Name: Harun Fakim Al-Kashir
Aliases: The Thirteenth Lord of Shadow, Sandwalker, Ghosttongue, The Shapeless
Titles:Kingslayer
Age: 28
Time of Death: 5,354 years ago
Place of Origin: Kashemite Empire(now Zidel)
Gender: Male(most of the time)


Eyes: Green
Hair: Red
Day To Day Attire: When possible, silks and fine jewelry are all that he wears. In the warm deserts and atop the sea of his homeland, it was rare for Harun to wear a shirt. However, as he has made his way across the land, traveler’s clothes fit him more often than not, his jewelry concealed to avoid confrontation on the road.
Strengths: Excellent at talking his way out of trouble, Speaks with Spirits, Shapeshifting
Weaknesses: Selfish, Secretive, Loyal to a Fault, Physically Weak

Flirtatious * Gregarious * Selfish * Flexible

Sexuality: Curious
Relationship Status: It’s complicated.
Personality: Selfish and strong-willed, Harun is more than willing to take what he wants when he wants it. In many ways, he views thievery as a game rather than a crime, and always seeks a larger job to test himself against. In regards to others, he is friendly and gregarious to a fault, but to truly earn his trust is difficult. Once he views you as a true friend, he is loyal to a fault, many of his past adventures revolving around saving traveling companions from dangers of the road. In his eyes, he protects those he cares for because they become "his people," and thus his responsibility.

Married to a concept more than a physical being and growing up in the brothel pretty much set his interactions with others. An incurable flirt.

• Spirit-Speaking (Master):Given time and resources, Harun can strike up a bargain with any spirit, forming contracts of services on his part over time in exchange for powerful natural phenomena, such as tornadoes and earthquakes. These bargains are single-event deals, however. Generally speaking, the smaller the favor, the smaller the result from the spirit. As an example, if he spent a month campaigning in a city to prevent mining in a local mountain, the spirits of said mountain could reward him with an earthquake on the opposite side of the range. Alternatively, if he left out bread, milk, and honey for a minor spirit of the wind, it could deliver a message for him a few miles away, whispering his voice into the recipient’s ear. Additionally, small offerings tend to win small secrets from spirits. The local bartender likes to sing in the shower, the perfect place for a sunlit nap in the woods, a guardsman has a bad drinking problem, etc. Some of it is more useful than the rest.
• Shapeshifting(Blessing)(Master): Instructed by his former lover, the Lady of the Desert Wind, Harun can transform rapidly between any form of a living creature his size or smaller, his equipment and possessions melding into his form. Upwardly, he can transform into a creature up to the size of a large polar bear, but no bigger. Additionally, he can alter his body on a small scale, meaning that he can duplicate other people in appearance and voice so long as he has seen and heard them before, as well as simply change his facial features, body-type, gender, etc. Often combines this skill with his knife-fighting abilities for explosive results.
• Knife-fighting (Expert):Having spent his life as a child fending off both other urchins and passing slavers, Harun knows his way around a knife very, very well. During his later years, he was known to defeat practiced duelists with his incredible speed and deceptive strength. Many think it possible that he cheated. They are most likely correct.
• Favored of the Wind (Blessing): Lightning will not strike Harun, the love his favored wife bore him keeping him safe to this day. This blessing also bestows a supernatural swiftness in both travel and personal need, the spirits of the wind compelled to help Harun move swiftly on the road, and his time with the Lady of the Sands empowering him with speed beyond a mortal man. This blessing is also the source of the strength his size belies, though it remains well within mortal possibilities.
• Illusion Magic (Skilled): Having stolen quite a few tomes in his time, Harun is fairly well-practiced in Illusion magic, aiding in his favored pastime. An expert by no means, he is more than capable of fooling the common man.
• Cooking (Skill): Quite bad at it, but damn if he doesn’t try.
• Singing (Skill): Actually quite good, his voice sonorous as his mothers’ were.
• Xil’Gurash (Artifact): A sentient blade with a noble soul, the curved dagger Xil’Gurash wants nothing more than to uphold what is right and good in the world, protecting the weak and crushing the rule of tyrants. ...Sadly, as Harun managed to rescue him from the pitch-black caverns of an underground lake system, the blade owes a lifedebt to the thief. A fantastic knife, Xil’Gurash has very little trouble cutting through most substances, living or otherwise. Xil’Gurash also purifies any poison that comes into contact with the blade. In theory, he could save someone poisoned by stabbing them and drawing the venom out, but then they would have a stab wound to contend with. Slightly afraid of the dark. Not currently in Harun’s possession. Supposedly the dagger bears other abilities, but it never allowed Harun access to these as he did not pursue the end of Gurash’s “great foe.” Harun is blatantly not worthy to wield him.

Backstory:

His story began in a backwater trade city in the final years of the Kalemite Empire. The lands were harsh and the nobles corrupt, crime flourishing in the cities as protection money was paid from wealthy merchants to powerful crime bosses, the Twelve Lords of Shadow. The drug trade ran rampant, slaves flowed like water, illegal goods were hawked in town squares across the nation. The ruling class controlled the military and in theory the nation, but the true power was in the street and everyone knew it.

Harun Fakim Al-Kashir was born to a prostitute in a back alley who died but a few years after his birth. Thrown out onto the streets with no living family, Harun swiftly learned that he had to choose between the virtue of honesty or food. It was not a hard choice.

His innocent appearance and slender hands lent themselves all too well to picking pockets, and after a time he was indoctrinated into a small gang of forty thieves who worked the docks. Staying at a local brothel that was the front for their operations, he learned how to sing, compose himself when begging, distract someone, and speak with the opposite sex. In larceny, he could use his agility to his advantage, his slender arms and small hands lending themselves wonderfully to reaching into smaller spaces his older bandmates could not. He was an asset, and the leader of the party, a man by the name of Alibaba, became as a father to him. It was during this time that Harun developed his two great loves; women and the desert. His mother’s beauty was not wasted on him, and his name was spoken with venom by fathers and velvet from daughters. During the daylit hours, he would disappear onto the ocean, cruising on a skiff he purchased with his ill-gotten gains. There was always something that seemed to call to him when he got far enough from the city, the promise of new lands, new people, treasures to be gained... But he was always afraid he would grow lost to the tides, and turned back. His family needed him. And so, he spent his nights thieving, fighting, leading the life of a criminal.

As time went on, Alibaba’s Forty Thieves became the dominant power in their city, Alibaba himself rising to the position of one of the Twelve Lords of Shadow in Kalem. They were fighting the law, and sometimes the work was bloody, but they took what they needed and lived happily. Life was good. That is, until the Emperor died and his son came into power.

Lord Emperor Herod II was a shrewd man, and witnessed his empire crumbling in his hands. Seizing upon the last power his father had previously withheld to combat barbarians and raiders, Herod lead his military on a conquest through his own cities, determined to demonstrate who truly held power in Kalem. It was unlike any true war, the Emperor’s Punitive Forces patrolling the streets, finding leads, torturing and trailing their way back to the Twelve in each city of the land. They were then summarily executed, along with every member of their bloodline the Emperor could find. The sands of the streets ran red with blood, and it wasn’t all too long before the Lord Emperor’s Punitive Forces found their way to Harun’s family.

As Harun grew older, prey from the dock became more and more scarce, Alibaba’s thieves forced further and further back as the great crimelords of the land fell, one by one. It was beginning to come true that, one way or another, crime didn’t pay in Kalem anymore. The band began to disperse, going their way one after the other, but Harun, terrified of losing his family, insisted on one last heist to truly stick it to the new Emperor. Alibaba simply smiled, shaking his head at the young one’s insistence. The Forty disbanded, Alibaba disappearing into the world, assuring Harun that he would be safer if they never met again.

Harun’s world had crumbled around him, his family gone. All that was left was the sea, and the bitter rage he felt towards Lord Emperor Herod. Still, he was young, in good health, and had nothing to lose. He set sail.

-set off into the sea, determined to find what he could find
-Got shipwrecked on a deserted island, spoke constantly
-Spoke to the sea, to the trees, to the fish and the sky
-Whispered to the wind, always soft and gentle
-Eventually, the wind responded
-She swept him back to land, they became fast friends, courting happens
-She teaches him how to shapeshift, barter with spirits
-He teaches her how to sing, tells her a new story every night for three years
-Along the way he sails, makes his fortune treasure-hunting from old shipwrecks, robbing the corrupt officials of the Kalemite Empire, tries to find Alibaba
-Alibaba turns out to have been found, tortured, drawn, and quartered in the capital of the Kalemite Empire in a public execution, having been the last living Lord of Shadow
-Travels through the plains, the north, the west on assorted treasure-gathering adventures, going on a Give-a-Moose-a-Muffin type deals with spirits to gather the forces necessary to gather the resources necessary to assault Lord Emperor Herod through his guards, wards, court magicians, etc.
-Rumors of the Thirteenth Shadow Lord surface across Kalem, the Emperor grows paranoid as Harun’s criminal empire grows beneath Herod’s feet
-Night of the Long-Knives type shit goes down, Kalem is no longer safe for anyone
-After seven years from the death of his adopted father, Harun assassinates the Emperor.
-The empire is held together by the shadow-network beneath it, Harun tires of his duties and leaves on a boat to the south, off for one final adventure.
-Wounded in a great storm caused by a clash between the Southern and Eastern winds over the sea, Harun dies alone, watching the love of his life fight for her own.
-The Southern Wind was victorious, still sings through the cliffs of Bezir to this day, in what sounds to be weeping noises

Myth: The tale of the Thirteenth Lord of Shadow has been passed down for millenia as a great romance, and a lesson to rulers. Born a young merchant, the Kingslayer made his around the continent on his vessel, bringing gifts back for his one true love, the Southern Sea. Building a vast shadow empire in response to the tyrannical rule of a tyrant in his homeland, the Larcenous Hero used the shapeshifting taught to him by his great love to sneak into the lord’s chamber and slit his throat. Eventually, he sacrificed his life to the sea in order to calm her jealous waters, leading to the rain that is her tears along the southern edge of the continent as well as making the sea viable to slower vessels. To this day, the South Sea remains calm and rulers everywhere learn the lesson of restraint from the tale of Lord Emperor Herod II. Harun’s true name is commonly unknown, having only been spoken to his closest companions and spirits.

* ☠ Enemy * ⚜ Unfriendly * ☯ Neutral * ☮ Friends * ღ Close Friend * ♥ Crush/Significant Other *

• ♥ The Southern Wind: His soulmate and one true love, the Southern Wind is his oldest friend and closest confidante.
• ☯ Xil’Gurash: An old… companion, Xil’Gurash still technically owes Jazir a lifedebt, now that the latter has returned to the land of the living.
• ☯ Other: -
• ☯ Other: -
• ☯ Other: -

Character Quote: "You walk somewhere, see something you want, agonize that you can't afford it and leave. Eventually, prices rise so high that the peasants revolt, and grab that nice bottle of port from the store in the looting. I just skip the messy bits."
Theme Song: In Description of his Love Life
Anything Else: TBA

Name: Icarus Cando
Aliases: The Living Flame, The Immortal Knight
Titles: Grand Knight, Hero of Iron Gate
Age: 58 (Appears 29 as their aging process was slowed)
Time of Death: 9000
Place of Origin: The City of Iron Gate (Former Region near Illisk)
Gender: Male


Eyes: Ruby Red
Hair: Blonde with Streaks of Red
Day To Day Attire: Outside the realm of Combat, Icarus will still keep his Breastplate worn, however the rest of the armor is replaced with more casual and plain garments. A simple gray shirt underneath the chest piece and a fur vest layered over the top, with dull gray/brown leather pants that are best suited to travelling through various regions
Strengths: Strength, Endurance, Focused
Weaknesses: Stubborn/Tunnel Visioned, Maneuverability, Blunt/Rude

Vengeful * Unyielding * Protector * Rash

Sexuality: Heterosexual
Relationship Status: Single
Personality: Due to both his blunt nature and lack of concern for social grace Icarus can come off as abrasive and aggressive upon first approach. Those that manage to stick around him though will find despite the rough outwards personality, Icarus can be someone that one would call a friend. His experience from his training have left him with a sense of justice and desire to protect those he deems as his comrades.

While Icarus is by no means slow or dim-witted, his rashness can result in Icarus preferring simple, straightforward approaches to problems. Icarus is more than happy to cede the problem solving to those that are proven capable planners. Though one should be careful as Icarus can be rather vengeful and is more than happy to hold a grudge for extended periods of time if it turns out their plans result in serious danger to himself

Icarus can maintain himself suitable in crowds or social situations when required by as a man of action he avoids this situations where possible. In the end, despite his rough edges those that manage to become his allies will have a friend that would stare down death by their side

A listing of skills, such as horseback riding or cooking and abilities or magic. You can have a total of ten, but temper them to not be overly powerful - except one can be noticeably more powerful, usually the one skill/ability/magic/item that makes them recgonizable.

• Weapons - Sword/Shield Style (Skill - Master): Having trained with a Sword and Shield for most of his life, the fighting style provides Icarus the perfect mix of defense and offense as needed. The shield can just as easily become a weapon of blunt force as the sword can be used for defensive parries.
• Heightened Awareness (Skill): After years of combat and adventuring, Icarus has honed his ability to sense the natural surroundings, often allowing him to tell when something is amiss with a situation or there is a subtle change in the atmosphere. He lacks a level of divinity to be able to tell why a change may have occurred, only enough to sense that there is something amiss with a situation
• Dragonwurm Blade (Item): An ancient blade from an Age long since lost to the ravages of time. It is said to have been forged in the blood of a great Red Dragon, its essence forever imbued into the blade. The blade itself is deceptively heavy for the size of the sword, its centre seeming to glow like the embers of a fire. As the vigor of combat grows, the blade itself seems to burn with excitement as well, cleaving through flesh and metal with ease as the length of the blade begins to burn. For those skilled in the use of Fire magic, it may also act as a conduit of power, slightly amplifying spells that are funnelled through it. Despite the eons of combat it has seen, it is as undamaged as the day it was forged.
• Wall of Steel: Though Forged during the same age as the Dragonwurm Blade, the Shield wielded by Icarus is the lesser of the two items. Though rare, multiple instances of the item exist leading many to believe that the items were crafted together to outfit an order or small army. Despite this though the shield’s have proven to be incredibly resistant to damage, absorbing some of the force of vicious blows to protect the wielder.
• Heart of the Phoenix (Blessing): The world of Arlina has born host to many ancient creatures, their physical forms long since having yielded to the passage of time. Despite the death of their bodies however, some of their essences has lingered in the world through various means, infusing themselves to other creatures who still walk the earth. Such is how Icarus has the blood of the long dead Phoenix within him. Through this essence, Icarus is granted both fiery destructive powers and restorative healing magics that the Phoenix is know for. Though this essence gives Icarus an immense well of endurance to tap into and draw from, giving the appearance of immortality - these powers are inseparable tied to his own life-force. If Icarus exhausts the well of power but continues to use his abilities, the essence will begin converting his own life-force to fuel itself, shorting his own life. Continued abuse will lead to an untimely end.
• Essence of Rebirth (Blessing): Linked to the Essence of the Phoenix, Icarus’s heritage bestows him with the unique ability of regeneration. Though the ability is incapable of replacing lost limbs before one’s eyes, it can easily close small wounds, knit together broken bones and even replenish his stamina and blood during the course of combat and allowing Icarus to fight on from what would be otherwise crippling wounds.
• Essence of Warmth (Blessing): Graced with the essence of renewal from the Phoenix, Icarus has a natural talent for Healing magic. Though it leaves a burning sensation for the recipient the ability to close wounds and replace lost stamina is worth a small measure of pain
• Essence of Destruction (Blessing): The other half of the Phoenix essence grants Icarus destruction powers in the form of divine purging fire. Though the flames can take many forms such as Fireballs, cones of destruction or mentally directed orbs, all must origin from his physical form. Additionally the flames from this ability are unlike a regular fire, burning away at a targets life-force just as much as they do at flesh, unnaturally animated beings being especially suspectiable.
• Feeding the Everburning Flame (Blessing): As the essence of the Phoenix can feed on Icarus’s own life-force, so to can it feed on the life-force of others to sustain itself. The longer the lifespan of the target, the more energy that is restored from the feeding. Unfortunately as hostile individuals are likely to resist such an attempt it can only be used on those near death's door to restore a tiny portion of energy. An individual who is willing to sacrifice their life however, or is unable to properly resist can restore a far greater portion.

Backstory: Icarus’s childhood was not a tale in itself. Born into a period of war between ‘Iron Gate’ and its rival, Icarus was raised in a simply blacksmith family. Though the time of war introduced hardships for the people, as a Blacksmith his father was able to make enough of a livelihood for them to survive. As Icarus grew and the war waged on and the leadership found themselves requiring more able-bodied men they found themselves having to recruit younger and younger, requiring them to be trained earlier and earlier.

As such Icarus learnt the ways of combat at a young age, the lost years of his childhood depriving him of more of the social skills one would develop in exchange for knowledge on how to fight and survive. As he became a young adult, it was declared they had been trained sufficiently to set foot into the theatre of war. Through a mixture of skill and luck, Icarus managed to survive these earlier conflicts where he was still but a mortal, many of his peers and friends falling beside him.

It was only during one particular disastrous battle, the Iron Gate forces having been outmaneuvered found their lines stretched and flanks exposed. Having been unable to break the enemy’s front line after exhausting themselves, the appearance of the opposing heavy cavalry from the east caused the morale to plummet and turn the situation into a total rout. In the disorderly retreat, Icarus found himself rushing for the forest, the tree-lines being the only protection available from the mounted cavalry, those on the open field being chased and cut down where they stood.

Managing to evade pursuit until darkness fell, the opposition fell back - no doubt to regroup and press forward to the capital. Lost in the darkened forest, Icarus wandered aimlessly - knowing he had to find a way back to ‘Iron Gate’ to inform them of the results of the battle but doubting the knowledge would change anything with their army shattered. Scavenging for food in the wilderness Icarus managed to survive for two days before stumbling upon an ancient ruin. Underneath the gnarled roots of ancient trees, Icarus was drawn towards a heavily obscured entrance.

As he approached though the aged stone work of the building gave way, collapsing beneath him and plummeting him deep into the heart of the structure. Dazed and blinded Icarus fumbled in the darkness for hours before the faintest of glows provided refuge from the darkness. Having no other options, Icarus followed the light as he was lead into the very heart of the temple. As he entered a great chamber, with carvings of a giant winged beast adorning all of the walls Icarus saw the source of the light - in the centre of the room hung a still beating heart, chained and impaled above what appeared to be a sacrificial altar as it illuminated the chamber in a strange red glow.

Drawn towards the heart - Icarus could feel a presence emanating from the object, demanding freedom from its torment. Drawing closer, Icarus could feel his stamina returning and strength seeping into him as the presence continued to communicate with him. The presence wished for freedom, though its body had long since succumbed to the ravages of time, leaving it with only the option of taking residence in another. Sensing Icarus’s plight, it offered its powers to turn the war if Icarus granted it its wish of freedom. Having little option, Icarus agreed, tearing apart the metal chains with his imbued strength before finally taking the heart.

Flames washed over Icarus as his hands touched the organ, pain wracking his body as the fire spread across his form. The pain intensified as he absorbed the essence, as the very core of his soul seemed to ignite. After what seemed like an eternity the pain subsided, mentally exhausted but physical rejuvenated from the experience Icarus struggled to his feet and left the temple, reborn as more than just a mortal.

Guided by the phoenix he was able to quickly leave the temple and the forest, finding his way back to Iron Gate only to find the city already under siege. Feeling it was too late, Icarus considered fleeing but the Phoenix encouraged him to take up his blade, and to trust in its power. Feeling doubtful, Icarus strode towards the army as the sun began its ascent as he attacked the army from behind as a lone individual. In the hours that followed was the most bloody battle Icarus had engaged in, the enemy surrounding him on all sides and striking him from all angles. Bleeding and engulfed in pain, Icarus refused to fall however and as the hours passed, more and more forces were drawn from the walls to engage him. Finally, it was only as the sun was setting that the opposing army’s morale finally broke - unable to keep Icarus down as the fires of the Phoenix lashed and consumed his opponents, they all began to flee from this Immortal soldier.

In truth, the battle only went so well as the Commanders refused to treat Icarus as a serious threat, sending small bands of infantry to deal with the ‘lone’ soldier, numbers that would overwhelm a mortal but found themselves unable to stand up to Icarus. By the time the full extent of Icarus’s power had been realized, none of the soldiers wished to engage him, causing chaos in the ranks and preventing any organised force from truly overwhelming him. Regardless of the reason however, Icarus had provided hope to Iron Gate in its bleakest hour and was heiled as a hero.

Promoted to a Knight, Icarus led a number of charges against the enemy over the next few years, becoming a symbol of hope for his people and one of terror for his enemies. Unable to fell this lone individual an uneasy truce was reached between the two warring kingdoms - Iron Gate having suffered so many casualties that they simply wished for any peace so they could recover.

Decades later, old feuds came to the surface and the bad blood between the two nations boiled once more. War was declared and this time the enemy refused to fight Icarus head on, having superior numbers they launched multiple theatres of war - losing wherever Icarus was stationed but winning the other engagements. Slowly but surely Iron Gate was losing the war of attrition - even if they could not kill Icarus, without resources and food, Iron Gate would be forced to surrender.

As the Leadership of Iron Gate bickered and debated on the course of action, Icarus became frustrated by their indecision. Knowing there was only one way to end this, he gathered those that were willing and began a march straight for the opposing capital. Each day, Icarus and his forced marched towards their goal, at first their opponents tried to ignore them and siege Iron Gate itself, but as their march continued and their destination was realized, the King of the opposing kingdom fearing for himself demanded his army return and slay this demon before he reached the city.

Over the next week, small raiding parties attacked, whittling down Icarus’s forces but their will would not break and they soon found themselves standing before the walls of the Citadel. At first light of the week, they charged the walls as the opposing army collapsed from all sides, surrounding and attempting to overwhelm them. The hours passed as many fell on each side, Icarus’s energy bolstering his own forces and helping them fight on past mortal wounds but still they fell, even into night the carnage raged. Having become a beacon of hope, the forces of Iron Gate willing gave their lives for Icarus, fueling the Phoenix within and letting him fight past his limits as they fell.

At midday on the second day, the Citadel walls were breached by the surviving Iron Gate forces, spilling into the streets of the town. Protected by buildings and unable to be fully surrounding they fought on, the defenders energy and morale plummeting as they pushed forward. By the dawn of the third day however, Only Icarus remained - the last of his soldiers having given their life for him at the steps to Palace at the centre of the town in which the king hid behind his royal guard. With the remnants of the army still blocking his escape, Icarus pushed forward, beginning to burn his own life-force to bring the battle to an end.

Pushed beyond its limits, his mortal form began to fail as he was struck. As the wounds accumulated on him, his flesh began to fall away to reveal only a raging inferno beneath with an intense heat that made even his armor glow. Eventually though, even his will was not enough to maintain his form through all of his injuries. With his life force fully consumed and essence hungering for more fuel, the flames from Icarus body ripped through what remained of his physical form and lashed out, burning all they touched in a desperate attempt to fuel the fire.

Only those who were outside the city told the tale of what happened that day, a radiant inferno engulfed the entire capital with a heat so intense even metal succumbed to its might. In only minutes, the mighty citadel had been reduced to nothing. All those that had been inside, the army, Icarus and the King had left no trace, all consumed in the struggle to feed the essence. With nothing left to fight force and no home to return to, the survivors fled into the wilderness, some even heading to Iron Gate in the hopes of surrendering and perhaps joining that society.

Thanks to Icarus’s sacrifice Iron Gate survived for another century before it was once more drawn into war in the region, becoming a part of another kingdom before falling as that empire collapsed. Its town is now one of the many ancient sites that act as a tribute to the ages past, only its myths still living on.

Myth: In the history books one may find the tales of Iron Gate, amongst it stories is the ‘Tale of Icarus’.
Soul survivor of the failed battle of Bloodmarsh, it was this hero who saved the town. It was only thanks to his pure will and the desire to save his town that he was gifted with divine powers. Unable to be struck down in battle and commanding the flames of both destruction and rebirth, Icarus was a force unlike any other.

Single handedly he routed the enemy army time and again, faced down 1000’s of soldiers and emerged unharmed and even brought those who fought honorably by his side back from the brink of death to join in battle beside him once more. So legendary was his power that his opponents cowered in fear and begged for a truce, to which his noble spirit accepted.

But alas, though Icarus’s spirit was noble those of his enemies were wicked and rotten. Scheming behind the pretense of the truce they gathered the might and struck back at Iron Gate. Disgusted by their actions, Icarus strode out onto the field of battle to do battle but the cowards refused to fight him, striking from multiple angles to avoid their divine retribution. Such treachery only enraged Icarus further and he knew what had to be done.

Gathering the noble hearted in Iron Gate, they strode out towards the opposing kingdom, knowing that even these scum would protect their homelands. Guided by the divine themselves, Icarus delivered the judgement to the enemy, purging their very kingdom with his holy fire and scattering their armies to the far wind. As he gazed amongst the destruction though, it is said that Icarus realised what he had down. In his rage he had allowed his noble heart to become clouded with hatred - saving his own city through the destruction of another. Heart heavy with doubt, Icarus sent the survivors of his company to return to Iron Gate with the news of victory as he wandered into the wilderness, to only return once he had atoned for his sins’

* ☠ Enemy * ⚜ Unfriendly * ☯ Neutral * ☮ Friends * ღ Ally * ♥ Crush/Significant Other *

• Name: Description
• Name: Description
• Name: Description
• Name: Description
• Name: Description
• Name: Description

Character Quote: “Stand against me and you stand against the fire of destruction themselves”
Theme Song: youtube.com/watch?v=jGUEhj58FOk
Anything Else: N/A

Name: Xivaoc Altequan Quelquana Quetz
Aliases: Xiv, Aoc
Titles: Champion of the Guardians
Age: 25
Time of Death: Original death record, 8,000 years ago.
Place of Origin: The main temple, Now a shrineless monument with a firebowl on top.
Gender: Male


Eyes: Black
Hair: Long black and brown dreadlocks in a mane
Day To Day Attire: This and That.
Strengths:
Stealth expert: Transparent and silent(Master in jungle).
Hunter: Can hit the weakspots of natural beasts for more combat effectivness.
fearlessly confident: Cannot be stagnated psychologically.
Weaknesses:
Ancient warrior: Can't use 'modern day' swords or other fancy weapons.
Ancient knowledge: Cannot learn new magics or techniques.
Fearlessly proud: Cannot flee combat.

Wild * Cold * Greedy * Lawbound

Sexuality: heterosexual
Relationship Status: single
Personality:

Xiv, part of his personality is best described by the way he looks at a problem. If there's a beast that threatens his people, he will hunt it.
More often than not hurting those that try to stop him, by showing mercy to the beast if it killed a criminal or by saying harsh words. Some of the people hardly called him a hero at all.
Not only due to how distant he was for the village, but also because of how hard his ways and words are.
"The deaths of these children would allow you to eat tomorrow." Is an example of one of his more ‘gentle’ moments. He’s not the most tactful message bearer.

Aoc, He is a guardian. Not being a guardian of just people, he regards strength and battle prowess as the most important of features in a person.
He will die to protect the strongest of weaklings, so that the weakest of weaklings might grow stronger.
He tries to adhere his ways to be in tune with the natural laws. He loves herbs, plants and water.
He does have a bit of distrust towards new people he meets.

The more romantic part of his nature is mostly found to be by dancing for and with people. He has a soft spot for dogs and horses).
Conversations with him can be long and enchanting as he makes up great stories of glory that passed away in the old days.
And ultimately, he seems to love romance, in his own unconventional moments.

Most people that know him would say that the better you know him,
the gentler you can handle his fragile, strange and sometimes exotic person.

A listing of skills, such as horseback riding or cooking and abilities or magic. You can have a total of ten, but temper them to not be overly powerful - except one can be noticeably more powerful, usually the one skill/ability/magic/item that makes them recgonizable.

• Hunters cloak (Master transmutation):
  It's not the cloak that is special. Rather the teleportation and near invisibility while he is moving on the thrill of the hunt.
• Weapons of the hunt(Expert):
  A poison dartpipe of direhorn, an dragonblood axe-sword, body-sized wheather-leath shield, an ancient golem bolla, fully horse-mane bow and a bloodstone sacrificial dagger make up his arsenal. His wildlife survival traning make him capable and willing to fullfill whatever the hunt requires to protect the people he is with.
• Tracking (Journeyman):
  Xivs ability to find targets that are long gone.
• Horse-rider (apprentice):
  Proficient horse-rider. Can speak to animals related to horses and dogs.
• Poisoned blood (novice):
  Though his skin is not hardened in any way, being bitten or directly touching his blood leaves minor scorchmarks on what touched it.(Acid of snake poison in blood from his past, if that helps)
• Mask of power(Mutation Artifact):
  Transformation mask. Can turn him into a big moving tree.
• Mind of 1000 voices(necromancy):
  This spell gives Xiv the power to speak to the spirits of old for council. Requires said spirit to be near or to be in a place of (ancient) worship.
• Thrill of the hunt(divination):
  This spell increases Xiv's perception, movement speed and plays drumsounds in the surrounding area. (can make for great dance-parties)
• Skill (Level): open for discovery?
• Spell: not so open for discovery?

Backstory:
Just make sure to include all relavent details - it can be as short as three paragraphs or more, so long as everything is there.

The masterfull quil,
The story of this champion begins not at the dawn of time, but really at the first creation of his kind learning writing.
Little did and do the humans know that their power lies in their written texts and not in their memories.
Xiv was a man who would write down good words. His writing was consistant, it was true and people felt like they came alive when reading from it.
His own powers were next to none in the beginning. Many knew that only good words would never make a world real or lead to real good. For what is good without evil?
So his people created vile words. Horrific heresys using their master's quill.
In doing so, he wrote them of a new word: "Love".
In an attempt at justifying his people before the law he made earlier, the man wrote a word upon himself: "Law"
That word he held written on him for 5 years total. After that, it was decided that Xiv would be more than a man. The towns elderly came together and granted him their best tools. They planned on casting him down a cliff and remaining in control of the village. Under the guise of it being an offering to the gods. They said a serpent would come and take him to the edge of the world. Though Xiv knew their intentions. He had seen them act this way before.
Upon being cast down willingly regardless, a snake did appear and bit him. Grabbing unto the snake and crawling back up, he kept the gear. The venom made him fall asleep for a whole day.
He woke up having a form of ADHD. “The thrill of the hunt.” Man named it.
He walked back to the village he once loved and was willing to die for their fears. Only it was destroyed. All of the shiny colored stones were gone as were his people.
Ever since that day he’s never been the same.
He renamed himself Xivaoc “a series of unpronouncables” Quetz.
He would become a myth. That much was certain. If he could scare his foes by writing, how much more terrifying would it be if the myth became true.
He wrote his myth. As though he was a fearsome warrior, blessed by powers beyond this world.
He stayed true to the ways of old. And he did hunt. He hunted to survive. He tracked down the people who took his family and some stones from them. He was stealthy in the night to travel past the guards unnoticed. He was humming the dogs back to sleep and telling the horses to remain calm.
After freeing his people from the camp of the enemy, he left them with their illiterate elderly and with a tablet containing his myth according to the words of the elderly. He then, before the sun had risen, placed his own written account of the events in the camp of the enemy. Not as a hint to take them on again, but as a warning, that he could have killed them all, but sparred them.
He left them his weapons, shield, cloak and even his mask. Though the enemies couldn’t do anything with it, they took it home and opened a museum. Ultimately, an infectious leech got the better of him, as our hero died in his favorite writing spot. The waterfall pool that was in the heart of the jungle.
Years after he died, the two documents became into a new conflict. And only his corpse gave light to the truth. For he had died, literally on the paper that settled many disputes. The tools he had were examined and enchanted during these times. His loincloth to sustain one’s body beyond regular injury. His cloak with a teleportation and stealth device. All of his weapons that were from wood originally were replaced by their mythical material counterparts. His mask was the most courageous piece of engineering in the artifacts department. Being able to completely transmutate a live and moveable tree around a person, understand dog and horse noises (as these were the most used at the time) and can give tour information to its wearer as it arrives at important destinations mentioned in most museums. These things would be lost however, as when they recreated the myth, the various rivalries and mockeries of the texts caused a breakdown of the museum in which all of these were stored. The government told people to stay out of the rubble and had to enforce it.
Until they too passed away and knowledge of this story was lost.

Myth:
This immortal being hunts the very greatest and wildest of beasts. He rode the giant snake to edge of the world and overruled all of its monsters.
He left unscathed. He's stared into the abyss and won the contest. Having toppled buildings, high sprinters and being older than time could tell,
His spirit has undergone immensive training and has mastered the spirit of the true beast. He guards the laws by which the worlds run.
Both in life and in temporary death, he serves mankind as best he can. For many years the mask was silent and in hands of a corpus mind.
But even that would not defeat the champion. Legend has it, that if you can either conquer or rip out his heart, he dies, leaving you the eternal life.
His legend as a great hunter preceeds those in the west of the world. The others not so much.
It is said the weapons and their original powers were stolen or lost with the words.
They might be spread across the world. They might be hidden on the very corners of the world.
But one thing is certain. Xivaoc will rise again!

* ☠ Enemy * ⚜ Unfriendly * ☯ Neutral * ☮ Friends * ღ Ally * ♥ Crush/Significant Other *

• Name: Description
• Name: Description
• Name: Description
• Name: Description
• Name: Description
• Name: Description

Character Quote: "Fly like a lion, strike like thunder! Sacrifice is power!"
Theme Song: Something like this
Anything Else:
Often hungry. sleepless and often motivated by money or gold.

The ballad of the first leaf.
Ravadon was born, as youngest of 3, into a wealthy family, “Sroon Aven, Safeffe Aven, Ravadon Aven.” The city of AvenHault was even named after their family. However, when his birth was taking place, the town was under a heat wave. His mother barely had the power to allow for his birth.
Being stuck halfway, the doctors decided to cut him out of his mother. The dagger that pierced her, hit the baby in his eye-lid. And surprisingly enough, the baby dropped out the natural way. The father had caught Ravadon. And of course, he was a man and did what men do in this culture when they see a small smirk of blood. They whipe it off, firmly. Which is how he got his name. It then also means “The emperor comes, the blooded beggar leaves.” Ravadon, already marked for life from before being born, would be holding grudges against his family.
Though they were important as landlords of the city, providing both the wealthy and the poor with homes, they were not the uttermost wealthy living in town. This was not given knowledge to the general public.

The ballad of branches.
Mallock Aven, his father, provided him with all his siblings no longer required. Be it a set of cooking pots, princess gowns or an expired horse. Needless to say, he had access to all he desired. Parental love, great compassion for things handed down to him and, of course, the cleaning and scrubbing tools he needed to take care of his personal beauty. This made him look more than decent enough to marry any woman he’d so desire. Even the kings daughter, Melanoi was not out of his reach. But he missed something, something that couldn’t be rewarded by it being given to him.
He had a desire for his own glory, possessions and earnings denied to him. His urge became nearly an obsession as it was denied to him so fiercely. “Oh, my boy, why would you go and risk your life working or fighting, when you can freely get your siblings bard to write tales about you?” ‘My boy’. Oh, how he disliked those words beyond compare. It was his mother’s way of telling him he wouldn’t be able to do it, though she told him in that same conversation that he could do anything he wanted. His mother taught him many things, though she knew not that she taught him to twist words and drive through his will, even unto others. At the age of 12, this young boy had been a happy, hunger-free scrap-user.

The ballad of fall.
13. The year everything changed. Ravadon rebelled against his parents and their protective behavior. Ravadon would go and get himself in all sorts of trouble. The time he set ablaze a corrupt guards house was the cherry on the cake for him and the droplet that breaks the bucket for his parents. Not only would they beat him, disown him and get him thrown in jail, they planned on doing it did it publicly. A wealthy patron of the circus heard(by spying of course, the siblings bards were well undercover) about this young ambitious risk-taker. Not hesitating, he told the family he could take the boy on an adventure with the circus. It would take them past mages and monsters, though not actually being in harms way. In return, he would drop (on their very table as they stood there looking at it) more gold(in special wealth-people coins) than their family had ever earned combined and multiplied. The little rebel caught notion of what was discussed in the room next door. He had, in fact, spend time learning things from bards rather than instructing them. As soon as the table was filled, Ravadon learned the way greed was a motive his parents upheld. He decided to not deny himself such pleasure..

The ballad of promise.

Having taken part of the money his parents were given, the young boy, a teenager now, was sent off on a journey that would change his life. In more ways sorrow than the little hero would know. Being saved public embarrassment, he proceeded to be more lenient towards his new caretakers. They let him do all the things he wanted all by himself. He wanted to start a fire, he could gather the rocks, the wood and figure out a way to make it spark. He wanted to sleep late in a tavern, the circus left him behind. Life was well for the young man as he sought out a person to be his master at arms. After all, if he was going to make a name for himself, he would do it by having monsters slain by his own hand. It didn’t take long for him to realize there was only one person that could tell him, who of all the capable people could be his trainer, the old blind sage that owned the fate-telling section of the circus. He entered the room. Cards would represent his future.

Ballad of Cards
The first card was that of the warrior. The second was a map, travel along a road. The third was the card of ballads, song and praise. The fourth was a card of powerful magical conflict. The fifth displayed a serpent, more specifically, a wyvern. The sixth was a ‘lady death’ card. The last was a family tree, the symbol for birth and life. The old man told him.. ‘Sonny, you are destined for something great. Never let anyone tell you you’re not worth what you work for. These cards will fade.. as does time… This is the last time I will read cards. There’s no more to see.. Keep the cards. Let them remind you and keep you from fear. The promise remains.. and until fulfilled, you shall not die.” The winter would follow would caused bandits and marauders to attack caravans and travelers. The boy was going home. He had been traveling for a year now. The circus came back to the town they left during its 14th year of existence.

The ballad of Ice.

A warrior card, surely it would be him! He said to himself as he rolled into town with the circus. He could completely picture it.
The trumpet sounds as he arrived, becoming a master swordsman.
Battle-noises and the ecstatic screams of the women and children all loving him and his glory.
The towns bells being rang. Fire, Fire! Fight, Fight!
All chanting as he stepped forward to defeat his enemies.
Bar the doors! Hide the women and children!
They totally wanted to capture him and a glimpse to bask in his glory. Protecting their women and children from his good looks, afraid to lose them.
The Hunara bandits are attacking!
The hunara.. wait what?

It was not long before the town was overrun. Big and mighty basilisks broke through the walls of the city. The guards were either dead or about to be. The horses were captured, the bears released. One of the bandits picked up the boy from the wagon.
Ha! I found one for the stake! Ravadon couldn’t resist the grip from the bandits firm armored grasp. He was carried and thrown unto before the leader of the Hunara, Cho Samoth.
“Tell me, why should you be left alive?”
Ravadon spilled on how he would be a warrior. Cho laughed at the little boy. Threw a 2-handed great-sword at his feet and told him to pick it up. The boy tried as best he could. Lifting the handle unto one of his shoulders, Cho tested him. “Tell me, why do I want a warrior when I have so many?“ Barely able to hold himself up, Ravadon answered him. “Because I’m the face you need to keep your gold and your people. I can read, I can write. I can provide you into the house of might!” He thought of his greedy parents and how he’d always forget the key in a pot nearby the entrance.
“Go on!” Cho commanded. Sending 2 guards with the boy.
And surely, he came back with every last penny paid for his release unto the circus. His family now brought before Cho. Cho asked the boy a final question: “What is more.. a son or a coin?” The family assumed they were home free and started hugging already. The real shock came when Ravadon’s answer came: “A coin.”
The Hunara bandits razed the village. With the gold payed for him, the entire kingdom would follow soon.
Cho ordered one of his recruiters to take care of the boy.
To pay him a single coin and murder everyone before him because they deemed him not capable of killing anyone with his weak arms.
The warrior card in his hand faded. The old man that had given him the cards had a request. To bleed over the coin as he died. The old man, by chanting a few spells enchanted the coin to supply an endless amount of blood at dripping speeds. The boy was now traumatized even worse. Every person he ever knew kneeled before him and died.
The years that followed he would travel many miles. And until he was powerful enough to replace and bring justified death unto Cho, he would be one of them.. A bandit with Stockholm Syndrome.
He was kept in a cage the first 3 months. He went from fighting chickens to fighting boars and even cows. This boy was brought up to be strong. He earned 1 coin every fight he won. After that time, the latest of captains in the Hunara ranks got assigned to train the boy. He taught him backstabbing, sword fighting and which types of species he could expect to encounter in the journey. It did not help him a lot that before then he was helpless when he was also sexually abused by this very person for 3 months long.

Ballad of Mead.

But the training persevered…
In the cities they heisted, bombarded and plundered, Ravadon was the one sneaking around telling the hidden children to remain hidden. Bringing out weak and feeble old men that wanted to die fighting if he absolutely had to. He proceeded to be a man with very little patience. And with a child offering him a coin he was reminded why he was that way. You cannot get praise without people to praise you… it started gaining on him. His morals were now so backwards from what they were. He clenched the coin and put it in his blooded coin bag. It was time…
In the highway tavern he gathered the coins he had and threw a party. Cho was amused by his new protégé. “First he works for coins, now he’d spend them on the person who paid him.” The party was a success.. or rather.. reason to excess. Drunk. And that’s exactly what he needed. To get them all nice and slow. While sniffing through Cho’s stuff he remembered what they always said about him. “A wench without a future.”… Would he really crave the praise from thugs? No.. that just isn’t right. Besides.. everyone laughed at him anyways..
The childs coin was burning on his moral conscience.
Had he really forgotten who he was… No… the blood in his bag was proof of who he was. He might have had a promise, but it was his moment to make it happen.
He found Cho’s private journal. In full amazement, he found out everything about the Hunara. Their safewords, their treasury.. their purchase history… everything. Though his normal memory was superb. Everything in song he would know forever. He would remember, no matter how bad the rhythm…

And humming to himself as he went towards the tavern, he considered his options… being a lousy bandit for the rest of his life or try to get word out somehow and end this madness. He’d need a real distraction.. people wanting him to go do something else…
He might know a messenger, but it would take too long to reach him on foot without someone noticing. If he could even remember what to say…

As he approached the tavern, he knew heard singing in different tones and it made him almost forget his song.
He needed to write it down or have them sing it. He wouldn’t get away from these people, neither have a shot at
that journal again for.. too long. The journal’s locations would have all been changed by then.
But how? Who was going to listen to him?
Even if he had their attention, He couldn’t learn these men to read. They were too uncultured.. they wouldn’t know ‘fine wine’ from ‘toxic poison’ until they drank it. He couldn’t hope to teach them the song by letting them read it … By singing, though..

It struck him. Irony! A joke!

He knew he could let them sing along if they were drunk.
He knew he could dance and keep anyone serious from shutting him down.
He knew how to get to Cho, he knew the locations of all the Hunara hideouts..

He just needed something to make a noise.. or a.. dynamic entry!
Taking his options into consideration, he would have to do it tonight. The full moon was upon him.
He crawled up the tavern side, took out one of the swords he’d received over the many years and cut a hole into the roof. He left the lid on, but he would have to remember it’s spot in pitch darkness..

He came in ignoring everyone and everything. As did most of the people there. The central fire which lit the room, he swiftly threw a cloak over. The room was suddenly in an angry uproar. A swooping dagger sounded. Moonlight came unto a table. A table with one person standing on it. The room turned to see Ravadon shout “Cho is fat, cho is wet!” As he scooped a drinking horn from the table and bit of its end to use it. The room was needle drop dead silent. A few blades left their sheath. As he started to produce a tune on the horn and throbbing his foot against the floor, the people started slapping and clapping along on the table. “Cho is fat, cho is wet” The other musicians started playing along, the people who now were certain of what the young boy said, started laughing and dancing. As he took a small torch and threw it back on the central fireplace, he could leave the spotlight. The song Was loud through the tavern. He blew his horn mighty and started to sing the second part. “Rav is way better, he is from Meramune!” Some people now got slightly offended and started coming after him. He started running and dancing his way through the room. It may have been the chaos, the spotlight entry, the very many liters of ale, just plane luck.. but all of his moves were copied. The dancing prevented him from getting caught. He jumped from table to table, avoiding the angry crowd. Ant there was laughter when they tripped, there was joy when he kicked mugs at them. The place became alive and every note he’d add to the song the people would savor for hours on end. Eventually Cho himself stood up. The atmosphere completely made a 180.”Enough. I’ve heard enough. “ He stook out his arm. The smile on Ravadons face turned to a surprised and serious one. Depending on what followed he might get slaughtered by all of the tenor and the bass “You! You are our new bard! Someone get him some paper! And take it from the top. This will be our anthem song for the ages!“ He rose his hand and landed back on his seat. “A toast to the hero of the East!” The entire room toasted along. “To Ravadon of Meramune!” Laughter broke out and the singing started all over again. Paper, song.. He could send himself a letter!
Giving the unreadable letter to his contact, he would sneak into the next city “exploring.” But in reality warning the authorities and getting back at cho for what he took from him.

The ballad of Roses.
The morning came. The courier had done his part. As planned he went in and scouted the city streets, arriving openly for the king. As the king was highly confused by the letter that he received only earlier that day. When He sang a song about himself, Ravadon of Meramune, he remembered every last word of the journal. The king was shocked to hear he was willing to trade his entire band of bandits in for a single coin. The king brought a choir. As Ravadon directed the choir, he presented the information to the general and the scribes. Hence forth he became known as Ravadon of Meramune. And (ironically enough) the capital city of Meramune rewarded him with a home, access to inform the army while they were at war with the Hunara and even a family. He was renowned throughout the city. He was given a place on the battlefield.
Little did he know, his journey card had become faded.
As he was in the mages tower where they thought him to enchant and evoke, he undertook travel to various caves and often. He was always the first to get the treasury of the Hunara. He’d ensure to take the very best piece of equipment before telling the king of what he found. Logically, the king would tax him over what he found. Leaving him with a green cape(dark on the inside with cowl, without face mask), Half armored in a shoulder pauldron with breast-piece both metallic in color, various swords. But most important of which
Excelsis Deo.
A weapon that could be infused with enchantments without ever running out or forgetting which it has had before.
Gloves of Red icesteel, armguards of red icesteel were his reward for helping these old few wizards and enchanters.

Reinforced fur boots(fur shin-guards, metallic boots), he created himself.

Besides the ballads and the praise in every tavern, a transparent belt with metal-wooden buckle of brute force was his reward from the king.

A short and finely woven white scarf around his neck, hid away the amulet of a blooded coin.

A sky-blue tunic that was torn on the upper part of his left sleeve, a small red kilt revealing the muscled shape of his thighs made up the rest of his own purchased clothes.

Yes, they did know how to spell fashion, sadly..
He protected the kingdom for 5 years.
In that time he’d not only won the hearts of the people, but also of the king.

And the king would gift him his daughter and a kingdom with it. Ravadon would have accepted.. but living with his wife becoming a concubine, there would be very little problems. The only true problem that would arise was that the king had 2 daughters.
Soon Ravadon would know to either demand both or to reject an offer.
Both of these women looked gorgeous. Both were proficient in the use of magic. But one had the character of a serpent, the other of a little girl. As their ages did differ a subtle 9 years. His natural inclination was to choose the older, the serpent. But after seeing how she would use transmutation and evocation to try and actually kill her sister, no money involved or anything, he couldn’t help but feel disgusted.

Ravadon would now build himself up to choose one of the 2 ladies to be his lawful wife. He entered the chamber where he’d make the decision only to find the two ladies throwing around spells at each other. As fire and goo flew through the room, he dived in to protect the young from the serpent. The older sister was even more outraged that he wouldn’t choose her over “that little tree huger”. She rampaged. She transmutated herself to be a dragon. More specifically, a wyvern. The wyvern breathed fire through the chambers and through the halls of the city. It was rampaging, destroying buildings, families and ruining life everywhere.

By an ancient divination spell, the young daughter (who had magical resistance and was still bleeding)
stabilized the one she loved. Ravadon was now unconscious. As she looked at the hopelessness of the situation, she could do no other… She, Xyllodan, would take Excelsis Deo and fell the beast. As she grew wings of eagles, she flew up high, mightily high. She’d smitten the foul beast with a ray of lightning. The creature was now de-winged. It tried to get away as best she could, but she was no match for the weapons strikes. As her sister laid bleeding out, she would turn her into a dead tree.. never to harm anyone again. Upon flying back to her lover she realized he’d been awakened by the clashing of the sword and the skull of the creature. The girl now granted him the sword. As He took it, an idea flashed into his mind. A helmet. He might have been a mighty slayer of creatures.. but a helmet would be so much safer! He proceeded to marry Xyllodan. For he would be renamed again for slaying the beast. The young sister didn’t have great curves, but people recognized the blade used to slay the beast. The 2 made for a lovely couple. He would act big and dance a lot, she would be doing the actual political work. To his surprise the card was still glaring. Maybe this was something for later..
He made a helmet from the wood of a magical tree in the middle of the capital city. He would know it to be mere wood, but it could do great for protecting him. As time moved forward, the problems started. First it was conflict over who should get credit for stopping the wyvern, next there was the discussion of who should own the sword, the fight over the wooden helmet not being safe enough.. with every victory and successful protection of the city another fight would be waged in their marriage.
Ultimately, he would be away for many days before he got back. In that time, he never noticed how his helmet had a strange red eye growing on its side. Because of him being away so often, his council ordered him to share his knowledge of his scripts, ballads with his wife. The woman would do the same in return. The rest of the time passed on. And again more and more fighting came over time. There was no helping it.
But this time, yes, this time she could read his encrypted writing. The very writing he used as a journal the night of the sisters fight. And in it, there was the, to her accursed, claim that he would not choose her as a first pick.
And this was that moment… the card burned. The magical conflict was over. She confronted him about his texts, he assumed this would pass. He tried to comfort her by saying she had won a great prize. In her return she’d slap him across the face. He would get angry and try to leave. She would scream out “open fire” as she transmuted, all that was left of the Hunara would jump from the shades. Realizing her betrayal, he lost his cool.. he lost all of his promising futures.. as he drew his sword the serpent card burned halfway through.
Yet another wyvern was slain at the hands of a wielder of Excelsis Deo.
He took the skin and got it wrapped around his helmet. A real dragon helmet. What more than appeal would a man need? The hero paraded the streets… but the people knew.. the people all knew.. Their kingdom now under rule of a man who had only eye for himself. They denied him the crown. They wouldn’t mind him joining a protectors or mercenary guild, but a lord he wouldn’t be while they lived.
His price? But a single coin.
He spend the rest of his days hunting all threats that weren’t a serpent, wyvern or a dragon. He knew what it would mean if he did.. the next card would not be in his favor… Having lost the will to live due to his ballads no longer being sung, he prepared himself to be old. The nation was re-using clockworks and he had no intention of giving up self-earned glory. He dropped out of society and started to travel by his last name… and that last name would come back to haunt him. He sought out dragons, wyverns, truly any beast of magical or powerful origin he hunted. Acquiring ropes, languages and more paper for him to write ballads on. It had been so very long. He sought out a spirit to grant him power beyond the promise of the card he held in his hand. He wanted it to make him a legend. A hero beyond compare.
She said she had the answer for both cards and she’d fulfill his every dream for glory and power. She imbued(enchantment) his helmet with the power he desired. It would take the spirit of a beast first, though. Any beast he’d take would do, but she had a special one for him.

He sought the empty cave she recommended. In the first he went, he found a small bush. As his helmet was brought closer to it, the vision in his left eye became displaced.. He could.. he could see clearly.. Through the eyes of his helmet… the power had already began taking effect.
The tree turned into a dragon with heads on either side of his body, once slain. The older sister spoke through, what now was his tomb. “Give me your heart. “
The younger sister spoke from the other side of the beast. “No, it is I it belongs to.”
The dragon card burned. He looked at the broken person inside the beast and said but one thing as he lifted his helmet to them. “I want both or I want none!” The magical enchantment now sucked in the beasts spirits. As they entered the helmet, his true sacrifice became apparent. The ultimate price for power. Not seeing yourself grow to a villain by dying a young hero… The cave collapsed. The death card exploded. The female spirit he had a deal with had now too betrayed him. As the spirit took on the 2 bodies of the young ladies. To his ego’s increase,.. he truly felt like he was.. the best of men….
Slowly the family tree card burned in the mountain as the tales of his ballads became more and more famous.

The masterful quill has written down many a story with ink, though one tale of old has become lost to the annals of time.

In the hero's case, his story originates from not at the dawn of time, but from the time his people first learned to read and write down their stories.

Little does humanity know what kind of power lies within their written texts and not in their memories, tales written down to record their past and the peoples who inhabited it...the heroes whose names became cemented into the primitive legends of the past. And yet this hero would come into legend because of what he wrote...for what he did.

Xiv was a man among his tribe who could write very well among his primitive people, among the tribe that he so lived within. His writing was consistent, vivid, and full of wonder, such that those who read it among his people felt like they came alive when reading from it. His words seemed to draw up vivid pictures in their minds, the sounds of battle, the roar of creatures, among other things he wrote of.

His own powers of spinning tales and stories were next to none in the very beginning, among his own peoples. Many knew that only well-written words, stories, and tales would never make a world real, or lead to real good occurring on their lonesome. For what is good without evil? Thus this writing and reading among the people could be both used for good and evil.

So his people created vile words about him, horrific heresies written down by the same quill that had once spun beautiful stories among them at first. What good words he himself could spin, others wrote of evil and vile thing about him that were not truth.

In doing so, he desired to stem this tide of evil and terrible writing, introducing to his people a new word: "Love". And at the same time, this man seized power among his people, becoming the "Law" among his people to try to help direct and guide them.

And yet that word he sought to embody among his people, "Law", would come to be his downfall after five years. After that, the elders of the village decided that, to get rid of this man who taught the people writing and sought to lead them, would become more than a man. He would be turned into a sacrifice to the gods, to placate them for their "supposed" anger at his actions. Thus the elderly sages and leaders of the village came together, and granting him tools and weapons among the best quality. Such was how sacrifices to the gods were treated, to be given the best in preparation for their untimely death. They planned on casting him down a cliff, as had been the village's tradition, so that they themselves would remain in control of the village and its people rather than him. For otherwise, the people would rebel against him being killed. For the people loved their younger leader over the elders.

Under the guise of it being an offering to the gods, they told him as they had told others they has sacrificed in the past that a serpent would come and take him to the edge of the world. Indeed, he would be taken there to live with others like him, to be in the midst of the gods themselves. Though Xiv knew their true intentions for choosing him as a sacrifice, for he had heard these words being told to others before, and had seen them pushed from the cliff to naught but their death. He had seen them act this way before, and now knew just what they were after in the process. They sought to overthrow him.

Yet he could not disrespect this rite of sacrifice, which had been followed among his people for so very long. Indeed, he willing allowed himself to be cast down willingly regardless of knowing the truth, cast down by his people to what would be a certain death. And yet, he did not die. At the bottom of the great cliff he lied wounded, but this time not dead. Even more so, a snake did appear and bit him on the ankle, flowing through his system as if to taunt his miraculous survival. Grabbing unto the snake and crawling back up the cliff, he kept the gear he had been given by the elders before this, not seeking to return that which had been granted to him before his death. Yet despite this, the snake's venom made him fall asleep for a whole day as a result.

Upon waking up, Xiv felt a feeling surging through him, something he had never before experienced. He woke up feeling the very “the thrill of the hunt”, as it was called, piercing through his very being, and the desire to kill or be killed become very desirable to him. For the first time in his life he felt like this, as being on the brink of death for such a time had caused him great excitement in the process.

Afterwards Xiv walked back to the village he once loved, desiring to be among his people again...even if he was shunned for living, even if he was willing to die for their fears of having offended the gods with his survival. Only, his people were gone. The village he had led, protected, and sought to better with his actions had been destroyed overnight. All of the shiny colored stones that had been owned among his people, shining hues of emerald, ruby, and sapphire, were gone as were his entire people, an naught but death and destruction remained.

Ever since that day he’s was never the same, renaming himself "Xivaoc Quetez". After this time he vowed to avenge his people, write of his travels and actions, and would cement himself into the realms of myth. That much was certain. If he could scare others by simply granting them the gift of writing of myths and legend, so much that his own people's elders would seek to kill him, then how much more terrifying would it be if these myths be wrote of became true. How much more his enemies would tremble before him when the written word came to haunt them.

So he wrote of his own life, to try to cement them into the memories of others, portraying himself as though he was a fearsome warrior, blessed by powers beyond this world. He spread these words from village to village, from people to people, even as those in the isolated and cordoned-off area of the world he came from continued to advance.

He also too stayed to the ways of old, the ways that had guided his people for many generations over the centuries. He would hunt among the animals in the wilds. He would do his best to survive, even against all the forces nature and people threw in his path. He tracked down the people who took his family, and took some of the shin stones they had stolen from his people back from them. He was stealthy in the night to travel past the guards unnoticed, moving like the jaguar in the forest. He kept calm the dogs set to guard the people's camp back to sleep, and soothed the people's horses to make sure they did not spook and made sounds of fear that would alert the enemies of his presence.

After freeing those among his people who had been kept prisoner within the camp of the enemy, and freeing them back into the world, he abandoned them once more as they had abandoned him. He left them with their illiterate elderly who has sought to kill him, and left them too with a stone tablet containing his myth etched into its surface...all according to the words of the elderly who had led the people to their doom. He then, before the sun had risen and the night faded away, placed another tablet into the enemy camp with his own written account of the events he had performed among them during the night in their camp. This was not as a hint to take them on again, but as a warning, that he could have killed them all in their very sleep, but had instead spared them from the same fate his people had once tried to force upon him by sacrifice.

He left his people the people in the enemy camp his weapons, shield, cloak and even his mask. Though the enemies couldn’t do anything with it, not knowing their usage, they took it home. And many years later, they opened a museum that spoke of his legend and what he had done to free his ungrateful people from captivity. Ultimately, however, his life ended far different than the myths he had etched into those stone tablet told of. An infectious leech from a jungle river got the better of him, and this happened even the hero died in his favorite writing spot......a waterfall pool that was in the heart of the jungle.

Years after he died, the two tablets, these documents that he had placed his tale upon became the source of a new conflict among scholars who debated who he was and what he was. Only when his corpse was eventually discovered did history grant people light to the truth. For at the time he had died, literally with him was a tablet of his true life that settled many disputes and debates of him among scholars. The tools he had were examined and enchanted during these times, by those who wished to respect his legend and person. His loincloth was enchanted to sustain one’s body beyond regular injury, and his cloak with the magic of teleportation and stealth. All of his weapons that were from wood originally were replaced by their mythical material counterparts they supposedly were. His mask was the most courageous piece of engineering in the artifacts department to try to bring his legend "alive" for those who would see, with it being able to completely transmute a live and moveable tree around a person for stealth, and allowing the wearer to understand dog and horse noises (as these were the most used at the time). Further, it was enchanted to give tour information to its wearer when they at important destinations mentioned in most museums. These things would be lost however, as when they recreated the myth, the various rivalries and mockeries of the texts caused a breakdown of opinion, which became so heated that the museum in which all of these things were stored was destroyed overnight itself. The government at the time told people to stay out of the rubble, and had to enforce it with police for fear of looting and such occurring within the rubble of the building.

Until finally, this people who had learned of hi story too passed away, and knowledge of Xivaoc's legend was also lost with them along with the items that had once been owned by him and enchanted by this other people. Where are the items, however, which were so kept since the time of Xivaoc? Only the cruel mistress of time could tell such a thing now...