Othard is one of the three major continents of the world and comprises three nations: Finnagund, Relfin, and Dranir.

Finnagund

The nation of Finnagund is fully composed of gentle rolling plains, heavy patches of forest, and quiet streams and rivers that wind their way slowly through the country. It contains the largest quantity of usable farmland, including the only area in which Red Fern can be safely grown, and was created when the five nomadic tribes banded together to protect themselves from raids originating from the other two countries.

Finnagund is ruled by the Brightwood monarchy and the four noble families: The Wilrees, The Soft Steps, The Broken Boulders, and the Mystralath. The country’s capital, Wilree, is named after the noble family as a symbol of respect for being the first ones to support the Brightwoods.

Relfin

Unlike its neighbor, Relfin can be a difficult place to survive. While it does have some fertile land, much of it is rocky and sparse with regular heavy storms making farming difficult. That doesn’t stop its people from surviving however. While those near the Relfin/Finnagund border do manage to make a good living off the land, most of the nation survives by the grace of the sea. They have a powerful navy and in order to strengthen their economic position, have developed the strongest ties to Veraz and the Suelene Isles of all the Othardian Nations.

Relfin is ruled by the Council of Guilds, a collection of the six major trade guilds headed by the Grand Marshal of Relfin. The Grand Marshall is selected by their predecessor and is the leader of the Reflin Military. The current Grand Marshall, Rhogar Sadaar, is brutal and direct, well known for shutting down the Guilds’ and citizens’ bullshit with a bad attitude and harsh words.

Dranir

Dranir is a nation whose people live high above the cloud line or deep in the heart of mountains as giants have claimed the lands in between. They are rich in mineral wealth, abundant with ore, and some of the most skilled and ingenious craftsmen on the continent. The entire nation is almost completely composed of mountains with small valleys dotting the areas in between. The Gods’ Peak, located directly in the middle of the nation, is the tallest mountain in the world. Few have made it up but those who have found they can no longer speak and remember only hazy images of their time at the top.

Originally, Dranir was ruled in an iron fist by a monarchy that seriously favored a traditionalist faction known as the Silver Coffers. Just recently, the country suffered a civil war that lasted a few decades, a movement known as the Gnomian Revolution, that created a parliament and prime minister. Prime Minister Elden Dimira is an older affluent gnome who has won the heart of the country as a leader of the late revolution.

The Red Wastes

The Red Waste is a sprawling desert named after the color of its sand. Comprising the southern quarter of Othard, this desert is home to only one town on the very edge of the Finnagund border. Tink is a town of wanders, exiles, and Tainted and is the last supply stop for all expeditions into the wastes. Most people the Gods smote this land for unholy against and filled with plague so that none could live there again.

The truth of the matter is that the aether in the Red Wastes is impossibly thin and in some places, completely gone. These dead patches cause living creatures to become sick and exhausted as their aether drains into the empty space, not stopping until the creature dies or leaves the area. While scholars once believed these were static phenomena, they’ve since learned that these dead zones move and with so little data on their movement, scholars have no way to tell if there is a predictable pattern or not, leading many to have abandoned planned excursions.

The most recent discovery was 50 years ago. The Royal Academy’s expedition team discovered a round door consisting of concentric circles with intricately carved ruins on the surface. Scholars theorized these were an ancient language and spent decades attempting to decipher it. While they still haven’t, they’ve learned the name of the place from other recovered documents: The Temple of the Consort.

Othard has one unified religion throughout the continent, ruled over by a Pantheon of six deities.

Lady Azaiza, known as The Fated Empress, is the leader of the pantheon and sits on a throne of bones and souls, where she dictates and weaves the fate of the world. Her commands are resolute and those who go against the order she creates are heathens and traitors, damned to join her throne of failures for eternity. She is depicted as a human woman, dressed in robes of red and black, holding a golden crow on her hand. Any individual in a position of high power maintains regular offerings to her shrines and often have one in their personal homes.

Melanar and Zunbil are twin deities, expressions of the natural cycles Lady Azaiza created. Melanar is the Goddess of the Wilds, of the untamed seas, lands, and skies and is depicted as a young elven woman with wild hair and animal features. Zunbil is the God of the Sun, tasked with maintaining community among the mortals, agriculture, and medicine and is depicted as an elven silhouette of golden light. Hunters, healers, farmers, and travelers often keep their holy symbols on them and make regular offerings at shrines.

Selene is Goddess of the Moon. She is depicted as an older woman, given the task of guiding the poor and downtrodden to more promising fates. Her worshippers are usually those who feel the world has failed them or have come across a particularly vicious bout of bad luck. Many families hang her symbol, a crescent moon with a single line down its center, in their doorways to ward off bad luck.

Philothosis is the God of Knowledge and the Arts. Unlike the others who are depicted in a single form, Philothosis is depicted as a cloud of masks and his shape changes depending on what mask he is portrayed as wearing. Most importantly, Philosthosis preaches learning and growing with restraint.

Iriganis the God of the Afterlife. Irigan is depicted as a heavy dwarf, his beard reaching down to the floor in careful geometric braids and a small pair of glasses that he peers through to judge your soul. If he judges you in accordance with your Fate, you pass onto the celestial plane where mortal concerns are stripped away and you are blissfully unaware of the world and its passing. If he finds you failing your fate, you are shattered with his hammer and forced to suffer in the Empress’s throne, doomed to strain to carry the weight of the universe until the end of time.

As with all things good and bright, so too must there be darkness. The Gods’ shadows envy their power, prestige, and love and ever seek to undermine The Fated Empress’ will so they may instead govern over the domains of the mortal races. When The Fated Empress wove the other Gods into existence, so did she inadvertently create the three Demon Lords.

Umbraxakar, the Demon Lord of the Slaughter, takes the form of a towering dragon with noxious black mist shifting around its rotting flesh, its six eyes vacant and oozing putrid bile. It's said it knows whose souls are naught but cruelty and violence and whispers dark promises in exchange for brutal blood sacrifices.

Rakas, the Demon Lord of Avarice, takes the form of a beautiful elf woman with the horns of a ram, the tail of a scorpion, and six arms, draped in golden finery. They make bargains with those greedy for more in life that seem an equal exchange on the surface but all who fall for their tricks find their happiness short lived.

Misophaes, the Demon Lord of Pestilence, Famine, and Despair, takes the form of a pile of oozing goo in which the unfortunate souls stupid enough to interfere with it’s endless hunger forever burn in its acidic body. Unlike its compatriots, Misophaes simply wants to consume the world, not rule it and isn’t known to deal with the mortal races.

Magic is a natural phenomena that has proven a difficult subject to study, let alone master. While it has always been present through the world’s tumultuous history, cultural differences proved insurmountable until the formal establishment of the three kingdoms of Othard and formal institutions dedicated to delving into the secrets of magic the more traditional methods were incapable of reaching. Through dedicated work and an incredible number of unfortunate mishaps, these three institutions discovered a number of things about magic.

Aether is the energy of Magic

Aether is an intangible, invisible energy source that overlays the world in its entirety. Unfortunately, attempts to develop instruments to measure aether have consistently ended in failure but wielders of the mysterious energy agree that aether, while not accessible by all living organisms, is an energy source that is somehow directly correlated to the density of living organisms in any particular location. The most popular theory is that living organisms are drawn to places of high aetheric density, such as Wilree, the capital of Finnagund, the deepest part of the Serpentine Forest, and the top of the Gods’ peak in Dranir. Unfortunately without better instruments, exploring this idea has been difficult at best.

Only the Aetherborn can manipulate Aether

As mentioned previously, not all living organisms can manipulate Aether. The process of manipulating it takes determination, focus, and a certain natural quirk that can’t be taught. These people have come to be known as the Aetherborn, comprising about 15% of the world’s population at any given time. Experts aren’t sure what circumstances cause a child to become Aetherborn but the phenomena surpasses class, race, creed, and nationality.

However, all Aetherborn display an unusual physical trait that marks them as an Aetherborn from early on. Most Aetherborn display small differences, like unusual or impossible eye and/or hair color, but there have been a notable few that stick out among the rest. The founder of the Wilree Royal Academy, Princess Imris Evanwood, had translucent eyelids and was incapable of moving her eyes, forced to turn her entire head if she wanted to see anything in her peripherals. Torfin Glassmail boasted a pockmarked body from birth, the scars glowing red in the dark.

All three capitals boast highly advanced centers of magical study: The Wilree Royal Academy in Finnagund, the Mage’s Consortium in Reflin, and The Ruby Forge in Dranir. These three places of study are difficult to gain entrance to and usually require incredible sums and the right connections to enter. As a result, many Aetherborn instead apprentice to other aetherborn or simply experiment on their own, which significantly increases the risk of injury or death.

The Will, the Word, and the Wave

Manipulating Aether, or casting magic, is a deeply intuitive and personal process. There aren’t structured rules and regulations on how to cast magic, no specific incantations or spell matrices to memorize. Aetherborn cast magic through sheer determination, focus, and purpose alone. In order to achieve a given effect, an Aetherborn must consider the three W’s of casting.

First, the Will. Aether is a difficult energy to manipulate, prone to strange fluctuations and flares, so an Aetherborn must be 100% committed to the casting of a particular spell, remain focused on the outcome of that spell, and see it through in its entirety. Failure in this area can end as simply as nothing happening but will more often than not cause something called a Mishap, an effect different from the desired outcome. Mishaps show a wide range of variety and can range from something as simple as missing your intended target to something complex as sending half your brian to a random part of the world. Casting a spell should not be taken lightly as any break in concentration or determination can result in disastrous consequences for the Aetherborn and those around them.

Secondly, the Word. This is the only part of a casting that isn’t absolutely necessary; although, it is ill advised for anyone other than a master to do so. The Word serves as a way to help concentrate on the outcome and reduce the chances of a Mishap. It’s entirely personal and even though two Aetherborn may cast a similar spell, what they say as part of the Word may be entirely different! It doesn’t have to be a single word either; a phrase, a song, a joke can be used just as well so long as it keeps you focused on the end result.

Thirdly, the Wave. When casting a spell, an Aetherborn draws Aether directly into themselves and then out, serving as a refining tool for the raw energy. In order to stabilize and finish the spell, an Aetherborn must physically manipulate the Aether as it passes from them. Gestures don’t have to be complex- these can range from the flick of the wrist to send a gust of wind into a ship’s sails or an outstretched hand to block an incoming attack. The more skilled with aether, the more subtle the Wave becomes, until a twitch of the fingers is all an Aetherborn needs. However, be warned- if an Aetherborn’s hands are restrained, they’ll find themselves struggling to safely cast a spell.

The Types of Aetherborn

Originally, it was believed that an Aetherborn could manipulate Aether into whatever form they wished but as Aether and the Aetherborn became the subject of academy study, it was determined that how an Aetherborn manipulate Aether is entirely predetermined in the same way that that they are chose to manipulate Aether in the first place. There is no known reason why some Aetherborn can produce some effects that others can’t but they have managed to place them into three classifications: Primordial, Genesian, and Animas. It is important to note that manipulating Aether in any manner is physically and mentally demanding.

Primordial Aetherborn are those with the ability to manipulate one of the four primordial elements: Fire, Earth, Water, and Air. The reason behind this alignment still eludes aetheric scholars today but they can confirm that all Primordial Aetherborn do not draw on their own aether to do so. Primordial aetherborn convert ambient aether into elemental effect, either channeling it through existing material or drawing it directly from the aether itself. As a result there is some important distinctions between these Aetherborn:

• Fire Aetherborns are capable of producing flame using aether as all the necessary components of fire. This occurs by actively aggravating the aether until it finally burns or combusts, depending on the intended purpose, and is a relatively fast process. As a result, Fire Aetherborn may find it difficult or even impossible to harness their ability in places with low aetheric density and even when they do, find their fire smaller and less destructive.
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• Water and Earth Aetherborns use a system similar to Genesian Aetherborn to create new sources of their elemental affinity but unlike them, this change is permanent. As such, the time it takes to create this material is significantly longer and much more physically and mentally demanding.
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• Air Aetherborns have their element around them at all times and nearly never need to create it, though follow the same trend as Water and Earth Aetherborns. However, Air Aetherborns are capable of producing lightning by creating a localized, severe aetheric imbalance between two points. Producing this is no easy task and even those considered masters of the technique sometimes find themselves overwhelmed by the discharge of a failed attempt.

Since these aetherborn do not manipulate their own aether, they do not suffer the effect known as Aetheric Exhaustion (although manipulating aether is still a physically and mentally demanding task). Aetheric Exhaustion refers to a point at which an individual has depleted their own aether completely and suffers severe headaches, disorientation, and may even collapse unconscious. However, Primordial Aetherborn run the risk of another phenomenon known as Resonance. Resonance is a point at which a Primordial Aetherborn loses control over their ability to convert aether into elements and finds spontaneous, explosive events occurring around them without guidance. A sudden flood, a gout of fire, a dust storm or earthquake, and a sudden blast of wind are all examples of what can happen during a Resonance event. Resonance events occur most often when:

• A Primordial Aetherborn is experiencing a heighten emotion of any kind,
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• A Primordial Aetherborn has manipulated large quantities of aether over a short period of time,
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• A Primordial Aetherborn is physically exhausted and mentally exhausted.

It is important to note that because Aetherborn are not naturally protected from the effects of their abilities, Resonance can often be fatal.

Genesian Aetherborn are those that can manipulate their own aether into objects and energy in two ways: Alteration or Creation. An Alteration aetherborn infuses their own aether into objects through touch, changing their properties and exerting control over them, allowing them to move even if they normally couldn’t under the command of the Aetherborn. Creation Aetherborn weave their aether into complex arrays, creating aetheric constructs of weapons, creatures, and items to help them in their tasks.These aetheric constructs behave just as if they were regular versions of themselves, except under the command of the Aetherborn. Genesian Aetherborn are prone to Aetheric Exhaustion simply because of the intense aetheric demands placed on them by their abilities.

Animas Aetherborn are those who can exert a limited amount of control over another living person’s aether in the following categories: Mental or Physical. Mental Aetherborn change the way their targets perceive and interact with the world, making them see, hear, or feel things that aren’t actually there, changing and overlaying memories, and even changing their opinions on subject matter. Physical Aetherborn manipulate the body of living creatures, capable of healing, harming, or even exerting some degree of control over their actions. Many of their abilities overlap; however, the method by which the effects occur are vastly different.

It is important to note that the two different Animas Aetherborn suffer the opposite challenges. Living creatures have natural resistance to these Aetherborn based on the amount of natural aether they have. The higher the aetheric density, the more resistant they are to Mental Aetherborn and the less resistant they are to Physical aetherborn, and vice versa. For example:

• The Children of the Wilds and Magical Creatures have high aetheric densities, making them more susceptible to Physical Aetherborn but resistant to Mental Aetherborn.
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• The Children of the Land and most normal creatures have low aetheric densities, making them more susceptible to Mental Aetherborn but resistant to Physical Aetherborn.
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• Aetherborn all have higher aetheric densities compared to their racial tendencies but in comparison to other aetherborn, follow the same trends.

Creatures resistant to physical aetherborn (excluding aetherborn of that race) will find that magical healing from a physical aetherborn is often not enough simply because they do not have enough aether to fully heal.

While Physical Aetherborn healing is advantageous, it does rely on the living creature’s aether and so pushes them towards aetheric exhaustion.

Aetheric Awareness

Aetherborn have the inherent ability to sense the available aether for them to manipulate. Since each aetherborn category manipulates a different source, their ability to perceive aether is different as well.

• Primordial Aetherborn manipulate ambient aether and thus, are able to tell the aether density of the area they are in to some degree. Areas with a high aetheric density will be easier for a primordial aetherborn to function versus an area with low aetheric density, where a the same aetherborn may exhibit fatigue, headaches, and bouts of dizziness until they can acclimate to the density changes. In areas of extremely high aetheric density, these aetherborn may find themselves giddy, unusually energetic, and prone to Resonance. In areas with extremely low to no aetheric density, Primordial aetherborn will find themselves struggling to sleep, suffering from vicious migraines, and even falling unconscious for long periods of time.
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• Genesian Aetherborn have an innate sense of their own aether reserves, similar to how someone is aware of how much energy they have. As such, they are aware when they are manipulating their aether versus someone else doing so. It's important to note that while they have an understanding of how much aether they have, a genesian aetherborn doesn't instinctively know how much aether they need to infuse or create something without trial and error.
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• Animas aetherborn have an instinctive understanding of the aetheric density of others around them. Much like ambient sound, the awareness of others is always present and while it can be ignored, it can't be turned off. Those with unusual aetheric high densities create an intense pressure in the back of an Animas minds and those with incredibly low aetheric densities may not even register to the Animas Aetherborn.

Aetheric Items

Aetheric items are tools and other inanimate objects specially treated to act as aetheric conduit to produce wondrous effects. The process of creating an aetheric item is long and tedious, requiring meticulous planning and execution. Even developing the process was dangerous, many aetherborn suffering intense Mishaps just from touching early prototypes. Today, the process has been stabilized and many are working on streamlining development.

Aetheric items channel an individual’s aether in order to activate their effect, meaning that while this means anyone can use aetheric items, they do contribute to aetheric exhaustion. Modern day aether smiths are attempting to develop aetheric items capable of drawing on ambient aether instead but most attempts have been unsuccessful.

Othardian races are split into two categories: Children of the Sun and Children of the Wilds. This stems from the belief that some were given form and life through the power of The Wild Maiden, the Children of the Wilds, and the rest were created by The Golden Grace, the Children of the Sun. While overall, the distinction isn’t necessarily important, it has been noted that the Children of the Wilds are more likely to manifest Aetherborn. The difference isn’t significant enough to calculate but it’s theorized the closer connection to the natural world innate in the Children of the Wilds help manifest the necessary conditions to produce Aetherborn.

Another important note is the longevity of the races. For my own sanity, all the races have the same base lifespan that vary based on the availability of care they can receive. For example, a generally healthy individual with limited access to reasonable care could live to be 50, while that same person with access to good or better care could live to 70, and those with access to magical care up to 100. Aetherborn, however, are capable of living twice as long with ease so long as their magic doesn’t get them killed.

Children of the Wilds

Originating from the Suelene Isles, the elves are naturally long and lithe with sharp, distinct features, typically ranging in height from 5'5 to 6'5' and gravitate towards lighter fabrics and clothing with natural designs. Coloration of their eyes, hair, and skin range from human tones to various hues to blue and green. Their ears are a dead giveaway for the elves, tampering into a fine point.



The Dwarves are strong and stout people, skilled in the manipulation of earth, metal, and fire and as equally passionate about their art as they are determined. They typically reach no taller than 5' with stocky, wide builds and heavily favor intricate geometric designs on their works and clothing. Their skin coloration varies as greatly as any other race but their hair is a matter of pride. Men and women alike go through great lengths to maintain facial and head hair and regularly dye them in explosions of color that accentuate the intricate braiding they are fond of. Their hair is so important that one of the steps of being exiled from Dranir is having all of your hair shaved off in public.



Gnomes are cunning, precarious creatures, their short stature aiding in their proclivity for pranking their friends and family. They range from 2.5’ - 3’ tall with a wide array of builds across the race. They always have disproportionately large eyes, usually a strikingly strange and bold coloration, and tiny noses but otherwise have as much variation as any other race. Their clothes are often decorated with stripes and spots of natural tones on tunics and blouses and soft, light leather breeches or skirts.

Children of the Sun

Humans are in-between of all the races, average in height and display. They’re aggressively curious and their natural inclination to learn about those different from themselves is why they’ve risen to the top in many countries. Their skin varies from ghost white and night black, with green, blue, brown, and black eyes. Humans have the tendency to mix and match clothes of the other races, blending together their favorite parts of everything and mashing them into a motley collection to varying degrees of success.



Halflings are similar to dwarves in height and similar to elves in build. Short and whippy, the Halflings are born friendly, mostly. Their communities are often open doors and very involved in each other's lives. They favor functional, muted clothing, sturdy and durable without much of the elegance of the other races. They often boast gold, blue, or green eyes and bold, large facial features.



Once upon a time, these damned souls were known as the Illarin. Gentle, soft spoken folk with wings of golden feathers, it was said these were the beloved of all the Gods. But in the war with the dragons, they turned against their kin and sided with the monsters. As punishment, The Fated Empress struck their souls with the Taint to forever mark them as traitors to all living creatures.

Or so the story goes. Whether or not that's true, the Tainted have long suffered as a result. Skin colors ranging from pitch black, red, violet, blue, and green, eyes missing pupils, tails that often move unintentionally when emotional, and horns of various shapes mark these creatures as Tainted. Even when mingling with the other races, the Tainted blood still manifests all these signs, only borrowing the slightest among from the other parent.

Warning: Playing a Tainted will have RP consequences. Please be aware, you may face unjustified discrimination and violence depending on your actions and location.

Veraz Althma

A large continent two weeks and a half west off the coast of Dranir, Veraz Althma is a strange and secretive land. Started by a group of Aetherborn exiled for prophesying a false god nearly a millennia ago, these self proclaimed sages subjugated the natives of the land and established a country entirely dedicated to the one true god, Althma.

Veraz Althma has maintained a strict closed border policy, raiding the Isles and the northern shores of Zal’hira rather than engage in trade with Othard. As a result, their naval technology rapidly grew to rival Reflin’s and they’ve actively engaged in piracy against Othardian ships. All attempts at diplomacy over the years have ended in complete silence, at best.

Only in the past two centuries has Veraz Althma changed their stance. While their borders are still completely sealed against outsiders, Veraz Althma actively engaged in diplomatic conversation and within the past century, has been sending diplomats to each of the three nations. There has been some growth and exchange of techniques and goods, but relations are still a little stilted.

A major part of those struggling relations is the Verazians themselves. All Verazians who have come to Othard share the same peculiarities. Each one speaks in subdued, monotone voices, their facial expressions appear stilted and forced, and sarcasm and humor only serve to confuse them. There is a strange sense of wrongness that has most people on edge around them.

The Suelene Isles

The Suelene Isles are a chain of 15 islands of various sizes that stretch from the southern coast of Othard to the southern coast of Zal’hira. While these islands are populated by various tribal nations, they’ve come together in recent decades in an attempt to fight back against the Reflin and Verazian raiding on their people and natural resources. It’s theorized that many of the Fey driven from Othard found sanctuary in the isles many years ago.

Zal’hira

Next to nothing is known about this land. Reflin and Dranir have both launched voyages in recent years but none have returned. The Royal Academy and the Council of Guilds are currently funding a massive construction project that would push the limits of naval technology in an attempt to reach its distant shores but it is unlikely to be complete in any reasonable amount of time.

As it stands, the only information we have on Zal’hira is from what little the Verazians have shared: it is inhabited by savage elves and its aetheric density swings wildly between extremes, making it difficult to survive.

Appearance: Ceolfric is stocky and powerfully-built like the mountains that raised him, with skin covered in little scars and calluses that speak to a lifetime of conflict. He carries himself with a princely bearing that doesn't suit him, with all of the entitlement but none of the aristocratic civility, underlied by the subtle tension of a man who anticipates violence in every sudden movement. Likewise, his gaze is cold and judgmental, appraising everyone he looks upon in the way a predator might size up its next meal.

His hair, despite being greasy and swept back haphazardly, looks like it had been previously cut with some deliberate, tribal style in mind rather than the pragmatic shearing of a backwood savage. Swirling tattoos adorn the sides of his head, quite prominent when his undercut is freshly shaved but now just barely visible through the regrowing hair. A conspicuous scar bisects his right eyebrow, though his face appears otherwise unblemished until Ceolfric opens his mouth, where a discolored tongue marks him as Aetherborn in an unnatural, plum-colored hue.

Name: Ceolfric, Son of Ravangar

Age: 20

Gender: Male

Classification: Animas - Mental

Abnormality: His tongue is colored a deep purple.

Personality: Ceolfric is a firm believer that it is better to live in infamy than anonymity. He believes he has a birthright to rule, gifted to him by right of conquest and lineage and the providence of fell gods. He wears the facade of a civilized man to this end, for the demeanor of the ruler and the conqueror are not always aligned, but at heart he is an unruly savage, looking for an opportunity to break out into violence at any given moment. Unless he intends to turn his magic upon someone, Ceolfric reserves words for only the most inconsequential matters - anything he can solve with a fist, he will. Though he usually puts up a gruff exterior, he's capable of being quite wordy when he wishes to ensnare a foe in a web of double-speak and broken truths, and, of course, he celebrates his bloody victories with as much vigor as he puts into securing them, just as any other self-respecting raider would.

His powers have left him with little regard for the personal autonomy of other beings - all the world's a stage and Ceolfric is the playwright; the puppets will dance at his word whether they want to or not. He does not ask for things so much as he demands them, as he is accustomed to simply taking what he wants regardless. Every act he undertakes is self-serving and his word is only as good as the benefits that keeping it would bring him. A lie that brings a foe further into his thrall is no less a weapon to him than an axe or a spear.

That's not to say his selfishness blinds him to the concerns of others. His magic has taught him quite well; it is often easier to coax obedience from those who trust him than to force compliance from those who don't, and he has seen firsthand what happens to tyrants. Ceolfric knows, if he is to rule, that he must desire what is best for his subjects. He's quick to share the spoils of his success with his allies, and though he may play with others' trust for his own gain, his loyalties aren't fickle; if he betrays anyone, he intended to from the start.

Despite whatever feral cunning he can muster, Ceolfric is woefully out of his depth in the civilized world. The coalescence of aether from so many beings in close proximity grates on his senses and urbanite social norms often leave him confused and frustrated. Coddled weaklings rule with little respect for power, instead playing a pointless game of intrigue with rules that Ceolfric has yet to truly learn. His one saving grace is that he knows the bestial nature of man intimately, and intends to reveal it beneath all the pageantry.

Bio: Where there is war, there are those who would profit from it, and the Gnomian Revolution was no different. Drawn to the carrion of the conflict, the bandit warlord Ravangar and his Crimson Heralds emerged to raid and pillage among the chaos that consumed Dranir. It was said that he owed his brutal success to the favor of Umbraxakar, that his raids let the rivers run red with blood and that he left no altar to the Lord of Slaughter in his wake without a gory sacrifice upon it. It's no surprise, then, that his Aetherborn son would inspire a host of foul rumors. From a young age, it became very apparent to all who served under Ravangar, greedy thug and demonic zealot alike, that Ceolfric was dangerous to interact with. The boy could enthrall the souls of mortal men with but a word, binding all but the most willful to the nonsense of a child's whims. Word spread that Ravangar coupled with a succubus to birth his cursed child, that the boy's tongue was blessed to spin twisted, irresistible lies by Rakas itself.

The boy and his father did little to discourage these rumors. Brought up in bandit camps and secluded mountain hideouts rather than a stable home, Ceolfric knew nothing of his mother, whether she was one of the captive 'war brides' he'd been raised by or if she was even still alive. With no knowledge to the contrary, he took no aversion to being identified as the product of a profane union with an infernal temptress, in fact it served only to glorify his name. He was the heir of the mighty warlord Ravangar, and he was far too happy to follow the gruesome model of his father. Likewise, Ravangar relished in the reputation such hearsay brought - that Ceolfric's birth was the seal of an unholy covenant, proof of his vile god's favor.

It wasn't until he was in his teens and he was sent along with the raiding parties that Ceolfric found true use for his gift. Watchmen wandered aimlessly away from their slumbering camps at the behest of a mysterious little war orphan. Guards lowered their weapons in a daze while a horde of bandits set upon them. Horses suddenly veered off the road, dragging their cargo-laden wagons into the waiting arms of Ravangar's men. The roads of Dranir became the crucible in which Ceolfric honed his magic on hapless travellers, and when peacetime brought the free flow of the caravans through the nation once more, his talents were well suited to profiting from them.

Ravangar, it seems, had a higher use for the boy. He rarely exerted too much direct pressure on Ceolfric, fearful that too short of a leash would breed resentment in his strongest weapon, but as the boy's arcane abilities grew, so too did his father's ambition. After a raid, Ceolfric was summoned by his father's faithful cultists, those select few among the bandit warband who valued the glory of carnage over the mere worldly riches it provided. He was brought before an altar strewn with meticulous sigils, all painted in fresh gore, and given specific instructions on how to weave the aether through them. For a brief moment before the exertion robbed him of consciousness, Ceolfric saw the creature he had called forth, all spikes and horns and flaming orbs for eyes that burned with the limitless malice and rage of demonkind, and in its gaze he saw the true nature of their relationship laid bare. It was one of utility, of use; all the piety he could offer would amount to nothing, his demonic masters would use him to satiate their wicked desires and then cast him aside, and he would be a fool not to reciprocate in kind.

When he awoke, his father's unholy communion had ended. Ravangar never elaborated on what he'd wanted with the demon and Ceolfric never asked, he merely did his duty and partook in every summoning he was told to. When his father finally decided to share his machinations with his son, he spoke of grand plans of conquest and grander sacrifices meant to fuel them. There would be war in Dranir once more, the giants were on the march and the armies of Othard were mustering, leaving the lands caught between them ripe for slaughter and plunder.

His ambitions were never realized. Emboldened by whatever dread prophecies his hellish allies had whispered in his ear, Ravangar took to the field of battle once more, in an attack on a woefully under-defended wagon bound for the Ruby Forge. The reason for the suspicious lack of guards soon become apparent when one of the only three passengers lifted his hands began to unravel the mountainside and swallow his assailants in gaping maws of stone. Ceolfric managed to slip away after stalling the mage - and that was all he could do, for the man shrugged off the boy's attempts to dominate him as easily as he turned aside incoming arrows - but his father and most of the others in the raiding party were not so lucky. As Ceolfric predicted, the Lord of Slaughter had finally tired of his pawn - Ravangar was aged and his glories were behind him; his infernal patron had little reason to preserve him now that his reach had exceeded his grasp. Of the nine bandits present, four were killed in the immediate attack, and two more were cut down by the animated weapons of the fallen that hounded them as they routed back into the woods. It was a small comfort that the geomancer had not deigned to follow.

It was the first time Ceolfric had encountered a mere human so far beyond him. His father was dead and he was no longer a servant at last, yet his birthright was soured by the cold truth of his position. He knew from a young age, what his father conquered, he would rule, but a king who sees another as his better rules nothing. The princeling knew he could not rely on the fickle favor of his dark gods to grant him lasting sovereignty, nor would the rule of might and fear to which he was accustomed uplift him from the status of a petty raider. If other Aetherborn of that mage's caliber existed in the world, he would never maintain a monopoly on violence against any population that could muster even a small force of them.

Yet sheer violence was not the only way to maintain sovereignty. Ravangar was right about one thing, war would come again. The giants would be cast down and in their place, the peaks of Dranir would be without a liege and his for the taking. All he needed was the blessing of the petty lords of Othard once the dust had settled and the land was divvied up among the victors. Knowing full well that he'd likely be killed were he to stand before any noble of considerable status and lacking the political acumen to take advantage of such an opportunity even if he wasn't, Ceolfric turned to the one method of gaining renown he did understand; glory in combat.

He'd heard of the aristocracy's new pet project in the wake of their armies' deployment beyond their lands. If he continued on his path, he and his men would only become fodder for these 'Bounty Houses' eventually. But they also presented an opportunity to distinguish himself before the greater powers of the continent. Leaving the Crimson Heralds in the hands of his father's lieutenants, no doubt hungry for prestige themselves, the Bandit Prince ventured south.

Likes:

• Willing slaves.
• Fights with odds tipped heavily in his favor.
• Material luxury.
• Straightforwardness.

Dislikes:

• Disregard for his authority.
• Pretension.
• Written correspondence.
• Hot weather.
• Anyone he cannot control, whether by mundane or supernatural means.
• Large crowds.

Habits:

• Assumes anyone touching him from outside his field of view is hostile and will react accordingly.
• Runs his tongue along a broken tooth in the corner of his mouth when lost in thought.
• Snaps his fingers often when activating or manipulating spells.

Inventory:

• Goredrinker - His father's sword, consecrated in Umbraxakar's name and anointed in the warm blood of the innocent.
• Wooden targe shield, notably lacking in discernable heraldry.
• Hunting bow and quiver.
• High-collared gambeson.
• Utility knife.
• A stolen monocle on a tarnished silver chain - Someone told him it helped people read, but he didn't quite understand and thinks it somehow bestows literacy. He's still determined to discern its secrets.

Appearance:


Name:


Age:


Gender:


Classification (Aetherborn Only):


Abnormality:


Personality:


Bio:


Likes:

• Interesting people
• Uninteresting people (a challenge!)
• Good tippers
• Mysteries
• Long travels

Dislikes:

• When the sun is too bright
• Captive audiences (no challenge!)
• Any fish
• Out-of-tune instruments
• Knights

Habits:


Inventory:

• Lilann’s attire (big hat, painted mask, longcoat)
• Lyre (cheap, but well cared-after)
• Satchel (contains a variety of small, handmade props, wooden bricks, and a whittling knife)
• Journal (filled with pages written in incomprehensible shorthand)
• Longsword (simple, but seems a bit too wieldy for someone her size)
• Money: 2 Silver, 4 Copper

_{Height: 5'5" | Weight: 140lbs | Eye Color: Dark Brown | Hair Color: Black Shadowy Tendrils}

Appearance: Ermes isn't the tallest kid, standing at a mere five foot five, with a thin wiry frame that came from years of lean meat and rice. Only now those foods have been supplemented by the scraps he was able to find on the streets of Wilree. His skin is pale and cold much like the full moon on a clear night sky, serving only to further accentuate his dark features that litter his body such as eyes that seem to replicate an eternal abyss. Looking into them one could swear that they stretch on forever, filling one with a sense of dread as if staring into a polished sphere of obsidian. Though his eyes are sometimes hidden by the of umbral tendrils that cover halfway down his face. His abnormality clear and apparent in an apathetic display of shifting black Aether that is in a permanently disheveled state.

As if his features weren't enough to dissuade people from talking to him, small scars etched his skin as reminders of his past. Passer-bys might think he was one to pick fights and win, though that couldn't be farther from the case. Only two scars were visible on his face, one placed on his right cheekbone, a crooked mountain blemishing his porcelain skin. The other was hidden slightly underneath the left jawbone. The rest of the marks he kept hidden by clothes, a dark brown leather jacket with a fur lined collar who's sleeves only came down three quarters of the way, and a slim black shirt with an embroidered skull in the center. He rarely was seen with either of them off, trying hard to hide the scars while adding a bit of bulk to his frame.

Name: Ermes De Luca

Age: 16

Gender: Male

Classification: Genesian: Creation

Abnormality: Hair is a dark Shadowy mass of Tendrils

Personality: Solitary to a fault, Ermes prefers the company of the dead more over than those of the living. He doesn't mind being in the presence of them, nor idly chatting by if need be or working together. More so he feels that those around him are constantly judging him by what they see and not by who he is. He was always a quiet kid growing up. Trying to stick to himself and family having been the first Aetherborn in generations to be born within his village. Some viewed him and his appearance as ill tidings, others as their savior. As if having an Aetherborn within their ranks would stave back the Sahagin menace that plagued them. He hated both views, one placed too much weight on his shoulders while the other made him feel unwanted.

Since the passing of his parents he'd only further created that divide. Visiting their graves whenever the chance allowed it and telling them about his progress in life, telling them that he is OK. Ermes has the bad habit of using his powers to create spectral visions of his parents when he's talking to them. Holding the conversation for as long as he can feel his power coursing through the illusions until they fade into a mist before his eyes. He's certain a few of his co-workers have seen him do it, noticing the wide berth they began to give him afterwards. Besides that, Ermes has a habit of picking up and keeping animal bones he fines. Fashioning them into jewelry or other odd things as a way to pass the time. If he finds a full skeleton, he has the tendency to linger and study it. Trying to replicate the design with his magic in order to get more accurate creations.

Bio:
Ermes came from a small coastal village by the name of Lucania. There he learned how to fish using a variety of methods, as well as how to make nets for casting, and how to properly prepare fish. He had a normal upbringing, save for the yearly raids his village was plagued with. Every year around the same time the Sahagin came to gather bodies. They would slaughter those they could and drag them back towards the depths of the sea. Foreign aid would arrive in time to help drive them back, asking the citizens who couldn't fight to take shelter and hide. Through the cracks Ermes would watch as he saw the soldiers in glistening armor drive back the oceanic forces, growing to idolize them to some extent. However he wasn't always so lucky. There were a few occasions in which he'd be spotted, the long claws of the Sahagins slicing his arms or face as they attempted to grab him just before being saved by the good Lady M or her associates who would later tend to his wounds. Ermes had grown accustomed to this way of life, having lost friends or other members of his village as the years went by.

When he was fourteen he had set out on the dock in the early morning mist, casting his line out into the sea, while the rest of his village was sound asleep. Ermes was at peace in the cold quiet morning, feeling his line dip down as he caught a large bite. He began pulling on the line, trying to get his catch when a large fin finally broke the surface. Large beady eyes broke the water soon after as a small army of Sahagin began to follow in tow. Ermes dropped his rod and scrambled back towards his village, screaming for help as he tried to warn them all of the impending attack. The Sahagin had come sooner than expected, trying a stealth attack at the early hours when everyone else should be asleep. There was no foreign aid this time, the village had to fend for itself, as Ermes bolted home in an attempt to grab his sword.

Ermes had been training how to fight, wanting to no longer be helpless in the eyes of their captures. Now that the time had come, his hand trembled as he grabbed onto his sword. He came out to a full on battle, many were already being dragged towards their watery graves, others fighting valiantly to save their small village. He started running towards the fray when two bodies dropped near him, knocking him down underneath their corpses as a small window formed just big enough for him to see out of. Their dead weight was more than he could push off, suffocating slowly under the pressure as he heard a familiar voice scream. His father had fallen protecting his mother, watching his body get dragged as his mother's throat was slashed. Ermes began to shake in fear, he had to get out, had to leave. He began to push against the bodies, afraid of being found beneath the pile. As he pressed upwards he managed to get one hand free before they fell down upon him again. He took a shaky breath, closed his eyes, and held his arm out curling his fingers towards the sky as he began to construct a large ribcage that pushed off the corpses. Ermes began to crawl out from under the ribs, allowing him to break free as he bolted away from the village, sword in hand.

From there Ermes traveled towards the nearest city. Half a day's journey in, he set up a small unmarked grave for his parents, offering a prayer for them and telling them how sorry he was that he couldn't help. He prayed to Irigan, begging that their souls move on to the celestial realm. He spent that night sleeping by his parents grave, gathering the strength to make the two day journey to Wilree. When he arrived in the lower district of the city, he was immediately swept away by its size. He'd been once before, but the memory was faded and hard to recall. He had no real direction, had hardly eaten in three days, and was riddled with exhaustion. Perhaps that was why he was approached, why he seemed like such an easy mark. A kind stranger had asked him where his parents were, what his story was, and upon finding out he was an orphan with no home, he was offered a place to stay and food to eat so long as he worked.

The years went by and Ermes was still doing the same old thing. He wasn't rising in the ranks within his service, doing simple fetch quests or placing packages in locations to be retrieved. Nothing more than a glorified messenger boy with no real purpose. He'd tried to ask for promotions but the twins never budged. He wasn't ready according to them, and Ermes was beginning to get tired of that mindset. Luckily for him his line of work branched out beyond the city, and so when he'd heard of a bounty house that offered more fulfilling work, Ermes jumped at the chance to do so. He could do his job with The Mist on the side of fulfilling bounties and gaining some more strength and training so that he'd never feel that helpless again.

Likes:

• Chocolate
• Sweet Fruits and Berries
• Deserts
• Bones
• Ghosts
• Catacombs and Graveyards

Dislikes:

• Fishing
• Water
• Sahagin
• Monstrous Fights

Habits:

• Traces his finger over his scar when trying to make a decision
• Bites his lower lip when nervous
• Impatiently taps his fingers, or fidgets with the pommel of his sword

Inventory:

• Black sword
• Dark Brown Leather jacket with fur lined collar
• Black embroidered shirt
• Deck of playing cards
• Tarot Deck
• Lock Picking kit

Name:


Age:


Gender:


Appearance:


Classification (Aetherborn Only):


Abnormality:


Personality:


Bio:


Likes:

Dislikes:

Habits:

Inventory:

Name

Appearance

Classification

Abnormality

Personality

Bio


Likes

• Working - legitimately earning his keep gives him more satisfaction than anything else in the world.
• Helping people when he can
• Full moon nights - they make him feel like Selene is watching over him.
• Fish, almost any way

Dislikes

• Fire - accidents always seem to happen whenever he’s around it.
• Deceit - or anything dishonest, shady, or generally off the straight and narrow.
• Conflict
• Temples - despite his faith in Selene, he always feels like an intruder on holy ground.
• Meat, unless dried - there’s just something uneasy about eating something with blood.

Habits

• Looking over his shoulder
• Apologizing
• Checking his belongings
• Grabbing the back of his neck
• Hiding his teeth (for example, trying not to smile too wide)
• Clutching his Selene pendant when nervous

Inventory

• 12 copper
• A weathered, waist-length cloak with a large hood, fashioned from one piece of canvas. He’s had it since he was small enough for it to fall to his knees.
• A sturdy needle and a spool of strong linen thread
• An old single-edged knife, sharpened so many times that the blade has grown narrow
• A sharpening stone
• A large water skin
• An oilcloth bundle of cheap traveling food, like dried meat or fish skins
• A heavy, palm-sized Crescent of Selene, crudely fashioned from iron and worn under his tunic on a leather cord. This is without a doubt his most treasured possession.

Other

• Kyreth prefers to cover his horns with a hat if he can find one; he fears that walking around hooded all the time makes him look suspicious. Sadly, his only hat recently got destroyed in a Mishap, so it’s back to hoods for now.
• Like most Tainted, Kyreth’s tail is very reactive to his emotions, so it can be difficult to conceal wrapped around his waist. As such, he prefers to keep his cloak on whenever possible.
• Growing up in gambling houses got Kyreth pretty good at Buscon’s most popular games of chance - and especially good at cheating. However, he renounced that practice years ago in pursuit of leading a more honest life.
• At RP start, Kyreth has a shadowy mark on the left side of his face, which is the remnant of a nearly-healed bruise from his escape from Straithmoor.