Greetings anyone who checks this.

I'll put up characters i feel like i should put up here. For a start i'll just add my chat persona to test out the form thing.
I'll use this if i ever start joining in on fight rp's as well.

Name: Klomster Von Bismarck.
Known mostly as Klomster.

Age: Born in the distant future of 1988.

Species: Klomster.
Outwardly completely identical to humans, mostly all other ways as well. BUT! Not a human at all.
The primary attributes of being a Klomster is usually poor understanding of human interactions and for odd reasons referring to fish and the number 35.
The reasons for this might be some hidden racial memory, or he's just insane.

Gender: Male.

Sexual Orientation: Only women so far.

Position: Un-employed.

Personality: Usually friendly and nice, normally sits back and calmly studies what happens before him. If forced to fight he is unwilling to back down even to his own detriment. Even if he knows he'll lose.
Likes eating glue and try to be helpful and useful to people.
Can be pretentious and likes posing epicly for the camera. Or when others do it.

Weaknesses:
Poor physical health and stamina.
You know poor fitness? You don't know poor fitness, Klomster has poor fitness. Run 10 feet? Yup, panting heavily. Run 20 feet? Might start to get breathing problems. More? Yeah, he's screwed.
Bad initiative taking.
What? Who me? Do what? Nah. It can wait. He did what? I guess i might have to do something, but what? Oh no, now he's already somewhere else.
Poor social understanding.
This here concept with human interactions and ways to express emotions is complicated, especially towards these being known as females. Very complex. They seem to dislike a multitude of things. Like winkie faces and looking at them too long.
And random hugs are also confusing. Why? It's not bad but still, why?
Rambles.
Might start rambling incoherently, changing subject mid through speech or referring to different things after another. Can be confusing.

Appearance: Long brown hair with a hint of red in sunshine. A slight beard. Oddly similar to the avatar to the left actually.
But usually don't wear a hat. Nor a surcoat. But rather a dark grey piké shirt and some work pants with several useful tools inside.

Background: From the heavens, from a strange place where Klomsters live, came Klomster, who is a Klomster. Or so it claims.
Anyway, DEEP STRIKING! And studying interpersonal interactions is interesting.

Skills:
Can swordfight alright, especially with a wooden zweihander.
Can eat glue with no ill effects. No one knows why.
Is epicly god-like at making magical artifacts. Or just regular tools and mundane objects. Not electronics though. Can weave magic if needed to produce an artifact but not otherwise.
Can summon the mighty anvil of war, and the flaming hammer of hatred. Potent tools when forging magical artifacts.
Can have strange materials appear at a whim if needed for a magical artifact. This is also used to heat the materials being worked on.
Can dramatically enter and leave the chat or the scene, often through DEEP STRIKING! Which refers to arriving via drop pod or similar, at high speed with a dramatic impact. Shouting DEEP STRIKING is also an important part of this. Always to and from the heaven.
Has an infinite supply of glue, only comes in half litre bottles though. Labeled "Glue". The glue can bond most known materials.
Has an uncanny knowledge of deamonic entities and eldritch gods, seems to know some of them personally.
Is almost impossible to kill, although easy to take out since he lacks resistance and pain threshold.

Special equipment:
Indestructible cod-piece.
Forged upon the anvil of war with the flaming hammer of hatred, this cod-piece is worn by Klomster after he was kicked in the groin by a deamon. Klomster did not enjoy the experience and thus created the indestructible cod-piece after several people made fun of and/or comforted him. The Cod-piece is made of mithril or some shit and can't be destroyed by any reasonable means and even powerful beings find them too bothersome to bother trying to break.

Steel spackle.
A seemingly regular steel spackle with a wooden handle constructed in two parts fastened on both sides with rivets. The spackle is covered in an almost black layer of surface rust.
It's very useful for poking things and always reform in one of the pockets of his pants. Regardless of how much it is damaged and if stolen.
It's useful for poking things and doing simple work. Excellent for scraping things. It's not overly sharp though.

Name of nation: The ancient.
Species: The ancient.
Description of government: Monoteistic meritocracy.

History:The ancient is a being, born of the universe and has existed perhaps as long as the universe itself, it is basically impossible to know since the age of the universe, and how the ancient interacts with reality is impossible to track.

The ancient is a singular being, for large spans of time residing in slumber, only to emerge in regular intervals, or when its current resting place falls apart from the passing of time.
There are barely any actual reports of the ancient in any official data-banks. And if there is any data on it, the data is vague and often religious or mystic in nature.
The sheer age and difference between how most races work contrary to how the ancient works, results in very little understanding about the being.

Description of military: There is the ancient. No more, no less.
Technological Overview: Whether its technology or some sort of natural phenomena naturally present in this life-form is not known. What is the truth however is that the ancient is a being of pure energy, able to take physical form. Change its form at will and as such also compact or spread out its form. Able to change its light spectrum to make it appear as a dark idol, or pure light, to invisible to all but the most sophisticated of scanners.

The ancient is also able to slip in and out of hyperspace as naturally as an human infant swims in water, able to naturally traverse the expanses of hyperspace and leave at any time.
To be able to travel the galaxy like the ancient is a wet dream of most civilizations. If they knew the ancient did exist that is.

Being a life form of energy, it can survive in basically any environment. And can in close proximity (within twenty or so meters) manipulate matter with thought. However, there is a limit to how much the ancient can focus on at a single time.
It can move at immense speeds and can reroute energies directed to it to divert it from harm.
While it is probably not 100% control over matter energy conversion, the concept of at all being able to do it is alien to most species.

In battle, the ancient can project beams of matter energy conversion. Which basically orders the matter it hits to release itself as energy.
Unsurprisingly, if directed at an object like let's say a vessel, would do immense harm to said vessel.
The beam is however ineffective against shield technology, but the ancient can reconfigure the output so it streams energy at the target instead trying to overload the shield emitters, or suck the energy out of the entire vessel.

This makes the ancient devastating to fight with just about anything, so being on the receiving end of its fury would probably spell the doom of said aggressor.


Cultural Overview: The two preferred forms of the ancient is as a very tall (about 4 meters typically) slim humanoid with a triangularly shaped head, or as a roughly six hundred meters long vessel in space. While it can take other shapes, it normally doesn't.
Probably because of lack of imagination. And no need for other forms.

The ancient is a contemplative being, preferring to study things and avoid personal contact or interaction with most things. It is also peaceful, unless it is aggravated.
If aggravated it is most likely to try to exit the situation, but if cornered, or in a particular mindset can attack the aggressor.

The ancient has some sort of ulterior motive. Which it focuses most of its active time doing.

Other: The ancient is obviously very powerful. And should be treated with great care.

Name: Toradeen Folgamer.

Titles: Archmage of the hollow light communion, Magelord, Mayor of Brellt, Scourge of Camden, vanquisher of the bonewyrm, terror of war, slayer of Darakenes, wraith of fools pass, king of the will'o'wisp.

Age: 98

Race: Human
People suspect some sort of half-breed nature, but no proof has ever been found for that case. But it is obvious that humans should not normally have this sort of magic potential.

Training: When it comes to magic, there are few secrets that are not known to Toradeen, with an extensive knowledge of all types of magic and a fantastic skill at many types of magic focusing primarily on pure magic. He has training and is the leading master when it comes to transforming magic energies from one to another, capable of creating a wide range of effects with basically the same type of magical energy.
On top of this he was a capable staff fighter, trained by the hollow light communion.
While all the basics are things he has had training in, he has also studied and self taught and even invented techniques himself.

Equipment: Carrying a gnarly smooth sturdy ironwood staff and a Shillelagh of magically hardened wood.
His robes are heavy wool with many adornments of lighter blue embroideries, he carries a book on his belt and has a dagger on his side. His torso is protected by a plate cuirass which doesn't show much beneath the cloak.
He has many necklaces, chains and brooches enchanted with magic that dulls pain and reinvigorates the body.

He rides in a black wagon drawn by grey horses, the lanterns glow brightly blue and leave a trail of light as they move. The wagon has no driver but still moves as it needs to.
The wagons storage is loaded with magic grimoires, scrolls, tablets, trinkets, magical materials and items.



Followers: At his side he has two bound deamons who work as his bodyguards.

Toradeen lured them into a pentagram, overpowered them with magic and enslaved them in suits of armour. Their form is hazy and they smolder with hellfire.
Their two handed swords felling embers and their steel-cutting edges also burn the flesh.
The hellknights are comparable to elite human swordsmen of various nations in skill, but they carry literal deamon forged armour and weapons, they will only perish if their armour is destroyed.
They require no food, no water. They only serve their master.
An existence of pure anguish for them.
In his dreams Toradeen often must fight their wills, since they constantly try to escape their imprisonment.
Taking their chance when they perceive him to be weak.
They have not succeeded yet.

A single will'o'wisp seems to live within his robes. Toradeen at times command it simple tasks.
It cannot do much but can confuse mortals and attack with weak lightning.
It is one of the few things in existence that willingly come near Toradeen.

Spell skills: Grandmaster of magical essence channeling, master elementalist, master astral mage, master enchanter, expert demonologist (focusing on binding and banishing), adept nature mage, novice blood mage, novice necromancer.

Other skills: A great skill at library searching and keeping, high intelligence and situational awareness, monstrous arcane knowledge and a broad knowledge of history and archeology. He also has good geographic knowledge and is a novice cartographer.
Unbeknownst to most, he can cook an excellent venison steak.

Drawbacks: With great power comes great responsibility.
Haunted past. 'His power is legendary, he can slaughter armies, slay dragons, he has no empathy, no soul, a machine of war.'
Everyone who has heard the stories fear him, the looming magical might makes everyone uneasy, magical creatures don't trust his vast magical power and his sad angry demeanor even manages to scare off the kind naive children.
He is truly alone.
Time takes its toll. In his youth he was a fit battlemage of unequaled potential. His physique was similar to the most well trained knight. That was fifty years ago.
Magical backfires, rheumatism, constant battle, scars, numerous magical experiments, pulsing mana ebbs within him and the odd migraine leaves him in constant pain. He has trouble moving and uses both his staff and cane to support himself.
In truth he is in somewhat good shape for a ninety year old nearing a hundred, but that doesn't mean he is vigorous.
The only thing sharp on him is his mind, and surely it is beginning to falter as well.
Magic is not the answer. Gone are the days where he solved all his problems with magic.
Since magic only creates pain, he chose not to do it.
At least that is the case when he does it...
Cursed. He never seems to be able to help anyone, the people instinctively revile him and the will'o'wisp is always an omen of doom.
While he actually can help people, in his mind it seems to always turn out for the worse.
Arcane studies has proven that there is some form of curse upon him, if it is his body or his soul is not certain, but some sort of cosmic law is doubtlessly here to make his life misery.

Affiliation: The hollow light communion. (On poor terms but Toradeen Folgamer is still technically part of the communion.)
An communion of mages, focusing on magical studies away from affiliations. They however see the wars of the nations as a great proving ground and many hollow light mages work as mercenaries.
The communion has its base in its wizards tower in the northern region of Kron-Nesis.

Personality: A bitter old man, angry outwards but sad inwards.
Would lash out more on those around him if it wasn't for the fruitlessness of it all.
He is working his darndest to be more than his past, but time and time again it seems the world only wants the scourge, so he falls back in his old boots.

History: Toradeen Folgamer was born to some unknown parents. No one knows who, he was left on a busy street in a town, all alone abandoned because he felt weird.
No one dared go near the crying baby, for its presence was dreadful.
But fortunes had it that Toradeen Korak walked by, a mage of the hollow light communion, whom recognized the odd sensation of raw power that emanated from the poor baby.
He had never felt such a presence, at least not from someone of such a young age. He knew no one else would take the baby so he took it for his own. Cared for him, told him his past, gave him his family name and named him Folgamer.
Meaning 'Power', Folgamer was brought up with the singular motive to make as much of the potential he held.

Trained to be strong, fast, intelligent, quick witted and polite, He was to be a tool of war, of income for the communion. Someone who could give demands to other communions, whom could strike down those who would demand from them.
Folgamer was an enthusiastic youth, he had a spring in his stride and was thankful for the opportunity the communion was giving him.
He would be the most potent weapon, his enemies would fear him, those around him would respect him.

He fought in wars, slew monsters, brought down the necromantically resurrected bones of a dragon, he fought armies and while not alone, he did the most damage.

Eventually he took to the field in blindfolds, just to test himself, none could stop him, he was an avatar of magic!
He had now become the perfect tool of war.
There was however one who could stop him. Himself.

It was during a battle, he took the field as usual and sundered the foes before him, the village was supposed to have been empty, he ripped the souls from their bodies, used them to channel more magic and death.
The small village was now dead, a few had managed to get away, it was how he wanted, he worked hard to let just a select few enemies get away to spread the word about him. To spread his legend.
As he walked through the streets however he noticed the corpses, they were not of soldiers, but civilians.

It was there he noticed it. He had succeeded and now he realized the prize of success.
He was the most powerful wizard, all feared him. None dared even get close, his allies cowered in fear outside the village, he had slain innocents and soldiers more easily than the wind rustled the leaves above.
If there had been leaves, all life energies of the place had been drained to fuel the carnage, the dead showed only terror and agony in their tortured faces revealing the last of their lives.
This was Camden, it was no more. Never again would life return.

He realized that when everyone looked at him as he had wandered proudly forth to fight their foes, they did not show appreciation or respect, it was sheer horror, disgust and revulsion.
They didn't avoid him out of coy admiration, they were terrified. He had become the terror of war, he thought he would be thrilled when he reached his goal of becoming the most feared mage of all time. This was....

It took a long time before he reached a conclusion on that last question. He slew more, rained fire upon fortresses, shook the walls of cities, snuffed rebellions.
More and more it was obvious, only one thing now got near him on its own volition unless they had business with him. A single will'o'wisp.
It danced across his fingers, up his arms and around his head. He assumed it fed on the mana that overflowed from him.
During the crow war he reached the epiphany.
He had done his best, he tried to save the village, blew up scores of infantry, he had won the day.
As he approached the townspeople they cowered and hid their young, he wondered why they reacted so, he had saved them. They only replied 'monster'. He called out that he did this to save them, they responded that hollow light did nothing for others, only themselves.
He got angry, shouted, he asked for their gratitude, their praise, anything.
The mayor of the town then moved up to Folgamer and shouted the following.
-"Look around you, the dead litter the streets, dozens of homes destroyed, the druid tells us the source of the water in the well was torn asunder so the well will dry. You want us to thank you? Give you praise? Well hear your reward, you are now mayor of Brellt! We are leaving this accursed place, everything you touch is cursed and so is this land. King of will'o'wisp, the omen of doom."
At the end the wisp had exited Toradeen's robe, the people walked away and he knew.
He would do this no longer.

It didn't take many weeks before the communion took notice, their mightiest asset would not be lost. Several mages was sent, including Toradeen Korak, to coax him to follow the communions of the hollow light.
The plead turned to heated words, heated words to an argument, argument to a fight. Fires is said to have draped the sky, stars rained down to smite those on the ground.
It was here he slew his own father along with another and sent the rest packing with wounded limbs and magical scars.

Following this he created his bodyguards, left the communion and began to search anew.
He had already found how to be the mightiest warmage, he never wanted that again. Now he sought to solve his questions with magic.
Years passed and it seemed he could never find the answer in magic.
He began to despair, his body had grown old without him noticing, he had lost his prime, he was a weapon no more.
Good....

Currently he is leaving Kron-Nesis to go to Ithell. Since magic seems to grow only pain, perhaps another way is the answer?

youtube.com/watch?v=TAQMJZeYSe8