I shall be the one to take the title of First Applicant! Fear my wrath!

<Snipped quote by Villamvihar>

Pls put it in a hider

But other than that, looks good, you can move it over to the CS tab when you want

thwip! here she is, reposted. let me know if i should change or add anything

De'kae N'nm [+]

Name: De'kae N'nm.

Age: 19

Race: Lizardfolk (Mortal)

Appearance:

De'kae has an odd look about her, like she's thinking of something confusing or frightening. She's a skinny girl with green, scaled skin, standing at a humble 5'2. Her clothes are scraggly and dirty, and she walks with a slight limp that favors her left leg.

---

Background: Among lizardfolk, to be born with a deformity is to be touched by a curse. Ever since she was a girl De'kae was an outcast, and she has always found solace among the plants and animals. De'kae is a self taught druid, or rather, she was taught only by the forests, mountains, and valleys. No schools, books, tomes or recipes.

Eventually, she found herself connecting to the world of the fae, a wild, mystical place. Though she daren't disturb it with her own presence, she could coax creatures from their homes with greater and greater proficiency.

Rumors spread that a cursed witch lived in the woods, and in a way, there was. A hunting party of the nearby kingdom was gathered to hunt her down. At first she reacted with fear, and did her hardest to escape. As they closed in on her, she lashed out with her abilities and found it quite easy to kill these hunters and huntresses. De'kae relaxed and restrained herself, frightening the remaining majority out of her woods. Instead of a massacare and a threat, she began a cautionary tale and a local legend, and was left alone. When heroes returned later to flush her out, she had already left and gone undercover again.

De'kae liked this feeling of power, though. And she liked serving a little vengeance upon those who had Othered her. Finally De'kae entered the fae wild and lived there for a few short years. She helped it creep into the mortal realm, opening portals and rifts in woods to bring wonder, joy, mystery and danger to the short lives of mortals. De'kae is an adventurer herself, though she only goes where nature allows her too, and disturbs no sacred grounds.

All of this 'poking holes in reality because she likes plants so much' business got the attention of a certain demon lord. Having suffered in the past at the hands of misinformed 'heroes', and having an altruistic heart, De'kae was pleased to join.

Skills and Abilities: Affinity with Plants and Animals: Kay can communicate with animals, creatures, and monsters. Any animal that wouldn't be able to speak otherwise, she can create a mental and spiritual connection with. Even plants can be spoken with.

Botantical and Zoological Knowledge: Because of the above skill and her experience with the natural world, De'kae knows the name and function of every plant, magical and mundane, in the mortal realm.

Fae Connection: Has a spiritual connection with the unknowable realm of life and madness. Can detect portals and rifts.

Alchemist: Knows how to make all sorts of useful potions and dangerous poisons. De'kae herself is naturally immune to the negative effects of most poisons.

Life Link: Any creature she has an affinity with can be bound to her will, forcing them to do as she pleases. She doesn't like doing this, but she can if she must. Doing so means she has total control over creatures, but any damage done to them hurts her. She can only do this with an animal that trusts her and is willing, but the result is an unbreakable bond. De'kae has learned a variety of methods to earn an animal's loyalty, but she prefers not to take this final, ultimate step.

Quips: Doesn't like the Guiding Lady and her weird attempts to throw off the natural order of things. Especially since, inevitably, there will be another great war and another Demon Lord will just take the last one's place. Bringing these unnatural humans into the eco-system annoys her greatly.

Actually pretty nice, if odd and under-socialized. Really, she's always liked the idea of big heroes and the power of friendship, but not with this whole weird Guidance crap going on in the background. Especially for a cause that, fundamentally, makes no sense. There's nothing heroic about it, just killing Demons because their Demons, as far as she can tell.

"It's like...racism, dude."

The Black Dragon [+]

Name

Ophidias Seht
The Black Dragon, the Serpent of Chaos, Magician of Black Chaos
Mekhari Khain (formerly)

Age

Though born mortal, Seht's corporeal form has become suffused with magical energies, ensorcelled to render him beyond the physical limitations that bind mortals. As such, he does not age, and more than two thousand years have passed since his birth.

Race

The child that was named Mekhari, born to the house of Khain, was of a people known as the Remet. Originally a mortal desert people that peacefully farmed grains on riverbanks, they came to be enslaved by demons that had been summoned into their native land, and lived for many generations thereafter in bondage. Most lived as slaves, for their labor or sacrifice, but the house of Khain was among the rare few noble families, permitted to commune with the demons and learn their secrets, and ruled their kin as their dark masters' proxy.

Appearance

Seht is a master of transformation and illusion, and so his physical form is mutable and chaotic. The most common avatar he wears among those he considers peers is that of a jester-like sorcerer with pallid skin and long hair of midnight black. Most of his forms have similar characteristics, generally masculine, though lithe, elfin, and dark-haired. In his mortal youth, Mekhari had been an enchanting youth with bronze skin and golden eyes, though he was thin and weak in the chest and limbs.

Background

Born to the desert-dwelling tribe known as the Remet, "Weeping Ones," in their language, was a child named Mekhari, a scion of one of their people's dwindling noble bloodlines. While they had been shaman-lords when the Remet were free, they were now merely foremost among slaves. No Remet had been born out of bondage for thousands of years, and Mekhari of the House of Khain was no exception. The magical talents of Remeti sorcerers were bent toward the enduring oppression of their tribesmen. They had been taught black magic by the demonic slave-masters that called themselves their kings, and were used to enforce cruel edicts, quell dissent, punish the families and neighbors of troublemakers, and crush the spirit of hope among the Remet. The servitude of the masses was stable under their lash, erecting monuments of stone for unknown purposes as their masters dictated, and appeasing their hunger for blood and suffering. Even their dead served, as mummified puppets hewed stone blocks from the earth. While the masses toiled and were tortured, the House of Khain and others like it lived as their masters' lavished pets; gifted with education, great knowledge possessed only by demons, afforded pleasures, comforts, and luxuries, and were even given medicine and restorative magic if they fell ill.

Mekhari was always a sickly child, having barely survived a birth that killed his mother. As he grew, his heart and chest were weak and frail, and his limbs were thin with brittle bones. The magical houses of the Remet were few, and always dwindling, as the gift of magic did not always pass on to every child. Desperate not to lose their master's favor, they had long since resorted to desperate measures to keep their bloodlines intact. As such, Mekhari did not grow to be imperious and terrible like his father or brothers, but his love of books and learning was all the greater, and he spent long whiles through his youth practically buried in the ancient, malefic tomes gifted by their masters.

When Mekhari was on the cusp of manhood, the demons' terrible scheme that had been mortal generations in the making finally came to fruition. The stone pyramids, towers, and other edifices they had constructed formed the structure of a massive ritual. A blood sacrifice like none that had ever been offered before was extracted, and every one of the Remeti sorcerers were present as the chorus to this black sacrament. Their demonic kings lent their own power to the ritual, and it was successful-- at first. Centuries of toil and sacrifice had summoned Apep, the Sun-Eater, a serpentine avatar of pure chaos and apocalyptic destruction. Its very entry into this world absorbed the souls of every living Remeti, and the power emanating from its physical manifestation obliterated every physical trace of their society. All that had been spared were the stone temples and structures that had been part of its summoning, and the mortal sorcerers that had aided in that act. Apep's first and only action in this world was to immediately devour the demons that had summoned it, which cut off the power supplying the ritual, and forced Apep to be unsummoned to the realm from whence it came.

At once stripped of their masters, their homes, and their entire tribe, the sorcerers of the Remet set off in separate ways, into the world at large. The lazy and untalented were quickly made fodder for other demons, or burned as warlocks. Some stuck together as families, and formed covens that bewitched the countryside for generations to come. Others struck out as lone sorcerers and wizards, some turning to good, most remaining evil. Mekhari was among these, setting off on his own with tremendous purpose to accumulate more knowledge and power. In time he would visit every single one of his tribesmen that remained, tracking them across the world (and across dimensions for some), and killed them himself, starting with his father and younger brother.

One of the first lessons Mekhari learned was that names carried power, and unless he wanted to become someone else's slave, he should conceal his own. He took up the sobriquet Ophidias Seht, taking the names from books he remembered from his cloistered youth, about the ancient gods of his people, and foreign treatises on astrology. Another early lesson was that he could not hope to match a demon when measuring power against power. His only hope when confronting demons, as he often did in his pursuits, was to outmatch them in knowledge or preparation. Demons often carry many secrets, and so Seht loved to learn from them, and use their secrets to defeat other demons, only to then learn their secrets as well. In this way Seht learned many varied and powerful magics, manipulating terrifying forces such as elemental death and the void between worlds. All this while Seht could only think of the terrifying power of Apep, and how if he could wield the might of the Chaos Serpent, there would be none that could ever enslave him again.

Centuries passed, and Seht grew powerful. The stronger he became, the easier it became to gain even more power. However, he was always tempered by caution and distrust, which saved his life on many occasions. The schemes of other mages were trivial to foil for one that had been raised as the slave of a demon, and grew up to battle them for their knowledge. Furthermore, he had seen firsthand what overreaching into the forbidden wrought, and it had been the doom of beings powerful enough to enslave nations. His research was methodical, careful to avoid magics that could consume him, or unfair bargains with greater powers. Seht took up a hobby of sorts through his long life and wide experience: trapping noteworthy or rare demons into playing cards, collecting them, and traveling with them so that he might summon them again at his pleasure.

It was only natural that such an august presence as the Demon Lord, a king among kings with a nation of devoted followers, would seek the service of one of the greatest black magicians to ever live. While his task seems childishly simple, Seht of course has an ulterior motive to his service. He plans gain enough power to capture and enslave the Demon Lord himself, which he could use to di the same to Apep, the most powerful chaos god of all, and assume his rightful place as master of the universe.

Skills and Abilities

Ophidias Seht is a black magician of nightmarish strength, with mastery over many different styles and studies of magic, centuries of experiences, and the victor of countless magical battles. He has proved himself more than a match for many demons that greatly outstrip him in raw power, as he can win out through guile, preparation, and the breadth and esotericism of his knowledge. His expertise is focused in powers and lores such as necromancy, void magic, alchemy, psionics, draconic magic, infernal sorcery, diablery, hexes and curses, chaos magick, dimensional travel, pyromancy, sangromancy, umbramancy, oniomancy, ophiomancy, astrology, hypnotism, and haruspicy. He of course knows much of the natural world, mathematics, and philosophy, as would be needed to attain his magical expertise. Seht's physical body is completely suffused with enchantments and spells empowering and protecting his mortal flesh, to the point where magic has taken over for almost all of his vital functions. If one were to manage to pass through his numerous wards and protective spells, and harm his reinforced flesh, magic would keep him alive for the few moments until his flesh was healed.

Quips

Omega [+]

The familiar of Ophidias Seht is the mutant beast he calls Omega. She was the final result of Seht's dragon breeding program, which itself was a product of his lifelong fascination with dragons following him witnessing Apep destroy his people's civilization. With a careful selection of stolen dragon eggs, and painfully extracted dragon hormones, he was able to magically force dozens of generations of dragons to grow, breed, and die in mere decades, accelerating the timetable of his artificial selection by centuries. He suffused the dragons with enhancing magics and dark blessings until their bodies were saturated, and chose the children that kept those traits, enchanted them, and repeated the process. This often carried painful, unwanted side effects though, and after fewer generations than he had hoped, the dragons began to pass on defects and mutations. Many eggs were stillborn, and more did not survive long past birth. Omega was the final, and most successful subject of these experiments, a mutant dragon suffused with darkness to her core. A sleek, silvery-grey beast with five heads, she is a creature of ferocious, evil power, and cold, predatory intelligence. Normally she would hold no affection for Seht, and likely kill and devour him for the crime of her birth. However, he has implanted powerful mind-altering crystals into her brain, forcing Omega into slavish loyalty. This terrifying, hulking monstrosity accompanies Seht into pitched battle, or wherever he wishes to terrify others into compliance.

To Be Filled With Trivia Spontaneously [+]

Seht currently holds 108 different demons enslaved in his deck of cards. These correspond each to a symbolic figure on the card. These are his rarest and most treasured minions, valued greatly over the ghosts, undead, and other entities he can summon to do his bidding.

Seht's skills in political maneuvering and subterfuge were forged in his noble house, as his family and their peers would often scheme and sabotage each other to gain their demonic masters' favor. In his youngest years, before he had learned deadly curses, Mekhari favored poison in the wine cup as a means of dispatching rivals. He killed two of his brothers this way before reaching age fifteen.

The ruins of the demonic ritual site that destroyed the Remet now serve as Seht's home and headquarters. The stone monuments and much of the ground below them has been hollowed out to form his lair. The ruins serve as the hub of Seht's network of leylines, portals, and teleportation circles, allowing him to travel great distances with almost no effort. Besides that, his lair is warded with powerful geocentric enchantments and charms, guarded by numerous malevolent entities under Seht's control, and the land itself is cursed and inhospitable, teeming with tortured Remeti ghosts.

@Yam I Am

Here she is!

Katrina Valance [+]

Name:Once she was Katrina, daughter of the Knights of Valance, Weapons Expert Gold class. Now she usually just goes by Katrina and if she needs a last name Valance.

Age: Katrina is 26. She has yet to die even once and has no plans to so anytime soon.

Race: Katrina is both mortal and human. A distant great grandfather was some sort of Fae or Elven, but all that really does is lend a slight angularness to her features.

Appearance:

Katrina [+]

If a passerby was to get one quick glance at Katrina, they would assume that she wasn’t dangerous and quickly disregard her. A second glance might revel the truth. She has grey eyes that go from unassuming to deadly in a literal blink of an eye. She is taller than even some men standing at 6 feet even in bare feet. She has a lithe fit physique that indicates years if not decades or physical training. Her hands are covered in callouses. When loose her think brown hair falls to her waist, but most of the time it is collected in a halo braid atop her head. She wears cotton pants as well as a cotton blouse. Over this she wears a steel breastplate, steel bracers, and steel knee high boots. Her coat is held in place with a leather shoulder pad. It is a heavy outfit that she wears with ease. As stated early she is part Fae or Elven, 1/64th to be precise, and that makes her features angular rather than curves.

---

Background: Katrina was a daughter of the Knights of Valance, a high order devoted to Saint Zariah. It was not easy being a daughter of such an order. Her earliest age she was trained in all forms of combat. While not in martial training she was studying the Good of Saint Zariah and the Evil of Lord Ahriman. Mistakes were swiftly punished with beatings and missed meals. Accomplishments were not acknowledged. When she was sixteen Katrina fell into the role of Support for the Hero from Another Land. The boy had never held a sword before and training him was taxing. After defeating the Evil Demon, the Hero was lauded. Katrina was … not. She brushed it off. Next time she would have her time to shine. That did not happen the second time. Or the third. It had gone from annoying to exhausting. By that point she had met Rolf. She wasn’t sure what the thing in hawk shape was, but it made good points. Why was a supposedly Good family allowed to beat children? Why was a Blessing from Saint Zariah worth more than years of training? Why was Saint Zariah considered Good in the first place while Lord Ahriman was automatically Evil? Katrina wasn’t sure she even like Good. She wondered if Evil was any better. Well the only way to find that out would by answering Rolf’s most common question: why couldn’t she just leave? She answered that with “why not” and left the Valance Compound and move out into the world to see if she could answer some questions she couldn’t answer in that sham of a home. Since then she has ignored all threats and promises from the Valance Compound urging her to come home. She even killed her uncle, who had harm her and several other of her siblings and cousins, both male and female, before then reached the age of majority at sixteen. Killing him was easy and Katrina did so without remorse. After all, how could a monster like him ever be considered Good? She imagines that when her Father, the head of the Valance Knights, discovers this she will be cast out, excommunicated, and hunted. Oh well, she doesn’t regret it and will deal with the consequences as they come.

Skills and Abilities: Katrina is a fighter or possibly a ranger. She fights things with her fists and the variety of weapons she has on her person. She knows practically nothing of magic. Her fighting style is less head on and more duck and weave. She does her best to avoid being hit as she waits for the perfect moment to strike. When she strikes it is will almost deadly precision and staggering strength. That being said she is human. She falls prey to fatigue, hunger, thirst, and blood loss. She can go a longer than most humans and even if she is afraid of something, she will do her best to brush it off to continue the fight. Eventually she will succumb to physical and mental fatigue. Though she has undergone the complete set of Valance enhancements. As a result, her reflexes are faster than most humans, Fae, and the Elven. She is stronger than expected and can easily carry three times her body weight. She can also run a mile in under three minutes and maintain that speed for up to two hours. While these enhancements do not put her quite on the same level as most demons with care and determination, she can stay defeat them. It is never an easy fight, but she won’t give up without one. She knows a wide range of martial styles and is proficient at almost all of them.

As for equipment: She has long thin knifes tuck into both sides of both her boots as well as thin sabers on both her calves. Then she has a pouch of throwing knifes on the outside of both her thighs. Attached to her right hip is a leather whip. Her left hip sports two swords, one a rapier, the other a gladius. Attached to the small of her back is a box containing a length of chain. Attached to the end of this chain is a battle fan. Various pockets on the outside of her coat contain smoke bombs of assorted sizes. The pockets on the inside of her pockets spot let more knives in a variety of shapes and lengths. She also keeps a few spearheads in there. On the inside of both her forearms short bo staffs are strapped. A twist of the base of both these staffs will reveal small blades. Attached to her wrists are grappling wire that she can shoot out to gain height, but respooling the wire is no fun. At her mid back are two short swords. Across her whole back is a broad sword as well as a quiver of arrows. She carries the short bow. She wears a set of knuckledusters on her left fingers, and a ring with a poisoned spike in it on her right pointer. Around her neck is a length of chain with a heavy weight on the end that she can unhook and use to beat people with. This is a short list. She’s that one person when you ask them to leave all of their weapons at the door you will both be standing there for at least ten minutes as she keeps remembering more things. If there is a space on her person that isn’t taken up by a weapon it’s simply because she hasn’t figured out how to put one there. Yet.

She also has a physic connection to Rolf. Katrina isn’t sure what Rolf is or where he came from, but he takes the from of a hawk and to most people seems like just that. However, Katrina think he is some sort of demon or familiar straight from Sheol or at least the Underworld, but honestly, she doesn’t care. He does have a bad habit of asking questions she doesn’t have answer to and then encouraging her to go find the answers, but even that’s not so bad. He’s does at least tell her when he thinks she’s doing well and him running his beak though her hair is about the most positive physical affection Katrina had ever had.

Quips: Personality wise Katrina is exhausted and weary. She is Beyond Done with Heroes and all that nonsense. She is looking to write her own story. Her eyes tend to glow slightly when she falls in focus while in the middle of combat. She doesn’t really do people, but can if she must.

Its ya boi

The Black Knight [+]

Name: The Black Knight

Age: ???

Race: ???

Appearance: A figure towering at a height of 7', clad in armor darker than the blackest of nights. If one looks close enough, the surface of the metal itself seems to roll and shift like an unseen tide... Or perhaps it's a trick of the light? Regardless, you should probably pay closer attention to that colossal maul of his. He has a reputation for crushing many a brave warrior with but a single swing of that weapon, and he seems to be looking your way...

---

Background: Little is known of the Black Knight's origin. To many, it seemed as if he rose from nowhere. As if he'd merely one day stepped unto creation from the darkest pit of the underworld... Some suggest he may be an Oni, long since separated from his clan. Others think him to perhaps be a golem, fashioned by the hands of Lord Ahriman himself. Another such rumor is that he was once a general of one of the previous Demon Lords, attempting to make up for his prior failures under a new mantle... Countless rumors surround the knight, but who's to say which of them has any measure of accuracy? Only precious few know for certain.

Skills and Abilities: Whereas many of Lord Ahriman's most trusted lackeys may be likened to a fine surgical instrument, the Knight would be more aptly described as a sledgehammer. His earth-shattering strength and massive weapon alone make him a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield; reducing entire squads of well-equipped soldiers to piles of liquified organs and rent steel in a matter of seconds...

Those lucky few that have survived being in his presence often claim the unholy warrior radiates such an oppressive aura hatred and despair that most would sooner flee than face the monster, and that many struggle to even breathe in his midst. Fortunately such claims have been proven as pure myth. By who one might ask? By the Church of course!

However in truth it is not his raw brutality, terrifying presence, nor even his armor; capable of wholly turning away all but the finest of unenchanted weaponry, that makes him so useful a servant. Aptitude for slaughter and being hard to kill are abundant traits in the denizens of Sheol. What truly sets the Knight apart from his many peers is his ability to suddenly manifest at any given battlefield without so much as a warning, only to vanish without trace the moment his bloody work is complete. This singular talent combined with his uncanny knowledge of human tactics has turned many battles in favor of Lord Ahriman's forces, proving him an invaluable asset to further conquest against the Goddess' army of mindless fodder.

Quips:

• The Knight speaks little, if at all.
• It is considered fairly uncommon to spy the Knight alongside an army
• His means of disappearance and reappearance is said to be known only to Lord Ahriman

The truth, then. [+]

Name: Sir Gale Hawthorne

Age: 35

Race: Human

Appearance: Those that can actually remember seeing Ser Hawthorne would describe the man as unremarkable. Simply describing him as a tall man of strong build, a handful of scars, fair skin, light hair, a roughly shaven beard, and green eyes.

---

Background: Orphaned from a young age, Sir Hawthorne grew up under the tutelage of The Order of her Eternal Shield; an order of holy knights that drew their recruitment from orphaned children. Unlike most, this particular sect of holy warriors was directly overseen by high ranking clergy of the Church rather than having true autonomy; as they were initially created by the Church for the purpose of propaganda and warfare.

Any taken in by The Order of her Eternal Shield were destined to be molded, indoctrinated, and forged into the finest of warriors; a balance between noble heart, holy purpose, and peerless ability to kill in the Goddess' name. Ideal posterboys to keep the Church's good image whilst still having practical military applications. Sir Hawthorne would spend his youth enduring years of grueling training of mind, body and soul-- these countless trials claimed the lives of many an aspiring knight, as these young boys were expected to become faithful warriors second only to the Heroes themselves. Yet even as a child, the young Sir Hawthorne surpassed even the highest of expectation, surpassing the sacred tests of the Church with flying colors. By his nineteenth birthday the boy was granted the title of Holy Knight. By his twenty-first he was made a Knight-Captain, and given his own company of Knights to command within the Order. By his twenty-fifth, the noble Knight's name was known throughout the land as a something of an unofficial hero of the people; renowned for his deeds of going all across the kingdom, saving lives, healing the sick, hunting terrible monsters, leading countless assaults against demonic forces, and all manner of good deeds.

Though as with all things, such was not to last.

As with all men loyal to the Church and to the Goddess, Sir Hawthorne was naught but a pawn; a piece to be sacrificed and discarded in an eternal game between the armies of heaven and hell.

The fateful day came to pass in the thirtieth year of Sir Hawthorne's life. It was a battle like any other, the Knights were to aid a newly summoned Hero in the siege of a Demonic foothold. The duty of the Holy Knights was to aid the Hero's retinue in the storming of the keep, then to prevent enemy reinforcements from moving in while the Hero and his Companions would face the General of the Demonic force. The storming of the fortifications went off without a single casualty, and the Knights found enemy resistance to be lacking at best-- and though he should've been pleased with such an outcome, Sir Hawthorne felt a sense of unease building in his chest.

It was too damned easy.

Before he could protest, the Hero's retinue breached into the compound's innermost sanctum.

A blinding light.

A deafening boom.

The troops that had been victorious mere seconds before suddenly found themselves scattered like leaves upon the wind by a massive explosion.

A seemingly endless tide of demonic soldiers surged across crumbling stone and smoldering wood to kill any they could find, and the retinue of the Hero would suddenly find themselves face-to-face with the General they had sought... However the explosion had broken one of the Hero's arms, and his legendary blade required two hands to wield.

Slaughter ensued.

Were it not for the sacrifice of the Holy Knights under Sir Hawthorne, the entirety of the wreckage would've been overrun in mere moments. But the valiant Knights of The Order of her Eternal Shield know not defeat, and rebuked the hellish onslaught with rabid zeal. While more than half his men held back the growing onslaught, Sir Hawthorne led the rest of his brothers in arms to aid the Hero in hopes of saving one of the Goddess' champions from certain death.

Only fifteen knights remained by the time Sir Hawthorne reached the Hero, witnessing the final member of the champion's cohort be cut down as the Hero himself cowered in fear, his legendary blade lay shattered on the ground before him. Without hesitation, the remaining Knights threw themselves at the crimson-skinned monster before them-- and one by one, each would fall.

Eventually Sir Hawthorne; though grievously wounded, was the only man left standing against the demon. All of his accompanying brothers lay dead or dying around him. But in the distance beyond the battlefield, salvation drew near. The thundering of hooves and chanted prayers was a welcome sound to Sir Hawthorne's ears. A group of powerful healers and battle-mages had been sent to reinforce the remaining forces. Even as the Demonic General stood before Sir Hawthorne, ready to deal a killing blow... There was yet hope to save his brothers that had not yet perished, but only if the Demon died here.

With all his will the Knight weathered a strike that would've felled lesser men, and burned what little of his magic remained into a single thrust, casting the demon back to the pit it crawled out of. Sir Hawthorne finally succumbed to his injuries as he completed his duty, his broken body crumpling to the ground as the last of his strength left his body.

A valiant sacrifice. An honorable death.

Or at least, that's what he thought it would be.

When the blood-crusted eyes of Sir Hawthorne next opened, he found himself still on that same battlefield; face down with a gentle hand placed on his back. Struggling to his feet, he would find it was no priest or mage that had healed his injuries just enough for to survive, but one of his own dying brethren. The Knight he owed his life to had crawled an entire fifty yards to spend the last of their strength healing him, before unceremoniously drowning in an ever-growing pool of his own blood. Sir Hawthorne surveyed the land around him in abject horror, the ravaged bodies of his brothers lay strewn across the rubble; left to rot in the sun as food for the vultures. The Hero was nowhere to be seen. Nor were the reinforcements.

All was quiet.

Fear overtook Sir Hawthorne's heart as he began to question if he'd failed in his task. He'd failed to protect his brothers, he'd failed to save the hero; who was likely captured, and worst of all-- he was completely alone. Fearing the worst, the lone Knight pushed his broken body to it's utmost limits in a two day trek toward the nearest town, to warn the Church of the impending threat. However upon arrival at the town he found not a hint of dismay, worry or panic.

Instead he found celebration.

They were celebrating the Hero's 'courageous' victory at against the demonic forces. There was no mention of his brothers' sacrifice. Not a candle lit to their name-- not a tear shed nor prayer whispered. Sir Hawthorne's blood boiled as he watched the boy take the stage; in prefect health and entirely uninjured. The guards were quick to respond to the man that rushed the stage, bellowing accusations and curses at the clergy and Hero alike. How dare they hold such a celebration when his brothers hadn't even been given a proper burial? How dare they celebrate an achievement that the sniveling coward they held as a 'Hero' hadn't even been responsible for?

It was easy enough for the Clergy onstage to dismiss the Knight's claims as injury induced delusion, claiming that the guards were to take him to recieve 'medical attention'. Instead, they dragged him to a nearby alleyway, and beat him to unconsciousness. To kill off a Knight of his reputation would draw far too obvious an assassination; especially after what he'd done. To excommunicate him would've invited an unhealthy amount of questions. Instead, Sir Hawthorne was afflicted with an insidious curse-- one that would doom any memory of the man to fade, as well as prevent him from interaction.

Left crippled and forgotten, the Knight would spend the following years a drifter. Left without any means to properly take action against the wrongs of the Church, the man's life lacked both direction and purpose... Eventually he'd come to meet someone, a powerful sorceress living a quiet life on the outskirts of a far flung village. For a time he settled down with the sorceress; who managed to uncripple the aging knight.

Once again, he was happy.

Once again, this did not last.

Blood spilled. A shrine desecrated. The ravenous hunger of an ancient evil.

As the village burned, the Black Knight strode forth from the ashes; hell-bent on his new crusade.

Though he refuses to share what occurred in that peaceful little village-- if asked, he will say one thing...

"Truly, there is no justice in this world."

Skills and Abilities:
When not in the form of the Black knight-- the nature of Sir Hawthorne's curse makes it quite hard to notice his presence, even when looking straight at him. Even when noticed, anything he says or does is quickly disregarded as something of little importance, and quickly forgotten or treated as mere happenstance. However, individuals that are particularly familiar with certain types of magic (such as curses or high grade detection spells) don't seem to suffer this problem.

Though his physical and martial abilities have degraded terribly since his tenure as a Holy Knight, Sir Hawthorne is still in something of decent shape. Should he even get into a situation where he might need to defend himself, his skill with a blade and sheer amount of experience allow him to at least hold his own in most fights.

Though incredibly strenuous on his body, Sir Hawthorne can also take the form of the Black Knight. This armored form; seemingly woven from numerous hexes and dark energies, gains incredible strength and durability at the cost of speed, agility, and subtlety. Fortunately, this transformation does not seem to inhibit his ability for rational nor tactical thinking and as of yet has no discovered downside to it's extended use.

Quips:

• Though no longer a Holy Knight, Sir Hawthorne is still rather prejudiced against nonhumans.
• Sir Hawthorne's curse does NOT effect him when donning the guise of the Black Knight, everyone can VERY much see the Black Knight.
• Curiously, Sir Hawthorne no longer seems to have any magical ability.
• Though rare, there are individuals who are seemingly unaffected by Sir Hawthorne's Curse for unknown reasons.

youtube.com/watch?v=g1UO6X0KRjc&ab_ch…

Snekman has arrived.

snek [+]

Sebastian Slithers

<Snipped quote>

Nickname(s): Harbinger of Disease, Pestilence, The Surgeon, and other plague-related alias that Sebastian didn't ask for.

Age: 112 (based on the accumulated number of molted scales he produce through out the years)

Race: Ex- Human/Basilisk-lich

Background:

He is death.
The bane of all things living.
The sickness that plagues the earth.

Despite all of this grandiose title, Sebastian is not always this aloof, cynical, cold-blooded(figuratively and in a literal sense) harbinger of plague and the avatar of pestilence he is today.

Oh no, quite the contrary, Before turning heel and serving the Demon Lord Ahriman's legion. He was a workaholic middle-aged corporate dude who didn't ask to be reincarnated into another world. He was once a mere human. A lesser isekai protagonist who got the short end of the stick.

A naive, optimistic, caring spell caster that is a part and supports a 'mid-tier' hero's band of adventurers. He was their designated healer and the hardest worker in that party. Although He does his job so well, Sebastian barely gets any praise for his efforts. often belittled by his party members in their adventures.

Sebastian is a natural man of talent when it comes to healing arts, potion concoction, and aiding his comrades. So much so, that he is the only reason that his 'reckless' party hasn't entered Death's door just yet.

Well ...until that fateful day when he and his cocky party members bit more than they can chew by delving into the Viper god's temple, facing the Snake Deity Atziri herself, and got completely annihilated for being 'idiots' for rushing in trying to do their flashy heroic moves on the Snake God whose way above their adventurer's paygrade as Sebastian would put it in his final moments.

Most of them barely escaped with their heads attached, but Sebastian was not so fortunate and was the sacrificial bait in doing so.

He was killed and was reincarnated as a prisoner, serving the Snake god and the snake people of the temple. Even being reincarnated as a part reptilian/ part human, Sebastian's work ethic didn't falter, he work as hard as he was in his past life as a human healer.

To his surprise, the basilisk tribe was quite accommodating of their kin and his talents were much appreciated here than he was in that jerk of a Hero's party.

As the years, decades go by, Sebastian makes his way up the corporate ladder and makes it up to the higher ranks in the snake hierarchy.

The viper queen herself calls upon Sebastian for his unfaltering dedication, where his talents are recognized, promoting him into her most trusted general, bestowing him with the highest power of their snake overlord.

from there, Sebastian's view of this world changed. he became a heartless machine, vengeful, rejecting his humanity due to his previous experience siding with humans. turning him into a cold-blooded, slithering, devotee and emissary for the Snake-god with zero empathy for the human race whatsoever.

As a sign of good faith and allegiance to the demon lords, The Viper Queen sends a recommendation letter to Lord Ahriman, entrusting Sebastian to work under his jurisdiction in the fight against those 'otherworldly heroes'

Skills and Abilities:
What Sebastian lacks in physical strength and frail body makes up for his ability to cast powerful venomous poison spells, inciting a plague that can wipe an entire town from his horrific experiments.

Sebastian possesses snake-like features such as molting his skin to regenerate, night vision to see in the dark, fangs that can pierce through skin, and can summon a variety of snakes at his whim. He can also turn his skin into scales, toughening his exterior against most blunt attacks.

His eyes are his greatest features, staring through them for a long period of time can petrify a man to his doom.

He is quite knowledgeable in all sorts of medicine, as well as many forms of toxins for any occasion, and other high-tier alchemy due to his previous life as a healer/alchemist.

Quips:
Sebastian is a workaholic and a shut-in. spending most of his time indoors, experimenting god knows what toxins he can think off inside his laboratory. He is rarely seen in the outside world unless needed or call upon by his superiors.

A germaphobe when it comes to his surroundings and barely socializes with others, he is often depicted as an emotionless person. a hard face to read by. A genuine kuudere.

They say you either die a hero, or live long enough to experience the release of High Guardian Spice... or something like that. Anyway, have a totally not wanked sheet.

Endgame JRPG Protagonist [+]

Name: Eligor, The Endgame Demon

Age: Yes.

Race: Demon. While he was once a mortal, Eligor attained demonhood through his sheer might, rather than spending time in the Underworld.

Appearance: Choosing to maintain his mortal form despite his apotheosis, Eligor protects himself with his magic instead of one of the many treasures he possesses. Rather than weapons or armor, he covers himself in a demonic exoskeleton that resembles a mockery of the heroic arms he once wielded in life. Seeping with blackened Akhrana, Eligor's very presence can be felt from miles away.

---

Background: Eligor is known as the End Demon not for his pronounced posterior, but because he represents the pinnacle of what all heroes become of they continued on their self-destructive path. Indeed, Eligor was once known as the ancient hero Elijah, a warrior from a bygone time where one have over a hundred kills under their belts if they wish to be truly acknowledged as a hero. Tasked with killing the Demon Lord of the Endtimes, Elijah was given the blessing of "Assimilation" from a strange and divine entity, gifting him with abilities such as having unlimited inventory space storing the vast treasures he'd obtain from his foes without being encumbered to gaining xp and leveling up growing in strength with every monster he'd slay. While the intent of such powers were to allow the hero to face off the Demon Lord's ever-increasing threats and continue to scale in power, Elijah had other things in mind for his journey.

And so, Elijah sought out the weakest of the Demon Lord's dark minions, slaying them with impunity. If he could draw no power from them,- or if they were completely wiped from existence- he would merely slay the next in line, plundering their strength and treasures for himself. The reason why kobolds today all conglomerate underground and goblins keep to themselves in their hovels is due to Elijah's indiscriminate extermination of their kind. Even the greater monsters were no match for the hero once he set his eyes on them, reducing such beasts to near-extinction. By the time Elijah finally decided to slay the Demon Lord, he was himself considered a demon due to the sheer power he possessed.

After making quick work of the demon lord, Elijah soon realized that there was naught to slay that would make him stronger aside from his fellow heroes. Because of this, he took his fated foe's domain for himself, becoming the next Demon of the End by assimilating his predecessor's essence before it could return to Sheol. He then turned against his party, slaying them and taking their blessed treasures for himself. For many years hence, Elijah took on the mantle of Eligor, using the mass treasures he had plundered in his journey to create a grand keep high in the mountains, filling it with all matter of dastardly monsters. Promises of wealth and glory would be used to draw heroes from throughout the land to his domain. Of course, this was merely a Darwinian trap placed in order to find the strongest of heroes, ones that would serve as a match for Eligor in order to grow further in strength.

The heroes of his land, however, were limited in their strength, for the gods have at this point learned their lesson in bestowing such exploitable blessings to mere mortals. None could truly match Eligor's strength, and soon, the Demon-Hero would find himself bored with the mortal realm. He would soon enter the Underworld, laying claim to the former End Demon's domain. For centuries, he would wallow in his new demonic realm surrounded by his treasures. Every now and then, he would face off against the occasional hero or vengeful demon who would find a way to his realm, making short work of them. Eligor would enter stagnation, seeing only the other greater demon lords as worthy enemies, not wanting to bother dealing with their hax unique abilities. Soon, he would be forgotten by time itself, all records of him in the mortal away fading away into obscurity.

What stirred Eligor from his isolation was rumors of these new heroes, ones from other dimensions entirely. Ever curious, Eligor would watch their progress from the confines of his realm, his interest ever increasing. It was then that the End Demon would break his centuries-long isolation, appearing to Lord Ahriman to offer his services to the new Demon Lord. If these otherworlders truly possessed powers unknown to this realm, then perhaps Eligor can truky ascend to greater heights.

Plus he is a bit annoyed to hear that heroes these days are foreigners stealing opportunities from the hardworking mortals of this realm.

Skills and Abilities: As the End Demon, Eligor possesses the physical and magical power expected of a Demon Lord. His magical abilities revolve around standard conjuration and enhancement, fueled by his massive pool of infernal Akhrana. Eligor's true strength lies not in his demonic nature, but by a blessing given to him by a long-forgotten deity of ages past: Assimilation, the authority to take anything.

Assimilation is split into three primary abilities, but only two of them are really utilized. The first is Conqueror, a simple ability that permanently absorbs the strength of those slain by Eligor, with stronger foes giving a more pronounced boost to power. At this point, most mortal beings that Eligor could slay would only grant a negligible boost to his strength. Marauder is the second ability, granting Eligor a seemingly endless pocket dimension meant for him to store the vast scores of treasures he has looted from his enemies. It is filled to the brim with treasures both mundane and magical, and such objects can even be forcibly ejected from this dimension with the force of a bullet. The last and least understood of Eligor's three abilities is Hegemon, the "right to rule all lesser beings." It seems to have no effect, but perhaps it is because Eligor has no desire to rule above others.

Quips:

• Eligor's talents include collecting and appraising treasures, the extermination of life, and cooking.
• Eligor's greatest weakness is the arrogance of one who has never truly struggled in life. He sees most mortals, and even a few demons, as mere insects, and refuses to take more effort than needed against such foes
• Despite his strength, Eligor is actually a poor combatant. Having only fought foes he has severely outmatched, Eligor's skills and techniques in combat are simple and unrefined.
• It is said that among the many weapons held within his vault, none are more deadly than Eligor's Hyper Weapon. The nature of this weapon is unknown, and Eligor is quick to dismiss such claims.

Fluffu Demon has arrived.

Fluffu Demon [+]

The Sword Demon, Medai

Age:

ᴇʀʀ.ɪɴᴛᴇɢᴇʀ.ᴏᴠᴇʀꜰʟᴏᴡ

Race:

Demon

"Hah… I don’t remember any of your faces."

Background:

”It is surprising that I need an introduction! I am Medai, one of the most powerful Demons in existence - er, before the incident with the sword, at any rate. Er - fine. I, Medai, am a Demon of origins so sufficiently ancient, and ultimately irrelevant, that… even if I remembered them I don’t think it’d matter. Was I mortal once? Born of mortal souls? Perhaps I was one of those fools that bitch of a goddess brings here to cause mischief? Who the fuck knows - and what’s more, who the fuck cares? Nobody remembers it anyway except the goddess herself, and maybe a few particularly old demons like me. You don’t. I certainly don’t. Ye- yes, I know, I’m sorry, you’re pressed for time and I still have this chunk of a sword in my chest so I think both of us are having a very rough day."

The Sword Demon, Medai, is one of the oldest Demons still in existence. A former Demon Lord in her own right - and an unusually powerful one at that - Medai tried multiple times to take over the world for her own nefarious ends. A recurring main antagonist of the great play the Goddess was intent on performing with the world, she would always be stopped or halted in her actions at the last moment by a chosen hero from a faraway land accumulating the strength and skill necessary to oppose her. It was only with a holy blade imbued with the Goddess’ own power that one succeeded - at great cost. The Goddess’ champion was killed in the act, but he had succeeded, and the Demon Lord Medai was cast down from her lofty perch, her achievements in tatters. But that was not enough for the Goddess, and Medai was punished still further by Her hand. She was not killed, for even the blade through the heart had failed to end her. Rather, her mind was torn from her and she was cast down to the bottom of the heap to claw her way back to power, to claw back the shattered remnants of her identity. And then the next Demon Lord fell - and the process repeated itself. Medai’s mind was stripped bare, flensed of memory and dream and everything but a bare, pathetic shard of her core being.

Even this was not safe, it turned out. With each cycle it is slowly stripped away. Medai has long forgotten her own true name, and adopted the moniker given to her by others. She tried everything - she delved into the mysteries of the arcane and sealed her soul within a phylactery greater than any that had come before. And yet, when the Demon Lord fell, so too was this phylactery destroyed in totality. Her soul returned to her even more fragmented than before. The next time, she sided with the Goddess’ chosen hero, seeking to escape her punishment even if it meant bending the knee to the goddess and her chosen pets.

And yet, she awoke the broken slave of that same hero. Centuries of memory destroyed in an instant once again, for nothing would sate the petty vindictiveness of the Goddess against one of her greatest former enemies.

Medai has devoted herself entirely to the triumph of the demons as a result. She barely if t all remembers her old glory, the empires that fell before her hand and heroes that wept before her. She wants, more than anything, to reclaim some sense of peace. She clings to a tiny, shriveled core of who she once was out of a howling cosmic terror of once more being stripped of her identity, she she might some day be reduced to nothing more than 'the disgraced living weapon'. It is only through the continued efforts of those around her that she holds on to a shard of the past. But it seems she has slowly become accustomed to it. It seems her ultimate fear will never be realized, for such would deprive the Goddess of her sick, vengeful fun. She remains obsessed with her downfall, however, even if her goals in life have degraded to nothing beyond wishing to stave off the resetting of her mind once more.

”Oh, right, the sword. Well. The shard of it that remains. You… you already know that, though, don’t you? “The Great Hero of Veradan” they called him. One of those twits that keeps causing havoc here and ruining our plans. An unusually powerful one, at that. Well, I tracked him down and defeated his party - an unexpected challenge, at that! And, well, I was trying to tell him about my generous benefits package and great work-life balance if he’d just turn on that giant prick of a goddess and what does the bastard do? Calls me a ‘communist whore’ and stabs me in the chest with some holy sword the old tart gave him! I didn’t even know what a communist was, at that point. Guess they thought it’d kill me. Holy sword through the heart will kill most things, that’s true. Hah! Guess they didn’t count on me! It’s.. it’s still there, though. Like I’m not dead obviously but it blocks most of my power. Damn inconvenience."

“Recently” - or rather, for the past century - she has resided in a small, remote village. The inhabitants were wary at first, until they realized the danger from bandits and wandering monsters seemed to have disappeared entirely, and children could accompany the strange demon into the forest free of fear of attack and return laden with foods and rare herbs that brought prosperity to the village.

The Truth [+]

“I don’t really know why this has happened to me. I just want it to end.”

Medai’s amnesia is not the product of the intervention of the goddess - at least, not the direct product of it.

The shard of a sword embedded in her chest is that of a holy blade blessed with a shard of the Goddess’ energy, intended to destroy the Demons who were killed by it. Dubbed “The Divine Blade of the Goddess' Holy Wrath Against All Daemonkind” by its creators, the sword was carried by a Chosen Hero of the Goddess, known to the people of the world as the Hero of Veradan from the village he had awoken in. The sword was imbued with Her power, and cannot be wielded by Demonkind - just to touch its handle is agony. Thrust through her heart, the blade almost entirely cut her off from magic - leaving only her raw demonic physical ability and a tiny trickle of energy remaining for her to use. Shockingly, she did not die from the sword. However, unbeknownst to Medai, the other parts of the sword were gathered up and reforged into another - significantly smaller - sword. Unlike the two handed greatsword of the original, the current incarnation is kept in the possession of the Knights of the Valance. Dubbed “Sundered Justice” it is still used by Chosen Heroes to defeat prominent, threatening demons - and with each such use, the shard within Medai resonates with it, clearing her mind and dispersing whatever magical energies she might have accrued since the last use. What would happen were the shard to be removed is presently unknown - and mostly a moot point,. It can scarcely be touched by demonkind, and mortals who could remove it are few and far between, and of that limited pool, the number willing to do so is even smaller.

Sundered Justice, the sword kept by the Valances, is likewise at a fraction of its power without the whole blade. The Valances are keen to retrieve this shard, as such.

Skills and Abilities:

"You pathetic little craven swine! If I didn't have this sword in my chest, I could level this entire city in a heartbeat! You should be grateful I didn’t do more damage!"

"And that is why you still have the sword in your chest."

Medai is, first and foremost, possibly one of the single greatest combatants to have ever lived - certainly one of if not the greatest to live in the present day. She is a formidable fighter, having slain entire armies single handedly and reduced many a destined hero to a fine red smear upon the stonework. It is a futile, pointless endeavor to try and quantify the full extent of her martial ability and physical prowess. Even with the shard of a sword in her chest cutting her off from the bulk of her power, Medai can move at such speeds it seems the very air itself explodes around her before impact. She can resist an attack the likes of which would reduce the finest enchanted armor to naught but molten slag. In the present day, Medai’s skillset almost entirely revolves around combat. She possesses a highly intelligent mind - or the shards of one, anyway, a sharp tongue, and limited shape-changing abilities, able to hide all but one of her tails and her horns to appear more like a mortal, or take on the form of a small nine tailed fox. She has, however, refrained from investing her time into many specific skills. What point is there in once more becoming an artist whose works bring tears to the eye of the beholder - if all of that will be burned to ash and dust and scattered to the stars once more?

“More! More! More! Let the blood flow! More power!”

In her prime, Medai was once one of the most powerful of the Demon Lords - in times long past, the enemy of many a Chosen Hero, and a particularly tenacious one at that, always clawing her way back to prominence after defeat. A gifted mage, unparalleled physical fighter, skilled planner, and natural scientist, many of her creations and concepts have been lost to time as their inventor languishes in the shattered remnants of her own mind. Aside from shape changing - and an apparent ability to mildly entrance those who look into her eyes, Medai shows an inexplicable lack of ability to use magic. As though something is choking her off and blocking its use, like a closed valve.

More recently she has taken to cooking and baking, reasoning that if there is little she can do against her fate, she may as well eat properly.

Quips:

“I’ve forgotten more than you will ever know.”

The Sword Demon Medai is completely unlike what most who hear of her expect. Instead of a towering agent of destruction or otherworldly being - she appears almost mortal. She is, however, a far more pitiful creature than would be expected. Many describe her as simply “crazy”, but that fails to truly account for her. Medai lives in constant terror every day of losing her identity and sense of self all over again. Brought low long ago by a destined hero, chosen by the goddess against whom she still fights, Medai has been cursed with a fate worse than death. So what can one do in such a scenario?

“C’mere. Give me a hug. I won’t remember you forever, and that hurts more than you’ll ever know - but it’s worth it to have it when we can.”

Apparently, though, she’s still the bad guy.

Medai’s sword, Vendethyr, is posessed by the spirit of one of her former lovers by the same name. A mortal man possessed of prodigious magical skill, he grew close to The Sword Demon long before her first memory loss, assisting her in one of her many bids to take control of the world. In his old age he bound his soul to an adamantium blade rather than pass on, wishing to remain with her in some capacity. Ever since Medai’s injury against the Hero of Veradan, he has worked tirelessly to maintain some shard of the person he once loved, railing against the divine memory loss that frequently afflicts her. It is through him that Medai remembers the name Medai, through him that she ‘remembers’ countless adventures through the world - even before the time of the sword, through him that she may hold on to more than a hollow core of hereslf flensed bare of life. He has played a small role in the increasingly kindhearted, benevolent turn she has been making in life, a turn he remarks on with an invisible smile. He occasionally likes to tease her with stories of other lovers that came after him, though shows no jealously. Additionally, his immense exasperation with her complete ignorance of magical affairs beyond that which comes to her instinctually is a frequent source of amusement for bystanders.

She has taken to using acquaintances, passers-by, and others as taste-testers for her current cooking experiments.

Medai has a fear of dogs. Whether this is tied to her slight fox-like nature, or a relic of some past memory is uncertain. When around dogs - especially hunting dogs - she is visibly on edge and nervous, even if they pose little actual threat to her.

“E-eheh, nice dog. Yes. Pl-please take him away from me. Please”

For some reason she remembers the moments before and after being stabbed with perfect clarity.

“You can’t spell laughter without slaughter! Er, no, wait, I got that one mixed up.”

This is the music I wrote her sheet to, I guess, Lappland good for soul

One Orc bard up for review :p

Ravil the Marvelous [+]

Ravil the Marvelous

Age:
35

Race:
Orc

Appearance:

Background:
Ravil the Marvelous! Bard Extraordinaire (true), Connoisseur of All Things Music (true enough), Master of a Thousand Dialects (kiiind of stretching it a bit thin), and Stalwart Champion of the Ladies (now this one's totally self-proclaimed)! Wherever tales are to be spoken, one can be assured that Ravil is ready to serve! Why, there are so many tales of great heroes to be told indeed in this realm, and are they not all worthy of praise and glory...?

No? Don't think so? Then you think in the same way as Ravil himself.

To Ravil, most of the tales of heroism by these so called heroes are bogus. Nonsense. Empty flattery to inflate the heroes' ego. Not many in the realm can see it; most seems content to just nod along with the rumors and hearsay about how awesome and powerful and perfect the heroes summoned by the goddess are. These people are like puppets. Ravil however, is completely different. He read the history books and tale books, and he realized that far more often than not, these heroes won by the sheer power of either being lucky or being inexplicably infallible no matter how foolish their actions were at times. It was as if... They won because a higher being made it so. From there it wasn't that difficult to connect the dots, really. Heroes summoned by the goddess plus winning because a higher being made it so. Duh, the higher being's the goddess.

This pissed Ravil off very very much. And not because the heroes kept getting all the ladies, nay (nah, it's totally because of this)! It didn't bother him at all that this all meant that the heroes getting the ladies were also because of that damned goddess! Nay, it is the injustice of the situation that roused Ravil's sense of justice (pffft) to rebel against the goddess and the heroes she summoned! The only thing that pissed Ravil off nearly as much is the stereotype that all Orcs are lumbering mindless berserkers that can only spout "ORC SMASH!" while wildly trying to gib an enemy. Nonsense, Ravil himself is living proof that Orcs are as civilized and potentially dashing creatures as any other races are. Music, poetry, fine dining, and artful fencing; these fits Ravil way more than swinging around a spiked club wildly like a drunken madman.

In any case, so it became that Ravil offered his loyalty and all the marvels at his disposal to Demon Lord Ahriman. The goddess and her heroes really need to be taken down a peg. Or two pegs. Or taken down entirely, really. And who else have the best chance to do that than a Demon Lord?

And Ravil did not join Lord Ahriman's cause by his lonesome. No, he is accompanied by his lifelong companion (in a platonic sense). Alira the Succubus. As stereotype-defying as Ravil himself, Alira is not at all like the image that most people have when they heard the word "succubus". She's a bookworm with absolutely zero interest in hanky-panky. Her greatest pleasure is playing chest, not seducing, bedding, and corrupting a hero or a holy man. Truly a most impressively smart pundit of literature, there is no one Ravil will trust more when it comes to foiling the goddess and her genre-locked heroes. Why, it was also Alira who gave Ravil the idea of working for Lord Ahriman.

And so heroes' blood shall be spilled and goddess' plan shall be ruined! With words, swords, and genre savviness at their disposal, they shall prevail! Ehm, also with the help of the other magnificent and stalwart servants of the great Demon Lord Ahriman, of course.

Skills and Abilities:
- Bard Extraordinaire: As a bard, Ravil truly is one that is extraordinary and remarkable. He is possessed of an exceptional degree of panache and of presence both, able to easily enrapture a crowd of audience with his songs and poets. He speaks a great number of different languages, and musical instruments too are nothing foreign in the slightest for him, as he had mastered virtually all forms of instruments from the most classic to the most exotic. Additionally, like all self-respecting adventuring bards, Ravil possessed the capability to use Bardic Magic. In his case, masterfully so, allowing him to greatly empower his allies and weaken his foes alike using his bardic performances.

- Expert Fencer: If words, charismatic endeavors, and bardic spells failed to win the day, or simply if it is easier to succeed by might, then Ravil is perfectly capable of fighting as well. An excellent fencer, Ravil's fighting style indeed betrayed the typical stereotype of Orcs being berserkers. Ravil fights with grace and elegance, performing quick strikes with pinpoint accuracy while wielding his trusty rapier. His movements in combat are akin to flowing water, smoothly weaving in to strike and out to dodge by going with the flow rather than against it. Mundane as his physical combat style might be, it is foolish to underestimate this sophisticated fighter, although he himself would prefer to be underestimated as it works to his advantage.

- Dirty Fighting: If all else fails, then Ravil can fall back to yet another method of engagement he had specialized in. In combat, honor is for schmuck. Ravil possessed absolutely zero reservation in regards to using dirty tricks to gain himself an unfair advantage in a situation. If throwing a handful of spicy pepper meant for dinner unto the face of his foe will turn defeat to victory, Ravil will do so in a heartbeat.

Equipment:
- Rose Thorn: Ravil's trusty rapier. Very light yet of mighty sharpness and durability, it is made out of mithril ingots. A most fine weapon for a graceful fighter.

- Musical Instruments: Ravil possessed a great number of various musical instruments he had collected throughout his journey as a bard. Most of the time he can be found with his lute, but he is able to switch it out for something else quickly using his Bag of Holding.

- Bag of Holding: The aforementioned Bag of Holding, most trusty extradimensional container for the enterprising (rich) adventurer. This holds... just about everything Ravil own really, from toothpicks to potions to musical instruments.

His Most Trusty Companion:
Why, none other than Alira, of course. Most educated of Succubi and lifelong (platonic) companion of Ravil the Marvelous. For the most parts, she disliked the very act of fighting. But if she must, be it to protect herself or Ravil, then she is more than capable in using Dark Magic of the Destruction, Illusion, and Conjuration schools. Rather than as a fighter, Alira is much more valuable a comrade for her great intellect and genre savvy advice instead.

Quips:

Appearance of Ravil's Succubus Companion, Alira [+]