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[CHAR] Tear the World Down

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Hidden 7 yrs ago → 7 yrs ago Post by Sierra
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Sierra The Dark Lord

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X X X
A D R I A N N A C O R V E L L O
{{ FEMALE || 24 }}

A P P E A R E N C E
Short, but not significantly so. Her hair is never kempt and is oft pulled back. Though subtle features would lead one to believe she is a soft, caring person, the burning fire in her eyes betrays a far harsher reality. Her grace is only skin deep. She still dresses as if she lived the once-lavish lifestyle of her past, failing to conceal her wealthy upbringing. She appears outcast both from the world around her and the one behind her. Though not yet fully cognizant of this fact, she wears many pieces of her armor even day to day, always ready for a fight that might come he way.

B I O G R A P H Y
Adrianna is the firstborn daughter of House Corvello, a lordship under the Vahkanite Imperium. A son followed years later and only a year beyond that, twin boys. Her eldest brother is still four years her minor. Despite this, he is to inherit the family’s lands. In all her studies and her fight training and her grooming to be a baroness herself, she was always told that it was the firstborn who would inherit the land. Nowhere was it stated it must be a son. She knew in all the lordships of the empire that the daughters were married off, yet Adrianna persisted with the intent to be a Baroness herself, not a trophy.

The inevitable failure was not for lack of effort; her parents did try. They found themselves however in a predicament as House Corvello was not in need of any diplomatic marriages. Adrianna knew this from her studies of current politics. She proved to be “quite the handful” as one suitor put it. Her hand was offered to three men from other houses. Her eagerness & tact for governance was often considered as ‘overbearing’ from the men who merely wanted a simple wife. She famously once retorted “I am a warrior and a diplomat, not some simple housewife to a spoiled man-child,” arguing with her mother over why she continued to reject marriage. Though Adrianna had evaded attempts to marry her off, her father Durian Corvello - ever the traditionalist - still decided it must be the eldest son who ascends to power.

At first she was shocked and could not believe that he would deny her perceived birthright from her. Over time her disbelief turned into cynicism and disgust that she was to be barred from having what was hers by right. She was constantly angry at her brothers for being given the golden spoon – at her expense nonetheless – while she had worked her whole life preparing to run the lordship with the prowess of a veteran. In her aggravation and vulnerability, Kassandra preyed on her mind, leading her away from a righteous revenge and towards pure, unrestrained rage. Her father and eldest brother became the point of her fixation as it grew dangerously more violent. She grew excessively brutal during sparring, holding back none of her pent up rage against her father. Hushed whispers among the servants spread through the palace, believing she would snap any day. Some suspected she would kill her own father when she did, while others bet that she would lead the First Company on some crazy quest in her delusion.

When she did snap, it was just as fierce as could be expected, and about as damaging. She kicked in the doors of the throne room intent on challenging her own father to an honor duel for control over the lordship. Durian would not stand for his own child to dare challenge his authority, and called upon the guardsmen to remove her. As expected, she took exceptionally poorly to the refusal, severely injuring several in the ensuing melee. She beat down nearly a dozen well-trained soldiers before she was finally cornered and forced from the room. In seething rage she took what she could, stole a horse, set fire to the stables at the same time, and rode off towards Gods know where, hell-bent on taking back 'her' lordship by force.

S K I L L S
X Strongarm Diplomacy
Adrianna is used to getting her way, even if ... especially if that involves twisting someone's arm behind their back with a white smile and a silver tongue. She is studied in the arts of diplomacy, in her own flavor as always from her tenacity. She's not above making enemies of people if it means getting what she wants. Leverage is infinitely more powerful than goodwill.

X Speed Fighter
Adrianna is formally trained to strike often and strike fast, whether by fist or by blade. Her teaching covered a variety of weapon styles, such that if it's light enough and sharp enough, she can be dangerous with it. Though she carries a rather unique blade of her own, her skill set ensures that she is almost never truly without a weapon. Any enemy's sword can potentially become her own blade in an instant.

W E A P O N S
X Svardstav
A norse bladed staff (literally: sword-staff) with a fourteen inch double-edged steel blade on one end. The weapon caters to her speed-fighting skill and helps keep distance over an opponent, mitigating her moderate frailty.

X Throwing Knives
An eight-piece set of nine inch throwing knives. Though she finds them of limited usefulness presently - as she is not practiced at throwing knives at all - she carries them anyway, practicing the skill when she can. When supplemented with aetheric powers, the knives act less like thrown objects and more like guided missiles, seemingly flying with a mind of their own by Adrianna's distant hand.


K A S S A N D R A M A L I S T A R E
{{ FEMALE }}

T O T E M
Small turquoise pendant, strung on a black ribbon worn around Adrianna's neck.

P E R S O N A L I T Y
To call Kassandra Malistare anything short of psychopathic would be a disservice. She derives sick pleasure not just from killing, but from doing so slowly and personally. Even among the Legion her twisted tortures were sometimes considered excessive. Some of them even believed that it was that bloodlust that led them to ruin, that it did nothing to bring them closer to their goals.

The dark aether they channeled, the Dark Gods they served, the powers of Hell they commanded, all of it thrives on lust and rage and pain and its influence is corrupting. Several of the Legionnaires came around to similar affinities for violence and slaughter, taking whatever they wanted and cutting down anyone in their way. The Legionnaires who resisted were ultimately right - that their obsession led them to failure for seeking war itself rather than seeking an ultimate victory - but it was those who embraced the inner darkness that grew the strongest.

Adrianna likes to think she's above that level of sadism, though Kassandra chose her for a reason. She sees the same potential for darkness in Adrianna that led her down this path. Her lust for power drives her to corrupt another soul, preying on Adi's desire for a crown of her own. Adrianna fights against her influence some of the time, both out of an arrogance she is better, but also partially out of the fear that she isn't.

S K I L L S
X Projectile Levitation
Kassandra herself carried a set of throwing daggers in her day. It was by her compulsion that Adrianna carries them as well. Though not strictly requiring the knives - rocks off the ground will do in a bind - she prefers the surgical precision of a few sharp blades. Her manipulation of the knives is lethally precise, turning them into deadly ranged, chain attacks.

X Fade
To better utilize her smallish weapons against swords and pikes, Kassandra honed the skill of fading: ceasing to exist in one location and coming to exist in another. The distance she can travel is not infinite, requiring both sight on end position, and a path (though not necessarily a path large enough for a human; any crevice can do).

O T H E R
X Unfair Fight
Kassandra thrives on fighting outnumbered. Her own arrogance in her skills - albeit not typically unwarranted - compels her to ruthlessly cut down whole regiments at once rather than picking a more intelligent, favorable battle.
Hidden 7 yrs ago → 7 yrs ago Post by Drunken Conquistador
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GABRIEL DIGANI / AGATHO D'AMERE
THE THORN CAPTAIN

{{ MALE || 37 }}


APPEARANCE
Tall and dark haired, as usual among the people of Valette, Gabriel lets his hair grow to reach the nape of his neck and wears a beard that is as well kept as one would expect from a mercenary. His features transmit an aura of confidence and his behavior often changes at the drop of a hat, depending on who he's dealing with. Sometimes, however, the mask slips and the disdain he feels for most of those around him leaks.

Like any self respecting sellsword, Gabriel is paranoid enough to keeps his wealth close to him. Rings, earrings, chains and hidden pouches sewn into his clothes.


BIOGRAPHY

The middle child of Antonio Digani, one of the most prominent merchant princes of the Grand Republic of Valette, Gabriel grew in a life of privilege wanting for nothing under the care of a loving parents and two sisters with which he got along reasonably well. Values such as loyalty to the family and the importance of duty were instilled into young Gabriel ever since he could walk. The boy did not question it. As far as Gabriel was concerned, that was to be his lot in life and he would be content doing it.

His idyllic childhood ended shortly after his 11th birthday when a shipwreck killed his father. The death of its patriarch threw the Digani family into disarray. With his mother withdrawing into depression and seclusion, the family's affairs were left into the hands of Gabriel's older sister, the then 16 year old Isabella. The host of lesser functionaries and relations was simply not enough to rein the wild and free spirited girl, who for the first time in her life could finally enjoy the total freedom she craved for so long. The Digani's fortunes faltered, of course, and some of their standing within Valette was lost. But disaster was avoided, even if sometimes only barely, by loyal and skilled stewards. Sometimes Isabella even managed to actually do something useful, like land a useful contact in one of her wild parties. Meanwhile, Gabriel continued to be the always dutiful younger brother, even as he grew to disapprove his sister's behavior.

With his mother still withdrawn into her own little sad world, Gabriel was yet too young to be fully involved in the family's affairs. So he busied himself with caring for his younger sister, Alessandra. By the time he had grown old enough to work in the Digani business, Gabriel's opinion of his eldest sister, now the family's matriarch, had sunken even lower. Under Isabella's stead, the Digani's had been gone from one of the greatest trading families of the Grand Republic to a mere middling power. Not only that, but as the siblings grew older, their personalities became too much for the other to bear.

Still, Gabriel served the family to the best of his abilities, whether it was managing the accounts or leading bands of retainers into the mountains to raid rival caravans or protect their own. For some time this routine continued even as Gabriel grew increasingly disgruntled with how his older sister handled their estates. Even young Alessandra grew distant from his brother, now her own woman eager to get out of her sibling's shadows. It was during this time that the then 20 year old Gabriel found a pair of silver earrings among the goods of a caravan belonging to a rival family.

Over the next two years, the relationship between all Digani siblings only worsened. Still, Gabriel served his sister. With grinding teeth, deep scowls and recriminations flowing whenever he opened his mouth to her, but still the ever obedient little brother. Things finally exploded when Gabriel caught his sister sneaking out of their mansion. Following her through the wide cobbled streets of Hightown and into the narrow and dizzying pathways of the lower city, he was shocked to discover that his little sister was on the verge of eloping with Enrico Firnesse, the scion of one of the Digani's greatest rivals and whom they were fighting an all but declared trade war.

Listening only to his anger, Gabriel stormed into the lovebird's alcove. Deaf to their words, by the time he realized what he had done it was too late. Alessandra and Enrico were dead, alongside a few unfortunate bystanders who had stumbled upon the scene and had to be silenced. Hurriedly switching his bloodied clothes for a mismatch of clean garments from his victims, Gabriel rushed back home. For the first time in years, completely at a loss of what to do.

Two weeks later, his hands would be forced, as word of his foul deeds finally came to light. With a bounty on his head and two powerful families baying for his blood, Gabriel fled the city of Valette with whatever he could carry. Eventually settling in the Free City of Rialza and joining the Company of the Thorn, like desperate and aimless youths often do. Taking the name of Agatho D'amere and forging a fake identity to escape the bounty hunters after his blood and Isabella's vengeance.

And so 17 years passed, "Agatho" distinguishing himself among the ranks of the Free Companies for his talents both inside and outside the battlefield. Eventually reaching the rank of Captain and earning his own command within the Company of the Thorn, alongside a reputation across the land for both competence and his cruel treatment of both deserters and oathbreakers.

That is not to say that Gabriel Digani is completely dead. Deep within his soul, the man still holds out a sliver of hope that someday he will return home and not only take his rightful place as the head of the Digani family, but the entire Grand Republic of Valette. For too long greedy, foolish and decadent wastrels have been allowed to run his homeland. Too busy with their petty games of coin and wealth to realize the true potential of the realm they claim to rule. For now, however, Gabriel is forced to cavort with swaggering killers and disgusting, sniveling servants. But someday, and he feels that it's soon, the day will come when he will finally gain the means to make his dreams come true. And when that day comes he is ready to throw himself headfirst into whatever enterprise or adventure presents itself, consequences be damned.


SKILLS
-- An example of his trade.
A noble's education followed by years commanding the Digani retainers and then even more time doing mercenary work have made Gabriel a force to be reckoned with in the battlefield, both as a commander of man and a fighter.

-- A head for numbers.
As the scion of a family of wealthy traders, Gabriel also received a merchant's education. Something that was honed by his years working for the Digani's. When he came to the Thorn's employ, these financial and administrative skills proved to be well regarded by the mercenaries.

Through the eyes of beasts.
Secret to all but him, the Thorn Captain has mastered a unusual aetheric discipline at the behest of his hidden benefactor. With some little preparation, Gabriel can impose his will upon animals, control their actions and see through their eyes. The extent of this control varies depending on the animal, wild beasts whom he has just met are harder to dominate than those who are already bonded to him.


WEAPONS
Serathi longbow
A masterwork bow the color of burnished gold Gabriel looted from a dead Wrelm during his early days in the company. The weapon has grown to be his favorite and the Thorn Captain can easily be found among the front ranks, loosing arrow after arrow with constant accuracy before joining the fray.


Alessandra
A Sybarite Eagle Gabriel has raised himself, Alessandra is both a companion and vessel of his will. Always hanging at her master's shoulder, a large and imposing figure of deadly talons and piercing eyes. It also serves as a scout, as unknown to others, Gabriel can take over the animal's mind and fly across the land to bring valuable information to the Company.


Assorted weaponry
As a mercenary of both certain wealth and status, Gabriel has access to a small variety of weaponry, which he selects according to his needs on the battlefield. And though none of these tools are as prized as the Serathi longbow, the Thorn Captain is also rather fond of the simple sword and shield combination or the halberd.


OTHER
-- Megathocles
Gabriel's own warhorse. An animal of impeccable breeding that cost the Thorn Captain a small fortune to acquire. The black horse is temperamental with anyone that isn't his own master, quick to anger and attack but utterly obedient whenever the Captain sits on the saddle or hold its reins.


AGABYZUS, THE BRASS PRINCE

{{ MALE }}


TOTEM
A pair of silver earrings


.


PERSONALITY

Proud, blunt, disdainful and with grudges for several lifetimes, Agabyzus was once a Prince. Believing himself a great and just Lord, young Agabyzos looked at the world around him and found it wanting. When his father died, he sought to usurp his brother so that he could tear down the nation and rebuild it in his own image of what a land should be. Though victorious, a single kingdom wasn't enough for the now King Agabyzus. The whole world would be remade according to his perfect ideals, and if he had to burn it down first to make his dream come true, then all the better.

Among the Legionnaires, Agabyzus was regarded as perhaps one of the most merciful. Though destructive, cruel and callous to almost all those around him, the Brass Prince overall goal went beyond simple minded revenge or the desire to burn down the world. Agabyzus wished to create a perfect state, where he could rule as God-King and create his own vision of paradise on Earth. As twisted as it may have looked like to a sane outside Observer.

The defeat has only embittered Agabyzus. Who saw his chances to realize his life dream slip through his fingers as he was confined to the enchanted trinket. Upon finding his way to Gabriel, however, the Brass Prince found someone that he could almost relate to. Sibling problems and a burning hidden ambition (who even Gabriel refused to acknowledge) were something he was familiar with. And so he started influencing the young man who now wore his totem. Slowly and subtly at first, waiting for a chance to fully reveal himself.

This chance finally appeared after Alessandra's murder and Gabriel's flight from Valette. Hopeless, desperate and aimless, the young man was smitten by the regally beautiful figure that showed up in his dreams. So easily swayed and enthralled by harsh but honest words and promises of glory and forbidden knowledge.

SKILLS
-- I am the Storm
From using the winds to give greater range and accuracy to arrows to bringing down the wrath of the heavens upon his foes, the Brass Prince's domain over the winds was without equal.

-- Even in Death
Despite considering himself less barbaric than his fellow Legionnaires, Agaybyzus still left a trail of death and destruction in his quest to create Paradise. Always a practical man, the Brass Prince sought to learn ways to make use of the piles of bodies left by his grisly work for something other than grim warnings and food for his servants. Necromancy proved to be a very fertile field of research.

-- Golden Radiance
Though not as apparent as his other abilities, the Brass Prince also learned to use aetheric power as a subtle way of ensuring the loyalty of his followers. Emitting an aura of regal authority that wore down even the most stalwart enemy if given enough time.

Hidden 7 yrs ago → 7 yrs ago Post by Silver Carrot
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Fayvre Ralourhin

{{ FEMALE || 22 }}


APPEARANCE
Fay is a typical physical specimen of a Wrelmsman woman. She is tall, slender and fair-skinned, with a long pointed face to match her ears, often described better as handsome than pretty. Her eyes are a dull, dark green, and her hair is blonde, yet cut to shoulder height and kept away from her face with metal clips. She is often seen adorned in a long green tunic, with a hooded cloak around her.


BIOGRAPHY
Fayvre’s family was not particularly powerful, influential or important. Her mother was renowned in her city as a healer, and her father was a skilled, respected hunter. They lived in a borough called ‘Wood’s Edge’, located in the outer skirts of the Free City of Rialza. It was an area removed from the bustle of the city’s center, with more of a rustic, village feel despite still being part of the city.

Fay was raised to be a hunter, though, even from a young age, she couldn’t be dissuaded from taking an interest in her mother’s work. She loved the mental aspects of science and medicine. She would act as her mother’s assistant, learning the processes involved, observing her mom diagnose patients and prepare remedies, and soaking up as much knowledge as she could.

She took to Archery rather well, enjoying the practice, the challenge and the focus, and became a good shot from an early age. However, she was no hunter. She hated to kill, she cracked under pressure, her hands shook and turned sweaty. It took her far longer than usual for a Wrelmsman to grow and improve to a stage where she ‘graduated’ in a sense, and became a full-fledged hunter.

Not long after that, however, her life began to unravel, though at the time she did not truly know how far it was going to unravel. Her mother grew sick, and became too weak to be able to treat herself. Fay abandoned her duties as a hunter to her father and took up her mother’s mantle as a healer, hoping to learn by doing. Her experience as an assistant helped her reach close to her mother’s prowess in very little time at all, but unfortunately she could not possess the skill needed to diagnose her mother fast enough to save her mother’s life, and she passed away.

After the funeral, father grew only more insistent that Fay return to hunting and leave science and medicine behind, but Fae had changed somehow. She could not tolerate this. She would fight with her father almost daily, escalating it to screaming on a regular basis. Her young, angry mind devised a scheme, and at first she was vehemently against giving it any credence, but as time went on, she relented.

Over a gradual period of time, she slipped small amounts of poison into her father’s food. He naturally grew sick, whereupon she forcefully reopened the healing business and treated her father, thus hopefully showing him the importance of her medicinal knowledge, and of having a healer in general. But something went wrong. Her father became paralysed from the waist down as a result of the damage the poison did to his body.

Unable to hunt, Fay took on the mantle of hunting, but refused to give up the role of healer. The stress of working both jobs, and the constant guilt seeing her father in the pitiful state she cursed him with, was too much to bear, and without telling a soul, she ran away, shedding her old life and leaving her father to his fate. She moved into the city properly, where her work as a healer was in much higher demand, and there she currently resides.


SKILLS
-- Medicine
Fay’s training as a healer, and her own knowledge and study, have given her a good understanding and skill at diagnosing a sick man, choosing the right medicine, and creating it from raw ingredients.


-- Archery
Fay has also been well trained in the art of archery, and has grown to be a markswoman to be respected, even amongst Wrelmsmen.


WEAPONS
—Oaken Bow
A present from Fay’s father after he deemed her a qualified huntress (eventually). It’s a bow of good quality and craftsmanship.


-- Dagger
A standard steel dagger, often used by Fay to finish off wounded game.


QUORIS THE GREEN DEATH

{{ FEMALE }}


TOTEM
A small vial, containing a very concentrated and very deadly poison. However, the vial itself is the totem. As the poison was created by Fay with Quoris’ instructions, it is instead kept as a metaphorical symbol of their partnership.


PERSONALITY
Quoris was utterly callous and without empathy. She did not delight in the suffering of her victims, but neither was she moved to guilt or remorse by them. That is not to say that she wasn’t cruel or sadistic on occasion. She always justified it as another loss in the war against ignorance. Quoris hated the devout, the faithful and the superstitious. She hated the demonization and ridicule of witchcraft and alchemy. She never strived for power, but for knowledge, and though she’d never admit it to even herself, for revenge against the anti-scientific masses.


SKILLS
—Toxic Thoughts
Quoris primary contribution to Fay’s life is less her powers and more her scientific knowledge and wisdom, the creation and usage of poisons and harmful substances, among other areas. All of this knowledge is forbidden, taken from the Gods Below in exchange for Quoris’ soul.

—Poison Cloud
Quoris only used the power of the Dark Aether for one purpose in her first life, and that was to spread a cloud of gas from her body, of numerous nasty qualities. Not only was this gas incredibly poisonous, killing those who remained in the cloud in mere seconds, but it was also flammable. One naked flame touching this gas could set entire villages on fire.
Hidden 7 yrs ago → 7 yrs ago Post by Whoami
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Whoami All things atmospheric...

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Gwynne Lancet

{{ Female || 28 }}


APPEARANCE
Gwynne is a short, pale skinned human who often hides her face behind a veil and hood. The sheer amount of magic that Gwynne has used has bleached her hair white, and turned her once brown eyes into a ruby red hue. Gwynne is very fit from a life of travelling and fine tuning her martial prowess. There are three pinprick scars on her right shoulder blade from a long healed pitchfork wound. Gwynne often wears light clothing that is easy to maneuver in. She foregoes armor and protection for agility and faith in her own abilities. Gwynne carries a number of small trinkets and jewels. Most are just that, trinkets and jewels, though some contain potent aetheric energy which Gwynne uses to channel power into her orb.



BIOGRAPHY
Gwynne's parents were both martial artists who had met in a dueling tournament in the Vahkranite Emperor's honor. Despite the Emperor being in attendance, the tourney was a rather quiet affair. The emperor preferred it this way, with only a few hundred noble guests in attendance. Gwynne's parents fought one another, and endured twenty grueling minutes of being locked in a stalemate. The show was spectacular, but a winner couldn't be decided. The Emperor was more impressed that he was forced to declare the duel a draw. As a token of appreciation, the Emperor granted the two fighters a plot of land they so desired. The two married and settled down in a peaceful valley just hours from Dawnguard. Before long, a small community formed on their land, and it soon became known as the village of Stalemate. It wasn't very creative, but one noble who attended the tourney insisted that the village be named that.

The Lancets never wished to lead a village, so they left their friend in charge of the town while they simply ran of martial arts training school. The school thrived, and two years later, Gwynne Lancet was born. Back then, Gwynne's hair was raven black like her mother's, and her eyes were a hazel brown like her father's. Gwynne was a naturally curious girl in her youth. If she saw something in passing, she'd always return later to explore it and learn its secrets. Of course, as a child, these discoveries would be minor things that any child would marvel at and any adult would simply pass by. Nevertheless, this curiosity would lead to Gwynne developing a sharp mind, and a strong understanding of the world around her while most children were still too busy playing in the gardens. She was a bright girl, always impressing her parents and teachers with things somebody would come to understand years later. It was clear to her parents that she'd become a great tutor in the future.

Gwynne took to her parent's martial training quite well. She was running a class at the age of fifteen, and seemed to be loving every moment of it. Of course, like any youth, Gwynne developed a bit of a rebellious side. While she took her role as a class instructor seriously, Gwynne always yearned for her own room to develop. Before and after classes, Gwynne would often be out of her parent's sight, either gossiping with other village girls or getting in trouble with the boys. Her life was peaceful like any other youth's life in a safe village near the capital.

When she was seventeen winters old, Gwynne's life changed. She and her friends had been out one rainy evening, intent on pranking the old sleeping guard at the village's only watch tower. She'd climb up the tower from the outside, since the hatch to the roof of the tower was always locked, and balance a bird's egg on his forehead. But first, Gwynne would need to collect the egg. So she and her friends scattered out into the outlying woods. One found a robin egg, another found a duck egg. Gwynne gasped when she found an eagle's nest. It'd be the greatest prank! Lay an eagle egg on the sleeping guard's forehead and wait for the eagle to come searching for it! The rain made the tree slippery, but Gwynne managed to climb to the next. Inside of the nest were three eggs, and the eagle was nowhere to be seen. She grabbed an egg and started to climb back down. That was when she heard it, the eagle's call. Turning to the source of the noise, Gwynne saw the eagle swooping down at her at breakneck speeds. She tried hurrying down, but slipped on the wet wood. Gwynne tumbled through the branches, luckily escaping the eagle's wrath in the chaos, and hit the ground rolling. She rolled downward into a small ravine with a creek at the bottom. Gwynne ended up half in the water, groaning in pain from the long tumble. Then she saw it: the bending light of the object that would alter her path in life.

Nestled between two rocks was a strange crystalline object. The silt carried by the creek had covered the object enough to hide it for the centuries it had rested there, but Gwynne's splashing into the creek dislodged it slightly, and shook off the silk. She reached to her shoulder in the water, grabbing the object and pulling it into the air. Gwynne was entranced, her eyes locked on the perfect sphere as light emanated from it in random colors and directions. Even more, Gwynne could have sworn she heard a voice whispering in the back of her mind as she held it. It spoke her name, Gwynne Lancet, and said, We meet at last~. The voice was almost seductive, and it seemed to drive Gwynne. She hid the orb in her bag, and ran back to her friends. During her run back, the orb continued to whisper to her, telling her to act natural, and to keep the orb a secret.

Gwynne was pretty badly bruised up from her fall from the tree and tumble into the ravine. She used that as a sound enough excuse to return home, and wished her friends the best of luck with their prank. Gwynne hid the orb in her room, and every night after she was told to go to her bed, she'd stay up for hours studying it. She listened to the voice in her head, and only became more obsessed with figuring the orb out. She became less and less devoted to her task as a martial arts instructor. Her friends saw her less. And her parents had noticed her being less rebellious than used to be. In the following months, Gwynne had learned that she was a chosen of an ancient Legionnaire named 'Topesh the Wellspring', a sorcerer of unequaled aetheric understanding and power. She figured out, with Topesh's assistance, that the orb was a shard of the legendary Nexus. With more study, Gwynne figured out how to wield the aetheric energy within the orb to wield it in combat.

She was eighteen when a friend had caught Gwynne in the woods practicing with the orb. Gwynne was unaware of her friend watching her, and so continued to practice by channeling dark aetheric energy into Force Orb. As she did, Topesh's laughter could be heard emanating from the orb. Her friend ran off and told the mayor of Stalemate. When Gwynne returned, it was to a crowd. Her parents were there, as well as a court sorcerer and an entourage of guards from the capital. Gwynne was taken by the guards, and when she tried to fight for freedom, she was arrested and separated from the orb. The sorcerer took it for study, while the guards kept her locked away in a cart bound for Dawnguard. She was shaking, sweating, and crying in her cage while Topesh's voice became more and more insistent that they needed to run and keep running, lest she faced execution for illegally practicing sorcery. Gwynne eventually conceded to Topesh's aggravating words, and summoned the orb to her. The orb burst out from the sorcerer's cart, and slammed into the guard sitting next to the cage's door. The guard was sent with terrifying force through the cage, his back and ribs broken.

Gwynne clambered free from her cage, just in time to be flanked on three sides from the other guards. The sorcerer climbed from his cart and witnessed as Gwynne fought the three trained and equipped soldiers. She'd punch, dodge, kick, roll, and repeat, all while the orb floated around her to cover her blind spots. The orb tossed one soldier as it slammed into him with frightening speeds, while Gwynne broke the leg of another guard. The third had it the worst as the orb slammed into his helmet clad head, collapsing the full plate helm around him and crushing his head. The sorcerer conjured an aetheric flame, which Gwynne dodged by leaping to the side. The orb floated in front of Gwynne. She punched the orb powerfully, causing a ripple in the air as the orb shot out a bolt of devastating lightning. The electricity arced to the sorcerer while he channeled aetheric energy, then chained to all of the horses in the caravan. A handful of the survivors from the devastating aetheric discharge were paralyzed. Those who were fortunate to remain untouched by the lightning ran off and spread the word, 'An apostate was loose in the Imperium'.

In a matter of days, Gwynne's name and face was all over the Imperium. The authorities had put a bounty on Gwynne's head, she was wanted alive in the interest of learning her secrets of the Force Orb. Gwynne ran like Topesh had told her to. She even channeled aetheric energy directly into her body to run faster and jump higher. The more energy that coursed through her body, the more it began to show. Her skin paled, her hair turned white, and her eyes became ruby red. It wasn't long before she looked like other apostates that had tangled with aetheric energy. Before the changes, she was able to get by on the hopes that innkeepers and good Samaritans wouldn't recognize her.

Gwynne had managed to find shelter in town on the fringe of the Imperium. But only weeks into her stay, her identity was discovered, and the town rose up in arms to capture her. She barely escaped the small abandoned cabin she was staying in. One lucky farmer had succeeded in wounding her with a simple pitchfork, leaving her shoulder scarred. Gwynne only escaped because she started seeing things that she couldn't before. Topesh had regained some memory after being in a state of limbo for centuries. He granted Gwynne the ability to see the shattered and lost aetheric leylines. The leylines led Gwynne deep into a canyon that the townsfolk were superstitious of. They didn't follow. Gwynne found shelter in a cave that the leyline led into. She watched as the Force Orb caused the leyline to bend and draw closer. Topesh explained that since the leylines were once all connected like cables to the Nexus, and reached across the world. With the Nexus gone, the leylines scattered and ripped apart. Topesh wanted to conduct an experiment, and willed Gwynne to bring the orb closer to the leyline. Surely enough, the leyline connected to the orb. The orb resonated, and Topesh became filled energy. They learned their new goal in that cave, with the Force Orb, they could bind all of the leylines together again, and forge a new Nexus at Gwynne's fingertips.

Gwynne and Topesh have been travelling Avalon for a decade now, searching for the lost leylines and binding them to the Force Orb. Despite whatever nefarious intention Topesh may be keeping secret, he continues to convince Gwynne that the recreation of the Nexus will usher the world forward into a new golden age.


SKILLS
-- Martial Arts
Gwynne was always talented in the martial arts. She relies on a combination of kicks and punches working in tandem with her force orb to keep her opponent constantly on their back foot.

-- Aetheric Might
Gwynne is a first rate sorceress. To the world, she is viewed as an apostate and a witch. The world's view isn't very far off, as Gwynne willingly delved into the darkest reaches of magic to further her own talent. Many apostates who have gone as far down the path as Gwynne has often die from the aetheric overload. But none of them were chosen by the Legion, and none of them had a shard of the Nexus at their command.


WEAPONS
-- Force Orb

A perfectly spherical shard of the Nexus. Gwynne stumbled upon the Force Orb when she was a rebellious teenager. She wasn't aware at the time that this Force Orb would also become her totem, and that she was fated to find it on that rainy day. The Force Orb is the sole corrupting force that made Gwynne stray from her focus as a martial arts instructor. Gwynne turned her attention to learning the Force Orb. When she finally unlocked its secrets, Gwynne had unknowingly woke the soul within the orb as well. She was then made painfully aware, that she was destined for a far darker path.

The Force Orb orbits around Gwynne when she activates it. As per the soul's wish within the Orb, it is capable of absorbing great amounts of aetheric energy. The more energy within the orb, the more potent it becomes. The Orb functions as both a battering ram, and a lens which Gwynne uses to cast spells. When used as the former, the Force Orb slams into a target, and throws the victim. The harder the orb hits, and the more aetheric energy it has, the more damage the force orb can do its target. When used for the latter purpose, Gwynne can channel aetheric energy through it, and cast enhanced spells while sacrificing stored energy within the orb, much to the soul's dismay. Gwynne can channel dark aetheric energy into the orb, which makes the orb unstable and prone to large aetheric ejections. In this fashion, the Force Orb can be used as an impromptu bomb.

The Force Orb is wielded through hand gestures, which Gwynne has learned to incorporate into her martial style. This results in a deadly combination of ranged attacks, magical chaos, and two pronged assaults at close range. The Force Orb is the source of Gwynne's power, and is nigh indestructible as her totem. Nevertheless, she protects the orb from anybody who would wish to steal its power and render it inert.


OTHER
-- Aetheric Trinkets
Gwynne carries a number of small trinkets and jewels which are imbued to carry aetheric energy. Some of which carry dark aetheric energy as well. Gwynne uses these trinkets for quick channeling into her Force Orb. The trinkets carrying dark energy often times fade to dust after being emptied. Emptied trinkets are held onto so that Gwynne can later recharge them.



Topesh the Wellspring

{{ Male }}




Force Orb
Topesh's soul found itself bound to Force Orb, a perfectly spherical remnant of the Nexus.


PERSONALITY
Unlike the other legionnaires, Topesh's voice can be heard by more than just Gwynne. When the Force Orb is activated, Topesh's voice emanates from it. He acts as a sort of adviser to Gwynne and anybody brave enough to be company around her. Topesh is easily excited, and often loses himself in reverie from when he had a body. When near aetheric energy, Topesh starts to get obsessed. He wishes above all else to consume that energy, and use the Force Orb to become a new Nexus that bends to his whims. One might say that Topesh is an addict, that isn't very far from the truth.


SKILLS
-- Containment
Topesh has gifted Gwynne with the lost knowledge of containing aetheric energy into other things, be it living or otherwise. It is through aetheric containment that the Force Orb can exist. Containment also works on the user as well, allowing Gwynne to store aetheric energy in her own body to boost her own skills. Containing energy in living beings is dangerous, as the aetheric energy constantly seeks for a path to flow out of. If the contained energy isn't discharged fast enough, then it either explodes out of the individual violently, or causes great stress on the body. Gwynne rarely contains aetheric energy within herself, but when she does, she channels it outward with her punches and kicks.

-- Witnessing the Leylines
A part of gathering aetheric energy is knowing where to find it. Topesh was obsessed with the aether and its darker sibling. He unlocked the map of the aetheric leylines coursing throughout the word from the Nexus. Now that the Nexus is destroyed, the leylines have shattered and whipped around like a tight cable letting go of all its energy at once. This has caused the leylines to become lost to time. Topesh has granted Gwynne the ability to see the leylines with her own two eyes. Their combined effort to bind the leylines to the Force Orb is made far easier since Gwynne can see where she needs to go.


OTHER
-- Drunk with Power
When the force orb is filled with aetheric energy, Topesh sounds like he is getting drunk. His speech becomes slurred and less sensical. This has caused Gwynne to manage his energy consumption, similar to a diet, much to Topesh's dismay.
Hidden 7 yrs ago → 6 yrs ago Post by BurningCold
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BurningCold Magical Bastard

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KATERINA VALDI

{{ FEMALE || 15 }}


APPEARANCE
Though the circumstances of Katerina’s birth remain shrouded in mystery, the truth is that her father is a pure-blooded human, while her mother was of the Wrelm Forest. Being a halfbreed, Katerina shares traits from both sides of her lineage. Her face is primarily defined by numerous sharp angles, from the point of her chin and nose to the subtle slant of her eyes. Her irises are the hard steely blue of her father, while her hair is a feathery brown, gracefully extending down below her shoulders in gentle waves. Her lips are soft and full, though victim of frequent abuse from teeth working away at them in idle boredom. The interior of her mouth is similarly shredded by sharp teeth mindlessly chewing the soft flesh of her pinkish maw.

Her form is caught between the hard bony edges of days of past youth, and the soft curves of developing womanhood. Katerina’s arms reach down into long, delicate fingers, contrasting sharply with their nails; miserable things frequently bitten down to the quick.

Katerina is a pretty thing when she wants to be, a pretty thing that in previous years would often find her features screwed up into the telltale signs of joyful mischief. In the present, however, when deception is not her game, her face rests itself into the striking severity that it was built for.


BIOGRAPHY
Prologue - A Shameful Truth

“I didn’t understand then, even now I cannot grasp it. Gods willing, the doom must end here.”
-Excerpt from the diary of Mikhal Valdi


A woman heaving through the pain of childbirth. Bodies pressed against each other, wrapped in secretive rapture. The sharp sounds of a wailing infant on the doorstep, crying for a mother that is not there. An amulet hanging around the infant’s thin neck, emanating darkness. Chasing one woman through the rain and the cold, strength and resolve failing. Returning home to find the other woman hanging from a rope.

Disjointed, painful memories.

The lord of the manor pulled his head from his hands. Black hair, sticky with sweat hung over his eyes. Those eyes glanced about the room with nervous anticipation. Gone was the uncompromising strength they were so well known for. Tragedy had sapped that away. Their blue was an anxious, lonely color now. Again he scanned around the space that sheltered him. A gloomy candlelight did little to banish the darkness pouring in from the window above the desk he hunched over. His shirt lay discarded on the floor, tossed there haphazardly in the panic that had seized him prior.

Distant cries could be heard from afar. His child. The lord tensed up suddenly, like a cornered animal, before releasing a shaky breath. He grabbed the dagger from where it lay on the desk - still slick - and brought it up to his chest.

His hand wavered, and his lips pressed themselves into a thin line. Then his eyes were shadowed by a grim resolve.

“Let Mikhal seize my seat. He will make a finer lord- a finer man, than I could have ever been.” The words snuck out in a thin, raspy whisper. “Gods forgive me.”

The blade sunk deep. Lord Castris Valdi heaved a single sigh as blood gurgled to his lips. Then he toppled to the floor.

Part One - The Dark Estate

“Castris murdered his wife and couldn’t handle the guilt. He must have offed himself too.”
“I hear that the Lord Mikhal actually murdered poor old Castris to steal his title.”
“The entire family must be practicing some kind of dark magic. I’d reckon a demon played a hand in the lord and lady’s demise.”
-Rumors spread by the common folk


Katerina’s birth was harried by whispers and suspicion. The Valdi family’s greatest detractors suggested that perhaps Lord Castris had sired his last child with a common whore. The new lord of the Valdi Estate, Katerina’s eldest brother, maintained that the young girl was the legitimate child of the late Lord Castris, and that both their mother and father had taken their lives for some reason unbeknownst to all.

Mikhal, however, knew the real truth. His father’s mistress fled and left the child behind, shortly after his mother found evidence of the affair. Grief took the life of both his parents. The ominous necklace hanging from his half-sister’s neck he never questioned, though he saw it fit to instruct her in keeping the thing hidden. No sense in adding more kindling to the blaze of speculation threatening to burn them all to ash.

Katerina, in consequence, found glowing within her a presence that helped to soothe the anxiety that had gripped her from an early age, while similarly stoking her passion and anger whenever either happened to arise. She grew into a brash and outspoken child behind closed doors, while struggling to maintain the facade of a proper lady in the public eye. Her sister, Gloriana, was instrumental in taming the rougher edges of her personality, leaving Mikhal ample time to focus on leading their household. Gradually, the Valdi family reclaimed their once lofty status.

The whispers had finally begun to fade. How wrong they all were.

Interlude - He Speaks

“We shall sneak off to the grove tonight! It will be lovely, that I can promise...”
-Glorianna Valdi, to Syril Twark


Stars twinkled faintly against the ebon sky of night, casting their cold light into the darkness where no moon shone. A lingering breeze - remnants of the previous day’s storm - whistled through the boughs of the grove, leaves still damp with moisture. A diminutive figure lay prone beneath one of many clumps of bushes that crowded themselves around the trees, peeking out into the clearing with sharp, focused eyes of steely blue. She surveyed the scene before her; a young man and woman resting on the precipice of a gurgling fountain, leaning closely together. A lantern, resting at their feet, provided a soft glow to counteract the oppressive shade encroaching upon the edges of the clearing. The couple laughed and grinned and stole little kisses from one another, mirth radiating from their forms. The little spy felt a grin of her own cracking against her keen features; the crooked grin of a trickster at her work.

Kat focused intently on the male, the son of a dignitary from some other Free City come to visit her lord brother. She couldn’t have been bothered to learn his name. What was far more concerning was the rate at which her sister had taken such a shine to him! That made him a target. Not that he would have escaped her mischief either way. Something stirred in the back of her head then, and Kat’s eyes began to cloud as the warm presence that had resided within her mind since birth began to heat up. She felt the warmth grow, spreading to envelop her psyche entirely. Kat submitted to the force eagerly. Nothing would harm her, she was safe in the comfortable embrace provided by the heat. Her eyelids began to droop, and a trickle of drool was collecting at the corner of her mouth; now hanging slack.

Suddenly the world regained focus, and the path to her goal made itself abundantly clear. She wiped the saliva from her mouth, her lips parting as a little thrill raced over her skin. “May misfortune fall upon you this night, neither grievous nor harmful, but enough to cause quite a fright!” The words were murmured quietly, though with no lack of enthusiasm. Watching carefully, Kat observed a momentary flicker in the steady light provided by the lantern, and a gentle ripple rolling across the surface of the fountain pool, entirely sourceless. Though the signs were near imperceptible to one not looking for the evidence of a hex, it was all the confirmation Kat needed to know that the deed was done.

She paused for a moment, before making her escape as the light of the lantern was snuffed out of existence. Scurrying away, twin calls of confusion and fear rang out from behind her, followed by several loud splashes. Another crooked grin stretched over Kat’s face.

Good. A voice like melted chocolate. Practice will indeed make perfect. And you are nearly there.

Katerina Valdi squealed aloud with delight as she fled back to the manor. Though she knew not the voice, its source was all too familiar.

Part Two - Beoris The Bastard

“We will rise… to tear your world down.”
-The Final Curse of the Legionnaires


Beoris had been with his chosen champion from the very beginning. When the witch found him, buried deep in a forgotten tomb, he was wholly uncertain of her devotion to his cause. All that was needed to assuage his worries was an introduction. Remna of the Wrelm Forest would obey his every desire. Her child must be sired by a great lord, and the babe must be assured a place among the nobility by whatever means she deemed most effective. From within a house of prominence Beoris would be able to mold the child into his instrument, instructing them in the harnessing of their power. The witch would provide the potential, and Beoris would provide the training necessary to turn the child into his tool. The undertaking was a risky one, this Beoris knew.

Yet still, it worked.

Slowly, he worked his influence over the young Katerina, first with simple signals and suggestions. A toddler does not know to keep secrets best left unveiled where they belong. Beoris needed to situate himself as a fact of Katerina’s reality. A steady force that provided guidance and reassurance in a world of uncertainty.

When she first attempted to tap into the latent darkness lurking just beneath her skin, Beoris wrapped the girl in his warm embrace, and guided her as if the body and mind was his own. Katerina viewed the casting of hexes and curses as a lovely secret that she shared with her shadowy friend. A bit of mischief that was all their own to keep.

The time came one night that Beoris saw it fit to speak to his protégé in proper fashion. Their relationship then truly blossomed. To Katerina, Beoris was brother, father, and best friend. To Beoris, he was greatly satisfied with the girl’s devotion and admiration. As a consequence of their newfound closeness, Katerina began to adopt more and more of Beoris’ personality. His charm and confidence found itself pervading all that she did. Her family couldn’t have been more pleased with the young woman she was growing into; none of them suspected the odd luck that seemed to befall them all on a daily basis was her doing.

None but one.

Interlude - Those Of Little Virtue

“That entire family is festering in darkness. They were once my kin. I will deal with this.”
-Excerpt from the journal of Denaris Valdi


Mikhal sighed, scratching at the scant beard lining his jaw. “Uncle, tell me again what exactly it is that you’re saying.” Cobalt eyes locked on cold steel. Mikhal’s uncle seemed to be made of metal; a wiry beard of dull silver cascaded from his face and down to his breast, paired with a neatly trimmed and combed mane punctuated by the sharpest of widow’s peaks. His jaw was squared and edged sharply. Indeed, towering above most men at six foot five, Deranis Valdi was composed entirely of muscle and hard edges. Pale skin was pulled taut over his goliath form.

Mikhal, though a well built and sturdy man himself, seemed rather small in comparison.

They gazed at one another from across the sitting room, a crackling fire basking the space in a warm glow. The furniture cast long shadows. “What I am saying,” Denaris began, in a voice as hard and imposing as the rest of him. “Is that your so called sister is a fellchild. She is not normal. She is a mistake.” He sighed deeply. “A mistake that must be corrected.”

Mikhal’s eyes narrowed. When he spoke, his voice was tight and and unsteady. “Mistake? Corrected? How?”

“You know the price one must pay. For the act of performing dark aethercraft.”

Mikhal leapt to his feet then, muscles tensing. In his haste to rise, the chair clattered to the ground behind him, overturned. “She is a child! She is my sister and she is devoid of the guilt you wish to force upon her shoulders!”

Denaris rose to his feet as well, with careful deliberation. When he spoke, his voice was low and deep, like the churning ocean: “You will deal with this matter. Or I will.” He turned then, and strode out of the room.

“Uncle! Uncle! You cannot do this! You cannot!” Mikhal was red in his face then, spittle flying from his mouth with each syllable. Denaris did not look back.

Finale - Exodus

“Men! Today we are called upon to mete out the justice of our Gods! A witch is harbored in this place. She must burn. All others within… put to the sword!”
-Denaris Valdi, to his followers


Rough hands seized upon Katerina’s shoulders, and thus she was shaken awake. Groggily, she stared up into the face of her sister, twisted with fear. “Kat, Kat, we need to go!” Gloriana spoke in fervent, hushed tones. “Uncle is here. And he isn’t alone!” Katerina was pulled to her feet then, and she felt her throat tighten with the reality she now faced. Denaris had come. Child, go with your sister. This is not your end. I will keep you safe.

Katerina found herself dressed in black cloths and leathers, with a cloak of similar coloration fastened around her neck by a dull and unornamented brooch. Her medallion lay hidden beneath all her clothes, pressing warmly against her sternum. Darting down the hall, yanked along by her sister, she heard the distant shouts, drawing closer with each passing moment. They emerged into the great hall, where Mikhal already stood, surrounded by a gaggle of guards and servants. They were scantily armored, many wielding clubs and candlesticks, rather than swords. A few shivered in little more than nightgowns or breeches.

Mikhal turned to glance at his sisters. “This will not be pretty. Go.” A grim smile played across his lips. The roaring of the mob drew ever closer. Katerina was numb as she allowed herself to be pulled down another passageway, the oaken planks beneath their feet being struck by a dull pattering as they fled. Suddenly, Katerina halted in her tracks, feet planted firmly. Gloriana turned back in irritated confusion.

“What are you doing? We have to go! Now!”

Katerina shook her head fervently. “You have to go. Not me. I have something to do.” She spun on her heel then, and darted quickly back from where she came, ignoring Gloriana’s cries of protest. The sounds of conflict met her ears long before her eyes managed to take in the sight. Denaris and his mob had forced their way into the great hall, and a melee had broken out between both forces. In the center of the battle, Mikhal lay prone on his back, straddled by Denaris. A dagger was being slowly forced towards Mikhal’s throat, barely kept at bay by his fading strength.

Katerina screamed. And then, pointing a shaking finger at her uncle, she cried out in a voice shrill with terror: “Uncle, this day you may have won, but I swear to all Gods beneath me and above, I will return to burn you and yours, as is my behove!” Both heads turned to stare at her as the blade sank into Mikhal’s throat. Another scream ripped from Katerina’s lungs, and she scrambled back down the hall. Several men began to give chase.

Epilogue - What Remains

“Her uncle took everything from her. What other choice did she have then? It seemed my plans would come to fruition sooner than I anticipated.”
-Beoris, in reflection


Katerina escaped from the city of Kalaknos that night, the steadying presence of Beoris the only thing that kept her from falling to pieces. A curse, a vow, she had placed upon her uncle. One she intended to keep. For weeks Katerina wandered, her and her passenger barely keeping ahead of the news that would be sure to follow them. The farther they went, the slower their pace became. Few, or perhaps none, would be able to recognize her face, even if the name Katerina Valdi was familiar enough.

Now though, she sat hunched along the side of a desolate road, the dirty thing entirely devoid of traffic this late in the night. A meager campfire illuminated the dry grass surrounding her. Her eyes were bitter as she stared into the flame.

Child, love, what is it that you desire?

“I want to destroy Denaris. I want to tear him to shreds.” She spat the words out, Denaris curling off her tongue as if she had tasted something foul.

Why stop there?

“What do you mean?”

I said, why stop at Denaris?

“What else is there?”

The entire world, child.

Katerina smiled.


SKILLS
-- The Prettiest Faces Hide The Blackest Of Hearts
Katerina is, to put it simply, a master of deception. A bat of her eyelashes and a small, uncertain smile is enough to win over most folk. For those prone to greater scrutiny, pristine charm and carefully chosen words shield her from the brunt of even the greatest suspicions.

-- What Goes Bump In The Night
Used to sneaking and skulking from a young age, Katerina is naturally adept at making herself small and unremarkable, and is never unable to discern the location best suited for hiding. She knows how to keep her foot falls carefully light, and how to perform a variety of dextrous actions, picking both locks and pockets included.


WEAPONS
Stiletto Dagger
Katerina is largely unskilled in the arts of warfare. Though her dagger, a thin, silvery blade emerging from a golden handle wrapped in black leather, doesn’t require a skilled swordsman to be effective. A steady hand is all that is needed for the tool to be used to deadly effect.


MISCELLANEOUS
Set of Lock Picks
A small, darkened leather satchel contains within a set of sturdy picks with which Katerina may crack all variety of locks.


BEORIS THE BASTARD

{{ MALE }}


TOTEM
A circular hematite medallion covered in obscure and intricate carvings, with a large onyx stone ringed by gold set into its center, and worn around the neck by a golden chain.



PERSONALITY
Beoris was born the illegitimate son of a once great monarch that lead a once great nation. The names of both king and kingdom have long since been lost to time. Ridicule and disdain left a gnawing in Beoris’ stomach; an intense hunger for the power and respect he knew he deserved. Using whatever means necessary, Beoris vied to ingratiate himself with those individuals willing and capable of aiding him, while carefully removing those that sought to stand in his way.

As his power and influence grew, and his strength in the darker arts increased, he found himself among the ranks of the Shadow Legion, his responsibility twofold. By daylight, he negotiated with those cruel or foolish enough to follow the cause he represented. By night, he worked his foul magics upon targets too great or too distant to harm with more tangible forces.

Beoris is envious, spiteful, and utterly full of arrogance. However, he is no less patient for this, and more than capable of oozing charm when the situation calls for it. Even Katerina, despite the genuine tenderness he feels for her, has never been privy to the full extent of Beoris’ vice.

After all, one catches more flies with honey.


SKILLS
-- Prophecies Both Dark And Terrible
Beoris specialized in the casting of curses and hexes, which he used to orchestrate the ruination of entire cities. On a more personal level, the casting of a hex or curse could be fine tuned to cause little more than simple misfortune, to events that could utterly shatter the victim’s world. Beoris is endeavoring to confer this talent onto Katerina. Fortunately, she is a fast learner.

-- Kin With Shadow
Thanks to Beoris’ influence and her unique parentage, Katerina can fade from sight into complete darkness, and draw concealing shadows around her where none can be found. Additionally, the minds of those around her can be bent to perceive Katerina as little more than a shadow herself. Even in plain sight or broad daylight, the keenest of eyes would have no choice but to overlook her presence.
Hidden 7 yrs ago → 7 yrs ago Post by Isotope
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Isotope I am Spartacus!

Member Seen 2 yrs ago
Meera Kaes

{{ FEMALE || 28 }}


APPEARANCE
Meera is a young human woman, notable for her substantial height. Unlike most of her people, whose hair grows almost universally black, Meera’s hair has a light brown colour she inherited from her father alongside her unusual green eyes. Her skin is also a tad lighter than the norm, but still a deep olive indicative of her origins. On the whole her appearance might be described as comely, though domestic. She is a far cry from the beautiful women taken as wives by the great lords, her crooked nose and somewhat gangly build alone marking that distinction.


BIOGRAPHY
Meera’s life began when her father, the mercenary fifth son of an ancient bloodline, settled down in Jeshkan. What compelled the man to end his long journey in one of the most desolate and unyielding climes the world over Meera would often wonder, her mother was far from a great prize herself, but perhaps she was enough. In the end her father joined the personal guard of a prominent lord, and Meera came about not long after. For ten years she was happy, her family one of the very few who ate full meals and never suffered the harshness of the Jeshkan sun; but it was not to last. Her father died in his duties, but in a cruel twist of fate he perished only after the great lord he served had been mortally wounded in the attempt on his life. Knowing his end was near he blamed and cursed the guard who’d failed him, and when the great lords son came to succeed him the boys first act was to put Meera and her mother in chains.

What came next was a blur, but perhaps mercifully one. Prisoners in Jeshkan are wasted water and food, so to live in chains is to live under the whip, at work for your captors. In the beginning that was all it was, work. Yes it was endless work, and there was pain, thirst, and hunger under a scorching sun that seemed to eat at her every day, but it was mercy compared to what came after. According to the work chief there were better uses for a passably pretty girl. By the time her supposed sentence was up she was nineteen, her mother was dead from starvation, and she was a husk among a throng of those just like her. Perhaps it would have been better if there had been truly nothing left of her.

Alas, she was not so lucky. She had known what it was like to live above the filth, and she knew who had taken that from her. Meera had been hollowed out, but among all the depredations of those who’d tormented her, none had robbed her of the hate and yearning that boiled her blood on the coldest of nights. For a time she returned to the work, the simple and comforting humiliation of labour for the slimmest of rewards. After it all it was bliss for her, but bliss with greater purpose. Organizing it took more humiliation yet, but she managed to ingratiate herself with one of the largest labour gangs among forsaken who toiled in the sun.

She earned their trust, and exploited it. Money for reporting on their activities, money from skimming, all things she knew she risked terrible punishment for, but punishment no worse than she was accustom to. Suffering was existence, and she had purpose enough to endure it. Eventually she had earned enough to bribe her way into a maids position, a life far more comfortable than most in Jeshkan, but not enough. Money was simple to steal, but the secrets of the great houses were far more valuable. Years passed, and in time she had accrued enough favour to earn a place in the household of the lord who’d once condemned her to the life she’d suffered through.

Years of toil, and in one moment—after excruciating months in the lords service—she took her revenge. A simple drop of poison in the wine another was preparing him, a flick of the wrist, and the pendulum began to swing. On some level she was prepared to die, but what good was revenge if you only tasted it once? She wanted more, or else she’d have never framed the other girl.

The lord died in agony, and the girl who’d served him followed suit. Meera, so far as anyone cared, was just another serving girl who hardly knew the traitor. It was mere coincidence that the lords heir and uncle rewarded her for her service a year later and elevated her from servant to the nondescript, but distinguished, role of scribe. To have her as a maid would have been a waste of a literate girl, after all.

Some would say that her return to society was miraculous, impossible without help, and perhaps she’d had some after all.


SKILLS
-- Quick Hand
Meera has survived on her skills, and in the beginning the ability to make a coin disappear, or a knife do the opposite, saved her many, many times.

-- Sly Tongue
Lies are life. One learns that quickly among the poor of Jeshkan, but not all embrace it. Meera has lied for so long that she may not even know, or possibly care, what the truth really is. Her manipulations allowed her to fulfill her first purpose. Surely they’ll help her the second time around.


WEAPONS
-- A Poisoned Dagger
Meera may not have needed it in the end, but she had needed it before. This simple dagger has dimples along its length, each one with a hardened wax laced with a different deadly poison in it.


AKAT THE WICKED

{{ FEMALE }}


A Silver Ring
Meera has been deprived of almost all she once had, but this ring is perhaps the one thing that remains of her father. It is worn and scratched to the point any original pattern it had is long gone, it fits none of her fingers, and all the same she would gladly kill to keep it on the simple brass necklace she had made a short year ago.


PERSONALITY
It is hardly surprising that Akat choose Meera, for they both value life itself below their revenge. For Akat the act was legendary, and profoundly excessive. Why she came to hate the Teferi family is unknown, though some speculate it was as simple as an unrequited love or a slight no more or less severe than any noble would have directed towards a commoner. Whatever the reason Akat set about the task of exterminating one of the oldest, largest, and most beloved noble families in her home country. By the time she was done her vengeance had expanded to the point that those even moderately involved with the dead family were being hunted by unimaginable beasts.

With that grand retribution carried out she looked further, towards all of mankind, and saw there was more to be done. That which had moved her to vengeance was being played out across the word, again and again. Human beings, despite their all but universal claims of righteousness, seemed to default to their animal instincts regardless of their rank or prior deeds. So long as people refused to see the manipulative intent behind their actions, they would continue to act in ways that demanded retribution. To this end Akat began to make examples of the common folk and nobility alike. Her victims were forced to admit their sins, all of them, and subjected to whatever cruel and imaginative punishments she devised. In the beginning she only wished to demonstrate the universal guilt of mankind, to expose the human animal for the liar it was so that in time it could grow into something greater and nobler. In the end she only wished to see men and women scream. Her cruelty became legendary as she subjected entire villages to mock trials and forced every single resident to admit to a lifetime of lies and misdeeds before she slaughtered them one by one. Her great ambition had become an excuse for her to take out a frustration even a river of blood would not wash away.


SKILLS
-- Bloody Confession
Akat can grant Meera the ability to compel individuals to admit their sins, and in the act inflict twisted punishments on themselves for each confession.

-- Those Who’ll Never Betray You
Akat made frequent use of otherworldly and terrifying creatures when she terrorized the world, and in some small ways she has conferred this power onto Meera. Meera can summon shadow like reflections of awful and bizarre creatures who, while largely incapable of inflicting injury, make perfect spies. It may be that in time her power to bring them into this realm in totality will grow.
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Ferrocerium

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MATTY

{{ MALE || 15, prolly }}


APPEARANCE
What Matty looks like depends on how close you are to him. From a distance, and if he's standing still, he might look like a pile of dirty, tattered rags. His 'wardrobe' is made up of more layers of clothing than he can count, all of it well-worn and stolen from unattended laundry lines and sleeping drunks with little care for how well it actually fits Matty's tiny frame. It serves as both protection from the elements and a bizarre sort of urban camouflage.

Closer up, it's easier to see the dirty human boy inside all the rags. Matty would be small for his age even if he wasn't malnourished, and his green eyes look particularly large and bright sticking out of his dirty, pale, gaunt face.

Any attempt to get any closer to Matty would cause the child to scamper away, vanishing into the alleyways of Dawnguard that he knows better than anything else.


BIOGRAPHY
Matty's story is short and sad. Once upon a time, he had parents, probably. He never knew them, personally, and probably wouldn't have cared for them if he had. They died, and Matty was left alone, and that's how things have been ever since. Story over.

But, to expand just a little: Matty grew up hard and fast in Dawnguard, the capital city of the Vahkranite Imperium, that gilded bastion of order and power in the big reeking shitball that was the Third Age. Or so say the lucky, uninformed fucks who never had to actually live there.

No matter what grand speeches the king makes about 'spreading peace' or whatever the hell else he's smoking, at the end of the day a city is just a whole bunch of people trying to get by. And in Dawnguard, where all the vaunted wealth and plenty of the Vahkranite flows from the king to his fat coterie of nobles and his massive, bloated armies, it takes a lot to 'get by'.

Matty is part of that population of unmentionables that always lurks just out of sight. The forgotten and forsaken. Former soldiers missing their arms, legs, and wits. Unlucky whores, scratching at rashes that never go away. Addled drunks and addicts, wandering in search of just one more fix, just one. And then there's people like Matty: the orphans, the urchins, the street rats. Orphaned by any one of a dozen wars, or plagues, or just pure bad luck, they're the ones that scrabble hopelessly at the scraps and leftovers, struggling to survive because they don't know how to do anything else.

It's the only life that Matty's ever known, and he's never thought of anything else. Except recently. Recently he's pretty sure he's gone crazy, because there's a man living in his head. And that man is probably more than a few cards short of a full deck, too. Goes on and on about him being the heir to the Shadow Legions or some shite, and that he has to "tear the world down" or something like that. But that's probably normal for crazy head-voices; Matty's met plenty of crazies in his time, and ain't none of them ever had a voice in their head that was just plain friendly. What's up with that, yeah?


SKILLS
-- Survivor
Matty has fended for himself since the time he could walk, and what he lacks in proper education, he makes up for in street smarts that have been sharpened to a razor's edge. He can scamper freely through the tangled alleys and backstreets of Dawnguard, and given a few days in any city, he'll show a remarkable ability to pick up on the local geography, lingo, and unspoken rules. Nobody sees him when he doesn't want to be seen (which is basically all the time) and nobody can catch him when he doesn't want to be caught (which is exactly all the time).

-- Street Rat
The second reason that Matty has managed to survive for so damn long on his own is that he has absolutely nothing resembling pride, honor, or shame. He has quick little hands, adept at picking pockets or snatching fruit from inattentive stall owners. He never rises above anything more than petty crime; he's made it so far by being nothing more than a temporary annoyance. The scale of his crimes make it so that permanently stopping him would be more effort than it's actually worth, so Matty can slip by without being noticed too much. But his abject shamelessness is most apparent in the case that Matty is ever forced into an actual fight. In a rumble, Matty's first and only goal isn't to kill or maim his opponent: all he needs to do is create an opening to escape, and he'll do whatever he needs to in order to get that opportunity. No soft spot is off limits, no trick is too dirty, and the best way to win is to get out alive. By that definition, Matty's never lost a fight.


WEAPONS
-- Matty's "Sword"
Technically - very technically - Matty's weapon of choice is a sword. To be more honest, it's half a sword, and it's probably old enough that, if it was human, it would always be complaining about its joints and grumbling about how irritating kids these days are. Matty found it in a trash heap when he was eleven or so, and it had that perfect mix of 'useful' and 'valueless' that led to him keeping it instead of selling it for scrap metal. What remains of the blade is the size of a generous dagger, and the hilt - meant for a blade much longer - makes it handle a bit awkwardly, but Matty has gotten very good at using it. He keeps it as sharp as he can, but he's afraid that it's nearing the end of its life.


KING ARMSAEL, THE ABSOLUTE

{{ MALE }}



TOTEM
Once upon a time, the totem that carries Armsael's soul was a beautiful sword, the masterpiece of one of the greatest craftsmen of the First Age. It was the sword that he carried at his hip as his thrall armies marched on the Nexus, their every step, every breath taken at his command. Time has... it hasn't been kind.


PERSONALITY
In the First Age, Armsael's deeds earned him titles and renown in equal measure. He was King Armsael the Absolute. Armsael, the Crown Thief. The Pretender. The Usurper. The Thrall-King. In the final battle of the First Age, when the Shadow Legion marched on the Nexus, the largest army on the field flew Armsael's banner and sang his praises, even as they killed and died in droves.

In the Third Age, Armsael is mostly called "Arms, the man who lives in my head an' complains a lot".

Humiliating? Oh, yes. Very.

Compared to his brothers and sisters in the Shadow Legion, Armsael has drawn the shortest possible straw in terms of vessels: a simple street rat, without a thought in his head that isn't focused on where his next meal is coming from. A boy swaddled in rags, using his once-beautiful sword to cut purse-strings. Once, the stupid brat caught a rat and ate it, raw. He was sick for a week, and Armsael laughed the whole time.

Does Armsael hate Matty? Oh, he loathes the boy. But would he take a different vessel, given the chance?

No, probably not.

Truth be told, he sees his partnership with Matty as a challenge to overcome. A wild horse that only needs a capable rider to break him in. On his own, Matty would be content to spend the rest of his short life scrabbling in the dirt, and after his death, not even the rats would remember him after picking his corpse clean. But with Armsael - King of Kings, Dominatus, He-Whose-Thoughts-Bend-Others-To-His-Will (it sounds much better in the Northmen tongue, but humans can't pronounce it without coughing) - at his side, directing him and guiding him, he could be so much more.

Kings will bow at his passing. Lords will grovel at his feet. Peasants will worship him as a god.

And if Matty proves too difficult to control, well... Perhaps Armsael will have to take a more proactive hand in matters.


SKILLS
-- Domination
Other Legionnaires might have the ability to bend lesser people to their will, but it was Armsael that was the undisputed master of the art. He could use the aether to mold thoughts like a potter molds clay, shaping them as he sees fit. Using simple brute force, he could turn a man into a puppet, but he preferred a more subtle approach. Twisting a man's mind until he would follow Armsael's orders not because of magic, but because he truly believed that he wanted to. This was how Armsael made himself a king in the First Age, in the height of his power: he convinced an entire country that he was their beloved, unquestioned ruler. And they believed it.

-- I Dream Of Distant Shores
Armsael could separate his mind from his body, casting his thoughts far afield while his mortal shape slept. Unshackled from his body, Armsael's mind could travel unnoticed and as fast as the aetheric winds would carry him, but the absolute king was always cautious of traveling too far from his own body. While he was immaterial, he might still be harmed by aethercraft, although no mage would be able to notice him if they didn't know what to look for. These days, he can take Matty out of his body, but the boy is the one in control, with Armsael along for the ride.

-- King of Land, Sky, and Sea
Armsael's aetheric talents were not confined to his mastery over his thralls; he was adept at manipulating the elements of earth, air, and water, as if the world around him obeyed his commands as easily as the people he ruled. Sadly, he could never grasp fire, which he blames on the element's impermanent nature.
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SALVIO VITELLI

{{ MALE || 48 }}


APPEARANCE



Salvio is a solidly built human, broad shoulders and a wide chest. Standing just over six foot, the burning spirit of faith within him lends him a larger presence than his even his large frame possesses. His head is carefully shaved, further exaggerating his sharp features, his strong jaw and piercing blue eyes, lit with the fires of his belief, but he is not a handsome man, his nose broken, and his face beaten and scarred. He never wears a helmet, preferring to meet his foes eyes, so his skin is hardened by the elements, and tanned by the sun. Beneath his heavy armour, which he rarely isn’t wearing, there are long scars across his back, whip marks of first his father, then his own.


BIOGRAPHY
Faith, true faith, faded in Avalon, but there are some who still believe, their belief hardened and intensified by the generations of those who have forgotten the gods. Salvio’s father, a blacksmith, was one of those men who still blindly believed in the gods. When Salvio was born, his writhing tearing apart his mother and leaving her to bleed to death, Salvio’s father believed that it was a challenge by the gods, to prove his faith. He drove this belief into Salvio, and began to punish him for the sin of his mother’s death, whipping him ferociously and forcing him to pray and worship all hours of the day and night.

After many years of this abuse at the hands of his father, the message had been ingrained into Salvio’s fabric. But he did not see the test as his mothers death, but rather the suffering he was still experiencing. One afternoon, he picked up the hammer from his father’s forge, and killed him with one blow. He never turned back, setting out into the wild world to spread the faith that the people had long forgotten. To repent for the sin of slaying his father, he continued to whip himself, seeking some solace in the suffering that he withstands at his
own hands.

Salvio soon realized that the light of the gods had long faded, and that there were many souls across Avalon which could not be saved. He began to realize that his mission from the gods was not to save these souls, but rather to send them to gods to judge. Forging a pair of hammers, and a suit of heavy plate armour, Salvio began his own vengeful crusade against those who had forsaken the gods. And yet the gods never gave him anything back, and he began to doubt himself, until he found the totem.

Allowing himself a slight indulgence, thinking the hammer that hung from the chain must be fate, Salvio donned the totem. And then, he finally found the heavenly voice he had been searching for all his life. It was a mere suggestion of a voice at first, but the more Salvio listened, the louder it became. It began to talk of the gods, of the power they once yielded. He would never have known that the gods that the voice spoke of were not those of heaven, but those that inhabited the deepest depths of hell. Ravan, the Unsacred, knew that it could control Salvio with ease, leaving him on a crusade that he would never know went against everything he believed in. If he ever does realize, it may already be too late.


SKILLS

Fire and Brimstone

Salvio has an incredible strength of will, and his words echo with a greater sense of purpose than his own. He can whip others into a violent fervour of faith and religious zeal.


Hammer of Wrath

The faith of Avalon has faded, mankind believing they have been forsaken. Salvio, as a pillar of this forgotten faith, has faced adversity all through his life. He has learnt to defend himself, favouring twin war hammers to spread the holy word.


WEAPONS


The two hammers that Salvio yields are both worn and well-used, forged by Salvio’s own hand and stained with the blood of the unfaithful.


RAVAN THE UNSACRED

{{ MALE }}


TOTEM


PERSONALITY
With so much blind faith in the simple hearts of men during the First Age, it was all too easy for Ravan to seep whisper sweet promises in their ears and tempt them away from the gods of light, and towards those of dark. Corruption became a second nature to him, and he took great pleasure in his talent for it. The faith of the world was a challenge to him, and one that he took upon with a relish, enjoying every soul that he was able to damn. Their own zealousness made them too quick to stray from the path, so when he found Salvio, it was all he could do to not laugh with joy. Here was a soul who believed that the gods above watched over him, and here was a soul that just needed a little push for that belief to become wildly misplaced...


SKILLS
Corruption
Ravan has a force of will even stronger than Salvio’s. He can lend this huge strength to his host, allowing him to channel this will into a weapon. His words can break the wills of others, even if only for a moment.


The Earth Trembles
While his greatest strength lay in his words, Ravan was still an accomplished warrior sorcerer. This power, he lends to Salvio. The hammers in the holy man's hands become terrifying powerful weapons, able to shape the very earth, and to shatter those unfortunate to be struck by them.
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Kalmar The Mediocre

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