- Name: Byron Cauna, the Jaguar of Keltyr
- Appearance: "Leave it to me."
- Age: 22
- Race: Beastfolk (Cat)
- Abilities: Byron is first and foremost a combat mage; by weaving in various spells into his already unorthodox style of combat, he is able to trap opponents and force them to move in ways that work best for him. While he has no particular magical specialty (as the fundamentals were taught to everyone who could learn in the first place), his tendencies towards self-enhancement and environmental manipulation have garnered him a reputation as a combatant who excels in skirmishes and trickery.
Like many beastfolk, though, Byron possesses the ability to transform into an animal; in his case, he becomes a giant cat with high agility, which in turn allows him to execute enemies with impunity. While he cannot perform any of his usual tricks in this form, his physical capabilities and senses far surpass those of his usual human form, even when enhanced; in other words, it is a method to brute force the opposition into submission when all else fails. - Skills: When it comes to skills necessary for daily life in a small village, like cooking, cleaning, or hunting, Byron has enough experience to not be wholly incompetent at the job. His specialty in guerilla tactics, on the other hand, has given him the experience needed to learn how to best disrupt his opponents, be they human, monster, or whatever else stands in his way. Covering his tracks, creating traps, moving unnoticed through enemy territory... All of it is within the realm of possibility for him.
- Personality: Byron, in short, is a problem solver, and an efficient one at that; not that it matters much when much of that work is done out of the public eye. Though he casts himself as a reliable ally to those that he trusts, the fact that much of his work is less evident makes him seem like no more than a friendly face in that regard, as he almost never becomes involved in larger conflicts unless his hand is forced. His proactivity outside of combat leads to him being the cause of more than one unorthodox "incident", though, which leads to its own set of problems. To that end, though, he is an opportunist, and when he cannot find openings, he makes his own instead.
That being said, Byron's love for the odd and unexpected (in both military tactics and daily life) have led to him becoming a person who prefers to go with the flow if he can help it. While taking the reins in a situation is equally as fun, always keeping control becomes stale and boring; likewise, solving problems that have no right to be solved gives him a sense of satisfaction (and, in the case of combat, a rattled and angered enemy is far easy to manipulate than one with a cool head). - History: Born in a small village in Keltyr, a nation in western Unira, Byron spent the first decade of his life with his parents and, later, two younger siblings. Two years before war had broken out, the nation that had dominion over his village sent out the usual examiners for magical prowess, and it was found that the young beastfolk had potential beyond that of the average mage. With his family's encouragement, the young Byron, at age ten, left for the capital to enter school.
Two years later, however, war had broken out on the northern tip of the continent; as he was too young to be considered an 'adult', Byron paid the issue no mind. As the years passed and the news of a steadily encroaching army became apparent, though, the young man found a nagging fear in the back of his mind: that the army's approach would not stop until the continent was theirs.
Spurred on by the fear of being unable to help his family when he was done with his studies, the young student's fears were eventually realized when the Volstanians arrived at the borders of the nation, demanding immediate capitulation or absolute destruction. By now, those who were fleeing had already left for the southern Unira, his family included; those who remained, himself included, were drafted into the Keltyran military regardless of background or origin.
The young Byron made a name for himself over the next few years, distinguishing himself in combat and actively stalling the progress of Volstanian efforts on the western front to the point where he could be called a genius in the field (though, obviously, by no small effort of him with those who he worked with). That being said, though, he was by no means experienced, and though his own abilities were enough to place him in decisive battles, there was no way to hold out forever. Sooner or later, something had to give, and with battered and war-torn troops unable to fully hold the line, Keltyr, too, fell to the invaders.
That loss, though disheartening, was not enough to shake Byron, and his feats leading to the penultimate battle of the Alliance a few years later were enough to have him chosen as someone to survive beyond their fall. And so, with a heartfelt farewell from his family, the beastfolk was chosen a 'hero' and sealed away, in hopes that his eventual return would bring with it the revenge that the Alliance's leaders so desired. - Other: N/A
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VitaVitaAR King of Knights
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- Name: Sylphie Sorvost, commonly known as Death Angel Sylphie, Slaughter Princess Sylphie, Bloody Avenger Sylphie, and perhaps more flatteringly Princess of Victory Sylphie
- Appearance: Sylphie is pale, with black hair. She has one gold eye as a symbol of her divinity, the other being red. Physically, she is a petite child of no more than nine or ten.
- Age: 320
- Race: Demigod(Human)
- Abilities: As a demigod, Sylphie is immortal. While she can be killed by violence, she does not age, and her body is capable of recovering from grievous injury. Even lost limbs and organs can be regenerated, though severing all her limbs will incapacitate her and it is far easier for her to heal if they are simply reattached. She is immune to disease and poisons do not affect her(though she can still get drunk, and sometimes does in spite of her appearance). The most surefire way to kill her is completely destroying her head, as even decapitation is not necessarily a guarantee. Additionally, she is far stronger and faster than her appearance would suggest, easily overpowering far larger individuals with considerable ease. Key to her fighting style is Sylphie's ability to manifest a huge sword, longer than she is tall. It is considered the symbol of Aphei's Left Seat, the Avenging Blade that Slaughters the Wicked. It will never bend or break or lose its edge, and can freely be summoned and dispelled by Sylphie at will. It possesses the capacity to harm things with no physical form, cutting through spirits just as easily as it can cut through flesh, and is a divine weapon that burns demonic entities on contact. Sylphie can also freely call this weapon to her side if it is ever separated from her. She is also capable of sensing evil, detecting it just as easily as most people could smell a freshly-prepared meal. Sylphie can also perform magic, chiefly anti-evil wards(as well as protective wards in general) and offensive curses projected from the edge of her blade in the form of tightly-wound balls of mana. In that way, her sword also functions as a catalyst for spells. Sylphie can also serve as a guide to the afterlife for Aphei's faithful, though it is not her chief function. She is also revitalized and strengthened by shows of faith towards Aphei.
- Skills: Sylphie possesses a surprisingly wide and in-depth knowledge of medicinal herbs and their use, though she rarely puts it into practice now as she feels there are others more suited to the job then herself. Beyond some very basic skills, Sylphie became a demigod at a young enough age so that she lacks many practical skills.
- Personality: Sylphie's personality can be described as somewhat arrogant. She believes quite firmly that there are an extreme few who can best her in combat, and she has the utmost confidence in her capability in battle. She is also relatively polite and talkative however, though she does enjoy teasing others and playfully mocking them whenever given the opportunity(she frequently feels she is given the opportunity). Fittingly due to her position as a Demigod under Aphei, Goddess of Righteous Victory, Sylphie also possesses a strong sense of justice. She does not tolerate threats to the innocent and will prioritize their protection(indeed, victory is not righteous if it allows for the deaths and sacrifice of innocent people). That being said, on the opposite end of Sylphie's strong sense of justice is her utterly remorseless killing of those deemed wicked. Those who commit evil acts or beings that possess an evil nature receive no mercy. Genuine repentence and remorse may stay her hand, but Sylphie serves a deity whose sphere also encompasses the Slaughter of the Wicked as well. Sylphie does indeed love combat, victorious combat where those who do evil deeds are cut down over and over again. The scent of the blood of the wicked almost seems to drive her into a frenzy, and the more the enemy perishes, the more she kills them, the closer she comes to victory, the more excited she becomes. Indeed, she enters a state that can only be described as ecstasy as she claims victory and slaughters those who do evil. This is both due to her nature as a demigod of Aphei and her own personality prior to her ascension.
- History: Over three hundred years ago, Sylphie was a girl living in a small village with her younger sister and their parents. In training to become a healer, she learned much about medicinal herbs from her father, and soon became adept at recognizing which had the most potent effects. As she grew older, she developed a wide knowledge of such herbs, and was well on her way to becoming the town's foremost healer when she entered adulthood. But when she was still a child, her hometown came under attack by a raiding force that crushed the local guard, murdered Sylphie's parents, and took her, her sister, and many other children to be broken into slaves. It was a long time before she was able to do more then cry, but eventually she began to plot to take revenge on the raiders and free her sister and the other children. Convincing the raiders that she had already broken down, she became their favorite serving girl, allowing her to eventually access their mead. Using her knowledge of herbal medicine, she drugged the entire camp...
And, one by one, killed them all with their own weapons. Methodically, without sparing a single life, she butchered each and every one of them in their sleep. She was covered in blood when she freed the other slaves, and after reaching the nearest town she decided to continue as she had been. To take revenge not only for her parents, but for the sake of all those who the raiders had hurt, to free those they had taken as slaves. She found two more camps after this, and repeated the same process. Drugging the invaders through their alcohol, killing them in their sleep, and freeing their prisoners. It was on the fourth time, however, that she was caught, and captured. Threatened with a fate far worse then death, Sylphie was unable to escape. All she could do was repeat a short prayer to Aphei, the Goddess of Righteous Victory and the Slaughter of the Wicked, that she had heard from her father once before.
"May justice be done upon them, so that they might never harm another innocent soul."
But then, she heard a voice in the back of her mind. Aphei had responded. She had been watching Sylphie, as she killed the raiders who were murdering and enslaving their way through the land.
She offered Sylphie the chance to become a demigod. One of her Pillars. Sylphie accepted, and her body was flooded with divine power.
Moments later, the entire camp of raiders had been destroyed, every single one laying dead and their prisoners freed. But she didn't stop there. Sylphie slaughtered the entire invasion force, killing her way through their armies until they were all either dead or fled. From that point onwards, Sylphie became a figure that punished the wicked for the sake of the innocent. Even during the more recent conflict with the Volstanian Empire, she served this purpose and was one of the heroes selected to be sealed and reawakened later... - Other: As a demigod, Sylphie is one of the Four Pillars of Aphei. As is customary for the gods in general, mortals are selected to serve as representatives, ascended to a state of demigodhood. In Aphei's case, these are her four Pillars. Sylphie is the Left Seat, also known as the Pillar of the East, reflecting Aphei's aspect as an avenger most strongly. The whereabouts of the other three Pillars are currently unknown...
Rune_Alchemist Absolute Depravity
Member
Seen
0-24 hrs ago
- Name:
Izehulufea Aiuebr'Iukhil
"Grand Magus Izel, Catastrophe Izel, Mistress of the Celestial Towers, She who stole the Empress' Panties."
"You can ignore that last one. I assure you, thievery is beneath me, fufu~" - Appearance:
Izel possesses an almost otherworldly beauty, with white hair and luminescent red eyes. She normally dresses in her typical hat and robes, with red heels she doesn't seem to have trouble moving in. Oddly, her skin is cold to the touch. - Age:
If you believe her, 23
If you don't, she's 132 - Race:
Human? - Abilities:
Izel possesses an incredible capacity for magic, as well as an incredible talent and knowledge of all things magical in nature. Spending most of her life studying the intricacies of magic, she's developed a keen sense for all forms of magic and things of a magical nature and wears the title 'Grand Magus of Unira' as proudly and as skillfully as one may expect of the title. Many assume that for being so skilled and having such a high natural affinity for magic means she can't possibly be human, but that is entirely incorrect. She's as human as they come, of course.
...well, she does have a tendency to freely lie about things -
Izel's abilities are entirely the result of her effectually well, not being human at all. What she is, she doesn't go into detail about, but she is not demon, human, spirit, devil, or anything of the sort. No, she's something much more enigmatic. Something much more sinister. Something a bit darker and baleful, yet equally alluring. Yet at one point, she was most certainly human, for she has human parentage...so when exactly did this happen? She doesn't speak of it. It's due to this otherworldly connection that she has her impressive magical ability and feats. So perhaps, if one were to sever it...
Because of her inhuman slightly spiritual nature, and the fact she in some manner 'exists elsewhere' The Grand Magus has developed some supernatural abilities. A resistance to physical weapons, as well as a weakness to magic, especially of the External sort. - Skills:
...outside of the realm of magical studies, Izel doesn't have much in the way of normal skills. Why walk when you can fly? Why do cleaning when you can just magic the place spotless? Why cook when you can just transmute yourself some wine or prime rib?
Okay that last one may be an exaggeration. - Personality:
There's something not quite right about Izel. Perhaps its because of her flamboyant method of movement, her perpetual, playful smirk, or her luminescent ruby-red eyes. Whatever it is, she has a tendency to both make people uneasy with her words, as well as speak in tongues and perhaps, a few riddles every now and then, but aside from that she's utterly normal yes? Normal.
Utter confidence in both herself and her abilities. A mischievous sort, she uses her magic mostly to pester others and generally get on peoples nerves and to make life easier for herself. Flying instead of walking, washing her clothes, etc. For a powerful mage who could scorch an entire continent at will, she doesn't like employing such brute force methods, preferring to rely on her skill and little tricks more often than not. Tends to be rather touchy and has a...'healthy appreciation for the human form' as she puts it.
feel free to throw a fireball at her, she'll enjoy it.
Perhaps its because of her ceasing to be human, but she has a rather harmless disregard for most humans. She doesn't take pleasure in them dying, but if some happen to get burned as collateral, she doesn't mourn them. Do not expect her to go out of her way to help people. - History:
Once upon a time in an ancient land -
A humble mountain village, is where Izel was born to a family of Miners, along with her twin sister. She, always having a talent for the arcane and magical aspects of the world. Her sister being far more physically adept and inclined. For most of their early childhood they were inseparable. The way Izel tells it, she was always dragging her sister into no amount of trouble. Exploring the old mines, dragging her into harmless village pranks, other harmless kid things.
The old mines, where her parents worked were always somewhat of a fascination to Izel. Especially the really, really, old mines. The places where the touch of humans faded and turned into natural caves, deep beneath the earth. Something about it made Izel shiver with wonder and awe, though her sister was always terrified of them.
So of course, it would have been hilarious to drag her sister into something involving the mines. It was supposed to be a harmless prank. Just a number of things Izel did. Let her sister think she was lost in the Old Mines for a bit. Looking back, it was a stupid idea, though Izel probably couldn't tell you this herself. The twins found themselves in the mines, searching for the other and a way out.
The events that followed next, were both subtle and terrible. Izel found something, sleeping beneath the mountain. It made her a deal. Lose her past. Her present. Potentially her future, become part of it, and it would share magical aptitude with her.
There was a reason she took it. A reason, but she can't remember what it was. Either way, she was the only one to walk out of that mine. Probably. Did she walk? She can't remember. She possibly floated. Shortly after, the mine dried up, and the village lost its main source of income, and was abandoned - or so the story goes.
The rest of her life was spent doing feats of magic for the common folk. For the various kingdoms of the time. She even built a library and academy dedicated to the founding and innovation of magic, and over time she developed quite a bit of reputation as one of the more powerful mages upon Unira, some even called her the most powerful - though such a title is not something she'd ever claim herself.
When the empire destroyed her academy and library, she finally took a side in the war against them, but it was for naught. She was strong, to be sure, but she was just a single person against a seemingly endless legion.
Crimson Paladin "Progressive" Techpriest
Member
Seen
5 hrs ago
Name: Aerarius
Appearance: Post-Transference Body
Age: 35 (became an automaton at 25)
Race: Automaton, formerly Human
Abilities:
Automaton Body
Aerarius's soul has been transferred into a magitech automaton. His body, constructed with alchemical alloys resembling brass, is highly resistant to corrosion, heat, cold temperatures, and physical damage, and is capable of feats of strength and endurance far beyond that of a human. Many of his joints can rotate 360°, making him surprisingly dextrous. His body is powered by a mana battery capable of storing considerable energy. He does not need to breathe, and can function underwater.
His body runs on mana, which it uses to power its systems and protect against wear and tear. In order to recharge, he can enter a dormant charging state where he begins to siphon the mana from his environment, although this is a slow, inefficient process unless he is plugged into a charging station (unlikely, considering most if not all have been destroyed) or in proximity to a ley line.
After his home was destroyed, he has made further modifications made to his body. His protective exterior plating has been inscribed with glyphs of magical absorption. He has additionally added storage compartments underneath his exterior plating, allowing him to carry a few items inside his body.
Aerarius's body's sensory capabilities are a mixed bag. He possesses sharp sight and the the ability to visually perceive magical energy, but his sight is slightly restricted by the shape of his head. His olfactory senses are more or less the same as human, although because he cannot eat, he sometimes deactivates it. He has a keen sense of hearing, but this also means that without some background noise, he will constantly hear the soft whirring and humming of his own body's mechanisms. His body possesses a sense of touch, but his rigid fingers struggle to perceive texture.
His body is not without drawbacks. Its considerable mass and density means that he weights considerably more than a human of similar size, and he sinks like a stone. Damage to his body must be manually repaired, as healing magic has no effect on him. It is nearly impossible for him to move silently because his servos and cogs generate a small amount of noise. If the crystal housing Aerarius' soul (located in his torso) is broken, he will die. If his mana battery (also located in his torso) is sufficiently damaged, it may explode with considerable power. Lastly, the knowledge of his creation and inner workings were forever lost- while it may be possible to find spare parts from the remains of other brass automatons, any component beyond his own ability to reconstruct will never be created again.
Skills:
Apprentice Artificer
Aerarius was a student of magitech artifice when the war broke out. He cannot channel magic through incantations, but he possesses the knowledge to imbue objects with magic by etching glyphs, runes, and magical circles onto them, and can construct simple magitech devices if he has access to the necessary resource. He also has some knowledge of smithing, allowing him to make basic repairs to himself.
Swordsmanship
Even before the war broke out, Aerarius had prior experience in the Royal Army, during which he excelled in swordplay. After several years of almost-constant combat in his automaton body, he was one of the Alliance's best fighters with a sword and shield. His limbs strike with far more force than a human of his size, and have a range of movement and rotation that no normal living being can hope to match, making him a very tricky opponent. He has no concept of a fair fight and has been known to pretend to be nonfunctional or pose as a statue in order to get the drop on an enemy.
Personality:
While he may appear to be a mindless construct, Aerarius's mind is as human as the day of his transference. He feels emotions just like a living being, and while some of his baser human urges like hunger have faded, he still vividly remembers them. Above all, Aerarius is a man of hope. Before the war, he dreamed of becoming a magitech artificer, hoping to contribute to the advancement of his kingdom's wondrous works and knowledge. After losing his homeland and witnessing the destruction of his society's collected knowledge, he dedicated himself wholly to battling against the Volstanian Empire, intent on living to see it destroyed and the damage inflicted undone.
While Aerarius misses some of the sensations of his old body, he does not regret giving it up- he'd likely be dead if he hadn't become an automaton. He doesn't know if his body will eventually succumb to wear, but he will keep it functioning as long as he possibly can- he wants to witness when the world finally begins to get better, and he'll do whatever he can to make it happen.
In person, he is highly patient and very methodical in all that he does, whether it is swinging a sword, etching an enchantment, or speaking with someone, to the point that he may seem slow at first glance. While initially he had no tolerance for those who mistook him for a simple-minded construct, he has learned to accept it, and even take advantage of the misconception when the opportunity presents itself.
History:
Aerarius was born in a nation known for its advanced magitech. It was his dream to attend the Royal Institute of Magical Technology, the kingdom's most prestigous center of learning. As his family was lacking in wealth and prestige, only avenue for Aerarius to join the Royal Institute was to serve a tour of duty in the royal army. His efforts paid off- after being discharged, he managed to get accepted into the institute. It was during his third year of study that the kingdom was one of the first to be invaded by the Volstanian Empire. The war went very poorly, and as the enemy advanced on the capital, the High Artificer of the Royal Institute proposed a contingency plan to save their kingdom- they would transfer the souls of willing soldiers into the bodies of alloy automatons and create a tireless, metallic army. Aerarius was among those who volunteered to be turned into an automaton soldier, willingly sacrificing his body to save his homeland.
The automatons, dubbed the Brass Legion, proved considerably more effective than standard soldiers and even stalled the Volstanian advance, but it was not enough. The capital city was besieged by an overwhelming force and most of the Brass Legion fell in a last stand. To ensure that the technology could not be misused, the High Artificer destroyed all research pertaining to the soul transfer process, and destroyed the foundry where the automatons were constructed Aerarius was the only automaton to escape, having joined with a group of soldiers who had chosen to fight their way out of the city rather than die in a futile stand.
After escaping, he rejoined the fight under the banner of the Alliance. As the conflict dragged on, he learned to master his new body, even making his own modifications to it, and became one of the Alliance's best warriors, chosen to be sealed away.
Other: Aerarius carries a sword and retractable shield. He also has a few tools stored in compartments beneath his exterior plating.
Appearance: Post-Transference Body
Age: 35 (became an automaton at 25)
Race: Automaton, formerly Human
Abilities:
Automaton Body
Aerarius's soul has been transferred into a magitech automaton. His body, constructed with alchemical alloys resembling brass, is highly resistant to corrosion, heat, cold temperatures, and physical damage, and is capable of feats of strength and endurance far beyond that of a human. Many of his joints can rotate 360°, making him surprisingly dextrous. His body is powered by a mana battery capable of storing considerable energy. He does not need to breathe, and can function underwater.
His body runs on mana, which it uses to power its systems and protect against wear and tear. In order to recharge, he can enter a dormant charging state where he begins to siphon the mana from his environment, although this is a slow, inefficient process unless he is plugged into a charging station (unlikely, considering most if not all have been destroyed) or in proximity to a ley line.
After his home was destroyed, he has made further modifications made to his body. His protective exterior plating has been inscribed with glyphs of magical absorption. He has additionally added storage compartments underneath his exterior plating, allowing him to carry a few items inside his body.
Aerarius's body's sensory capabilities are a mixed bag. He possesses sharp sight and the the ability to visually perceive magical energy, but his sight is slightly restricted by the shape of his head. His olfactory senses are more or less the same as human, although because he cannot eat, he sometimes deactivates it. He has a keen sense of hearing, but this also means that without some background noise, he will constantly hear the soft whirring and humming of his own body's mechanisms. His body possesses a sense of touch, but his rigid fingers struggle to perceive texture.
His body is not without drawbacks. Its considerable mass and density means that he weights considerably more than a human of similar size, and he sinks like a stone. Damage to his body must be manually repaired, as healing magic has no effect on him. It is nearly impossible for him to move silently because his servos and cogs generate a small amount of noise. If the crystal housing Aerarius' soul (located in his torso) is broken, he will die. If his mana battery (also located in his torso) is sufficiently damaged, it may explode with considerable power. Lastly, the knowledge of his creation and inner workings were forever lost- while it may be possible to find spare parts from the remains of other brass automatons, any component beyond his own ability to reconstruct will never be created again.
Skills:
Apprentice Artificer
Aerarius was a student of magitech artifice when the war broke out. He cannot channel magic through incantations, but he possesses the knowledge to imbue objects with magic by etching glyphs, runes, and magical circles onto them, and can construct simple magitech devices if he has access to the necessary resource. He also has some knowledge of smithing, allowing him to make basic repairs to himself.
Swordsmanship
Even before the war broke out, Aerarius had prior experience in the Royal Army, during which he excelled in swordplay. After several years of almost-constant combat in his automaton body, he was one of the Alliance's best fighters with a sword and shield. His limbs strike with far more force than a human of his size, and have a range of movement and rotation that no normal living being can hope to match, making him a very tricky opponent. He has no concept of a fair fight and has been known to pretend to be nonfunctional or pose as a statue in order to get the drop on an enemy.
Personality:
While he may appear to be a mindless construct, Aerarius's mind is as human as the day of his transference. He feels emotions just like a living being, and while some of his baser human urges like hunger have faded, he still vividly remembers them. Above all, Aerarius is a man of hope. Before the war, he dreamed of becoming a magitech artificer, hoping to contribute to the advancement of his kingdom's wondrous works and knowledge. After losing his homeland and witnessing the destruction of his society's collected knowledge, he dedicated himself wholly to battling against the Volstanian Empire, intent on living to see it destroyed and the damage inflicted undone.
While Aerarius misses some of the sensations of his old body, he does not regret giving it up- he'd likely be dead if he hadn't become an automaton. He doesn't know if his body will eventually succumb to wear, but he will keep it functioning as long as he possibly can- he wants to witness when the world finally begins to get better, and he'll do whatever he can to make it happen.
In person, he is highly patient and very methodical in all that he does, whether it is swinging a sword, etching an enchantment, or speaking with someone, to the point that he may seem slow at first glance. While initially he had no tolerance for those who mistook him for a simple-minded construct, he has learned to accept it, and even take advantage of the misconception when the opportunity presents itself.
History:
Aerarius was born in a nation known for its advanced magitech. It was his dream to attend the Royal Institute of Magical Technology, the kingdom's most prestigous center of learning. As his family was lacking in wealth and prestige, only avenue for Aerarius to join the Royal Institute was to serve a tour of duty in the royal army. His efforts paid off- after being discharged, he managed to get accepted into the institute. It was during his third year of study that the kingdom was one of the first to be invaded by the Volstanian Empire. The war went very poorly, and as the enemy advanced on the capital, the High Artificer of the Royal Institute proposed a contingency plan to save their kingdom- they would transfer the souls of willing soldiers into the bodies of alloy automatons and create a tireless, metallic army. Aerarius was among those who volunteered to be turned into an automaton soldier, willingly sacrificing his body to save his homeland.
The automatons, dubbed the Brass Legion, proved considerably more effective than standard soldiers and even stalled the Volstanian advance, but it was not enough. The capital city was besieged by an overwhelming force and most of the Brass Legion fell in a last stand. To ensure that the technology could not be misused, the High Artificer destroyed all research pertaining to the soul transfer process, and destroyed the foundry where the automatons were constructed Aerarius was the only automaton to escape, having joined with a group of soldiers who had chosen to fight their way out of the city rather than die in a futile stand.
After escaping, he rejoined the fight under the banner of the Alliance. As the conflict dragged on, he learned to master his new body, even making his own modifications to it, and became one of the Alliance's best warriors, chosen to be sealed away.
Other: Aerarius carries a sword and retractable shield. He also has a few tools stored in compartments beneath his exterior plating.
Lugubrious Player on the other side
Member
Seen
9 hrs ago
Name: Malachi Ghundrach
Appearance: Malachi is a man of imposing stature, standing at 6'8” and weighing over 350 lbs, solid of physique and feature, with enough muscle and scarring for a small army. However, an extravagant hairdo and easy smile prevent him from coming off as brutish or scary. While his dark eyes and steely gray hair don't do much to offset his desaturated palette, he does have a few dyed streaks in his 'do and the green of his outfit catch the eye, specifically the green cloth decorating his steel-ridden leather armor over murky black cloth pants.
Age: 42
Race: Half-elf
Abilities: Malachi possesses the upper limits of human strength and constitution. His is an almost supernatural fighting sense; acutely aware of his surroundings and himself, he wields astonishing finesse and martial prowess. Thanks to magical stimulants, he also boasts great regeneration and not half-bad magical resistance.
Skills: Malachi's ability is more than skin deep, not just natural talents and magical enhancement. His origins and the ensuing life of fighting, long before he rose to the status of 'champion', demanded unwavering, constant education and training. He worked hard over decades to become a masterful brawler and whispered-of warrior, filling himself with expertise, tactics, and mastery. However, fighting is not at all who he is. Malachi is a skilled hunter, builder, charm-maker, and companion. He boasts a number of mundane skills related to upkeep and mending, though none terribly extraordinary, despite his own extreme overstatement of his cooking ability.
Personality: Powerful, genuine, and full of life, Malachi is a vivacious warrior. Though respecting of strength, he doesn't believe it is anything more than a tool, and though lauded as many by a hero, he decries heroism and his own status. Malachi desires no particular glory nor strives for any particular ideals. Instead, he only wishes to live truly and fully, and for others to do the same.
To that end, he's both critical and dismissive of ego, secrecy, dishonesty, supremacy, and propriety, as such sometimes coming off as rude, compulsive, selfish, and disrespectful. Those who display such qualities find him a man of brutal and unrepentant honesty, who doesn't find it necessary to deal with the slightest lick of nonsense. However, he's a true friend for those who show him strength of will and heart, putting his empathy and intelligence toward helping them live better lives, too.
He loves fighting, in particular fair fighting, but not killing, though he will harden his heart and do so if there's no other way. Despite the good he's done for others, he insists he's not anyone special, and doesn't in fact go about making others' benefit his goal. As such, he doesn't often see the big picture, and requires direction in order to accomplish big things.
In short, he's a straightforward fellow, a fighter at heart who wants to live life to the fullest.
History: Hailing from Sydane, an industrious nation of mountainous islands linked by natural bridges and abundant shallows in the southern sea, Malachi found himself surrounded by war at a young age, owing to Sydane's neighboring nation-states Ishkigal and Venbajeer. As the scion of a prominent fighting family in a culture that prized martial ability, he drilled from a young age. Though essentially a commoner, his larger-than-life, straightforward attitude landed him an unlikely friendship: Ephraim, Sydane's crown prince and future king, who found him a refreshing change from the nobility. Their camaraderie thrust Malachi into the forefront of the action when war came to Sydane's shores.
Too soon, he found the wonderful life he so enjoyed under assault. Fellowmen, friends, and eventually family fell in that six-year war, and while Malachi's innermost values remained firm, the war never left him. His love of peace and plenty served him well, but he found himself growing bored. Fighting, he had learned, was a part of life. To that end he served as a mercenary, powering through thick and thin, until the day of his old friend's coronation. After that, he left his land behind, roving across Unira to see what the country had to offer. He ate, drank, fought, and made merry, fighting heroic battles and taking care never to lose his life. Uncaring of what others thought, he lent his strength to whatever cause he believed in, and grew both rich and famous as a mercenary. Eventually, with the reckless abandon of his youth faded away, he settled down in the fortress town of Giltersain, married, and had three children. Thoughts of his homeland had faded.
Everything came rushing back, however, when news reached the town of a catastrophe not far from Sydane. The latest expedition into the furthest reaches of the mine below Ishkigal, now an economic powerhouse following its defeat and reconstruction decades ago, had broken forbidden ground. Nightmarish creatures, twisted mockeries of man, surged from the ancient, chiseled passageways to slaughter all in their path, their plagued fangs twisting their victims into gibbering minions to join the flood. Heroes from across the continent flocked to the city and delved below, and despite his wonderful life Malachi joined them. Old friends by his side, he adventured into the lowest depths imaginable, where the nighmarish bones of an eon-forgotten civilization sprang to life to annihilate their disturbers. No word exists of what exactly happened down there, since those few who returned -irreparably changed- refused to speak of it, but those who came carried with them ancient weapons, found and used by necessity. Malachi wielded fists of stone, or perhaps fossil—pieces of Those who came before. They served him as both weapons and as reminders: that heroism was a foolish fantasy.
When war erupted across Unira not long after, spurred by the ambitions of Emperor Lucius, the former hero took no side. Leaving the nightmare beneath Ishkigal far behind, he took refuge with his family in the far north of Alliance territory, fighting bandits and undead, and eventually, Empire soldiers that came to claim his life for their own. Eventually, Malachi did take up arms for the Alliance, his campaign culminating in the Tiarden Alliance's surprise victory. One battle did not win the war, however, and Malachi -grievously wounded- knew his limits. Faced with death in battle against the Empire, Malachi panicked and chose to be sealed away for the sake of the future, leaving his family behind.
Other: Malachi wields a pair of gauntlets, perhaps more accurately describable as shield-fists, that he casually calls the Heavies despite their remarkable -and perhaps abominable- nature. Made of pitch-black stone, they take substantial strength to wield, though the grace with which Malachi does so wouldn't suggest it. Far more remarkable is the Heavies' origin, which has led tale-tellers to hail them as the Dregs of the Planet. Brought forth from the Utter Depths, the deepest dark known to the world, they are freakishly dense and resonant. They absorb all manner of magic, flat-out nullifying most spells and curses that Malachi even comes near, let alone blocks with them. Strong spells that strike them are 'eaten', empowering the gauntlets with their magic temporarily. They resonate with their wielder, allowing weighty blows to create directed tremors and shockwaves. In fact, they seem somehow linked with him, in a manner eerily parasitic. They are resilient -not impervious- to harm, but they visibly regenerate when damaged, and pieces of them possess toxic, degenerative qualities.
Appearance: Malachi is a man of imposing stature, standing at 6'8” and weighing over 350 lbs, solid of physique and feature, with enough muscle and scarring for a small army. However, an extravagant hairdo and easy smile prevent him from coming off as brutish or scary. While his dark eyes and steely gray hair don't do much to offset his desaturated palette, he does have a few dyed streaks in his 'do and the green of his outfit catch the eye, specifically the green cloth decorating his steel-ridden leather armor over murky black cloth pants.
Age: 42
Race: Half-elf
Abilities: Malachi possesses the upper limits of human strength and constitution. His is an almost supernatural fighting sense; acutely aware of his surroundings and himself, he wields astonishing finesse and martial prowess. Thanks to magical stimulants, he also boasts great regeneration and not half-bad magical resistance.
Skills: Malachi's ability is more than skin deep, not just natural talents and magical enhancement. His origins and the ensuing life of fighting, long before he rose to the status of 'champion', demanded unwavering, constant education and training. He worked hard over decades to become a masterful brawler and whispered-of warrior, filling himself with expertise, tactics, and mastery. However, fighting is not at all who he is. Malachi is a skilled hunter, builder, charm-maker, and companion. He boasts a number of mundane skills related to upkeep and mending, though none terribly extraordinary, despite his own extreme overstatement of his cooking ability.
Personality: Powerful, genuine, and full of life, Malachi is a vivacious warrior. Though respecting of strength, he doesn't believe it is anything more than a tool, and though lauded as many by a hero, he decries heroism and his own status. Malachi desires no particular glory nor strives for any particular ideals. Instead, he only wishes to live truly and fully, and for others to do the same.
To that end, he's both critical and dismissive of ego, secrecy, dishonesty, supremacy, and propriety, as such sometimes coming off as rude, compulsive, selfish, and disrespectful. Those who display such qualities find him a man of brutal and unrepentant honesty, who doesn't find it necessary to deal with the slightest lick of nonsense. However, he's a true friend for those who show him strength of will and heart, putting his empathy and intelligence toward helping them live better lives, too.
He loves fighting, in particular fair fighting, but not killing, though he will harden his heart and do so if there's no other way. Despite the good he's done for others, he insists he's not anyone special, and doesn't in fact go about making others' benefit his goal. As such, he doesn't often see the big picture, and requires direction in order to accomplish big things.
In short, he's a straightforward fellow, a fighter at heart who wants to live life to the fullest.
History: Hailing from Sydane, an industrious nation of mountainous islands linked by natural bridges and abundant shallows in the southern sea, Malachi found himself surrounded by war at a young age, owing to Sydane's neighboring nation-states Ishkigal and Venbajeer. As the scion of a prominent fighting family in a culture that prized martial ability, he drilled from a young age. Though essentially a commoner, his larger-than-life, straightforward attitude landed him an unlikely friendship: Ephraim, Sydane's crown prince and future king, who found him a refreshing change from the nobility. Their camaraderie thrust Malachi into the forefront of the action when war came to Sydane's shores.
Too soon, he found the wonderful life he so enjoyed under assault. Fellowmen, friends, and eventually family fell in that six-year war, and while Malachi's innermost values remained firm, the war never left him. His love of peace and plenty served him well, but he found himself growing bored. Fighting, he had learned, was a part of life. To that end he served as a mercenary, powering through thick and thin, until the day of his old friend's coronation. After that, he left his land behind, roving across Unira to see what the country had to offer. He ate, drank, fought, and made merry, fighting heroic battles and taking care never to lose his life. Uncaring of what others thought, he lent his strength to whatever cause he believed in, and grew both rich and famous as a mercenary. Eventually, with the reckless abandon of his youth faded away, he settled down in the fortress town of Giltersain, married, and had three children. Thoughts of his homeland had faded.
Everything came rushing back, however, when news reached the town of a catastrophe not far from Sydane. The latest expedition into the furthest reaches of the mine below Ishkigal, now an economic powerhouse following its defeat and reconstruction decades ago, had broken forbidden ground. Nightmarish creatures, twisted mockeries of man, surged from the ancient, chiseled passageways to slaughter all in their path, their plagued fangs twisting their victims into gibbering minions to join the flood. Heroes from across the continent flocked to the city and delved below, and despite his wonderful life Malachi joined them. Old friends by his side, he adventured into the lowest depths imaginable, where the nighmarish bones of an eon-forgotten civilization sprang to life to annihilate their disturbers. No word exists of what exactly happened down there, since those few who returned -irreparably changed- refused to speak of it, but those who came carried with them ancient weapons, found and used by necessity. Malachi wielded fists of stone, or perhaps fossil—pieces of Those who came before. They served him as both weapons and as reminders: that heroism was a foolish fantasy.
When war erupted across Unira not long after, spurred by the ambitions of Emperor Lucius, the former hero took no side. Leaving the nightmare beneath Ishkigal far behind, he took refuge with his family in the far north of Alliance territory, fighting bandits and undead, and eventually, Empire soldiers that came to claim his life for their own. Eventually, Malachi did take up arms for the Alliance, his campaign culminating in the Tiarden Alliance's surprise victory. One battle did not win the war, however, and Malachi -grievously wounded- knew his limits. Faced with death in battle against the Empire, Malachi panicked and chose to be sealed away for the sake of the future, leaving his family behind.
Other: Malachi wields a pair of gauntlets, perhaps more accurately describable as shield-fists, that he casually calls the Heavies despite their remarkable -and perhaps abominable- nature. Made of pitch-black stone, they take substantial strength to wield, though the grace with which Malachi does so wouldn't suggest it. Far more remarkable is the Heavies' origin, which has led tale-tellers to hail them as the Dregs of the Planet. Brought forth from the Utter Depths, the deepest dark known to the world, they are freakishly dense and resonant. They absorb all manner of magic, flat-out nullifying most spells and curses that Malachi even comes near, let alone blocks with them. Strong spells that strike them are 'eaten', empowering the gauntlets with their magic temporarily. They resonate with their wielder, allowing weighty blows to create directed tremors and shockwaves. In fact, they seem somehow linked with him, in a manner eerily parasitic. They are resilient -not impervious- to harm, but they visibly regenerate when damaged, and pieces of them possess toxic, degenerative qualities.
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‡ Name: The Great Sage of the Elements, Living Magic Circle, Origin of the Arcane Fist, Efander Amdel. Of course, she looks more like an Effie than an Efander...
‡ Appearance: "Ugh... I didn't look like this before stasis..." Although the eye colour would normally suggest some association with the divine, Efander is more or less a normal human for the most part.
† Age: 313, regardless of looking 9.
† Race: Human
† Abilities: The reason for Efander's many titles are quite simple and come down to a single crippling flaw: they still are, and always have been, laughably and dangerously incompetent at the acts of casting a spell or creating a magical circle, with even the simplest of illusions literally exploding in their face when it looks like something might be about to succeed. On almost anyone else such a hazardous limitation would have meant a lifetime well away from magic and its intricacies. Except... their internal capacity for magic screams something inhuman, and their talent for drawing in external magic--normally nothing that would pass through a person except as an "ignition" step--is uncanny.
Naturally, they tried to work out how to most practically put all this capacity and the ability to draw in more to use. It took a lot of trial and error, and Efander was an old man before it was truly completed, but it became an entirely new (albeit often impractical) approach to unarmed combat. The basics are simply the controlled release of mana as a "push", either to strike faster or more often to simply make a light tap strike like a thunderous blow. Sufficient practice allows for a reflexive release as a form of negating blows, or adding elemental effects rather than sheer force.
The true peak of this style is Efander's "living magic circle"; through sufficient awareness of one's own mana and its flows, harmonise the internal and external sources, and become a living magical circle... fight as long as needed without running dry; expel more with each blow, harden and heal the body. True unconscious mastery and constant renewal is a source of constant good health and longevity, keeping your body exactly as it was and in its peak.
Of course, constantly absorbing ambient mana may have its downsides, especially when in stasis and in close proximity to some highly unusual individuals... aside from the obvious, this strange absorption has given Efander a minor level of superhuman strength. That is, all the physical strength of your average, reasonably-strong labourer. It's still supernatural in this state.
Finally, if bad luck can be considered to be an ability, Efander has it in spades. A natural-born mage that can't cast a single spell; the founder of a style and wanderer who can never keep a house for more than a few days; the traveller who always gets caught in a landslide. Time and time again, if something could go wrong, it has gone wrong.
‡ Skills: Obviously, developing a method of magical unarmed combat would be completely useless if you didn't, in fact, have any unarmed skills--and Efander is nothing if not good at their own style. Naturally, it's focused entirely on precise touches and graceful movements rather than, well... actually doing any damage. If the magical attacks don't do anything, maybe magical bursts into pressure points will. And, of course, as a lifelong traveller, such useful skills as cooking, camping, and making and repairing clothes became quite useful. That last one even more than expected.
‡ Personality: Calm, serene, adept at taking things in stride... because after multiple lifetimes of everything going wrong at every opportunity, you have to take it in stride or go completely insane. With the benefit that as an old sage with a calm demeanour, you can equally dispense wisdom as you see fit or just offer snarky commentary on everything. Not that Efander was your regular old master--sitting waiting for people to come for tutelage, or just staying put in general, isn't in their blood; they've always been an unashamed meddler. Need someone to help with some construction work? Combat master or not, they'll help. A child lost out of the village? Efander will go look. Bandits in the area? Go and give them a talking to, then break out the violence. If bad luck is half the reason Efander could never earn enough money to settle down, refusing rewards or giving them to people who needed it is the other half.
Their attitude is that fighting is a last resort... as exciting as it is, jumping straight to killing people isn't the best solution to problems. Even if they may have earned it, you might want to know what the living person knows. Not that getting to show off the rewards of a lifetime of practice isn't fun, but fighting for real is a serious matter.
‡ History: Originally, Efander was definitely male, a young man struggling to find his place in the world--living in the big city, applying himself to trying to learn any magical art whatsoever. Everything indicated that he had the ability, so why could he not learn a simple skill? He was forced to cut his studies short after one attempt at making a light started a conflagration that burned down the house he was staying in. Nobody else was injured--the main injuries were from his making sure other people got out--but it forced him to re-evaluate.
It was whilst recuperating from his burns that he started to learn some martial arts from soldiers, though was again frustrated that because of the injuries, his strength was simply insufficient to win any bout with the style they were teaching. He couldn't use enhancement spells despite the magic, so what was there to do...? This idea, and some early success with proving the ideas was possible, set Efander to practising for life. By the time he felt that he had really mastered it, he was a frail man in his eighties... though soon the recovery effect at least eliminated the "frail" part.
Wanting to leave something behind, he attempted to save, both from what was left of his travels and time training--working small jobs here and there--and dealing with minor threats to villages on the borders. Efander opened a school, got a few students... and it was crushed whilst empty when part of the cliff it was beside collapsed. Undeterred, he opened a second school, which was destroyed by an earthquake.
Getting the hint, he turned to being a mysterious teacher in the remote wilds. Sitting still for that long got boring, and he was so remote that nobody came to be a pupil. So Efander went back to what he knew best: being a lone traveller, dealing with problems along the way, and in this manner teaching bits here and there. This intermittent tutelage spread the knowledge of the Arcane Fist, and his continued longevity earned fame. There was war, and monsters, but nothing massive enough to force his involvement or shake this lifestyle.
Until there was, of course. At first, Efander tried to stay out of it, but the harm the Volstanian Empire was causing was too much, and despite being relatively unsuited for working in a military environment, nor with what one would consider the appropriate temperament for it, he joined the alliance's forces. When it came time to seal away future heroes, how could one not choose the old sage?
Naturally, even sitting patiently in stasis can't go right with this sort of luck. Even discounting the overshoot in time, Efander's absorption of the ambient mana was as natural as breathing, and still active whilst his body was already frozen... and added to the ambience was a heavy sort of radiance from a certain vengeful demigoddess and something stranger from the Grand Magus... needless to say, she's going to be quite exasperated about the change from a refined, regal old man.
‡ Other:
‡ Appearance: "Ugh... I didn't look like this before stasis..." Although the eye colour would normally suggest some association with the divine, Efander is more or less a normal human for the most part.
† Age: 313, regardless of looking 9.
† Race: Human
† Abilities: The reason for Efander's many titles are quite simple and come down to a single crippling flaw: they still are, and always have been, laughably and dangerously incompetent at the acts of casting a spell or creating a magical circle, with even the simplest of illusions literally exploding in their face when it looks like something might be about to succeed. On almost anyone else such a hazardous limitation would have meant a lifetime well away from magic and its intricacies. Except... their internal capacity for magic screams something inhuman, and their talent for drawing in external magic--normally nothing that would pass through a person except as an "ignition" step--is uncanny.
Naturally, they tried to work out how to most practically put all this capacity and the ability to draw in more to use. It took a lot of trial and error, and Efander was an old man before it was truly completed, but it became an entirely new (albeit often impractical) approach to unarmed combat. The basics are simply the controlled release of mana as a "push", either to strike faster or more often to simply make a light tap strike like a thunderous blow. Sufficient practice allows for a reflexive release as a form of negating blows, or adding elemental effects rather than sheer force.
The true peak of this style is Efander's "living magic circle"; through sufficient awareness of one's own mana and its flows, harmonise the internal and external sources, and become a living magical circle... fight as long as needed without running dry; expel more with each blow, harden and heal the body. True unconscious mastery and constant renewal is a source of constant good health and longevity, keeping your body exactly as it was and in its peak.
Of course, constantly absorbing ambient mana may have its downsides, especially when in stasis and in close proximity to some highly unusual individuals... aside from the obvious, this strange absorption has given Efander a minor level of superhuman strength. That is, all the physical strength of your average, reasonably-strong labourer. It's still supernatural in this state.
Finally, if bad luck can be considered to be an ability, Efander has it in spades. A natural-born mage that can't cast a single spell; the founder of a style and wanderer who can never keep a house for more than a few days; the traveller who always gets caught in a landslide. Time and time again, if something could go wrong, it has gone wrong.
‡ Skills: Obviously, developing a method of magical unarmed combat would be completely useless if you didn't, in fact, have any unarmed skills--and Efander is nothing if not good at their own style. Naturally, it's focused entirely on precise touches and graceful movements rather than, well... actually doing any damage. If the magical attacks don't do anything, maybe magical bursts into pressure points will. And, of course, as a lifelong traveller, such useful skills as cooking, camping, and making and repairing clothes became quite useful. That last one even more than expected.
‡ Personality: Calm, serene, adept at taking things in stride... because after multiple lifetimes of everything going wrong at every opportunity, you have to take it in stride or go completely insane. With the benefit that as an old sage with a calm demeanour, you can equally dispense wisdom as you see fit or just offer snarky commentary on everything. Not that Efander was your regular old master--sitting waiting for people to come for tutelage, or just staying put in general, isn't in their blood; they've always been an unashamed meddler. Need someone to help with some construction work? Combat master or not, they'll help. A child lost out of the village? Efander will go look. Bandits in the area? Go and give them a talking to, then break out the violence. If bad luck is half the reason Efander could never earn enough money to settle down, refusing rewards or giving them to people who needed it is the other half.
Their attitude is that fighting is a last resort... as exciting as it is, jumping straight to killing people isn't the best solution to problems. Even if they may have earned it, you might want to know what the living person knows. Not that getting to show off the rewards of a lifetime of practice isn't fun, but fighting for real is a serious matter.
‡ History: Originally, Efander was definitely male, a young man struggling to find his place in the world--living in the big city, applying himself to trying to learn any magical art whatsoever. Everything indicated that he had the ability, so why could he not learn a simple skill? He was forced to cut his studies short after one attempt at making a light started a conflagration that burned down the house he was staying in. Nobody else was injured--the main injuries were from his making sure other people got out--but it forced him to re-evaluate.
It was whilst recuperating from his burns that he started to learn some martial arts from soldiers, though was again frustrated that because of the injuries, his strength was simply insufficient to win any bout with the style they were teaching. He couldn't use enhancement spells despite the magic, so what was there to do...? This idea, and some early success with proving the ideas was possible, set Efander to practising for life. By the time he felt that he had really mastered it, he was a frail man in his eighties... though soon the recovery effect at least eliminated the "frail" part.
Wanting to leave something behind, he attempted to save, both from what was left of his travels and time training--working small jobs here and there--and dealing with minor threats to villages on the borders. Efander opened a school, got a few students... and it was crushed whilst empty when part of the cliff it was beside collapsed. Undeterred, he opened a second school, which was destroyed by an earthquake.
Getting the hint, he turned to being a mysterious teacher in the remote wilds. Sitting still for that long got boring, and he was so remote that nobody came to be a pupil. So Efander went back to what he knew best: being a lone traveller, dealing with problems along the way, and in this manner teaching bits here and there. This intermittent tutelage spread the knowledge of the Arcane Fist, and his continued longevity earned fame. There was war, and monsters, but nothing massive enough to force his involvement or shake this lifestyle.
Until there was, of course. At first, Efander tried to stay out of it, but the harm the Volstanian Empire was causing was too much, and despite being relatively unsuited for working in a military environment, nor with what one would consider the appropriate temperament for it, he joined the alliance's forces. When it came time to seal away future heroes, how could one not choose the old sage?
Naturally, even sitting patiently in stasis can't go right with this sort of luck. Even discounting the overshoot in time, Efander's absorption of the ambient mana was as natural as breathing, and still active whilst his body was already frozen... and added to the ambience was a heavy sort of radiance from a certain vengeful demigoddess and something stranger from the Grand Magus... needless to say, she's going to be quite exasperated about the change from a refined, regal old man.
‡ Other:
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