trumpet and turned to see a sight for sore eyes. A battalion of Dragoons, led by the High Dragoonate himself, came out from the forest. With his dark baritone voice, the tall Dorn rumbled with a smile on his face “Good. You have passed.” He felt a slight prick on his neck and fell into unconsciousness, darkness enveloping him.

Jannilius awoke in the his room at the tower, clean and clothed, door sing and new. It was almost as if he wasn't captured at all. This revelation lasted only a few seconds before he denied it, looking down at the scars and bruises on his hands. They were cleaned and covered neatly but no one can hide what he gained in the days of the forest. Worry soon overcame him, searching for any clues as to why he was here. The young Dragoon then had flashBacks to the night before and anger soon replaced worry. “How dare they!?” He shouted, hooves cracking the stone slabs beneath him as he stomped in anger. The door soon opened, revealing a timid looking servant holding a scroll. Seeing his aggressive stance, she yelped, quickly dropping the scroll on the ground and ran from his sight, politely closing the door behind her.

Pausing in his bout of anger, Jannilius stared amused at the closed door and went to pick the scroll up. The message read as follows:

“Dear Jannilius Zephry the Third

You have been chosen by the I and the Lords themselves to become a loyal Dragoon. To be a Dragoon is one of the highest honours and it is to be the best of the best in the battlefield. Your initiation was unique, your batch was chosen for a harder test due to their natural talents. You have succeeded and have become a part of the Brotherhood. However, the other initiates were not so fortunate. Only you and four others have survived and have the title of Dragoon.

You are now Brother.
Kind Regards, High Dragoonate Tarquinius Zayrabar”

The quadruped stared at the paper in silence, before crushing it in his large hands. ‘A Dragoon?!’ He thought furiously, throwing the parchment in the bin. ‘All that death and misery all to become a bloody Dragoon!’ He knew of course that being a Dragoon was a high point of honour and respect in Dorn society but the pissy, tired and angered Jannilius didn't care about that right now. He broke the door down and stepped into the hallway, looking for answers. The High Dragoonate, standing at the great height of 9 feet tall stared bemusedly at him, arms crossed over his burly chest. “You know, when I learned that all those years stuck in the deserts of Az’Kar was all because I was a Thirdson of some noble, I was angered. Hell, I smashed through a whole bloody table before they calmed me down.”

The 7 foot tall Jannilius looked almost silly standing next to the giant, he heaved heavily in anger but seemed to calm down. The Dragoonate sighed, hand placed on the shorter Dorn’s shoulder. “We had to put down an Initiate, you know? There were six of you, the first one that woke up was the one we had to kill. He was angrier than you, we found him lying in the corpses of those creatures. The messenger tried to explain but he couldn't take it. He pulled out a hidden knife from his arm, pulling it out. He stabbed the servant right in the gut and was about to stab the Dragoon next to him if I didn't intervene.” The Thirdson looked at the man with hateful eyes, the latter looking back with understanding. “Look, you need to calm down and prepare for the ceremony this afternoon. You can't miss your big day.” The man turned and walked away.

This marked the beginning of Jannilius’ life as a Dragoon. After the ceremony, this was the last encounter he had with the giant before he died a few days afterwards, dying from an intense heart attack. He was quickly replaced, the efficiency of the Republic governing body never to be held in doubt. Anyways, the Thirdson was quickly deployed to defend the dominion of House Zayrabar from the several Dark cults sprouting from seemingly nowhere within their territory. Throughout his years of being a Dragoon, he learned life lessons only taught on the battlefield and gained experience second to none. From the infamous Guild Wars to the bloody kidnapping of Princess Elisa, Jannilius soon became famous within the Dragoons.

It was then, one day, just after the Battle of Jarbarra against the rebels, he was given the message to leave his attachment and report immediately to the High Dragoonate. Swiftly, he silently galloped through the days, travelling straight to the Capital. Arriving at the front of the High Dragoonate’s quarters, he entered politely. The burly Dorn was nowhere near the size of the previous Dragoonate but still towered over him. He coughed, looking at Jannilius with curious eyes.

“I need you, Jannilius Zephry the Third, to escort the envoy we will be sending to the land Far Beyond. You will protect them in those strange lands and as a Dragoon, you shall be leading the warriors into battle. You will leave at dusk. I trust that you will not fail, honoured warrior. You will gain the Mark of Flight for your efforts.” When the Thirdson looked back at the golden city at dusk, shining in all it’s glory, it will be the last time he would see his homeland. He failed his orders.

The entire convoy was wiped out by Daemon rebels, seeking to overthrow the entire Dorn Republic. Jannilius was captured and was sent to the rebel base for public execution. As a hero, it would be a crushing morale blow to the Republic when they saw a Dragoon hung by the neck. As he was being transported to the camp, the Dragoon was covered in an ethereal blue glow before vanishing. Once he woke up, he was in a white room, facing his future leader. "Where am I?! Who are you?!" He reached for his sword only to find it wasn't there. He tried to activate his marks but found he had no power. "Calm, Jannilius. You are here for a reason."

This was when he learned of the world beyond his, the universe he was contained in and the multiverse that surrounded it. He learned of the Corporation's motives and that they were essentially a mercenary company. When the being suggested him joining, Jannilius was confused but accepted nonetheless. What choice did he had? At first, it seemed that all of the remaining Dragoons and the 45th Cavalry Division had been transported as well. He was curious and wanted to know more about the world beyond. He quickly rose through the ranks of the Corporation, visiting hundreds of worlds, fighting for whatever schmuck hired him. He was given the task to lead his Dorn as Lieutenant-Commander, leading them in battle.

Abilities:
The Dorn enchantments for soldiers rely on tattoos that are marked across their body. The more body art they have, the more experienced and protected you are. You gain these tattoos as you climb through the ranks as a soldier, whether lowly infantryman to the highest Dragoon. They are hidden until the enchantment is used. The bigger and more intense the tattoo is, the more powerful the enchantment. The following are the marks Jannilius possesses:







Weapons(s):

Light Standard Issue Dragoon Sword
This sword is 41 inches long with a 35 by 1 inch blade and weighs approximately 1.2 kilograms. It is the standard light sword used by the Dragoons, the elite fighting for
ce of the Dorn and personal bodyguards of the Lords. It has a brass guard, leather wrapped grip and a steel scabbard. It is like the cavalry sword of the other races but instead of the clumsy, unintelligent horses, the Dorn have themselves. Jannilius wields it like a artist does a pen, with precision. During charges, the sweeping strikes and stabs are all calculated beforehand, getting the perfect angle and the perfect hit.

The sword was made by the finest forgers in the whole of the Dorn Republic, not a simple blade by any means. It is layered steel made from different compositions, the forger then layers this steel, making the sword incredibly light but very strong. Jannilius' sword has been made in the High Forges of Dernium, made of the highest quality steel. It took a year to forge the weapon, folding it over and over again to make it stronger and sharper. It is his favourite weapon in his arsenal, hanging on his hip ready to be drawn.

Two Standard Issue Kampilan Short Swords
The Kampilan is approximately 27 inches long with a backward facing blade that is 25 by 1 inch and weighs approximately 0.8 kilograms. It is a far simpler blade, common within normal infantry ranks as well. But it serves it's purpose for being a close combat weapon. When the Dorn charge into battle, they try to sweep the enemy in a effortless rush. If the plan does not work however, they will need to fight with shorter blades, such as this one. This single bladed sword is very sharp but not very durable, most soldiers carry two-three into battle if they break. Some even dual-wield them but these are a select few. There is nothing strange about them, with a wooden hilt and a wooden scabbard, it is actually quite cheap to make.

Salvation more commonly known as the "KMG" and is the Dragoon's long range weapon. This is another new piece of technology from the long line of Karasniko LMG's. The mechanism is similar to the Death Ray except that it spits bullet like laser rounds with. Instead of a continuous stream of las, it fires spits of it. This means more control of where the las goes and if it's destructive power is used effectively. The KMG is much heavier than the rest of his Branch's arsenal. It can only be used by the Heavy Troops. The Dragoon has customised his with a chainsaw attachment and a holo sight scope. The words Salvation is written on the side of the gun, along with scratch marks marking all of his kills.

Organisation:
Guarding Branch-Commander in Lyra Protection Corporation

Universe of Origin:
Eternal War: Daemon vs Lyte

Other:
Theme


Capabilities: (What resources do they have? Do they use magic, or technology? How and to what limits can and do they use these resources?)
History: (How they have been active since their creation? How may they relate to the world(or multiverse) around them?)