Hey there! Any room for the local new kid? I’m pretty jazzed about the idea so I’ve already got a character in mind but I figured I’d double check.
While we’re at it, is my character owning a musket and a ring that causes prophetic dreams allowed?
HELLAName: Oray
Race: Human
Nationality/Nation description: Raised around the Marches.
Occupation: Scout for mercenaries and lookout for trade caravans.
Religion: Skeptical but seems to have a fair few superstitions regarding luck.
Appearance: Most folk who see her on the road can’t say for certain what Oray looks like beyond being relatively short and having a spill of dark, curly hair. When she’s not shooting Oray covers her face in a black veil and only moves it so much as to show her eyes in combat. She dresses in tatty rags fashioned like a poncho or a shawl overtop compressing leathers. Her colors range from brown to grey with a minimal amount of black.
Beneath all her veil is a face that she’s been told many times “would be pretty if she weren’t so severe”. Oray has no plans of being any less severe. A square jaw proves her hardest feature, nose button like and doe eyed despite the profound tiredness of her heavy lidded gaze. Her resting face put her thick brows in a persistent furrow and her mouth a vague frown, giving her the look of a woman who’s long overdue for a nap.
Oray is brown of skin and dark of eyes. She seems to have a fondness for smudging kohl around them even if there’s kohl left over from the night before. It doesn't help her look any less tired.
Personality: Oray is a dry, monotonic woman with an offbeat sense of humor. Oft times she leaves people uncomfortably laughing at what they hope is a joke. It’s usually a joke. She’s learned that people will believe anything if you say it with a straight enough face. Considering most people are speaking to her veil, she’s got a damn good poker face.
A woman of diametrically opposed ideals, Oray struggles with being a survivor while trying not to be absolute human filth. Oray has lied, cheated, stole, and slept her way through life but she’s trying not to ruin any lives in the process. Trying being the keyword. Particularly vile dealings leave her vulnerable to fits of compassion which she promptly tries to forget ever happened once they’re over with.
Biography: Oray doesn’t remember much about her childhood. Early in her life she can remember the smell of a verdant garden, teapots lined with gold filigree, long locks of dark hair. She thinks she can recall the streets of the Imperium. . . But she wonders if it’s all a vivid dream.
Beyond that all she knew was her grandfather, a stalwart wall of a man. Oray has spent most of her life moving from place to place, being taught to shoot a musket and how to skin rabbits since she was able to talk. Agarus, her grandfather, worked as a bounty hunter and didn’t much try to hide the reality of his work from her. Well, for as long as he could, anyway.
At twelve Oray watched her grandfather meet his untimely end at the hand of a bounty he decided to take. A slaver with a little too much mettle had found a way to shank Agares when his guard was down. In some other story this would end with Oray being snatched up and put on the market, a little lamb ripe for the slaughter.
This isn’t that story, however.
Oray didn’t watch the life leave Agares’ eyes, rather she saw the hope drain from them. A man who had dedicated his life to raising his granddaughter now watching helpless as a misstep failed him, failed her. The weight of his regret proved too much to bear for Oray. Taking up his musket Oray shot his murderer down. It was under the bone white sky of a bleak late winter that Oray was left with nothing but a musket and two bodies: one to bury and one for bounty.
Thus started her complicated foray into adolescence. Masquerading as a young lad? Check. Horrific, prophetic dreams? Check. Oray’s made attempts at ignoring what comes to her in dreams and tried to make as few enemies as possible. Guarding merchant caravans seems to be a good way to go about that, and thus that’s the profession she’s chosen. Occasionally she’ll act as a scout, though she tries to be selective about the job.
Over ten years of this life and Oray is at a loss for what she’s doing with herself. The thought of trying to settle down doesn’t sound terribly appealing. The thought of going on doesn’t sound terribly appealing, either. To find some modicum of purpose Oray has turned inward, looking to the strange dreams that have plagued her. Perhaps they’re not the source of residual trauma but something more profound.
Equipment: A musket slung behind her back and two daggers strapped to her thighs. A waterskin, for drinking. A flask, for drinking. Oray carries tobacco (or what the in world equivalent is) and a pipe with her.
Around her neck Oray wears a signet ring on a silver chain. Unbeknownst to her this proves to be the source of her dreams, oft times filled with dark murmurings and perhaps prophetic imagery.
Skills: Oray is a survivalist, about to live off the land around her and—usually—find north. Eerily quiet, Oray can keep her steps soft and her presence hidden. Taught from a young age to use a musket, Oray shoots straight and she shoots well. When that fails her she turns to her daggers. She’s got a good eye, you’ve got to when you spend half your life with a veil over them. In fact, she can read lips when able to get a good look at the lips she’s reading. She is, despite all odds, literate.
Motivation: Oray is driven by the pipe dream of a great beyond, the idea that there’s something more. She goes through each day hoping that there’s something more than living hand to mouth, town to town. The opportunity to watch history unfold around her, to take part in something meaningful, to be bigger than her skin, wouldn’t be passed up. . . Though it’d be met with a healthy amount of skepticism.
One musket vagabond in middling condition. I'll probably draw up a character sheet for her but I didn't want to take five thousand years to post this. So it'll happen EVENTUALLY. Let me know me if there's anything that needs to be changed!
Probably worth sending a round of notifs to the couple folks that poked their head in here and in the IntC.
Appolon is a small, unclaimed region bordering Nagath and the Marcher Lords alike. It is a hostile place with dense forests, jagged cliffs, steep climbs and deep valleys. The wildlife is dangerous, and there is little of worth in the region. Therefore Appolon is sparsely populated aside from the ancient holding of Xanathiel - a coastal settlement that is one of few threll enclaves not nomadic in nature.
In the CS I'm working on I've written up a small region. Given the info I'm pasting below, where might be a logical place to put it? Possibly northwest of Rotwatch or the northern coast of Murkwater?
<Snipped quote by my CS>
It's the place my character hails from, threll being his species (all obviously needing approval from you when I've posted the CS).
Ok all, a very WIP map is added to the OP, so you can get a sense of the world. Please let me know if you have suggested additions to the map and I can add them easily. IC intro should be up tonight, unless something unexpected comes up for me.
<Snipped quote by cider>
Sounds good, will update the map this week.
@FlaggHow about something along this line?Name: Guhkra Khurix
Race: Beastkin.
Beastkin come in many shapes and sizes. They are savage humanoids that bear various traits of beastial apperance. Some have hornes, cloven hooves and beastial heads while others might resemble more of a kobolt or are even gnolllike. Apperance between different tribes might even vary greatly due to inbreeding with other races such as humans, orcs or even demons.
Nationality/Nation description: Confederacy of Nagath
The Confederacy if Nagath is a loose confederation of tribes that swore alliegence to Chieftan Khurix himself. The confederacy is build upon protection against the one true mutual enemy, the Justinian Empire. Alone no tribe stands a chance against the armies of the empire but united the confederacy has managed to score a number of stunning victories against invading armies from the Marches.
The first principal of the confederacy is that every tribe governs herself. No other tribe or even Gukra Khurix himself can intervene in internal affairs of a tribe.
The second principal is that the council of Chieftans is the primary body of government that manages any affairs that ascend the jurisdiction of a single tribe. When two or more member tribes have a dispute over land, women or other things, the member tribes must ask the council to pass judgement that all sides have to accept.
The third principal is the principal of mutual defense. If a member tribe gets into conflict with an outside force, be it the armies of the empire or a non-member tribe, all tribes are bound to come to the aid of others. Also the council and Guhkra Khurix can call upon the tribes to supply warriors for a militairy campaign.
The forth principal of the confederacy is that all tribes of Nagath are welcome to join regardless of race. This makes the Confederacy a multi racial entity of Beastmen, humans, demons and orcs.
The confederacy was founded only two years ago after the battle of the ashen forest. During that battle, an alliance between the beastmen of Dorak-Ka and the human tribes lead by Guhkra Khurix ambushed and crushed a punisment expidition from the Marches. This was the first time in over a 100 years that an army of Justinian soldiers suffered a great defeat at the hands of the barbaric tribes of Nagath.
Occupation: Head of the Council of Chieftans, Chieftan of the Dorak-Ka tribe of beastmen.
Religion:
Appearance: Guhkra Kuhrix is a verocious looking beastkin that combines reptilian features with a humanoid body. His head has a reptilian shape to it and is covered by thick black skin. Some would say that the skin of his head is so thick that it functions like a helmet. Another feature that is hard to miss are Guhkra's long and pointy ears. His ears are so long that the beastkin leader had to cut holes in the hood of his black cloak otherwise he would not be able to pull it over his head. Another remarkable feature are his forearms, which are of a more reptillian shape and end with sharp claws. The same goes for Guhkra's legs.
The beastkin's size stands about 6.2 feet. About the length of a large human male. He has an athletic build with strong muscle tone. His body is covered in scars from battles and abuse. Something the Beastkin wears with pride. He wears little cloathing to hide his marked body. Only a piece of cloth around his private parts and a black wool cloack to protect him from the elements.
Personality: Guhkra Khurix is an extremely charismatic person with a keen sense for social interaction and direction of conversations. He has a natural feel for when he needs to be imposing and when his charming sense of humor is the best tool for the situation. Regardless of who is in front of him, he always looks very calm and in control. For Chieftan Khurix, every response, be it rage, a question or a joke is a calmly calculated desicion ment to further his goals.
Guhkra Khurix is very well aware of what he wants to achieve and what sacrifices needs to be done. He's a Machiavellian who conspires and misdirects with little sense of honor and no morals to hold him back. To him killing his own father was just as easy as killing a Justinian Knight. Just another step in his masterplan. For Guhkra Khurix the goal warrants the means.
If you would look into his soul you might think that the Chieftan lacks emotions but this is not true. He simply shuts them off and locks them deeply away, fearing that others might see them as a weakness. The truth is that deep inside rages a fire of hatred. He can never forgive his father and the Emperor about the wrongdoings he endured.
Biography:
Gukra was born as the second child of Drogan Kuhrix, Chieftan of the Dorak-Ka. The Dorak-Ka are a tribe of beastkin living on the borders of the Marches. During ancient times, they where loyal servants of Daigon the Darkklord but those days have long gone. Now they are just another tribe of savage hunter-gatherers and raiders lving in the harsh conditions of Nagath.
For the first 12 years of his live Guhkra lived what you could consider a normal childhood. From young age he would train daily in the arts and crafts of his tribe, learning how to hunt, fight and gather food. Hunting trips would sometimes lead them into the Marches, the Ashen Forest or other places in and aroud Nagath. Needless to say that occasionally the Dorak-Ka would clash with neighboring tribes over huntinggrounds, women and for the sheer entertainment of their warriors.
It was during these times that Guhkra started to show an exceptional level of interlect for a beastkin. He quickly learned, mastered and improved upon the techniques and skills that has kept his tribe alive for centuries. Guhkra's analytical mind, outgoing and charming personality managed to attract a lot of attention. The elders watched his exploits and development with a bit of weary while the youngsters gathered around him. He managed to transform a group of kids in the most effective hunting party of the tribe simply by looking at the methods employed from a different angle. Rumours would go around the tribe that Guhkra would claim chieftanship by the time he would become of age.
It was during these happy times as a kid that disaster would struck for the Beastkin. Just 4 weeks after his 12th birthday an army of knights from the Marches invaded the lands and started to massacre the tribe. Men, women and children where all put to the sword. Rather then rallying his warriors, Chieftan Drokan, father of Gukra fell to his knee and bargained a peace treaty with the lords of the Marches rather then fight for his tribe. In exchange for peace, chieftan Drokan swore fealty to the lords and gave his only son as a hostage to Marcher Lord Tryon Chetwynd.
Lord Chetwynd chackled the young beastkin in chains and paraded Guhkra through the villages and towns of his domain in some sad, wannabe groteske victory parade. His soldiers encouraging the peasants to throw whatever they could find at this verocious savage. In the mind of Tryon Chetwynd, he had to deconstruct the boy, strip him from all he ever was in order to raise him as a civilized being that could serve his house. Ofcourse the only natural way to acomplish this was through brutal torture and endless humiliation. Afterall, you cannot undo the savage nature of beastkin by being gentle.
Betrayed by his owm father and hostige of a cruel lord, Guhkra soon found our how the empire and Marcher lords thought about the peoples of Nagath. During feasts he would be put on display just for the entertainment of Lord Tryon's guests. He could clearly overhear these human knights boasting about how much women and children of the savages they killed and raped. How it would be the best thing ever if they would slay each and every inhabitant of Nagath because they where all scum and vermin, not worthy of live. Guhkra soon realized that any true form of co-existance between Nagath and the Justininian Empire would not be possible. Only death awaits for the weaker side. If death didn't come today, it would come tomorrow.
In this harsh world the strong live and the weak die. In the case of Nagath, that would mean that all those bickering tribes, petty lords and wannabe kingd would eventually all be slain by the empire. Just like the Beastkin's father, they where all to afraid to truely standup against the God-king and preffer to fight among themselfs for a bigger piece of the wasteland. Playing king while hoping the empire would stay away long enough to enjoy some of their power. The longer Guhkra stayed at the court, the more the realization downed upon him that the peoples of Nagath needed a new leader, one that would unite them against their one true common enemy, the Justinian Empire.
For the next 13 year, Guhkra would endure the torture and abuse, slowly walking more in line with how the civilized peoples behave and learning as much about the culture, mechanics and way of thinking of the Marcher lords. When lord Tryon Chetwynd deemed the beastkin assimilated enough, he put Guhkra Kuhrix through formal Justinian education. Much to the lords suprise, the beastkin had no problem keeping up with his peers in typical civilized skills suchs as reading, writing and math. Also he proved to be a capable fighter. Soon Lord Tryon would have his tool that would form the bridge between the civilized and the savage. An advisor that knew how those savage basterds think and how to make sure they would never pose a treat.
Lord Chetwynd could not be more wrong. At the age of 25, he sended Guhkra to accompany his first born son on an expidition to massacre the human tribes along the border. A thousand knights and men at arms would march under command of lord Gillroy Chetwynd, heir to Castle Chetwynd into Nagath. Guhkra would be his advisor. The first advise the Beastkin gave was to contact his father and demand him to honor his agreement and mobilize his warriors to aid in the lord's campaign. At the same time Guhkra send out a message to the human tribes that the Marcher lords where comming and what preperations they should make, what route they would take and and how to fight them. This was the oppertunity Guhkra Kuhrix was waiting for.
The beastkin convinced Gillroy Chetwynd to take the route through the Ashen Forest while at the same time he would ride ahead to meet up with his father for the first time in 13 years. As Guhkra aproached his fathers encampment he could feel his anger and hatred rise. He had never forgiven his father for giving him away as a child. He blamed the chieftan for all the hardships he had to endure and today he would pay the price for his betrayal. All the warriors had gathered to watch the meetup. Guhkra watched his father extend his arm as a token of friendship but rather then taking it he grabbed the old man by his throath, driving his claws deeply into the flesh and bringing he head close to his father's ear and whispered softly "You're a fool to think that I stand here as your son. You betrayed your tribe, betrayed your family and now expect to find a friend? The moment you gave me away to the Marcher lords as a child you stopped being my father. Don't expect forgiveness or mercy from me." Before Guhkra's father could respond, the young Beastkin ripped out the man's throat. With a smile on his face, Guhkra Kuhrix watched his father collapse in pool of blood
Equipment: [note the nature of your Dark Artifact]
Skills:
Motivation:Death to the God-king!
@Flagg If there is still any room, here is my submission; I hope there aren't any issues with this.Roy AndersonRace
Cursed/Undead HumanNationality/Nation description
A former knight of the Justinian ImperiumOccupation
Once a knight, now a duty-less travelerReligion
Being cursed, Roy has forgone worship as a wholeAppearanceRoy was once a dashing youthful knight. Fair skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, and a body fit for his career made him the ideal image of any aspiring knight. He stood at 6 feet in height, and had reach the middle of his 20's. His natural beauty was something he became vain over, and he had used that charm to swoon many fair ladies in his day. Having been born into a wealthy family, whenever he wasn't adorned in steel and cape he expressed himself with the luxurious of wealthy noble clothes.The cursed and wretched soul that became of Roy is certainly the opposite of handsome; perhaps a fitting punishment for his vanity. His skin is blackened and rotted, the dead corpse of a body has long been weathered and gnarled by time and the elements; kept intact and strong solely by the magic nature of the curse itself. He sports a face that has been literally melted. Bits of flesh and tissue barely stick to his jaws and cheeks while the rest of his face is bare with a dried white skull. Only one eye remains in a socket, cursed with a purple illuminating hue that allows him to comprehend in his own accursed state.Personality
Roy is a worn out and hollowed form of his former living self, both literally and metaphorically. The curse had shattered his ego and most of his pride. His horrible fate and rotten appearance has robbed him of his lady's man persona. He still holds onto some of virtue of hope, at least in the solace that he may 'live' long enough to find a way to life the curse. He still upholds an almost instinctual sense of morality that he had as a knight, albeit far more subtle and certainly lacks the virtue to act upon it in many cases. Otherwise he is just a bitter soul lacking enough empathy to care of another's plight. IF there is one thing he still has a strong hold of, its his head-strong stubbornness that gives him the will to carry on.BiographyThe Anderson family were all nobles, some even respected knights, of the Justinian Imperium. In addition to having been spoiled in the high class, Roy had been selected to be a knight just like his father and the father before him. With his training having started at 8 years of age, Roy become a true knight at the age of 15; In the years that followed he rose through the ranks both due to his bloodline and skill. His duties were mostly for patrol, vigilance over forts and towers, or the occasional quest to be carried out by higher authorities. His free time was usual spent with drinking with his fellow knights, flirting with women that captured his fancy, or the occasional outdoor game hunting for a self-made dinner. Life was both grand and simple for him.
One day, rumors spread of a powerful dark artifact rested in a dungeon some distance away. It was the task of Roy, along with several other high ranking Imperium knights, to find and destroy this artifact; or at the very least retrieve it so it can be contained. The journey itself was a dangerous trip of crawling through dangerous forests and uncharted valleys, a path that made the surviving party grew as close as brothers. After arriving at and traversing through an expansive cavern, there lied the artifact, centered in a room that opened up to the roof of a volcanic mountain. Roy was the first the cautiously approach the dangerous treasure. After several strikes with a sword, the artifact proved too durable to be destroyed with their current equipment at the very least. The group decided that Roy should carry the instrument back to Imperium grounds, but as he reached out for the forbidden item, a violet light glowed from the artifact and illuminated the open cave. Then the earth shook, the lava in the room, stirred, and stalagmites fell at the cave's exit. Roy, to the horror of his comrades, had his face doused in molten rock. However they didn't have time to witness Roy's helmet and face burning away, nor mourn the loss of a brother who was screaming in pain, for a roar directed their heads to the ceiling. A winged beast of scales breathed a noxious green flame down upon Roy's companions; a noxious fire that burned at their flesh, corroded their armor, and poisoned their blood.
Roy awoke in confusion, and if he hadn't felt so numb he would have sweared he was having a cold sweat. At first he thought the incident prior was a horrible dream; a theory broken when he realized he was in the same destroyed room. His comrades lied east of him, their armor had been almost disintegrated by rust, and whatever flesh and bone wasn't cremated were rotten and corroded into empty husks. Further inspection revealed why Roy had felt so numb, upon looking at his arms, His skin was charred and rotted.His armor had been destroyed mostly, but his weapons were miraculously intact. Furthermore, the artifact, despite his memory denying that he ever actually touched the thing, now rested in his hand. Though it wasn't clear, it felt as though it were whispering dark words and sorceries just by holding it close.
When he finally understood the gravity of his fate, and overcame his grief, hidden in a new set of armor. He had set his mind to never return to his home until this wretched curse is lifted.EquipmentA full plate of armor, steel in quality, and bears resemblance to an elite knight. This specific armor was of a fallen comrade that died from inhaling a toxic chemical in the dungeon, and was the only proper gear he could salvage compared to what became of the rest of his comrades.
His trusty lance, steel bladed with ivory and gold decor, has a fine sheathe on the back. A Standard Straight sword rests at his hilt, and a kite shield at his offhand.This artifact, when blown by its chosen user, summons a cursed wyvern to the user's aid. The wyvern always appears from above without fail, unless if the user is in a position where it cannot reach from the sky. The wyvern will stay and follow the user's will for as long as desired.
The artifact cannot be used by anyone except those that are chosen and cursed by it. If a mortal enters a close vicinity to the artifact, if it lacks an owner, the artifact will determine whether to accept or deny the wielder by an unknown means of judgement. Those that are denied are killed by its curse, both those accepted into ownership and killed and reanimated as an undead.Standing at 15 feet in height, 65 feet in length.
A reptile with hooked, talon-like feet, arms modified into bat-like wings with curved nails, and a keeled-scaled hide rowed like spiny armor. The long neck and serpentine head is more then just an imitation of a serpent, as its many-fanged maw has a venom like a that of a viper. The muscular yet nimble tail is armed like a club at its tip, and the eyes glow a brilliant jade.
A wyvern is an imperfect dragon; primordial and resilient creatures like their cousins, only far more primitive and beastly in nature. The serpentine wyvern is entirely loyal to the undead knight; so long as Roy is the chosen owner of the dark artifact that wills it. A bond that can only be severed upon destruction of the owner, wyvern, or the artifact itself. Since their bonding, Roy has named him Jorboros.
- Natural Armor: Like many dragons and similar creatures Roy's wyvern has a hide that can rival the durability somewhere between iron and standard types of steel, however the underbelly scales lack this armor and are practically just as vulnerable as soft flesh. Another trait common to wyrms is its practical heat-immunity, evidence by his previous dormancy within a pool of lava. Having a toxic nature, it is reliant to many toxins and acids.
- Toxic Firebreather: Jorboros can exhume fire like many dragon-like beasts, however the wyvern's toxic saliva is flammable; Creating a firebreathe variant that is a dark green in hue and exhumes a noxious and disorienting chemical that can rust most metals.
- Serpent Venom Roy's Wyvern possesses a venom within its many fangs that do not kill its prey directly, rather the venom slowly wears out and kills the victim through various ailments such as decreasing blood pleasure, inhibition of blood clotting, and eventually muscle paralysis. The venom isn't always fatal on its own, and a healthy immune system can beat it off if the victim is in otherwise great shape within a few days, however since the venom prevents blood from clotting any cut can lead to blood loss if it isn't properly taken care of.
- Companion and Steed: The beast's sense of smell and remarkable vision, even in night, allows him to be excellent at navigating and assisting Roy if such skills are needed. Additionally, Roy can ride on the back of his wyvern comfortably.
- Tooth and Claw: Being a large beast Jorboros has great strength and speed. He primarily uses his tail, hooked feet claws, and head for physical damage in addition to biting or exhuming his toxic fire. Jorboros is a natural flier, and a fast one at that.
- Cold Blooded: Though he is active upon exposed to hot temperatures or a great deal of sunlight, cold climates and similar effects render the wyvern rather lethargic, and can be easily frozen left unchecked.
- Zombie's Strength: Receipt his rotten appearance, the dark magic that animates his body and the very state of a dead being he is attains him strength above the average mortal. However despite the raw strength he possesses, his decaying state and lack of sensation has made his finesse and technique sloppy and he has grown very clumsy; despite his efforts to retain much of the skill he had when he was alive.
- Walking Talking Corpse: Roy feels no pain, and nothing short of crippling or destroying his body can phase him. So long as he is bound to the Horn of Wyvern artifact, and he has a good chunk of his body left, he can remain 'alive'. Most poisons and factors that are detrimental too mortals have no affect to the undead, at least in terms of poisons, curses, and the likes. Though his body is technically in a constant state of decay, the curse upkeeps a stagnant threshold of his corpse, one that can carry him for an eternity assuming he doesn't get into trouble.
- Ex-Knight: Despite his clumsiness, he still retains good enough skill to be formidable with his lance, shield, and sword.
- Reborn Hunter: His previous hobby of hunting still has some uses; whether he needs to track something down, navigate the wilderness, or get food for any living companions.
- Assimilating Biomass: Though he cannot naturally regenerate; fallen limbs, his head, or other important structural bits of his body can be replaced by other corpses. His curse allows him to replace missing parts of his body with foreign flesh, so long as it is relatively human. Doing such will slowly absorb and morph the attached piece to resemble the part that he replaced.
- Cursed Fodder: Being an undying corpse Roy can be used to go through certain curses or other obstacles that could would be otherwise dangerous to the living. His ability to ignore injuries makes him useful as a tank. Being cursed with dark magic he is resilient to unholy forces including demons, necromancy, and other ghoulish factors. In addition, his curse grants him a potency towards necromancy and other dark arts though he lacks any knowledge to use it.
- Unholy Abomination: Being undead, healing magic has no effect on him. Holy magic can burn him and potentially exile his immortal soul. Wards and lines of salt can keep him at bay, direct contact with a lot of salt can even temporarily paralyze him.
Water, so long as it isn't stagnant or polluted, acts like acid to his body; including rain and rivers.
If Roy's body is completely destroyed, if the artifact itself is destroyed, or if his wyvern is slain; Roy's soul will be put to rest.MotivationRoy wants nothing more then to be restored to his former living, and beautiful self. Despite his morales, the time he had spent as a rotting corpse has given him the overwhelming desire to be rid of it; meaning that if it comes to it, he will do whatever needs be done to be alive and young again. His adventurous spirit, though dulled by his undeath, inspires him to traverse the world to find a cure to his curse; and perhaps find a party that can accept his unholy presence.
Name:Carrick Viluine
Age:60
Race:Threllxhic. Near-universally referred to as "threll" for sake of simplicity as well as "sun elf" because of their appearance (though the latter not to their face, unless one wishes to offend). Threll are physically decidedly similar to both humans and elves, with most scholars agreeing they share common ancestry with at least one of the races. They have a longer lifespan than humans and may live well over a century and a half, though most threll die naturally a few years after they reach a hundred. Threll also enter adulthood later than humans, and enter their middle ages in their sixties. The race is infamously infertile and their numbers are accordingly relatively few, though they are widespread and many of them have long since mingled with and integrated in human societies, making threll an uncommon yet unsurprising sight in human kingdoms. The largest congregations of threll still live in enclaves in the wild, however. Most threll prefer to live outdoors with no roof overhead, exposed to the sky. Their naturalistic living have made them somewhat more resistant to diseases and poisons than humans.
Nationality:Appolon is a small, unclaimed region bordering Nagath and the Marcher Lords alike. It is a hostile place with dense forests, jagged cliffs, steep climbs and deep valleys. The wildlife is dangerous, and there is little of worth in the region. Therefore Appolon is sparsely populated aside from the ancient holding of Xanathiel - a coastal settlement that is one of few threll enclaves not nomadic in nature. Xanathiel was a large city-state many centuries ago and a power in its own right. Much has changed since then, however. As the number of threll have dwindled, Appolonian nature has grown wilder and encroached upon society, while the dark dominion of Nagath further severely and adversely affected the settlement before Daigon's fall. Today Xanathiel is populated by some four thousand threll and a few hundred humans (most refugees from Nagath deemed capable), thus remaining the largest threll enclave in existence.
The enclave's livelihood revolves entirely around Vanir i Xanath - "the Order of Xanath", usually referred to by foreigners as Xanath's Order or the Vanir. It is a form of military and religious order tasked with adhering to the Six Aspects of the threll god Xanath; Justice, Dignity, Perseverance, Order, Patience and Dedication. It predates the city of Xanathiel, it's origins as old and forgotten as that of the threll race itself. In modern times the Vanir serve as protectors of Xanathiel and Appolon as well as taking on contracts from the outside, most often the Marcher Lords or the Imperium. Whereas the size of Xanathiel has dwindled over the years, the Vanir remains a numerous and strong military order (or mercenary company, as most Marcher Lords describes them) with the entire population of Xanathiel in some capacity working for the order.
The military of the order specialize in tracking, finding and dispatching unwanted entities. Generally this translates in practice to members of the Vanir travelling far and wide to track down criminals, murderers and brigands, often in the employ of the Imperium and sometimes accompanying Inquisitors, should their goals align. The Vanir members enacting these contracts are known as "Stalkers", an equally apt and obvious name. The Vanir maintains offices both among the Marcher Lords as well as in the Imperium and beyond where anyone may negotiate a contract, provided that the wanted entity has breached Xanath law (laws that more often than not coincide with those of the Imperium). Ages ago, the Vanir used to have established order chapters in over a dozen locations around the lands. Today all but three have been dismantled, the other two being located in the Imperium. These two chapters take on other races among their ranks, unlike Xanathiel.
Occupation:Stalker in the Order of Xanath, where he has reached the rank of Commander.
Religion:Xanathism is as straight-forward as it is old. Xanath was an entity powerful enough to claim godhood who in ancient times fought to establish society in a wild world dominated by chaotic, barbaric gods. The war lasted millenia, but Xanath emerged victorious and the envoys of chaos and anarchy were vanquished. Yet victory came at a price, and Xanath would succumb to the wounds sustained in ages of battle. In a last sacrifice Xanath spawned the threll, tasked with upholding Xanath's virtues, for while the envoys may have been defeated the chaotic gods and their servants were destined to come back.
Ever since then threll have fought against everything from criminals to gods in their pursuit of order. Yet throughout the years, many threll have lost that sense of purpose and - much like the other races - regards Xanathism with skepticism. From that spawned Vanir i Xanath, an order dedicated to make sure the threll purpose was not lost in time.
Or so legend would have it.
Appearance:Tall for a threll, about 6’1”, Carrick features a very strong, athletic body that, while having lost some agility over the years, remains an imposing presence. His muscles are as hard as his face, with scars running along most of his limbs. Carrick's long hair has turned from blonde to white at a younger age than usual for a threll, though his weathered face looks very much to belong to a man approaching his middle-age. Carrick’s walk is a confident and determined one, much like his yellow-eyed gaze. His face is adorned with a so-called Moon Carving, a type of branding indicating that he belongs to the leadership of the Order of Xanath.
Personality:Tainted by the memories of his clans demise, Carrick has remained a cold yet passionate man. His view on criminality and what he considers to be evil acts is unwavering, as is his resolve in combating these threats. He has given his life to the order and has no family outside of it. His discipline and work rate is extreme even amongst the members of the order, who often find Carrick intimidating. Some make jokes about him behind his back, more often than not in an attempt to remedy the fact that they feel incompetent in comparison. Often viewed as a grim and even bitter man, Carrick's outlook on the world is bleak after facing the ugly sides of it for so long. He holds little love for the society he protects, but remains certain that law, order and justice are virtues worth upholding.
As Commander, Carrick spends his days managing the military part of the Order of Xanath. He is somewhat uneasy being the shot caller - not because of a lack of self-confidence, but more because he has lived a long life as a professional loner and has crown accustomed to it. Carrick is as confident and self-assured as he is determined, but his single-mindedness has left little room for a social life. Most people find him hard to be around socially, and the only time Carrick is ever heard cracking a joke are either in front of a stove or the rather seldom occasions on which he is drinking. Nevertheless, Carrick is dependable. He always returns a favour with a favour and does whatever he can to protect those he considers to be good people.
While well-read in aspects pertaining to military matters - be it history, tactics, smithing or leadership - Carrick is far from an intellectual and knows little about subjects not related to his profession, the exception being cooking, a hobby of his. He knows little of culture, and is surprisingly inept regarding etiquette and social norms for being a well-travelled Stalker. Carrick has lived a violent life and it has left its marks. Bloodshed does not phase him and Carrick has no qualms about using violence when he finds it necessitated.
Biography:Carrick, a name he inherited from his human father, is the result of a rare offspring between a threll and a human. Aniewen, his mother, was a druid and the leader of a small threll enclave living on the western edges of Nagath - a relatively "safe" area of Nagath in which the enclave had moved about for a long time. Carrick’s father, Carrick, was a brazen, charismatic merchant whom courted Aniewen over the years as his trading caravan would visit the clan, eventually finding his feelings answered.
The affair didn’t last for more than a year as Carrick’s father was killed in a botched highway robbery on one of his journeys, but Aniewen was already pregnant and chose to name the child after its father. While threll genes are dominant to the extent of it being impossible to tell a half-threll from a threll, pure bloods living in enclaves often disdain half-breeds and Carrick was no exception. Growing up he was often bullied in secrecy by other children (as no one would openly dare disrespect the leader’s son). Nevertheless, Aniewen did raised the young Carrick rather successfully, teaching him the mundane druidic arts in the process.
As Carrick came into his teens, disaster struck. Tension had risen between the enclave and the inhabitants of the western human settlements. The game the elves hunted had moved to the west, to the human hunting grounds, causing the elves to venture into human lands in search for food. The humans demanded the threll move east, while the threll refused to travel further into the perilous lands of Nagath. It didn’t take long before vocal conflicts turned into physical violence, and on one such occasion leaving three humans dead. After that, the humans wanted blood. A company of mercenaries consisting of thieves, murderers and their like was hired to force the enclave to move, or kill them if they refused. Aniewen and the other leaders of the enclave refused, and the mercenaries proved more than up to the task as they easily slaughtered the threll, among them Aniewen.
Carrick, however, survived. His mother had demanded that he’d leave in secret as the fighting erupted. Carrick had listened and left, despite every fiber of his being wanting to help protect his ‘brethren’ and, more importantly, his mother. He left his lands entirely, travelling to the south, where he would have plenty of good and bad experiences.
Unsure of what to do with his life, Carrick found his calling while visiting Xanathiel, a threll enclave of a size which Carrick had never seen before. He had of course hard of both the settlements and Vanir i Xanath, but he had disregarded the stories as overblown. Where was the order when his enclave needed them? Yet upon seeing the ancient coastal fortress wedged inbetween massive, dark cliffs, Carrick couldn't help but be awestruck. After visiting Xanathiel's kanisa (a form of church), Carrick became enamoured by the Xanath teaching's. Whether out of a sense of obligation, guilt or vengeance Carrick was convinced by the religious leaders that the best way of honoring his fallen enclave would be by taking up the sword and use it against those who would commit such atrocities.
Carrick had found himself among the new recruits the following spring, beginning a very long, difficult and unforgiving apprenticeship that would see most of his comrades either not make the ranks or simply quit. Carrick, however, did not. He proved a talented if unexperienced swordsman and made use of his mother's teachings as well as his upbringing in general as the Order taught him to scout, track and live off the land. After completing his training, Carrick was assigned to one of the many small military units in the order, consisting of other military trained members (Stalkers, as they’re called by the public).
The unit proceeded to carry out various assignments for the order, with Carrick doing what he felt he was destined to do – hunt evil. As the years went by, Carrick rose in prominence among the Vanir, eventually to the degree that he started operating by himself, travelling much farther than most Stalkers did in pursuit of wanted men, creatures and other. Meanwhile, Carrick continued rising in the Order's ranks, until eventually being named Commander of the Order, second only to the Masters and the Grandmaster. Carrick desired to expand the order into Nagath, and found himself increasingly frustrated by the fact that only a handful of the Stalkers ever travelled as far as himself in their pursuits - simply cancelling contracts if their quarry moved too far to the east.
As the years went on, an aging Carrick found himself with the opportunity of seizing to chase monsters and mages and instead focus on his vision. He had long been a vocal proponent for a new order chapter and as such his peers where well aware of Carrick's wish. The Grandmaster of the Vanir himself had taken the proposal under serious consideration, and had finally reached a decision - Carrick was to travel to the pirate city of Ozgrad's Folly and investigate the possibilities of establishing a Vanir chapter there, under Carrick's own command. The strategical location of Ozgrad's Folly would make it possible to travel from the city to Xanathiel by sea - a far quicker and "safer" (the Cursed Sea bears its name for a reason) way of travelling than that by foot across Nagath. The city would then serve as a base of operations for the Vanir as they began rooting out the corrupting presence of evil throughout Nagath.
All this hinged on the nature of Ozgrad's Folly, however. Was the city simply too far gone in it's decadence? Could Carrick ever hope to reach an agreement with the local leaders and stabilize Ozgrad's Folly enough for the Vanir to move in?
Equipment:Two of his own swords. One longsword meant for battle, and one shortsword he carries in daily life. They're not masterwork quality, but they could certainly fetch a high price and are perfectly balanced to Carrick's taste. Other than the swords, Carrick puts little value in material things, and own nothing of note. Yet there is this trophy he once took from a deranged mage he had been contracted to kill - a small crystal ball the size of an eye. It's iridescent but otherwise unnoteworthy, but Carrick hasn't been able to bring himself to sell it. He has brought the lighter version of his order's armour with him to Ozgrad's Folly - a fur-studded brigandine and hardened leather greaves, the brigandine sporting the Vanir crest of a white sword atop a blue and green field.
Skills:Nearly all of Carrick's talents relates to the field he has dedicated his life to. He used to be an extraordinary swordsman and duelist, to the extent that he never met his match. The years have aged him, and Carrick is not quite as quick or indeed good as he once was with a sword, but is still deadly in his use of it. As good as he is with a sword, as pathetically bad he is with ranged weapons. Carrick is not a marksman. He is an excellent tracker and survivalist, often spending weeks or months from civilization in search of his prey. He is cunning in tactics, setting up ambushes and getting information. During later years, he has through practice developed some sense for strategy and management - aspects he was previously very unfamiliar with and is still somewhat uncomfortable with. As pastime Carrick practices smithing, specifically swordsmithing. He is hardly an expert, but he has done it for a long time and knows exactly how to create something befitting him.
Other than that, Carrick considers himself a good cook.
Motivation:Carrick has intentions of extending his order's influence into Nagath, with the penultimate goal of bringing law and order to the region - a goal he is well aware is unlikely to be reached in his own lifetime. What he might be capable of orchestrating, however, is doing the same to Ozgrad's Folly. Carrick has been sent to evaluate the city and it's possibilities of turning from a nest of vipers to a civilized settlement, and Carrick has every intention of forcing that change should the vipers resist.
OOC note; I imagine Carrick might be sidetracked from his mission, which is perfectly fine with me. This is, however, his reason for being in Ozgrad's Folly.
<Snipped quote by cider>
Accepted. A few suggested changes: I would get rid of any reference to elves which, unless someone else brings them into the world, we can assume don't exist in this setting. Secondly, you dont nec have to spell it out in your CS, but it would be good to think a bit on how the Threll viewed Daigon way back when, and how they think of him now. Were they his slaves? His allies?
Lastly, while Carrick's order might work with the Marcher Kingdoms, the Imperium itself is very intolerant of nonhumans and unlikely to permit widespread interaction btwn its subjects and Threll hunters. Doesnt mean the threll can't operate in the Imperium, just worth it to keep in mind that their legal status would be shaky at best.
