1) Standard Roleplayer Guild rules. No godmodding and stuff.
2) As GM, I reserve the right to have my word to be law within the boundaries of this RP. Even overriding other rules.
2.5) As co-GM, @Lumiere enjoys these same privileges.
3) If there are problems with the RP or with other players, you can take it to me (so I can take it to someone who could deal with it lol!).
4) Do NOT post your character in the Characters Tab. Only I have dominion there.
5) Only post once when you are interacting with an NPC or doing an action. You can post as many as you want when you are talking (and ONLY talking) to another player.
6) Updates (i.e. My posts to move the story along) will generally occur every weekend (Keep in mind that I am UTC+8) or when everyone has posted. However, if you do not post, I will still update without affecting your character as much as possible. Worst case scenario, I will assume your character did nothing.
7) Please post something in the OOC if you are still interested just unavailable at the moment. If you do not post within two or three weeks still without any post given, I will be forced to drop you from this RP.
8) If you have read the rules, write 'LUMIERE IS MY SENPAI' at the bottom of your character sheet. (Helping others regarding this rule is discouraged unless you are vouching for that person.)

REGARDING COMBAT, PVP OR OTHERWISE
I, alone, shall decide which attacks connect, which attacks fail, which attacks do not happen at all due to circumstances, etc. In short, I decide who the victor is in combat.

You have my word that I will be as fair as possible. If that is not enough, then I'm afraid this is not up for debate.

Appearance: (Please refrain from using real-life images)

Former Title: (Optional)
Nickname/Alias: (It's not likely anyone will know you're lying)
Name:
Age:
Pronouns: (Such confusion)
Race: (Elementals even including Demons/Angels will have their powers significantly impacted)
Personality: (Not super essential. I'm sure it'll come out in the wash)
Abilities/Powers: (Their effects are profoundly suppressed at the start, but you're welcome to write out the big nasties about them)
Equipment: (At the start of the thread, you have been relieved of all equipment. Sorry :C ) (This spot would be for armaments and armor)
Inventory: (See above) (This spot is for non-combat related items you're carrying (Not wearing. See appearance))
Origin: (The world you came from before...well...tell us about where you're from! ^^; )
Backstory: (What lead up to current events?)
Other: (Miss anything? Phobias, likes, quirks that don't somehow fit into personality, maybe a theme song?)

Name: Gangraena.
Age: No one knows.
Pronouns: She/her/it.
Race: Reanimated.
Personality:

She is a friendly and optimistic war machine of a being.

Between the process of dying only to return again and her time spent beneath the waves she's definitely become what some would describe as "Odd". She almost never lets grim or depressing matters lower her spirits. Rare are the times that she isn't smiling and even then she is quick to snap back to her chipper self. The only thing that could really bring her down is boredom, something she's well acquainted with from her time at the bottom of the ocean.

Despite generally meaning well and generally being quite high in spirits there are times where her training as a paladin along with her history of combat definitely show. For her violence is always a ready solution and though she never holds too much hatred in her heart she'll quickly smash those who get in her way. She has never been the sharpest tool in the shed either and the reanimation followed with her time below certainly didn't help speed her wits up any.

Appearance:

She stands at an even six foot tall and weighs a solid one hundred and ninety pounds though most wouldn't be able to tell since she looks like she weighs half that. Most would assume a warrior such as herself would have sizable muscles but her body looks soft and feminine, at least the parts that remain. Given the fact she's animated with dark magic muscles are hardly necessary since biologically speaking she has no right to be moving at all, let alone with such strength.

Her skin is a blue tinged grey like that of a drowned corpse. Her body might be a bit less bloated than the average floater but she looks no less drowned. Her hair is a murky dark green, not unlike kelp. Her hair is straight albeit messy more often than not and cut just above her neckline. Her face while bearing some slender femininity is a bit rounder, a softer jawline with cheeks that are more full with a lower cheekbone that accentuates the eyes which... Well, require some explanation.

The sockets which once housed eyes are empty now. More than that the eyelids themselves are missing as well, leaving the eye sockets open up to the edges of the skull, leaving only the eyebrows. Inside the hollow apertures her eyes once occupied is a deep darkness, an abyss so black staring deeply into them can leave one's grip on sanity loosened. As though swimming in the shores of the fathomless darkness which appears to stretch on for eternity are two spheres of winding light in an unearthly yellow hue, one mote for each socket.

For attire she's clad in fighting garments. She wears a pair of brown animal hide pants and dons a tan hide tunic which comes down to her hips. Her tunic is tied with an off-white sash. Having seen much combat her clothes have a number of cuts and blood stains, most of the blood not being her own. Ordinarily she would be clad in a heavy assortment of armor but that's been taken from her after her recent post-post-mortem imprisonment.

Abilities/Powers:

She's been reanimated by a dark power that calls her physical form home. As such there's a number of changes to her, some simply being facets of being undead and others brought upon her by the dark one's power.

Firstly as a member of the undead she no longer holds the needs of the living. She does not need to eat, sleep, drink or even breath. Diseases and poisons sit idle in her flesh for her blood had ran still long ago. She no longer experiences fatigue and can exert herself endlessly without fail. While she no longer feels pain nor the comforts of warmth she still holds a dim sense of touch.

She has no eyes of the tangible variety but she can see perfectly fine, not only in the light but also in the darkness no matter how tenebrous it may be. This comes at the cost of being able to see in color, leaving her only able to see in shades of grey. She no longer holds any sense of taste or smell either.

In addition to the traits of her undead are the dark gifts bestowed upon her. She holds a strength far greater than any mundane man or beast. The entirety of her body is connected by this strange power so that even if an arm, a leg or even her head is removed she can control them no less than when they were still attached to her. Not only does this dark essence keep her flesh from rotting like some mere cadaver but it also protects her from the harsh tolls of the water. What else this power she's given entails is known only by the one who gave it to her.

Though sometimes a boon undeath carries a number of drawbacks as well. The most notable drawback is that as she is no longer alive her flesh does not knit together over time like the living do. While she may not decay every wound she receives never recovers. Her only means of maintaining structural stability is to patch together the skin with thread and, in more severe cases, to nail metal braces to the bone.

Equipment:

- Her weapon, A large ship anchor which has been covered with more than few centuries worth of rust, wielded by the loop it's tied by. It's attached to a chain which is wrapped several times around her left arm which is her dominant arm. Despite the endless years of rust the old makeshift weapon's thickness had ensured it's survival so far. It may be pocked and riddled with old barnacle shells but it still holds up to both the rigors of travel and the trials of combat. The chain attached to it's ring is a recent addition, the original one having broken apart deep below the waves quite a while ago. (Removed)

- Her armor. A collection of borrowed pieces from foes she has slain. Some parts are even segments of armor that have been strapped or crudely nailed onto preexisting articles. She tends to show preference towards heavier, more protective gear. (Removed)

Inventory: An old fishing rod. (Removed)

Origin:

Hers was a violent land. A land where sword and sorcery reigned supreme. Throughout the ages kingdoms rose and fell. One noteworthy group was The Order of The Divine Concord, humans who served the wishes of angels in exchange for their divine gifts. Those who were trained to fight for the order, by the order, were known as "Paladins". Throughout the years the order changed, growing and shrinking with the whims of fate but they clang ever tight to their sacred duty to serve the Divine Concord.

In this medieval stage of their world war was ever constant and life was never easy for those who called this world home. Peasants toiled, merchants traveled to sell their wares, knights fought almost constantly and priests were required to uphold the mandates of their divine benefactors. Not even kings had life easy for they still needed to earn the respect of their knights and the loyalty of the nobility.

Needless to say these lands were never short on strife.

At least there was always hope...

Backstory:

Her name was not always Gangraena. What it was has been forgotten for a very long time.

Her memory of her past is foggy, incomplete in parts. She remembered training. She recalled how to fight. She recalled the paladins, the holy order, the order her family belonged to. Their lessons, their tenets were lost to her. All that remained was that she loved her family. Her father was a proud paladin. He had taken it upon himself to personally train her over her other sisters. Her brothers all trained under the order itself but she trained under him.

Those were happy days. It had all come to a dead halt with the storm. She was on a ship, that much she remembers. There was a storm. Her trip had a purpose. She was to fight something, somewhere. What else there was to it escapes her.

It mattered little after it all went dark.

When she awoke she felt different from before. She hadn't noticed her lack of breathing nor the rest of her changes for that matter but she did notice she was in an unfamiliar place, underwater no less. She didn't know how to swim but even if she did it wouldn't have mattered. Her dominant arm was tied to her boat's anchor by it's very chains, weighing her down so she may walk instead. It was large but it was no effort to lift for her. Without paying it much mind she simply rested it on her shoulder like any old axe.

She had found herself in a temple of some sort, long sunken below the waves. The only evidence as to what was worshiped in these halls was shattered long ago, by who she did not know. What history these halls held was lost to her, lost beneath the waves where the world did it's best to forget it.

All she knew was that she was different now. She was never a sharp one but the reanimation process had effected her mind, damaging it to an extent in the process. Things that were once certain seemed hazy now. Faces, dates, goals and other such things were now harder to grasp. Her memory was fractured, partly on purpose and partly as a result of the flaws that occurred in her psyche.

Thanks to her special eyes she could see quite fine despite the fact she was in a pitch black temple so far below the ocean's surface that light no longer reached the trenches it sat within. She explored around until eventually she happened upon the exit. It was time to return to the world she knew... Or at least she would. Eventually.

_
From then on she simply walked about the ocean floor. She had no direction to follow so she'd simply walk until she ran into something and then try to walk around that. This continued for thousands upon thousands of years. Though long as such a trek might be it could of been shorter but she had a terrible sense of direction and often wound up walking in circles for countless years at a time. Sometimes she would fall into pits that could swallow mountains and occasionally she'd run into mountains that make those of the surface world seem pitifully small by comparison. Being a realm vastly larger than the surface land it's features often dwarfed those that appeared above

After such an unfathomably long time spent wandering the vast sea floor she eventually came upon a shore. Trudging up this deep sea creature of undeath continued along the sandy coast until she found a quaint little fishing village. At first the locals were terrified of her but after a while they came to accept that she meant no harm. She spent a fair amount of time among them, slowly learning their language and how to fish. Over the course of many generations she eventually got the hang of both.

Such was life until a humble mercenary company came through one day. They were a respectable bunch of warriors who needed a place to stay and restock their supplies. When they saw how strong Gangraena was they were thoroughly impressed. They offered her a place in their company if she wanted to fight alongside them. She accepted the offer and went along with them the day after. Since then she's fought many battles, now wielding her anchor as a tool of death rather than just an old keepsake. Over the years they'd lose men both to battle and to sickness. Eventually after a few bad bouts of combat the company was all but wiped out. It was just her and the captain who had suffered severe wounds towards the end of their last contract. He decided if he did survive his injuries he was just going to retire on what funds they had left. Unfortunately survival just wasn't in his cards this time.

Since fighting was what she knew best she decided to just keep up what she'd been doing so far. She traveled the land now a lone mercenary, killing for coin if only to afford repairs on her armor. In time however she soon found the days were growing shorter, even in the summers. The night started to claim the day and while she had no issues about it everyone else was in a panic. The Order of The Divine Concord served as a beacon, everyone flocking to their churches. They gained almost complete control of the kingdom in the wake of these apocalyptic times.

_
She began to see undead wandering the land as she traveled. They left her well enough alone so she did the same since they weren't much for conversation. The paladins didn't leave her quite as well alone however. Fight after fight she found herself attacked by unfamiliar paladins of an order now foreign to her. Their divine magic and arms were not enough to prevail over her superior strength and skill in combat. She felled all who sought to slay her, all the while confused as to why so many people with the same heraldry wanted her dead.

Before long she found herself constantly getting stuck in the middle of battlefields, caught in battles between the armies of man against legions of shambling dead. She was often times getting attacked by the side of the living on account of her being rather undead herself. Before she knew it she had unknowingly become the spearhead that would pierce the ranks of mankind and lead the undead into the heart of the kingdom, one victory at a time.

Not really aware of the fact that the people believed her to be the commander of the undead on account of her being the most intelligent and noteworthy of the undead hordes she continued well ahead of the army that was marching on the grand chapel. She didn't really see herself as apart of any force so she figured she'd traipse into town and maybe see about scoring another job for some more coin. What she wasn't aware of was that the high priest of the chapel had assembled a team of heroes chosen by the angels of the Divine Concord to go forth and slay her in an attempt to cripple the forces of darkness in their advance.

Upon her arrival the village was empty save these divinely appointed individuals. They proclaimed that she needed to die for the good of all mankind and thus they fought. It was a bloody battle and she had killed four of their team of eight, maiming another two before they finally overcame her. They had to hack off her head and all her limbs before they able to subdue her for good. Despite all their efforts however it seemed she would not die no matter how great their divine rites were.

Ultimately they were forced to drag her remained back to town. The chapel sealed her dismembered body away in a big ornate sarcophagus engraved with holy wards to trap her within. This sarcophagus was then locked deep within their reliquary, the safest vault they had left which they kept their holiest artifacts within. It was their hope that the presence of said artifacts would keep the forces of darkness from reaching her current prison.

_
It was no use. Though they no longer lost any more men to the cruel edge of her anchor they had experienced losses too great as it stood. Half of the great heroes of their order were slain by her and of the four that remained she had crippled two of them so badly they were of no use in battle. Worse yet the sun had ceased to rise and the undead seemed to rise endlessly, swarming the chapel which served as the last great bastion for humanity. No matter how many battles the paladins won the undead always returned in greater numbers with each passing of the moon. Little did they know the ancient temple had risen from the sea. The darkness it contained was pouring out freely across the land and sea now. Their world was being consumed, it was only a matter of time.

In the wake of their final battle the paladins and their heroes fought harder than ever before. Their darkest hour was punctuated with the greatest of their determination. No matter how hopeless the odds they cleaved into the hordes whilst unleashing bolts of destructive light upon the shambling cadavers. All in vain, their efforts wasted as one by one they fell only to join the forces they once fought. The heroes which remained lent all of their great power to aid in this last fight but they were too few and too late to stop the forces of darkness.

The ending was written well before this battle had even begun, they had only just begun to realize it as their forces were crumbling all around. In losing half of their team in taking down the undead general the heroes no longer had the means of fighting through to the heart of the darkness. The two of them could not have taken the fight back to them, not without the other six.

Once the last of the paladins fell humanity quivered in fear behind their walls. It was barely even a speed bump as the undead simply piled onto each other forming hills large enough for the rest to walk on over the walls upon. Once inside the final throes of mankind were far from quiet. As expected none were spared.

_
She did not know any of this however. Having been sealed in the box for humanity's final hours she only remembers waking up in a dungeon cell with her limbs reattached somehow.

Now she stands before her door eager to get back out there and have more fun.

Former Title: Apothecary Heriphox, Chirurgeon Prince of House Apothecary

Nickname/Alias: Pox, The Plaguelord, The Father of Crows

Name: Pox

Age: 33

Pronouns: He/Him

Race: Wood Elemental - Ashwood Line, signified by darken charcaol black skin with very bright willowy hair that grows long and quickly.

The Caleondian Empire was a major power on a world known only as Creation. The older sentient races blood mixed with that of spirits, gods, and elementals producing races that have a touch of magic in their form. Caleondia was built on a culture of arranged marriage and carefully managed eugenics, producing scions that further expressed the powers of the spirits and even reaching to tap into the power of ancient gods, draconic beings of pure elemental power. Every major house is said to have expressed one of the five elements with a long history of ancestral bloodlines.

Personality:
Pox is a man of contradiction, much like his House but there is something about him that remains genuine. He wants to bring some light back into this dark world. He flatters, he encourages, he studies and shares, bringing a sense of child like wonder with him. He loves to laugh and loves to bring cheer and loves to always learn. His curious mind will allow for nothing else. At the same time however, his look and position as an untouchable makes that quite difficult and he is evasive at best when it comes to questions about himself or House Apothecary. Indeed, he gets quite chatty when the conversation goes somewhere he'd rather it didn't, a tell tale sign that he's hiding something. His words are so prepared and reflexive that there is almost something uncanny about them, something unsettling. He can't help but sometimes giving into Gallows humor, considering how he is surrounded by pain and death for most of his life. Gotta stay positive in the face of horror.

Abilities/Powers:
As an elemental blooded, Pox gets some benefits as a results of his blood line, essentially his elemental nature expressing itself in a myriad of ways.

Racial Abilities:

• Sap Blood: Since most poisons and diseases are designed for an inherently animalian system, physical corruption finds little purchase in his partly plant like biology, making him extremely resistant to poisons and diseases.
• Photosynthetic: Sunlight and other sources of strong light are absorbed as nutrition, keeping him going for longer periods without eating. He cannot go without food indefinitely and he still needs water, probably more than a normal person does.
• Lifegiving: When Pox is healthy, his body gives back to the world like a tree or vine baring fruit. He grows edible flower buds in his hair, seeds flake off his skin, and fluids such as tears or blood taste as a very sweet nectar which is nutritious. These components are useful in draughts that are designed for healing or to produce wellness

Magic: Pox comes from a world of spirits and magitech. Magic is a very real and almost every day occurrence. It's study and use are practiced and institutionalized, and becoming a sorceror is an accepted occupation, if branded with a set of stigmas. Pox comes from one of the richest families in Creation and is himself a prodigy.

Support Magic

• Mend the Broken Flesh: A channeling spell. Pox motions his hands as if he is sewing a garment, carefully weaving, threading, knitting. While he works, wounds heal much much faster before parties very eyes. It is not an instant healing, but it is much more thorough that fast healing magic.
• Flawless Diagnostic Technique: With a few seconds of checking the pulse, looking into a patient's mouth, tapping a joint, and other mundane checkup tasks, Pox gets intuitive knowledge of what is exactly effecting the patient, even if its internal. Mundane afflictions are immediately understood but exotic or magic conditions require more study, he just knows that something is wrong and gets some idea of how its effecting the body.
• Contagion Curing Touch: With this lengthy ritual, Pox can attempt to rid a patient of a disease, even without the aid of medicines or instruments. Using acupuncture, he condenses the disease to a single point to be excised or expelled. The disgusting ball of corruption can be seized for other purposes, provided there is a way to store and preserve it...

Offensive Magic

• Choking Gas Cloud: A think bilous green vapor is expelled from Pox's mouth. It makes for great cover as it conceals him, and those within find breathing difficult. Lungs and eyes itch generally forcing organics to flee the area. This gas will not kill targets, only sending them into coughing fits until the gas dissipates.

Mundane Skills

• Medicine:
• Chemistry:
• The Healing Arts:
• Herbalism:
• Social Protocols:
• Academia:
• Geomancy:
• Artifact Craft:cloth, leather work, magitech, blacksmithing

Equipment:

• Tattered Leather Robes
• Sharp Shard of Glass wrapped with linens
• The Plague Lord's Mask - Synonymous to his being, Pox is not far from his stylized birdlike mask. It offers some protection from the outside world in the form of gases and such, but other than that it only stands as an unnerving reminder of the horrors of the days of the Contagion. Only time will tell if there are any additional enchantment imbued into such a legendary object.

Inventory:

• Some Empty Pouches
• Some Empty Glass Vials
• Needle and Thread
• Old Bandages

Origin:



Backstory:
The little lordling grew up the apple of his family's eye. Brilliant, clever, and a willing student, he excelled in his primary and secondary schools and seemed to be an exemplar for House Apothecary. The House was minor compared to the main Noble Houses but provided the alchemical reagents that went into the creation of artifiice. The House owned all the premier hospitals and medical churches and made fortunes on longevity drugs. The young lord took to these trades like a bee to honey.

He however was unskilled when it came to the cutthroat politics of the Noble Houses and slowly distanced himself from the meaningless power plays and red tape. A marriage was arranged, and while he liked his bride to be well enough, she didn't, finding the odd and cryptic tendencies of the apothecaries to be quite revolting. Finding very little acceptance at home, Pox went abroad on 'field surveys' for new magics and new reagents for their trade. While in the 'threshold' Pox experienced life and the suffering outside of the civilized and rich land owned by the Realm. Disease was everywhere, with causes blaming the taxation of the Realm that left its satraps starving. Creating an artifact of his own, his signature mask, he walked with pride among lepers and plague, tending to whomever needed him.

Then the darkness came. An invading force without number that stormed in from the far flung reaches of Creation towards the center. Pox found himself out of the healing houses and onto battlefields, refining his healing magic to something akin to the spread of poison, disease, and entropy. Pox himself even organized an operation meant to inflict a terrible pandemic on the invading forces. This Contagion felled legions, enemy and ally alike, earning him the cruel and fearful names that would haunt him to this day.

It only halted the advanced, delaying them. It wasn't enough, and instead put a target on his back. He defended his triage tent like a demon, felling dozens with medical implements and forgoing his magics to prevent more harm. He was overwhelmed.

And fell. Another feast for the crows.

Other: Pox's coping mechanism is to talk alot and have a hopelessly optimistic disposition. Despite being a lord, he is quite servile when it comes to the health of those around him. Despite the need for him to perform his atrocities, he cannot come to grips of the evils he had committed, and thus is seeking atonement. He wears the mask as a reminder of the horrors he had wrought.

He is also deeply religious. He prays to the gods each morning and evening, offering small sacrifices each day. In his home, he would sometimes commune and be aided by the spirits he shows honor and devotion to, mostly those of health, fertility, peace, wood, seasons, and earth. Religious iconography, temples, holy relics, and ancestor grave sites are thing he holds in high esteem, never taking from such sites unless absolutely necessary and not without much self imposed restitution to the memory of the spirit.

LUMIERE IS MY SENPAI

Nickname/Alias: The Star-Winged Archer
Name: River Fein
Age: 23
Pronouns: Female
Race: Winged-People

Personality: Although she’s perfectly happy being on her own, she always feels more at ease when she’s among other people. She’s been a wanderer for several years at this point and has trouble settling down anywhere, and she gets restless when she nowhere to go or nothing to do. She’s always taken pride in her skills and in her family, even among people who wouldn’t recognise either. Since her capture, she’s somewhat more irritable. She doesn’t understand why she, of all the people of her world, would be spared. There’s nothing left for her to go back to anymore.

Appearance: River is about average height, and has a trim, muscular build. She keeps her auburn hair tied back and has two feathers, a loon’s and a snowy-owl’s, tied into it in memorial of her parents. Her own wings are those of a common-loon and they’re large enough that the tips reach near her ankles. She has red-ish eyes and brown skin. Her clothes are plain and unadorned.
Abilities/Powers: Has no skill in magic. Although, if she’d bothered to study it she would have found an affinity with magic based in water or ice manipulation.

She is skilled in archery, using it primarily to hunt for food, although the potential for winnings from a competition would easily draw her in.

Equipment: A hand-made bow and quiver of arrows, along with a chest guard for archery, and a multi-purpose knife.
Inventory: A flute, a coin purse, and a small bag of miscellaneous tools. All but the flute was taken when she was captured.

Origin: The Republic of Ferriveil, one of several countries on the continent, had known relative peace for years. Although River’s uncle would occasionally tell her of his time as a soldier, he had only seen small skirmishes. The majority of the populous were either Winged-People, or Humans, but with the wars in the southern Kingdom of Eryllan, the population of the Animal-People grew steadily over the years.
Backstory: River’s parents were merchants, although she was raised by her uncle from a young age when her parents were killed in a massive storm that also destroyed her childhood home. He taught her everything she knows about archery and living off the land. They lived on their own in his home in the mountains that bordered the country.

When she was a child, they moved to one of the major cities while her uncle was recruited as a body-guard. While there, River be-friended a young page along with some of the other children. She honed and refined her skills with a bow. After they left that job, River began her life of wandering, and her uncle returned to his mountain home.

It was only by chance that she encountered Kazzok.

" 'LUMIERE IS MY SENPAI' "

Former Title: Ranger Captain of Istvargrad

Nickname/Alias: Walker

Name: Jericho Cross

Age: Early forties

Pronouns: He/Him

Race: Human

Personality:
Having been the leading man in a crime ring of thieves, bandits, thugs and assassins turned into a commissioned Captain of the Monarch when Kazzok and his forces invaded, one might think that he was either a piss poor thief, or a god awful Captain, but that is not the case. Well spoken, fluent in several languages spoken among his people, and clever to a fault, one could easily mistake him for a noble playing at crime. Indeed, some rumors are that he was a noble ousted from his family for being too vicious in the court intrigue. Whatever the truth, he hides it behind a facade of feint smiles, blatant lies, and constant distrust of any and all around him at all times. This leaves a great deal in dispute among his (former) peers as to who he is. Exiled noble, jumped up gutter rat, disgraced officer, rumors swirled wherever he walked.

What isn't in dispute is the level of pragmatism that Jericho displays on a routine basis. It served both him and his own well during the conflicts and problems leading up to the eventual loss of his world. Of course, the arrival of Kazzok and his forces should have had quite the detrimental impact on Jericho but, on the surface and as far as he'll let anyone see, he took it in stride. "A gods damned shit stain cleaned, and without a coin paid, what's the bother, eh?" Of course, one cannot seriously believe this to be the truth, and while he doesn't expect anyone to buy it, he also won't be sharing lightly what the truth of the matter is. Not so much sorrow, but a mix of regret and rage, mixed into a dangerous bundle waiting to simmer to the surface. Regret over what was left undone and of redemption lost, rage over being denied all that he had earned with his own two hands, and of any chance at redemption, being stolen away.

Abilities/Powers:
- (Reluctant) Leader of Men -
Between his own ring of criminals, bandits, and thugs to when he was drafted to be a formal soldier, and a Captain no less, of soldiers of dubious reputation, Jericho has proven to be a surprisingly effective leader in small, urban brawls. Organizing and tactically deploying small bands of disparate thugs, thieves, and specialists of all sorts tends to come second nature, even if its something Jericho is not fond of. Too much attention, and too much riding on his shoulders. Of course, when Kazzok arrived with his legions, reluctance was no excuse for not applying what skills were useful in fighting back.

- Resilient Physiology -
A life of crime tends to lead one to exposure to all sorts of nasty things, from the obvious such as blades and bludgeons to the not so obvious, poisons, toxins, and various diseases, illnesses, and injuries that were never treated by completely competent healers. In such circumstances, one either becomes resilient to physical traumas, or becomes crippled in a hurry. Fortunately for Jericho, he proved to be rather resilient, even by the standards of his world, bouncing back from most physical ailments alarmingly quickly, and shrugging off injury through will, quick bindings, and a touch of liquid courage when needed.

- Dirty Fighter -
It should come to absolutely no surprise the crook plays dirty when it comes to a fight. While he is certainly a skilled swordsman, and competent archer, he chooses to "enhance" his ability in a fight with cheap, underhanded methods. Poisoned blades, barbed arrows, a bit of sand in the eye and a brisk blow beneath the belt, anything to give him an edge and come out on top, or at least survive to see another day. He is also alarmingly creative when it comes to preparing an area for a fight, when he has time to, lacing traps and patches of unfortunate terrain for whoever isn't ready for fighting in such conditions.

Equipment:
- Personal Arming Sword (Stolen) -
A personal, well worn, and tried and true sword that Jericho has had for most of his career. Lacking any real ornamentation anymore, besides the remains hinting at a noble owner in the past, it remains his personal choice of weapon. Well balanced, and honed to a razor edge with a hardened tip, it is capable of cutting down lightly armored foes, and thrusting through medium armor and the weaker joints on heavier armor.

- Composite Bow (Stolen) -
Mostly what he had on hand during his last stand in his world, Jericho's bow is a rather plain example of a composite bow. With a quiver full of various arrows, some for armor, some for flesh, and even a few for utility, it rounded out his toolset in a fight, giving him options to face a foe on footing that was not in their favor.

Inventory:
- Lucky Pipe (Stolen) -
A hand me down from father to son for quite some time, the battered old pipe still functions as a pipe, and is often used as such, even if the remains of ornamentation hint that it was, once upon a time, a symbol of status and nobility.

- Trappers Kit (Stolen) -
A small bag of lockpicks, springs, spare parts, and other bits of metal and leather designed to let a man put together, or disarm, traps, locks, and the like without needing a dedicated workshop following him around. Often times added to with scrap and salvage from fights and thievery, one can be surprised at what might be found in its contents from time to time.



Backstory:
Istvargrad was one of the largest cities of the realm, not so much a single settlement as a sprawling mass of civilization. Humanity as it was known was, by far, the most dominant species present, though compared to other world's versions, the humans of Istvargrad were hardy and resilient against trauma and disease. Elves circulated as concubines and entertainers among the noble courts, moonlighting as assassins and masters of alchemy for those with coin or information to spare. Dwarves and halflings, lumped together in the poor quarters, ran bars, taverns, and and places of business as readily as a human. They would also turn their deft fingers to locksmithing, lockpicking, and the production of clever trinkets and tools for the trade of crime. Indeed, one would be safe to say that the realm of Istvargrad was, indeed, one that ran on crime, either the engaging in, or fighting of, it.

Crime, and the Robber Barons that ran the highest levels of it, knew where the profit was. Relics, strange objects and contraptions that fell into their world due to the weakened walls of their world and sold to the highest bidders. The Church and, officially, the Monarchy would oppose them in a three way struggle for power, the Church seeing them as holy objects, trappings of a faith that had once sustained the barriers of their world and protected them from outsiders. The Monarch saw them as leverage against the Church and its enforcers, and the Robber Barons? Money, money to whichever noble, scientist, magician, or eccentric could pay the most coin. Entire bands of rogues, thieves, thugs and assassins would form around individuals with the skill and know how to track down and secure these items. Little did Istvargrad know, in all its constant focus inwards, that the slowly increasing tide of Relics was a sign of its impending doom.

This is where Jericho Cross comes into the picture, a man that had erased his past from all accounts barring his own, and yet was a highly successful leader of criminals. Knowing how and when to ply guile, charm, and force in due measures, he had a knack for finding Relics and pawning them off to both higher bidders, and his superiors. He made a good amount of coin off his work, lived comfortably in the seedy underbelly of Istvargrad, and was generally respected for his capabilities. Of course, such things do not last forever, and it was getting more and more dangerous for Jericho to work as the Church had begun to focus on his work more and more closely, trying to pin him down for illicit Relic trade. Of course, this never came to a head thanks to the arrival of Kazzok, who likely either followed the trail of relics that slipped between the cracks and into this world, or perhaps to use them as signs of the best options of where to go next.

Istvargrad was the last city remaining within a few short years, the rest of the realm falling in relatively short order, though it was not from a lack of effort. Jericho, and many men like him, were appointed as military officers in desperation, leading their own bands of criminals and scum alongside broken survivors of initial efforts to repel Kazzok. Instead of facing his forces openly, they instead opted to often strike from the shadows, ambushing and harassing the enemy forces wherever they could, stalling and buying time and victories where they could. The problem was that open warfare was a relatively rare thing in Istvargrad, standing armies acting more as guards and opponents to organized criminals than monsters and even other professional soldiers. Ironically, it was the criminals, convicts, and the like able to put up the fiercest resistance as their infighting better prepared them then the long guard shifts with little going on within their view.

Jericho made a name for himself leading men of increasingly varied walks of life against Kazzok and his legions, organizing defenses, leading ambushes and counter assaults, and moving around like a man possessed. It didn't take a genius to realize whatever Kazzok had in mind was bad for business, and everything was thrown into the defense against him, and for his own reasons, Jericho was throwing everything he had into it. Even as Kazzok's legions advanced into Istvargrad itself, entire districts were burned in defiance, forcing them to move in patterns more suitable to being ambushed and making costly assaults on defensive positions. Indeed, scorched earth had become a standard practice, anything that couldn't be taken with them was put to the torch or otherwise ruined. The last point of feasible defense was the barrier to the Monarchy district, a towering manor on an isolated rocky outcrop, accessable via a long, narrow pathway on foot, and the clear, moonlit nights readily exposing approaches by other means.

It was on this long, narrow road snaking up towards the Monarch's home that Jericho would make his last stand, what surviving associates of his old crew alongside soldiers and survivors that would sooner die in a last ditch defense then turn over and die as prisoners, or worse. On top of his career of criminal activity, underground fighting, and scrapes with the guards, he had years of desperate, hard earned experience fighting a losing battle. The Monarch district was designed to be nigh unassailable by any mortal hands, even magicians were anticipated if an all out assault was to be engaged. In the hands of legends and heroes, it might have even sufficed. But legends and heroes were not commonplace in Istvargrad, indeed, the latter was bad for business, and the former too attention grabbing for subtle operations. Jericho had become a hero by necessity, not by choice, and it was no doubt he would fight to the bitter end alongside the remaining few that held the Monarch district. Though, how can one imagine, as the moon itself is blotted out by the oncoming tide, and the ground itself trembled at the approaching legions, that such a motley crew would last long at all?


LUMIERE IS MY SENPAI.

Former Title: Church Reclamation Officer

Nickname/Alias: L or Lash

Name: Lashiel Voss

Age: Early thirties (31)

Pronouns: She/Her



Personality:
Lash is a fairly gruff, no nonsense, and pragmatic soul to be dealing with on any given day, though hints of a wry sense of humor hint at something under the surface. She is a highly private person, however, mostly since her career of choice ended up being a rather lonesome one, and tends to stonewall or otherwise react poorly to prying questions. She will volunteer information as she deems fit, and will frankly tell others her feelings on a matter otherwise. The amount of distrust from her, sometimes reluctant, employers meant that she is always expecting treachery from those she has to work with, making it a slow process to actually trust and open up enough to work with someone outside of a professional setting. She is also fiercely proud of her work, despite it being glorified grave robbing, having been able to make ends meet in a sanctioned manner unlike many of her kin who either ended up in bonds or as petty criminal enforcers, agents, or other useful bodies in a criminal syndicate.

Abilities/Powers:
Crimson Brand Physiology: A byproduct of what she is, Lash has all the benefits and drawbacks of being among the Branded. Her blood will combust when spilled or extracted incorrectly, which not only self cauterizes a wound but also acts as a means of self defense since the unaware will suddenly have burning blood flying about. Curiously, the blood's combustion doesn't destroy any articles of clothing worn by the Branded, though this protection doesn't extend to their flesh and blood. As a side effect, their bodily functions are capable of healing wounds and injuries at an alarmingly fast rate, meaning that unless an outright lethal amount of damage is done, its likely for her to recover in a timely manner.

Brand Extraction Implants: Despite the misleading name, and general hatred that Lash has for the device, it is an integral part of her now. Removal of the device would be, at best, a lifetime crippling injury and, more likely, a lethal event. Fortunately, it is sturdy and designed for combat, meaning that if an incoming blow would destroy the device, odds are it would just kill Lash outright as well. Fortunately, this device gives her means of employing her blood's properties without just constantly cutting wounds and trying to splash enemies with the blood before it combusts. The extractors in the device, which are linked to her arm's arteries, can draw out blood to maintain tanks in the armored gauntlet device running along her left arm. This can be used to either fuel converters that let her, in short, launch blasts of electricity or launch small balls of the blood at high velocity, meaning that it is, effectively, pyromancy without the magic. Of course, she cannot just keep doing this as blood loss can eventually take hold, but thanks to her physiology, she can get away with more than one might think.

Grave Robber: Despite the formal title, Lash is pretty much a grave robber, and anyone who could afford to have Relics buried with them would have elaborate means to protect their buried treasure. This means that, besides being skilled at infiltration and stealth (as to avoid formal discovery by guards around such burial sites), she has had to learn how to detect, disarm, and even make her own traps when the need arose. And, when in doubt, leg it and live another day, so fast on her feet rounds out the talents and skills she picked up from grave robbing, or as the Church preferred, Reclamation of Sacred Relics.

Passable Fighter: While not as comfortable with it as, say, frontline soldiers or captains in the guard, Lash is perfectly capable of defending herself should she run afoul of nosy guards or furious nobles. Preferably, her reinforced shovel is her go to weapon, which gets her routine ridicule from fellow robbers that carry shortswords or other weapons suitable for close in work. But, as she points out, she'd rather just cave some poor sods head in or use the sharpened edges of the shovel to get a problem sorted out.

Equipment:
Reinforced Shovel: Lash jokingly refers to this as her "Master Key", and it sees as much use as a proper shovel as it does a means of forcing entry and defending against guards, traps, and other problems that might arise when one goes robbing noble graves and tombs. The shaft is reinforced to be able to parry and block blows, while the actual shovel portion was sharpened and weighted to make bashing more effective. She will be rather furious about it being removed from her person. (Currently Missing)

Inventory:
Nothing Worth Noting

Origin:


Backstory:
Istvargrad was one of the largest cities of the realm, not so much a single settlement as a sprawling mass of civilization. Humanity as it was known was, by far, the most dominant species present, though compared to other world's versions, the humans of Istvargrad were hardy and resilient against trauma and disease. Elves circulated as concubines and entertainers among the noble courts, moonlighting as assassins and masters of alchemy for those with coin or information to spare. Dwarves and halflings, lumped together in the poor quarters, ran bars, taverns, and and places of business as readily as a human. They would also turn their deft fingers to locksmithing, lockpicking, and the production of clever trinkets and tools for the trade of crime. Indeed, one would be safe to say that the realm of Istvargrad was, indeed, one that ran on crime, either the engaging in, or fighting of, it.

Crime, and the Robber Barons that ran the highest levels of it, knew where the profit was. Relics, strange objects and contraptions that fell into their world due to the weakened walls of their world and sold to the highest bidders. The Church and, officially, the Monarchy would oppose them in a three way struggle for power, the Church seeing them as holy objects, trappings of a faith that had once sustained the barriers of their world and protected them from outsiders. The Monarch saw them as leverage against the Church and its enforcers, and the Robber Barons? Money, money to whichever noble, scientist, magician, or eccentric could pay the most coin. Entire bands of rogues, thieves, thugs and assassins would form around individuals with the skill and know how to track down and secure these items. Little did Istvargrad know, in all its constant focus inwards, that the slowly increasing tide of Relics was a sign of its impending doom.

Lashiel Voss was born with the brand on her left palm, which was unfortunate due to how difficult to conceal it would be. Yet she would do so, keeping a close eye on the Church parties that swept the poor districts routinely, searching for newborn branded to be snatched away. Having to abandon her birth parents at a young age, as they planned to turn her over for the bounty on all Branded, she would end up running with a gang of thieves and crooks for awhile run by a fellow who folks called Walker. She worked as their entry specialist, getting people in and out of areas, slipping in wherever one might think to need someone skilled in breaking and entering. Walker would be the first to find her Brand, and to her surprise he didn't turn her over to the Church, instead keeping her clear of jobs dealing with the Church from then on out. Of course, good luck doesn't run forever, and she got picked up by the Church in an unexpected raid.

Normally a Branded of her age should have been executed, but the official in charge of her trial had owed a favor to Walker and he had called it in, to give her an option. Execution, or enlist with the Reclamation Branch. While it would, officially, put her opposed to her old boss, it gave her a chance to find a way out. She had to undergo the rather gruesome and painful grafting of the Brand Extraction Implants, though she survived and, despite the stigmata such a thing carried, had to acknowledge its usefulness in her new job. She spent several years robbing graves, growing to be proud of the job she was doing despite it having been forced, though she turned a blind eye to certain shadows where they weren't supposed to be and worked just a tad slower every now and again, just for old times sake. Whether Walker had called in that favor to benefit him and his crew, or to bail her out, it wasn't something she was going to forget, and planned to eventually escape from the Reclamation branch and join back up with Walker's crew.

Of course, the invasion by Kazzok changed all of this. Walker got drafted as a Ranger Captain, and the Reclamation branch was drafted to help build fortifications and defend them alongside Church militant groups. While they looked down on a Branded, she was sanctioned all the same, so they helped stiffen the backbone of the best equipped to defend and slow down Kazzok and his forces. Between their stiff resistance and the guerilla efforts by the auxiliaries led by Walker, they were able to stall the inevitable for several years, though Istvargrad would end up being the last city left. Lash would assist in scorched earth tactics, putting her burning blood to use to put entire districts to the torch, rigging them to be impassable and force the legions into where the defenders wanted them to go, and she got a reputation for a Church sanctioned devil, putting the torch to things that could not be saved to prevent them falling to Kazzok. They continued being pushed back, however, and when the Magician's quarter erupted in a sphere of light, leaving it a barren husk, the defensive lines collapsed and the survivors fell back to the Monarchy district.

While Walker and the remaining soldiers dug in on the bridge, Lash would help dig and burrow towards the coast, trying to dig a way for those too young, infirm, or otherwise incapable of defending and fighting to the last. There was some hope that the docks had a boat that hadn't been damaged or torched and could put to sea and head for parts unknown. It was better than dying at the hands of Kazzok's forces. With the sounds of fighting in the manor above announcing the defenses had been breached, and Walker likely dead, Lash ran back headlong into the manor, to defend the tunnel entrance and buy the diggers a scant few moments more to try and finally breach out. Whether they did or not, well, Lash wouldn't be able to tell as, despite her best efforts and nearly killing herself expending her blood into the device strapped on her arm, she was overwhelmed and consciousness fled from her mind.

Other:
During dry spells, Lash would assist local graveyards in digging graves, putting her shovel to honest work and giving her an understanding of funeral rites and basic prayers, giving her a bit of spiritual understanding.

Current Theme Song

LUMIERE IS MY SENPAI

Former Title: Nale the Fate-seeker
Name: Nataniel Molinero
Age: 24
Pronouns: Male
Race: Hero, formerly human
Personality: Though not as easily excited as in his youth, the mysteries of the world continue to fascinate Nale. He’s curious and inquisite, wanting to know more of that which he doesn’t. During the mission he takes a serious attitude and will save any ally and innocent he can. He prefers studying a situation over jumping into danger, but can throw caution into the wind, if an opportunity to be the hero of the hour presents itself.
Appearance: Short and scrawny Nale ain't that impressive in appearance, but appearances can fool you. He has a tanned skin, short black hair and brown eyes. Nale's body has over the years been filled with scars from confrontations with monsters. Nale wears a Heroes’ Guild uniform of brown leather trousers, jacket, boots. gloves and a capotain hat. Nale also has a necklace with a golden circle, a symbol of he Guild’s membership.
Abilities/Powers:
Strenght
+ Arete of Hiding: Nale can hide himself so well that he literally can’t be discovered. As long as he is in a spot that can conceal himself completely (in a corner, behind a rock etc.), it will be almost like he wasn’t there at all. Nale can’t hide, if there are no hiding spots, and disguises work only as well as they would on a normal person. He is also visible when he attacks from his hiding spot, though he knows how to take down a target quickly before hiding again. Objects and people he holds cannot be spotted either, provided the hiding place can conceal them, but they can be spotted if Nale leaves them.
Weakness
- Hamartia of a Gloryhound: Ironically for someone who is good at hiding, Nale graves attention. Being praised as a hero is like a narcotic to him, and if a chance to gain fame presents itself, Nales takes it.
Other Abilities
Besides Arete, Hero trained by the Guild needs to be a jack-of-all-trades. Nale is a skilled knifefighter, though no duelist. He is observant and good at listening, which is useful for spying. He knows how to climb mountains and buildings, as well as jump far and ride a horse. Nale possesses great knowledge of the supernatural, necessary for a hero. He knows how to cook and speaks five languages (Metamundian tongues, though).

Equipment: None at the moment. Before their cofiscation, Nale mostly used seven daggers, each made or coated in one of the seven alchemical metals (lead, tin, iron, gold, copper, mercury and silver) as weapons against creatures. He also has an eight, steel dagger, to use against normal enemies.
Inventory: None at the moment. Before capture Nale had a wide variety of survival equipment. Rope, lint, eating utensils, a small pot, bedroll, a small tent and some travel rations. He also had a compass and a book of different kinds of creatures of Metamundus.
Origin:
Backstory: Nale wanted to be a hero as long as he can remember. The opportunity came when an Oracle visited his home village. However, Nale was shocked to discover that his destiny was not to be a hero. In fact it appeared he had no destiny at all. The Oracle, fascinated by the theoretical impossibility that Nale was, requested that the boy joins her on the Journey to Malana's capital, not to become a student at the Hero Academy he had wished, But to the Grand Temple of Order for studies. Later one night, unwilling to spend the rest of his life being researched by the oracles, Nale attempted to do something none had done before, sneak into the Hero Academy and study being a hero in secret. He managed to get in, but eventually was intercepted by the guards. The Grandmaster of the Heroes' Guild was impressed by the fact that Nale could get even to the walls of the academy, and let him join the other apprentices. It was then that Nale learnt his Arete of hiding, and gained the Hero's Name, Fate-Seeker, after the fact that his destiny has not been seen.

Over the following years Nale learnt how to be a hero. He has been an Apprentice at the school, Sidekick to professional adventurers, and now, having graduated from the academy, a Journeyman. He has fought vampires, faeries, witches, spirits and creatures stranger still, and travelled all across the lands of Metamundus. But the reason why Nale seemingly has no destiny has remained a mystery.

But then a new enemy appeared. seven alchemists, who called themselves the "Body of Kazzok", declared their intention to take over the land in the name of "King Kazzok"

Nale joined other Heroes and Creatures in saving the land from this strange alliance and their servants. Nale, master of hiding, infiltrated the base to spy on the Body’s plans and capabilities. It was then that he discovered Kazzok’s plan. As a spirit without body he needed a vessel to enter a realm, which would make him invincible. The Body intended to sacrifice themselves to give Kazzok an actual body. Using this knowledge Nale sneaked into the portal room just as Kazzok was about to appear. Before the Body could finish the ritual, Nale took out his mercury dagger and plunged it into Kazzok’s spiritual essence, vaporizing him. The Body, bound to Kazzok, died with their master. Nale walked out of the base into the crowd of celebrating people…

…And woke up to find himself in a pillory inside a dungeon of some kind, Kazzok’s Brain looking at him mockingly. The Brain revealed that the whole opportunity to kill Kazzok was only in Nale’s head, an illusion designed to take advantage of his Hamartia. Kazzok’s Brain thanked Nale for allowing them to finish their real job and left the broken hero to wallow in his misery.

'LUMIERE IS MY SENPAI'

Former Title: Professor Selphia

Nickname/Alias:
Son of the Wind
Drake of Light
Dragonic Indy

Name:
Christian Selphia

Age:
While Chris's actual age is unknown, he appears to be in his mid thirties.

Pronouns: Male pronouns

Race:
Divine Dragon/Draconian Hybrid

Personality:
A calm, relaxed fellow, who always tries to secure a peaceful, good solution to a problem, but possesses extensive strength of character, the type of person to lead a band of fighters into battle with ease. That isn't to say he has moments of sadness, or low periods, but rather that he tries his best to remain strong for others, to keep morale up.

Abilities/Powers:
Blood of the Goddess: A potent ability that all Runemons have, but placed upon steroids. Runemons naturally generate the energy that they survive on, but Divine Dragons possess the power to filter Runic Energy from their home realm atop the prior natural generation. The rate of transference is generally based on the amount of Rune in the environment around. This aspect shuts off when either cut off from the Forest when in another world, or if a jamming situation is set up.

Runemancy: A way of referring to the ability to manipulate Rune, both in the user and in the environment. Rune has a variety of applications, and skills based in the Rune System are a measurement of a person's knowledge, as memory loss will damage skill levels. Chris, as a Divine Dragon's offspring, has elemental affinity for wind and electricity(both being the same element in lore), the former boosts his defense, the latter his speed when overhealing occurs. He can also use the other six major elements, having a strange affinity for the element of Light, but the rest are used with less adeptness. He also possesses skills in most forms of weapons, but has the most skill in long swords. He can heal allies, cure status ailments, and even open rifts in space-time, so long as there's enough Rune in the air and his body to make the rifts work. Overusage of Rune can cause a user to pass out, and in extreme cases, die. Storing more Rune in the body than can be safely held(which rises over time due to training) will cause instability in the mind, and slowly cause a person to lose themselves, as their body, mind, and soul are corroded by the overdosage of Rune, slowly drawing them into the Forest of Beginnings. While a Divine Dragon's child, Chris still runs this risk, of pulling himself back into the Forest if he's not careful.
Note: This is a slimmed down version of what Rune really is like, as I didn't want to bore folks with extensive info. The other major elements are earth, water(sub-element is ice), fire, light, darkness, and love(healing element). There's also other stuff, but I'd rather ignore their existence(mind control and memory manipulation is...yeah)

Dragoncraft:

Descendants of the Draconians possess a type of setup known as the "Signature Skill" system. Taking the form of a skill tree that grows as the user ages and trains, the type of Signature Skill they possess was originally randomized from generation to generation, producing often bizarre results. However, after the fall of their home world, the bloodline of Drakos, descended from a Draconian with Genecraft were modified. Their powers were stablized, generally dealing with the theme of "craft" or the "essence of something." This could be influenced by nature(who their father or mother was determines the possible skill tree if triggered at birth), and nuture(environmental conditions and the non-draconian parent, if present, can influence what the power is). Generally, a Draconian will determine their power early on. Some can go their entire lives without discovering their power, though this became less common with the stabilizing of bloodlines. Enter Chris. Due to his exposure as a child to the diverse dragon populations of his home world, his Signature Skill became Dragoncraft, a skill tree dealing with the concept of essence of dragons.

As he's still rather young, and unlike other variants(such as Prime), Chris's skill with Dragoncraft is minimal. He can look at a dragon and most of the time know what kind they are, speak a variety of dragon languages, but he doesn't possess the power to conjure aspects of dragons, such as using their powers, or for that matter, create dragons, or summon them. He's still learning.

Drake of Light: More a ceremonial title, but refers to his place in his pantheon, though he's unaware of this. This is where his affinity for light comes from. At some point he'll gain access to it, but till then, he's just a seemingly "normal" wind dragon. Unlocking it will increase his power over light, shifting his overall affinity to it, and thus become the symbol of hope that was stated at his birth. Not that he'd fight for such.

History: He's a skilled historian, due to his years spent as an archeologist, traveling multiple worlds. His knowledge on a variety of topics makes for interesting dinner conversation, but can sometimes be...difficult to work with.

Charisma: He's just a naturally charismatic fellow, and almost seems to have that kind of aura that makes one at least consider giving a moment of their time to listen.

Equipment:
Rune Force(Draconian Wish): A divine construct taking the form of a long sword, that is held one handed by the Drake of Light. Channels his Rune power through it, boosting his ability to fight. Forged by his ancestor's God of the Forge as their world was dying, it's true form is unknown, though Chris has commented that it possesses the nature to change appearance based on who wields it, or might even not be directly there, and what Chris wields is merely a projection of it. Linked to his mind, others can hold it, but the blade seems to judge those who pick it up, and only those deemed "worthy" can wield it in Chris's stead. His father wielded a version of it before Chris, but lost his access when he turned to the dark side.
Notes: If this seems a bit odd, its because its based on a counterpart item of the same name, whose lore was a work in progress, as I refined it. This I can easily fix up as needed though.

Book of Rune Magic: A spell book that contains a variety of Rune Abilities, both weapon skills and magic skills, as well as recipes for crafting, forging, cooking, and other details. Helps in casting, but must be fed Rune to use the Abilities, and can be used to help channel and focus the power needed to conjure "forbidden" magic, such as massive blasts of light magic, or even summon attacks said to be used only by the gods themselves. Chris possesses no knowledge of these higher end spells, and the book is indirectly tied to his knowledge, so if he were to say, lose his memories, it would in turn have pages go blank. Its a fun little thing. In effect its his research into Rune magic, a road walked by other wizards and magicians.

Storm Wand: A lower end magical staff that is said to hold the power to call down storms. Highly recommended to not use it indoors you lunatic. He doesn't use it often, if at all, really only carrying it to remind himself of his mother.

Health Potions: Simple enough, heal health.

Inventory:
Book of Dragons: Chris's field notes regarding both his powers over dragons, and his research into the countless races of dragons. Worth a fortune. The book is somehow bigger on the inside than it seems, and in his personal opinion, is one of his life's works, due to it being a chronicle on the dragons he has encountered. Each dragon gets a hand drawn picture that seems to come alive when looked at. The text shows his devotion, bordering at times on overload from the wealth of information at hand.

Book of History: A book akin to the Book of Dragons, that contains records on the events Chris has either looked into, or borne witness to. Written in a master's hand, each page holds priceless information, and carefully drawn images at various points almost seem to give one the impression that the events are occurring in real time.

Wallet: Contains some cash, some cards, and pictures of his family.

Origin: A world traveler, Chris hailed from one of the many worlds tied to the World Tree that made up the Forest of Beginnings' core,the land enriched by Rune. Having left his home world behind when he was young, and having only visited a time or two after, he considers the world he crashed into his home.
Backstory:
War. That was the backdrop to his life. His father, a former egoistical dragon who had intially seeked merely to rebuild the stellar empire of his ancestors, fell into darkness, and attempted a coup against the gods. During the civil war that raged for two short, but seemingly long years, he was eventually defeated, and imprisoned in another plane, while the young Chris, intially raised to be the sword of the gods, his older sister to become the leader one day, fell through a hole in time, after witnessing the death of his sister. Dropping into an alien world, the resulting trauma caused Chris to supress his memories. Only ten years old, the young seemingly human was found by a couple, and taken in, nursed back to health, before they soon learned his real nature as a dragon. When he was twelve, a cut revealed the scales beneath his skin, but the couple weren't frightened. No, they saw this as a gift from their god, to be given a son, when they had been unable to have children. The world he had fallen into was a world on the brink of global war, as nations stood at each others throats. On one side, humans, on the other, animals who had been mutated into humanoids, and other mythical creatures. In the midst of this, Chris lived.

Living in his world's equal to Europe, namely Italy, Chris eventually enrolled in an academy specializing in history, something he had grown to love, realizing that perhaps by learning about the past, he could reclaim his own memories. He left college fast, his strength and tenacity landing him a position as an archeologist on a government team, exploring a set of ruins in his new worlds version of Africa, that suggested alien life had visited before. These ruins awoke parts of his memories, and Chris realized where he had come from. For a moment, he was transported to his home world. For that singular moment to his comrades as he'd stood before a mural of the Skymother, he'd been frozen, but on the other side, days passed, as he learned the truth. What had happened. His hand pulled away, the red haired archeologist looking down to the bare skin, seeing energy glowing, realizing what he was. His world was seemingly gone, and to the shock of his teammates, as he looked back, he seemed...different. Not in a bad way, just, as if he was trying to make sense of something.

They returned to camp, but when he woke the next morning, there was a sword in a scabbard, and a staff beside it, a note attached, that while written in an alien tongue, he knew. A message from his mother, saying that while their world was dying, as darkness began to befall it, so long as they were never forgotten, they would keep living. The items had been sent with as much power as she could spare, before she and the other deities of her world had gone to engage the new threat. For Chris, this broke him, realizing he would never see the lands of his home world again, as far as he knew. His mother was gone, the Skymother who had spent centuries relative to their world searching for him, was no more.

He told his teammates nothing, and they returned. In his report, Chris recorded that while he had a theory about the source of the ruins, that he'd have to do more time researching. And in secret, with the help of what he'd learned on the other side, began to practice his people's magic again. He fell in love, married a former secret agent who had been the result of a science program to use the mystical creatures' own power against them, and they had a child. A little girl, who Chris hoped to one day see change the world. He found ways to travel to other, safe worlds, and found other dragons, and made notes on them, recording their stories, their tales, becoming their witness, before leaving. And then, it happened.

The darkness came to the world, and while the various world governments banded together, trying to fight this threat, they weren't enough, and one by one, each nation fell. Chris at first had been content to write as much as he could, recording the conflict, but finally, he made a choice. He left his wife and child behind, and with the help of contacts in the government, was delivered to the front lines, or rather, what became them, as before he could leave, his city came under attack. The last thing he remembered, before waking up in his new location...was telling the woman he loved to run, fighting to buy them time. He can only hope they're alright...

Other:
Chris is almost always writing when given the chance. He's a great orator, though he won't admit to it, so it might take a bit for him to give a speech. Not knowing what became of his wife and daughter bother him, and while he may be closed off about it, and hide it behind his outgoing nature...he longs to see them again, one day. Additionally, Christian is not his real name, but rather the one his human parents gave him. He also lacks the power to turn into a human form. If he had to have a theme... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=izsjRpcgfmk

LUMIERE IS MY SENPAI