@Raineh Daze: Accepted.
[OOC] Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP Page 2
- Large Group
- Casual
- Anime/Manga
- Medieval
- Military
- GM VitaVitaAR Co-GM Raineh Daze Co-GM Rune_Alchemist
Join Status:
Apply
HereComesTheSnow dehydration expert
Member
Online
I made everything a little dumber and more melodramatic
Name: Gerard Segremors
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance:
A man hammered into the shape of violence. Gerard stands at roughly average height for a warrior, somewhere in the nebulous range between 5'10 and 5'11, and upon his well-trained frame he wears the battlefields his amber-colored eyes have seen. His skin is rather fair, but pockmarked with a network of light, faded scars, each its own lesson learned on the job. As one might expect, repeated brushes with death have similarly weathered his gaze, going alight at the prospect of battle and burning like small suns in its midst— only to fade into reservation outside of it. He's not necessarily guarded or unapproachable in his posture— but rather, seems almost content with quietly fading into the throng, as though the pressures of having a face to his name are unexpected, and unfamiliar. His hair is a coarse, happily untamed mat that falls near his eyes, and black like coal. Probably cleans up rather handsomely, in theory, but is better used as a gauge for how tense a room is— if things are brewing, he'll feel it, he'll be ready. His casual wear is all simple, dark colors, but never far from either some weapon or armoring.
Personality: Gerard is seemingly caught in the interstice between his erstwhile profession and the chivlarous future of which he'd dared not dream. At his core, he's still the reserved, idealistic farm boy that grew up on the many tales of Thaln's heroes of ages past, still believing in the ideals of knighthood— Justice, Order, Compassion, Charity, Piety. That the stark realities and cruel injustices of the world exist to be overcome by the chase of heroism. That he's doing the right thing. but mercenary life has checked those ideals with bloodshed, fury, and the many cruelties mankind has endured by its own hand.
The result is a man that seems to be at odds with himself, ever so subtly. He is wholly unfamiliar with courtly manner, brusque and bordering on impertinent with his words, but simultaneously self-effacing, earnestly humble among his peers within the Order, at times even bordering on reverence for knighthood as a concept. While he can join tavern brawls heartily and nestles in right at home in rowdy, bawdy atmospheres like those he shared with his mercenary band, on his own he seems more than a little quiet compared to the stereotypes suggested by his background, indulging in his own contemplation during solitary moments such as training in the yards in the early morning. He would give his life for his fellows— and the cause they undertake.
His conviction, however, is unquestionable. Gerard is devoted to the new life he leads, having leapt at the chance to join the knightly order and become an outright force for good. There are many cruelties in this world that he, as a man and knight, cannot abide. He's seen them all, time and time again, as his chosen trade ground each test of his faith into his body and mind.
Enough for him to, without a second thought, take up the sword once more to put them to an end, to drag evil into Reon's burning light.
One way, or the other.
Brief Backstory: Born to a small family in a small village in Thaln's northwestern fiefs that borders a large stretch of woodland, Gerard (Gellért in the village dialect) grew up like many other rural boys— hunting, fishing, and making merry within the woods whenever not set to work with his father in the fields. With such a proximity to the border with Velt, he was raised quite obviously adherent to the Church's teachings, in his case as a Reonite, and was instilled with a strong sense of justice and wonder for the tales of knightly virtue and valor championing Her Paladins. He grew into a strong, hardworking lad, more than fit for any path he chose in life— And when a mercenary corps espousing the virtues of fighting the good fight for the Goddesses and making a living through your sword, perhaps even proving yourself worthy of knighthood? He was sold.
And just like that, the sixteen year old boy walked into Hell. A country bumpkin with a strong back and a steady hand was, at the end of the day, still a country bumpkin. He fell for the pitch hook, line, and sinker. Spending years fighting pointlessly, seeing lives waste away, and people trod upon as lower than dirt, it wore heavily on Gerard. At times, his faith in justice was tested, at others, it was all that kept him pushing forward. Year after year, battle after battle, the weathering took so many things from the boy, now just behind the tip of the spear in each engagement— his illusions of war's glory. His naiveite regarding his purpose, and his future.
Hell, they even got his face. They'd been called "Franz's Faceless" by anyone who knew of them for a reason, despite officially being the much vaguer "Black Regiment".
Regardless, the band of mercenaries was by no means incompetent— their captain lead with a firm, measured hand, the quartermaster had a frank outlook on weaponry and training recruits, and in the end they did indeed follow the tenants of Reon by capturing a particularly well-defended encampment of slavers holed up in one of the ruins dotting Velt. For their efforts, the group was disbanded shortly after, the take large enough and pardons convincing enough for the leadership to call it a wrap— and folded into the Church of Reon's militant arm if they so wished. Fearing disillusionment but chasing a lifelong dream as closely as he could, young Gellért accepted, and soon after was recruited into the Order of the Iron Rose. He continues to pursue his idealized image of a knight with a desperate fervor, and it permeates his every moment.
Equipment: A fairly standard longsword of just over a meter's length from pommel to tip, a well-kept kit of half-plate as he cannot yet afford a full, custom-fitted suit. A sturdy, large knife for general survival purposes (both clearing brush and sliding through gaps in armor, should need arise). Should his favored weapon be unusable for whatever reason, he has a penchant for making due with whatever he can find. A beggar is never a chooser on the field.
Skills: While not an exemplary swordsman like the order's founder, he is schooled well for a mercenary and trains vigorously to improve his mastery, day in and day out. His style is rooted in simplicity and pragmatism, at times even leaning near brutality compared to the romanticized and beautiful swordplay of the ideal knight he wishes to evoke, a carryover of life as a soldier-for-hire. A trained, keen eye can spot many similarities to properly denoted longsword fencing technique within various Fechtbücher beneath the roughness of it— the kid's fundamentals are there, simply learned secondhand as opposed to the traditional knight's manuals, and applied with a dash of that distinct recklessness of the expendable. Vicious, pragmatic, and fully committed, thoughts fall away as the body is taken by a wartime trance. It's no pretty thing, but it's gotten him this far.
In addition, he is quite comfortable with a wide variety of other tools and weapons, such as spears or handaxes. He had to make do with what was on hand for much of his life— both as a man-at-arms and as a simple boy from the woodlands. He is a natural at speaking to common folk on their level, and holds a host of skills found in a boy whose childhood was spent within Thaln's countryside. Has a mild moderate problem, however, with prioritizing his own safety— it's an act that he is still learning to no longer refrain from.
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance:
A man hammered into the shape of violence. Gerard stands at roughly average height for a warrior, somewhere in the nebulous range between 5'10 and 5'11, and upon his well-trained frame he wears the battlefields his amber-colored eyes have seen. His skin is rather fair, but pockmarked with a network of light, faded scars, each its own lesson learned on the job. As one might expect, repeated brushes with death have similarly weathered his gaze, going alight at the prospect of battle and burning like small suns in its midst— only to fade into reservation outside of it. He's not necessarily guarded or unapproachable in his posture— but rather, seems almost content with quietly fading into the throng, as though the pressures of having a face to his name are unexpected, and unfamiliar. His hair is a coarse, happily untamed mat that falls near his eyes, and black like coal. Probably cleans up rather handsomely, in theory, but is better used as a gauge for how tense a room is— if things are brewing, he'll feel it, he'll be ready. His casual wear is all simple, dark colors, but never far from either some weapon or armoring.
Personality: Gerard is seemingly caught in the interstice between his erstwhile profession and the chivlarous future of which he'd dared not dream. At his core, he's still the reserved, idealistic farm boy that grew up on the many tales of Thaln's heroes of ages past, still believing in the ideals of knighthood— Justice, Order, Compassion, Charity, Piety. That the stark realities and cruel injustices of the world exist to be overcome by the chase of heroism. That he's doing the right thing. but mercenary life has checked those ideals with bloodshed, fury, and the many cruelties mankind has endured by its own hand.
The result is a man that seems to be at odds with himself, ever so subtly. He is wholly unfamiliar with courtly manner, brusque and bordering on impertinent with his words, but simultaneously self-effacing, earnestly humble among his peers within the Order, at times even bordering on reverence for knighthood as a concept. While he can join tavern brawls heartily and nestles in right at home in rowdy, bawdy atmospheres like those he shared with his mercenary band, on his own he seems more than a little quiet compared to the stereotypes suggested by his background, indulging in his own contemplation during solitary moments such as training in the yards in the early morning. He would give his life for his fellows— and the cause they undertake.
His conviction, however, is unquestionable. Gerard is devoted to the new life he leads, having leapt at the chance to join the knightly order and become an outright force for good. There are many cruelties in this world that he, as a man and knight, cannot abide. He's seen them all, time and time again, as his chosen trade ground each test of his faith into his body and mind.
Enough for him to, without a second thought, take up the sword once more to put them to an end, to drag evil into Reon's burning light.
One way, or the other.
Brief Backstory: Born to a small family in a small village in Thaln's northwestern fiefs that borders a large stretch of woodland, Gerard (Gellért in the village dialect) grew up like many other rural boys— hunting, fishing, and making merry within the woods whenever not set to work with his father in the fields. With such a proximity to the border with Velt, he was raised quite obviously adherent to the Church's teachings, in his case as a Reonite, and was instilled with a strong sense of justice and wonder for the tales of knightly virtue and valor championing Her Paladins. He grew into a strong, hardworking lad, more than fit for any path he chose in life— And when a mercenary corps espousing the virtues of fighting the good fight for the Goddesses and making a living through your sword, perhaps even proving yourself worthy of knighthood? He was sold.
And just like that, the sixteen year old boy walked into Hell. A country bumpkin with a strong back and a steady hand was, at the end of the day, still a country bumpkin. He fell for the pitch hook, line, and sinker. Spending years fighting pointlessly, seeing lives waste away, and people trod upon as lower than dirt, it wore heavily on Gerard. At times, his faith in justice was tested, at others, it was all that kept him pushing forward. Year after year, battle after battle, the weathering took so many things from the boy, now just behind the tip of the spear in each engagement— his illusions of war's glory. His naiveite regarding his purpose, and his future.
Hell, they even got his face. They'd been called "Franz's Faceless" by anyone who knew of them for a reason, despite officially being the much vaguer "Black Regiment".
Regardless, the band of mercenaries was by no means incompetent— their captain lead with a firm, measured hand, the quartermaster had a frank outlook on weaponry and training recruits, and in the end they did indeed follow the tenants of Reon by capturing a particularly well-defended encampment of slavers holed up in one of the ruins dotting Velt. For their efforts, the group was disbanded shortly after, the take large enough and pardons convincing enough for the leadership to call it a wrap— and folded into the Church of Reon's militant arm if they so wished. Fearing disillusionment but chasing a lifelong dream as closely as he could, young Gellért accepted, and soon after was recruited into the Order of the Iron Rose. He continues to pursue his idealized image of a knight with a desperate fervor, and it permeates his every moment.
Equipment: A fairly standard longsword of just over a meter's length from pommel to tip, a well-kept kit of half-plate as he cannot yet afford a full, custom-fitted suit. A sturdy, large knife for general survival purposes (both clearing brush and sliding through gaps in armor, should need arise). Should his favored weapon be unusable for whatever reason, he has a penchant for making due with whatever he can find. A beggar is never a chooser on the field.
Skills: While not an exemplary swordsman like the order's founder, he is schooled well for a mercenary and trains vigorously to improve his mastery, day in and day out. His style is rooted in simplicity and pragmatism, at times even leaning near brutality compared to the romanticized and beautiful swordplay of the ideal knight he wishes to evoke, a carryover of life as a soldier-for-hire. A trained, keen eye can spot many similarities to properly denoted longsword fencing technique within various Fechtbücher beneath the roughness of it— the kid's fundamentals are there, simply learned secondhand as opposed to the traditional knight's manuals, and applied with a dash of that distinct recklessness of the expendable. Vicious, pragmatic, and fully committed, thoughts fall away as the body is taken by a wartime trance. It's no pretty thing, but it's gotten him this far.
In addition, he is quite comfortable with a wide variety of other tools and weapons, such as spears or handaxes. He had to make do with what was on hand for much of his life— both as a man-at-arms and as a simple boy from the woodlands. He is a natural at speaking to common folk on their level, and holds a host of skills found in a boy whose childhood was spent within Thaln's countryside. Has a mild moderate problem, however, with prioritizing his own safety— it's an act that he is still learning to no longer refrain from.
- Name: Lucas Storm
- Age: 17 years old
- Gender: Male
- Race: Human
- Appearance: Standing 5' 11" and a sleek 155 lbs, Lucas carries himself with the graceful posture of both an athlete and an artist. His smile is polite and unassuming, his eyes are bright and steel-coloured, and his hair is as white as snow.
- Personality: Although a little withdrawn in light of the relatively recent death of his parents, Lucas is slowly but surely returning to his old self: A warm and friendly young man who will always seek to raise his friends spirits, whether it's with an unfunny joke or an arm around the shoulder and an open ear. He also has an odd quirk of being fearless. Not courageous, no - courage requires the presence of fear - but complete fearlessness. Danger simply does not move him. He has somewhat of a darker side that went undiscovered until he started weapons training... he does like to 'talk a little trash,' seeking to press the emotional buttons of his opponent and get them off their game. It is a little jarring to witness, for anyone that knows him, to see him in this arrogant and malicious state. Aside from that, he likes card games, climbing trees and reading books about heroic deeds, adventure and rescuing princesses.
- Brief Backstory: Lucas Storm was born to Penny and Harold aka 'The Storms' - a double act in a travelling circus troupe that lived on the roads of Thain. They were not quite the main event, but between Penny's acrobatics and Harold's knife-throwing expertise, the two had their act down to a tee and made a good living at the top of the card. Lucas however, had shot into stardom as a gifted trapeze artist and worked with his parents friends often as the main event. Every night he risked his life to entertain the audience, and strangely the dizzying heights or the danger had never even slightly bothered the boy, not even the first time.
Life was good. Simple, yes, but contented and full of love. Living on the road meant one was always an outsider and so the troupe had a trust and loyalty between them that went beyond community. More like family. They looked out for each other, lied for each other (certainly when thieves and pickpockets in the troupe began to make their extra money off the current town,) and they would no-doubt die for each other... something many of them eventually did. This circus life would indeed come to an end when they were assaulted in Velt by slaver unit. The troupe resisted as best they could, but were no match for amply-armed slavers. Many of them died, including Lucas' parents, Penny and Harold. Lucas was taken prisoner and caged, ready for sale.
No more than three days after Lucas was thrown into a cage, the slaver encampment was set upon by a mercenary band who captured the place after a bloody battle. Lucas was awestruck as a hero straight out of one of his books, fought evil men valiantly and freed him from the cage. That man, he would find out, was Gerard Segremors. From that day forward, Lucas Storm wanted to be a hero, like in his books. A hero like Gerard Segremors. His first act a free person again, was to go to the quartermaster of the mercenary band and request to be recruited. Perhaps the quartermaster took note of the young lad's strong body and graceful gait. Perhaps it was the look of determination and fearlessness in his eyes. For whatever reason, Lucas' request was accepted and he began training under the quartermaster.
This life as a mercenary did not last long however, as no more than some weeks - maybe months - later, the mercenary band was dissolved and folded into the military arm of the Church. Lucas didn't care, he simply waited to see what Gerard would do, and when his idol joined the Blades of Iron Roses, Lucas followed him into the order.
Now, Lucas finds himself training under a real regiment, in an order of knights where he might truly become a hero from his books - a hero like Gerard Segremors. And he works hard to make it happen. - Equipment: A set of battered plate mail. A longsword. All standard basic Order issue. He likes to carry several daggers on his person, preferably balanced for throwing or using in a tight situation.
- Skills: Free-climbing. Juggling. Dizzying acrobatics. Knife throwing. Hold Em Poker. Pickpocketing. Cheering friends up. Sneaking.
HiippoAF Destroyer of the Overworld
Member
Seen
9 mos ago
I'm quite interested if you're still accepting. I'm at work right now and cqan have a charcater made up later tonight :)
I'm doing a thing I said I'd do when the prior incarnation of this RP was pointed out to me years ago and making a no thoughts, head empty sword boy to join @HereComesTheSnow. Gotta introduce a bit of Fiore to counteract all this Liechtenauer.
Name: Fionn MacKerracher
Age: Mid Twenties
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance: Standing slightly shorter than average at 5'9", shrouded within one of the heavy cloaks he often wears Fionn can almost manage to slip beneath observation—were it not for the distinctively good shape he keeps himself in, the result of years of hard work when younger and yet more of battle as he passed into full adulthood, encouraged by an appreciation for keeping himself fighting fit. Below the cloak, more scars become evident, though the exact provenance of each—work, misadventure, or true battle—can't always be ascertained. Beneath the scratches is clear evidence of his line of work; while he remains relatively lithe, the definition of his forearms and back, his thick core, and equally prominent leg muscles all point towards one who has put in a great deal of practice in swordplay and other fighting pursuits, as could be expected of any knight.
His piercing yellow-green eyes set within an angular, slightly-scarred face reveal a clear youthfulness that the rest of his features belie, though before his induction to the Order of the Iron Rose he managed quite well at using his deceptive features to his benefit. His facial hair itself is a clear distinction, kept hard-lined as an affectation. His hair is styled in a glib cut, short on the back and sides and longer on top, though since his raise to knighthood he has taken to keeping it styled up and out of his eyes, rather than allowing the bangs to hang low over his face as he did before. Why, exactly, he has made that change is unknown, although most likely it has something to do with whatever he considers to be "looking properly presentable, for a knight."
His casual wear is a fairly simple tunic and trowsers, belted around the waist with sword and dagger, and with soft leather shoes and some form of patterned cloak to throw over top should inclement weather come into play. He wears something fairly similar in battle, simply adding a helmet, some armour plates for his extremeties, and a coat of maille beneath the cloak.
Personality: In contrast to his size, Fionn certainly possesses what could be called a "larger than life" sort of personality. This isn't to say that he is always loud, outgoing, or the like, but that he is a man of extremes. If he is angry, it is more likely to present as a tide of wrath he is struggling to hold back and control for fear of indirectly causing harm to his comrades. If he is happy, then he is a fount of joy, wishing to spread and share it with everybody who crosses his path. Before joining the Iron Rose Knights he was known not just for these extremes but for having a very mercurial sort of temper, though it seems, for the time being, that he has managed to exert some level of self-control in that respect—or at least in how he shows it.
Those extremes of his temperament extend as well to his service and his comrades. He is deeply devoted to the Moon Goddess Mayon, as well as his mission under Her guidance, something that might seem truly remarkable given that he is a fairly recent convert to Her service. As well, he is very caring towards those he is called to serve and protect, as well as to his comrades in general, nearly always willing to lend a hand to their aid or ensure they are well taken care of if they haven't the means themselves (assuming, of course, he hasn't lost his wallet himself, either as a spendthrift fond of fine food and drink or unwisely donating everythign in his pocket at a moment's notice to someone more in need than himself). However, this may come at odds to the true needs of some around him, depending on whether or not he ever notices; while he is aware that battle can wear on any person's mind and mood, he rarely remembers to take such a thing into account, as he has a possibly-unhealthy fondness for tests of arms and, as it might be put, the fulfilling of his duties.
Battle, of course, being the only field in which his wide-ranging personality narrows down into a singular, careful focus, dedicated to nothing but success.
Brief Backstory: Hailing from the base of the mountains in Velt, Fion MacKerracher was raised on a plot of farmland that had originally been bought by his great-grandfather, who once served as a mercenary in the past and made quite a large purse doing so. While the elder Fearchar and the first generations of his descendants were content to leave war behind, Fionn was always a bit too hot-blooded for his family to easily handle, and stories of his great-grandfather's escapades lodged firmly in his mind from when he was a boy.
So it was, that on the barest cusp of young adulthood, a fifteen year old Fionn gathered up some few possessions and set away from his home, joining first with a group of traders that traveled by boat up and down the Nirinel. This set the stage for some few years of hard work, and more than a few misadventures; it was with them that Fionn was embroiled in his first fight, primarily as some show of boatman bravado, though that set his path from that point on. It was fitting, then, that as he saved up his money to purchase his first sword, one similar to that that still hangs over his family's fireplace, his first hire as a young mercenary was to continue guarding this group of traders as they travelled, and especially as they began to expand to some more land-based trade.
Unfortunately for them—and likely himself and everybody else—Fionn's heart was set on more adventure, to climb to bigger and better things. He terminated his employment with the traders, heading southeast to seek out work on a true battlefield. Signing with a smaller mercenary company beyond the borders, he made some name for himself fighting on the outskirts of the Red Flag War, although he never found his way to the heart of the conflict like his thirst for contest and battle constantly set his mind towards. It was during this time that he finally took steps to become a full member of the Church of Mayon, as before his family (and himself included) had only paid lip service to the Godesses at best. Spurred on by some sort of experience he had on one battlefield, he devoted himself to Mayon, zealously working to safeguard his comrades and trying to earn himself the right to wield a greatsword on the field, to act as a personal guard to those who ensured the careful planning that saw the others in the company protected in turn.
While he never did manage that before the war's end, in its aftermath, his fervor in both battle and worship was noticed, and he was given the offer to join the Order of the Iron Rose. With the possibility to both serve his chosen goddess and earn honour for himself, he rapidly accepted, swearing his vows and being inducted was one of the most junior knights of the order.
Equipment: Fionn's primary weapon is a curiously-designed longsword, 1.2 meters in length from pommel to tip, with a prominent, deceptively-weighty ring pommel and a spatulated guard. He also carries a 30 centimeter rondel dagger, and a smaller utility knife for various needs. His armour is of an atypical design, as other than certain plates over his extremities, he primarily wears maille with padding underneath, and a distinctive, open-faced burgonet, lacking in crest but with a very prominent fixed peak in the front.
Skills: Fionn is dedicated to the arts of swordplay and battle, practicing or exercising at nearly any moment available. Though he is not a master by any means—he is, after all, still a young man, and only recently raised to the knighthood at that—he has demonstrated himself to be quite adept, with a style that is well focused on economy of movement and certain deceptive or outright tricky maneuvers to get around an opponent's blade or cause them to drop their guard entirely; similar, though recognizably different, to styles that are more common in Thaln, as Fionn's is notably less outright offensive compared to what might normally be found practiced among some of the Iron Rose Knights.
Things aren't all as brief as may have been intended, and I'm happy to edit things as needed to make this work for the RP.
Name: Fionn MacKerracher
Age: Mid Twenties
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance: Standing slightly shorter than average at 5'9", shrouded within one of the heavy cloaks he often wears Fionn can almost manage to slip beneath observation—were it not for the distinctively good shape he keeps himself in, the result of years of hard work when younger and yet more of battle as he passed into full adulthood, encouraged by an appreciation for keeping himself fighting fit. Below the cloak, more scars become evident, though the exact provenance of each—work, misadventure, or true battle—can't always be ascertained. Beneath the scratches is clear evidence of his line of work; while he remains relatively lithe, the definition of his forearms and back, his thick core, and equally prominent leg muscles all point towards one who has put in a great deal of practice in swordplay and other fighting pursuits, as could be expected of any knight.
His piercing yellow-green eyes set within an angular, slightly-scarred face reveal a clear youthfulness that the rest of his features belie, though before his induction to the Order of the Iron Rose he managed quite well at using his deceptive features to his benefit. His facial hair itself is a clear distinction, kept hard-lined as an affectation. His hair is styled in a glib cut, short on the back and sides and longer on top, though since his raise to knighthood he has taken to keeping it styled up and out of his eyes, rather than allowing the bangs to hang low over his face as he did before. Why, exactly, he has made that change is unknown, although most likely it has something to do with whatever he considers to be "looking properly presentable, for a knight."
His casual wear is a fairly simple tunic and trowsers, belted around the waist with sword and dagger, and with soft leather shoes and some form of patterned cloak to throw over top should inclement weather come into play. He wears something fairly similar in battle, simply adding a helmet, some armour plates for his extremeties, and a coat of maille beneath the cloak.
Personality: In contrast to his size, Fionn certainly possesses what could be called a "larger than life" sort of personality. This isn't to say that he is always loud, outgoing, or the like, but that he is a man of extremes. If he is angry, it is more likely to present as a tide of wrath he is struggling to hold back and control for fear of indirectly causing harm to his comrades. If he is happy, then he is a fount of joy, wishing to spread and share it with everybody who crosses his path. Before joining the Iron Rose Knights he was known not just for these extremes but for having a very mercurial sort of temper, though it seems, for the time being, that he has managed to exert some level of self-control in that respect—or at least in how he shows it.
Those extremes of his temperament extend as well to his service and his comrades. He is deeply devoted to the Moon Goddess Mayon, as well as his mission under Her guidance, something that might seem truly remarkable given that he is a fairly recent convert to Her service. As well, he is very caring towards those he is called to serve and protect, as well as to his comrades in general, nearly always willing to lend a hand to their aid or ensure they are well taken care of if they haven't the means themselves (assuming, of course, he hasn't lost his wallet himself, either as a spendthrift fond of fine food and drink or unwisely donating everythign in his pocket at a moment's notice to someone more in need than himself). However, this may come at odds to the true needs of some around him, depending on whether or not he ever notices; while he is aware that battle can wear on any person's mind and mood, he rarely remembers to take such a thing into account, as he has a possibly-unhealthy fondness for tests of arms and, as it might be put, the fulfilling of his duties.
Battle, of course, being the only field in which his wide-ranging personality narrows down into a singular, careful focus, dedicated to nothing but success.
Brief Backstory: Hailing from the base of the mountains in Velt, Fion MacKerracher was raised on a plot of farmland that had originally been bought by his great-grandfather, who once served as a mercenary in the past and made quite a large purse doing so. While the elder Fearchar and the first generations of his descendants were content to leave war behind, Fionn was always a bit too hot-blooded for his family to easily handle, and stories of his great-grandfather's escapades lodged firmly in his mind from when he was a boy.
So it was, that on the barest cusp of young adulthood, a fifteen year old Fionn gathered up some few possessions and set away from his home, joining first with a group of traders that traveled by boat up and down the Nirinel. This set the stage for some few years of hard work, and more than a few misadventures; it was with them that Fionn was embroiled in his first fight, primarily as some show of boatman bravado, though that set his path from that point on. It was fitting, then, that as he saved up his money to purchase his first sword, one similar to that that still hangs over his family's fireplace, his first hire as a young mercenary was to continue guarding this group of traders as they travelled, and especially as they began to expand to some more land-based trade.
Unfortunately for them—and likely himself and everybody else—Fionn's heart was set on more adventure, to climb to bigger and better things. He terminated his employment with the traders, heading southeast to seek out work on a true battlefield. Signing with a smaller mercenary company beyond the borders, he made some name for himself fighting on the outskirts of the Red Flag War, although he never found his way to the heart of the conflict like his thirst for contest and battle constantly set his mind towards. It was during this time that he finally took steps to become a full member of the Church of Mayon, as before his family (and himself included) had only paid lip service to the Godesses at best. Spurred on by some sort of experience he had on one battlefield, he devoted himself to Mayon, zealously working to safeguard his comrades and trying to earn himself the right to wield a greatsword on the field, to act as a personal guard to those who ensured the careful planning that saw the others in the company protected in turn.
While he never did manage that before the war's end, in its aftermath, his fervor in both battle and worship was noticed, and he was given the offer to join the Order of the Iron Rose. With the possibility to both serve his chosen goddess and earn honour for himself, he rapidly accepted, swearing his vows and being inducted was one of the most junior knights of the order.
Equipment: Fionn's primary weapon is a curiously-designed longsword, 1.2 meters in length from pommel to tip, with a prominent, deceptively-weighty ring pommel and a spatulated guard. He also carries a 30 centimeter rondel dagger, and a smaller utility knife for various needs. His armour is of an atypical design, as other than certain plates over his extremities, he primarily wears maille with padding underneath, and a distinctive, open-faced burgonet, lacking in crest but with a very prominent fixed peak in the front.
Skills: Fionn is dedicated to the arts of swordplay and battle, practicing or exercising at nearly any moment available. Though he is not a master by any means—he is, after all, still a young man, and only recently raised to the knighthood at that—he has demonstrated himself to be quite adept, with a style that is well focused on economy of movement and certain deceptive or outright tricky maneuvers to get around an opponent's blade or cause them to drop their guard entirely; similar, though recognizably different, to styles that are more common in Thaln, as Fionn's is notably less outright offensive compared to what might normally be found practiced among some of the Iron Rose Knights.
Things aren't all as brief as may have been intended, and I'm happy to edit things as needed to make this work for the RP.
Crimson Paladin "Progressive" Techpriest
Member
Seen
5 days ago
Here's my re-revised CS
Name: Fleuri Jodeau
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance:
Unmasked. Fully Armored. Fleuri stands 5'10'' without his armor.
Personality:
The Jodeau family is known for its devotion to Reon, and originally, Fleuri was no exception. Tutored by priestesses and paladins, he was brought up to be honorable, selfless, and devoted. During the last few years, however, he cast many of these values off, becoming proud, materialistic and glory-seeking, desiring above all else to obtain the fame and wealth that his family no longer possessed and to capture the glory that he missed by not being involved in the War of the Red Flag. After being humbled by his near-death experience, he has returned to his old ways as a faithful worshiper of the sun goddess, along with a few pangs of guilt of having fallen so far. He does, however, miss the friends he made in his tournament days, and even if he has parted ways with them and no longer shares their values, he hopes that they'll come to understand his decisions to rededicate himself to Reon and to join the Iron Roses.
Those who have met him can attest that Fleuri is a man of action. He is hot-blooded and quick to act or speak, but not necessarily foolish or impulsive- his experience fighting in tournaments taught him the importance of quick thinking and decisive action when windows of opportunity appear. When he speaks, he never makes claims he cannot back up and never makes promises that he does not believe he can keep.
As an Iron Rose Knight, Fleuri is fiercely loyal to the order, to its customs, and to its captain. Serving in the order is an honored tradition for his family, and he pays no attention to the criticism of the order or its traditions. As far as he's concerned, Fanilly was chosen the goddess just as Elionne was, and one need only look at the deeds and valor of the previous captain- a woman who be enshrined in history as one of Thaln's greatest heroines- as proof that the soundness of their means of selecting a captain.
Brief Backstory:
The Jodeau family is a once powerful, now minor noble family in northern Thaln. Over a century ago, its head at the time, Armand Jodeau, dedicated himself and his house wholly to Reon. As proof of his devotion, he gave most of his family's then-considerable land to the peasants that worked them as a gesture of piety and lack of materialism. Armand would go on to serve a Paladin of Reon and later an Iron Rose Knight before embarking on a quest which he never returned from. Ever since then, the Jodeau family has remained close to the Church of Reon, both to honor Armand and because in their considerably diminished state, they have become reliant on the charity of the church.
Fleuri was the second child of the Jodeau family and was thus raised to become a knight. His family had little in terms of wealth or holdings, but the church provided that which his family could not. Consequently, Fleuri received an education from Reonite priestesses and was trained in knightly combat by Reonite paladins. While the rebellion raged, Fleuri served as the squire and later accompanying knight of a paladin of Reon, battling necromancers that sought to capitalize on the bloodshed and death. As noble as it was, and as important of a duty as it was, he was frustrated by the unsung nature of their behind-the-scenes quest while others were gaining fame and prestige on the battlefield. Their quest would last until shortly after the end of the war, with their final defeat of the necromancer coven taking place just a few days before the final battle. Fleuri was, at the time, greatly distressed at not having been able to participate in such a historical moment for Thaln, all because he was undertaking a quest that few people would ever hear about. After the war ended, he parted ways from his mentor, seeking opportunities for a knight to make a name for himself.
During his travels, he began entering the tournaments in the lands he passed through, where, with many of Thaln's knights dead or disgraced as a result of the war, there was a shortage of contenders. Utilizing the training he had received from the Reonite paladins, Fleuri proved himself a capable tournament fighter, and as time went on, the "Flower of the North" had much success in the competitions. With the winnings, he was able to replace his hand-me-down armor and weapons, and considered buying back some of his family's ancestral lands. He pushed out the virtues and lessons of piety and humility that he had once been taught, and reveled in the attention and prestige of the competitions. He stopped aiding those in need, and became focused solely on gaining fame and money.
While traveling to a major tournament, he fell deathly ill from a fever and sought aid from the Church. As he laid there, tended to by the priestesses, all he could think about was how he had fallen from his path, more concerned with gold and glory than helping others, and now faced the prospect of dying before he could make amends and correct his mistakes. When he recovered, he attributed it to the will of the goddesses. He renewed his vows and vigil at the church, rededicating himself to fighting evil and aiding the innocent, and wrote a letter to his former mentor apologizing for his actions and promising to make things right. Fleuri may not have died, but he was reborn.
During the next tournament, he fought harder than he ever had before, and when the dust settled, he was the last man standing in the infantry melee. Hailed as a champion, and standing on the precipice of fame and glory, he proved himself a changed man when he donated the prize to the church and soon afterward petitioned to join the Iron Rose Knights, following in his ancestor's footsteps. Since ending his tournament career, Fleuri has served the order faithfully.
Equipment:
Fleuri's suit of armor is a dark silver plate harness, purchased with tournament winnings to replace his old hand-me-down armor, and accompanied with a white cape. His primary weapon is a two-handed sword, his preference for which he picked up as a squire, having come to appreciate its effectiveness at dismembering undead that'd otherwise shrug off stab wounds and shallow cuts. His other possessions include a dagger as a backup weapon and a gray warhorse for transportation and mounted combat. When riding into battle, he often additionally carries a cavalry lance and attires his horse with a white caparison, both bearing his family's livery.
Skills:
Fleuri has been trained in the use of a variety of knightly weapons, but he is most experienced and proficient in the wielding of greatswords. He employs an aggressive and surprisingly fast-paced fighting style not atypical for devotees of Reon, moving and attacking far more swiftly than his armor and heavy weapon would suggest. He is additionally skilled in horsemanship and in the use of a lance, owed to frequent travel and the many jousts he has participated in. While he lacks the fire magic of the Reonite clergy that mentored him, he will sometimes carry vials of Reonite holy water if he expects to face undead.
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance:
Unmasked. Fully Armored. Fleuri stands 5'10'' without his armor.
Personality:
The Jodeau family is known for its devotion to Reon, and originally, Fleuri was no exception. Tutored by priestesses and paladins, he was brought up to be honorable, selfless, and devoted. During the last few years, however, he cast many of these values off, becoming proud, materialistic and glory-seeking, desiring above all else to obtain the fame and wealth that his family no longer possessed and to capture the glory that he missed by not being involved in the War of the Red Flag. After being humbled by his near-death experience, he has returned to his old ways as a faithful worshiper of the sun goddess, along with a few pangs of guilt of having fallen so far. He does, however, miss the friends he made in his tournament days, and even if he has parted ways with them and no longer shares their values, he hopes that they'll come to understand his decisions to rededicate himself to Reon and to join the Iron Roses.
Those who have met him can attest that Fleuri is a man of action. He is hot-blooded and quick to act or speak, but not necessarily foolish or impulsive- his experience fighting in tournaments taught him the importance of quick thinking and decisive action when windows of opportunity appear. When he speaks, he never makes claims he cannot back up and never makes promises that he does not believe he can keep.
As an Iron Rose Knight, Fleuri is fiercely loyal to the order, to its customs, and to its captain. Serving in the order is an honored tradition for his family, and he pays no attention to the criticism of the order or its traditions. As far as he's concerned, Fanilly was chosen the goddess just as Elionne was, and one need only look at the deeds and valor of the previous captain- a woman who be enshrined in history as one of Thaln's greatest heroines- as proof that the soundness of their means of selecting a captain.
Brief Backstory:
The Jodeau family is a once powerful, now minor noble family in northern Thaln. Over a century ago, its head at the time, Armand Jodeau, dedicated himself and his house wholly to Reon. As proof of his devotion, he gave most of his family's then-considerable land to the peasants that worked them as a gesture of piety and lack of materialism. Armand would go on to serve a Paladin of Reon and later an Iron Rose Knight before embarking on a quest which he never returned from. Ever since then, the Jodeau family has remained close to the Church of Reon, both to honor Armand and because in their considerably diminished state, they have become reliant on the charity of the church.
Fleuri was the second child of the Jodeau family and was thus raised to become a knight. His family had little in terms of wealth or holdings, but the church provided that which his family could not. Consequently, Fleuri received an education from Reonite priestesses and was trained in knightly combat by Reonite paladins. While the rebellion raged, Fleuri served as the squire and later accompanying knight of a paladin of Reon, battling necromancers that sought to capitalize on the bloodshed and death. As noble as it was, and as important of a duty as it was, he was frustrated by the unsung nature of their behind-the-scenes quest while others were gaining fame and prestige on the battlefield. Their quest would last until shortly after the end of the war, with their final defeat of the necromancer coven taking place just a few days before the final battle. Fleuri was, at the time, greatly distressed at not having been able to participate in such a historical moment for Thaln, all because he was undertaking a quest that few people would ever hear about. After the war ended, he parted ways from his mentor, seeking opportunities for a knight to make a name for himself.
During his travels, he began entering the tournaments in the lands he passed through, where, with many of Thaln's knights dead or disgraced as a result of the war, there was a shortage of contenders. Utilizing the training he had received from the Reonite paladins, Fleuri proved himself a capable tournament fighter, and as time went on, the "Flower of the North" had much success in the competitions. With the winnings, he was able to replace his hand-me-down armor and weapons, and considered buying back some of his family's ancestral lands. He pushed out the virtues and lessons of piety and humility that he had once been taught, and reveled in the attention and prestige of the competitions. He stopped aiding those in need, and became focused solely on gaining fame and money.
While traveling to a major tournament, he fell deathly ill from a fever and sought aid from the Church. As he laid there, tended to by the priestesses, all he could think about was how he had fallen from his path, more concerned with gold and glory than helping others, and now faced the prospect of dying before he could make amends and correct his mistakes. When he recovered, he attributed it to the will of the goddesses. He renewed his vows and vigil at the church, rededicating himself to fighting evil and aiding the innocent, and wrote a letter to his former mentor apologizing for his actions and promising to make things right. Fleuri may not have died, but he was reborn.
During the next tournament, he fought harder than he ever had before, and when the dust settled, he was the last man standing in the infantry melee. Hailed as a champion, and standing on the precipice of fame and glory, he proved himself a changed man when he donated the prize to the church and soon afterward petitioned to join the Iron Rose Knights, following in his ancestor's footsteps. Since ending his tournament career, Fleuri has served the order faithfully.
Equipment:
Fleuri's suit of armor is a dark silver plate harness, purchased with tournament winnings to replace his old hand-me-down armor, and accompanied with a white cape. His primary weapon is a two-handed sword, his preference for which he picked up as a squire, having come to appreciate its effectiveness at dismembering undead that'd otherwise shrug off stab wounds and shallow cuts. His other possessions include a dagger as a backup weapon and a gray warhorse for transportation and mounted combat. When riding into battle, he often additionally carries a cavalry lance and attires his horse with a white caparison, both bearing his family's livery.
Skills:
Fleuri has been trained in the use of a variety of knightly weapons, but he is most experienced and proficient in the wielding of greatswords. He employs an aggressive and surprisingly fast-paced fighting style not atypical for devotees of Reon, moving and attacking far more swiftly than his armor and heavy weapon would suggest. He is additionally skilled in horsemanship and in the use of a lance, owed to frequent travel and the many jousts he has participated in. While he lacks the fire magic of the Reonite clergy that mentored him, he will sometimes carry vials of Reonite holy water if he expects to face undead.
GM
VitaVitaAR King of Knights
Member
Online
@HiippoAF: I should probably put a cap players here, counting everyone who has a completed bio or is already in the discord server(so don't feel left out if you're already in there), so you'll be one of the last people to get in.
@The Otter: I don't think I see any issues, accepted.
@Crimson Paladin: Accepted.
@The Otter: I don't think I see any issues, accepted.
@Crimson Paladin: Accepted.
1x Thank
Aeolian Proud Fujoshi
Member
Seen
2 days ago
@VitaVitaAR
Hi there,
I've been watching this for the past two days, and am interested in joining. I've started a character sheet, but won't be done with it until after I get home from work.
Can I still jump in?
Cheers!
Hi there,
I've been watching this for the past two days, and am interested in joining. I've started a character sheet, but won't be done with it until after I get home from work.
Can I still jump in?
Cheers!
GM
VitaVitaAR King of Knights
Member
Online
Aeolian Proud Fujoshi
Member
Seen
2 days ago
Mas Bagus Storyteller
Member
Seen
13 hrs ago
Is this still open, and would you accept another elven PC?
GM
VitaVitaAR King of Knights
Member
Online
@Pakde: Tentatively still open, though we have two elves incoming(one in progress) so I think I'd have to say no to more.
Serenity Arceeden
17 y/o | Female | Human
Bright-eyed and gallant, Serenity stands at an abnormal 5'10, her stature as solid as any of her male peers, yet possessing still a grace to her movements that could construed as ladylike. Flaxen hair, like threads of sunshafts, flows off her broad shoulders like the mane of a lion, but her hands are callused, fingers blunt and clumsy, knuckles protruding with the tell-tale sign of someone who practiced something beyond the art of blade and shield, bow and spear. Perhaps there was a brutishness within her yet, sparked by the grudge that House Arceeden had nursed for two centuries. But no matter what, Serenity cuts a handsome figure all the same, whether in backless evening gowns or in thick expedition leathers.
And regardless, she is still growing, flesh forged further by training that she wills herself not to be fatigued by. Perhaps a drop of giants blood has made it into her blue blood. Perhaps Reon has granted her a boon in exchange for what she lost. Or perhaps, after generations of honing their lineage, the Arceedens have finally perfected their unkind art.
Personality
Serenity is fiercely independent, a young woman who wishes to handle everything relating to herself by herself. Whether it knightly tasks or menial tasks, whether it be sharpening her weapons or washing her clothes, Serenity keeps her work to herself, even when it comes to tending to her own injuries. Perhaps she seeks every sliver of freedom she can snatch at after being the scion of House Arcedeen for so long, but regardless, self-reliance is important to her.
That is not to say, however, that she is unsocialable. Though possessing still the trappings of chivalry and gallantry instilled into her by her patriarch, Serenity remains most relaxed when shooting the shit with other warriors, possessing an acerbic wit that emerges naturally against those less-inclined to aspire to any degree of nobility. She eats heartily, dances well in both masculine and feminine roles, and will be more than happy to engage in any challenge of strength or skill...unless it comes to drinking or swimming. Serenity doesn't drink, and she professes a fear of water. Perhaps the two are related, perhaps they aren't. So long as neither of those pop up, however, she's a pleasant enough dame to get along with, the sort who can switch from flowery praises to brutal honesty in a heartbeat.
And, of course, she reserves most of that brutal honesty for the budding Knight Captain, Fannily Danbalion. After all, she was the one that took the position Serenity was made for, and only owing to a difference founded in the alignment of the heavens.
Backstory
Two hundred years ago, Sir Elvaris Arcedeen, and the twenty Mayonite stalwarts under his command, gave their lives in the protection of the Mayonite High Priestess, shielding her from the assault of assassins and soldiers alike, even as they were butchered by unnatural spellwork and cowardly poisons.
But such sacrifice, such heroic grit, is not celebrated, or even remembered.
No, for all that glory was grafted unto an orphaned whelp who picked up Sir Arcedeen's sword and got lucky against a host of foes who were already exhausted from contending against true knights. Amongst the nobility, Arcedeen's renown fell, their patriarch outshone by a precocious child, only a pittance granted to them by the church for their service. And all the while, that brat, that Elionne Carthet, became Captain of a new order, replacing the vacuum left by Arcedeen's demise, her overexaggerated deeds leading to her being canonized as a saint in the faith! Preposterous! Outrageous! Such fame belonged not to a miserable brat, but to the House whose sword she used to win her fame! For without it, that child certainly didn't have anywhere near the skill able to kill a man with her bare hands!
The Iron Rose Knights owed their existence to House Arcedeen, solely!
And so, the grudge rooted itself and bloomed its sickly flowers. Decades passed over this filth-ridden obsession, renowned knights and warriors drawn into this house as wives watched the calendar with near-religious zeal, bedding their lovers only when there was a fair chance that the full moon will shine nine months later. But, as if the budding life itself could sense that decades-old desire, could sense it and scorn it, the spawn of House Arcedeen always missed the mark. By a day, or an hour, birthed in sunlight, rejected by moonlight. And the hatred grew. Their training sharpened. Their political movements expanded. Seeking wealth and fame, influence amongst those with influence. Snatching up all the power they could, so that when it came time for it, when the next Knight-Captain of the Iron Roses was to be decided, it would be one of theirs who finally returns that mantle to the family's steps.
Seventeen years ago, a child was born to Lady Charity Arcedeen, crawling out of her womb slick with water and blood. Her father looked to the skies, and found it to be twilight, that ghostly time where the moon had just risen, brilliantly full. That time where the sun had just set, the skies still basked in orange hues.
This was the child. This was Serenity.
Born just on the cusp of what could be considered a night with a full moon, she bore the expectations and burden of two centuries worth of spite and envy, and was isolated, molded, trained, all so she could become strong. Not a barbaric strength that granted victory, but a valorous strength that granted a chivalrous victory. Her family's obsessions substituted her own, and her sword swung ever sharper as she grew and grew! More skillful, more powerful, more knowledgeable. An all-surpassing maiden knight, honed to reach the apex of humanity and match all that ought to be fulfilled!
And when the War of the Red Flag concluded with the demise of the Knight-Captain, that role was open. That role was seeking.
Serenity's training intensified. She partook in bandit exterminations with her brothers, hunted wildebeasts with her yeomen, fought duels both for practice and for honor, regularly making offerings to Mayon alongside her father and mother. Everything was clarifying. Everything was in place. The stain that had marred House Arcedeen for so long will finally be cleansed! There was not a single other candidate who surpassed her in any way!
Fanilly Danbalion, some twerp from a House with no martial repute to speak of, was granted the role.
Fanilly Danbalion, born later in the night than Serenity had, was granted plate armor made of Dwarvish metals.
Fanilly Danbalion, so weak-willed as to have fainted during training that Serenity herself underwent six years ago, became the Knight-Captain.
House Arcedeen decided, then, that the Iron Rose Knights truly have fallen out of grace. That following traditions and faith was a meaningless thing to do for a motley assembly of knights made out of commoners and low-born nobles, propped up only by a handful of non-human knights who wielded no power over society itself. It was foolish, after all, to believe that the Goddess cared for children bathed in moonlight.
The times have changed. So too, must the Order, whether from within or from without.
But Serenity remained.
She was made, from conception, to become a Knight of the Iron Rose.
What else could she do, but this?
Equipment
Pristine and ornate.
Expensive but valueless.
That can sum up all of the armor and arms that Serenity possesses. Plate armor decorative and sturdy. All matters of weapons with adornments and flourishes. Her cloak is of a rich indigo, and fanciful ribbons are pinned to her plates, bright colors to make her easily recognizable even at a distance. No great deed would be misattributed to another, after all, and Serenity works hard to maintain the aesthetics of her equipment after every major battle.
It may appear tedious, but after years of doing this, she simply finds it calming. And yet, she has no particular attachment to her equipment either. It's just a habit, in the end.
Skills
If it's something expected of a knight, Serenity can do it well. Her martial arts are orthodox and clean, taught by masters of the art and tempered by experience in duels and in skirmishes. Though lacking, perhaps, in the flexibility that indicates a true mastery of weapons, she is nonetheless a capable hand in the usage of all manner of blades, though the majority of the time, she can be expected to wield a longsword. As did her forebearer. As did the first Knight-Captain.
And yet, her martial passions lie elsewhere, and when her training is done for the day, Serenity relaxes with routines of unarmed combat. Striking. Grappling. Footwork. Throws, followed by a coup de grace with a hidden blade. She does this in private, of course. It's unbecoming of a knight, otherwise, to learn the ways of a pugilist.
Otherwise, however, she has been given a noble's education her entire life, and has been made smart due to it.
Aeolian Proud Fujoshi
Member
Seen
2 days ago
Ready for review.
Cheers!
Hope's Theme
Name: Hope Yulestarian
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance: Hope is a young man with a mystical beauty that makes him appear somewhat otherworldly and fairy-like. For a man, Hope isn't very tall, standing at about 5'5". Coupled with his slight and delicate frame, he's often mistaken for a woman. Surely his long pink hair, thick curly eyelashes, and sparkling blue eyes don't help with this assumption. Even his voice, while not overtly feminine, is soft and airy. Because he looks so fragile, other people sometimes feel like they need to protect him, forgetting that he is still a knight and is perfectly capable of defending himself. Because of his renowned beauty within the Iron Roses, he tends to get courted often, by men and women.
Personality: There is something mysterious about Hope, from his wistful gaze to his longing expressions. He is a soft-spoken individual who rarely ever leans on either extreme of the personality spectrum. He's pragmatic, kind-hearted, demure, dreamy, and tends to think things through before making any hasty decisions. This unnatural patience and calm disposition can make him appear mystical and wise beyond his years. People who meet him say he is really lovely to be around, with a motherly sensibility that drives him to show affection and compassion to others, encouraging and caring for their needs along the way. People sometimes view him as a mother-like figure. However, people tend to underestimate him because of his effeminate personality and delicate flower looks. But he's not naive like people think. Hope is incredibly perceptive of the environment around him, capable of using his intelligence to overcome situations where his brawn may be lacking. Some may notice though, a strange sadness in his eyes, one that masks a hidden pain from his past.
Brief Backstory: The Yulestarian family was neither rich or poor, royal or peasant. Hope, as the fifth of eight siblings, was born into this unique house that originated from a coastal city located far off from the capital of Aimlenn. In this city, called Leannan, famous for its crystal waters and beautiful rose gardens, there was no class system, as the culture of Leannan's people found that the proceeding inequality that came from a class system bred poverty and injustice. Therefore, everyone in the city lived on equal footing, helping each other where they could and creating a culture that generated very little crime or violence.
Despite there not being an official heirarchy in Leannan, the townsfolk highly respected the House of Yulestarian, who were appointed to manage the city and its people and ensure everything functioned as it should. This family, however, was unique, having produced a long line of powerful Magi (summoners specifically) every 50-years. The current Magi would always teach their magic to the new Magi, so long as they showed the capacity for it. Hope was the next one in line to inherit this magical talent, and whenever a Summoner in the city was born, they would take on a sort of idol role, someone who the townsfolk often saw as the next reincarnation of Goddess Mayon. This wasn't true of course, but that was their belief and tradition.
However, what the townsfolk didn't see was that Hope's parent's often manipulated him into using his magic to do terrible things. And when he tried to resist, they would hurt him. With the help of some of his siblings, Hope escaped from Leannan in the thick of night and took up residence in Aimlenn. Despite being a beautiful city, there was poverty and it pained him to see people struggling to eat or orphans begging for pieces. Unable to resist the call, he began using his magic to help people, healing the sick, cooking food for the children at the orphanage, and doing what he could to stop some of the local crime. Eventually, he would get noticed for his magical capabilities, and be invited to join the Iron Roses.
Unfortunately, Hope may not have seen the last of his abusive parents.
Equipment: Hope is probably one of the weakest hand-to-hand combatants on the team, mostly using his magic in combat situations. He still does possess some skill in melee, and if necessary, wields an ornate floral-themed rapier. But he keeps his rapier sheathed inside a parasol, only pulling it out when he is truly backed in a corner and cannot rely on his magic.
Skills: Due to his upbringing, Hope is heavily reliant on his magic. He specializes in summoning magic, a magic that allows him to summon a variety of magical entities and beasts to do his bidding. Some of his summons are combat-focused, while others provide supportive and utility-based benefits. And some of them are just for fun, like a floating talking teacup. He also possesses other support-based magic that allows him to heal others, create protective forcefields, and put others to sleep. With his summoning magic, he can also conjure up a pair of butterfly-shaped wings on his back, allowing him to fly (until he runs out of mana). He also drains mana the longer his summons are out. Stronger summons require more mana to maintain, and therefore, he cannot keep them out as long as weaker ones.
Hope is also good at baking, cooking, singing, swimming, and painting. He also has the uncanny skill to fall asleep anywhere and in the strangest positions.
Cheers!
Hope's Theme
Hope
Name: Hope Yulestarian
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance: Hope is a young man with a mystical beauty that makes him appear somewhat otherworldly and fairy-like. For a man, Hope isn't very tall, standing at about 5'5". Coupled with his slight and delicate frame, he's often mistaken for a woman. Surely his long pink hair, thick curly eyelashes, and sparkling blue eyes don't help with this assumption. Even his voice, while not overtly feminine, is soft and airy. Because he looks so fragile, other people sometimes feel like they need to protect him, forgetting that he is still a knight and is perfectly capable of defending himself. Because of his renowned beauty within the Iron Roses, he tends to get courted often, by men and women.
Personality: There is something mysterious about Hope, from his wistful gaze to his longing expressions. He is a soft-spoken individual who rarely ever leans on either extreme of the personality spectrum. He's pragmatic, kind-hearted, demure, dreamy, and tends to think things through before making any hasty decisions. This unnatural patience and calm disposition can make him appear mystical and wise beyond his years. People who meet him say he is really lovely to be around, with a motherly sensibility that drives him to show affection and compassion to others, encouraging and caring for their needs along the way. People sometimes view him as a mother-like figure. However, people tend to underestimate him because of his effeminate personality and delicate flower looks. But he's not naive like people think. Hope is incredibly perceptive of the environment around him, capable of using his intelligence to overcome situations where his brawn may be lacking. Some may notice though, a strange sadness in his eyes, one that masks a hidden pain from his past.
Brief Backstory: The Yulestarian family was neither rich or poor, royal or peasant. Hope, as the fifth of eight siblings, was born into this unique house that originated from a coastal city located far off from the capital of Aimlenn. In this city, called Leannan, famous for its crystal waters and beautiful rose gardens, there was no class system, as the culture of Leannan's people found that the proceeding inequality that came from a class system bred poverty and injustice. Therefore, everyone in the city lived on equal footing, helping each other where they could and creating a culture that generated very little crime or violence.
Despite there not being an official heirarchy in Leannan, the townsfolk highly respected the House of Yulestarian, who were appointed to manage the city and its people and ensure everything functioned as it should. This family, however, was unique, having produced a long line of powerful Magi (summoners specifically) every 50-years. The current Magi would always teach their magic to the new Magi, so long as they showed the capacity for it. Hope was the next one in line to inherit this magical talent, and whenever a Summoner in the city was born, they would take on a sort of idol role, someone who the townsfolk often saw as the next reincarnation of Goddess Mayon. This wasn't true of course, but that was their belief and tradition.
However, what the townsfolk didn't see was that Hope's parent's often manipulated him into using his magic to do terrible things. And when he tried to resist, they would hurt him. With the help of some of his siblings, Hope escaped from Leannan in the thick of night and took up residence in Aimlenn. Despite being a beautiful city, there was poverty and it pained him to see people struggling to eat or orphans begging for pieces. Unable to resist the call, he began using his magic to help people, healing the sick, cooking food for the children at the orphanage, and doing what he could to stop some of the local crime. Eventually, he would get noticed for his magical capabilities, and be invited to join the Iron Roses.
Unfortunately, Hope may not have seen the last of his abusive parents.
Equipment: Hope is probably one of the weakest hand-to-hand combatants on the team, mostly using his magic in combat situations. He still does possess some skill in melee, and if necessary, wields an ornate floral-themed rapier. But he keeps his rapier sheathed inside a parasol, only pulling it out when he is truly backed in a corner and cannot rely on his magic.
Skills: Due to his upbringing, Hope is heavily reliant on his magic. He specializes in summoning magic, a magic that allows him to summon a variety of magical entities and beasts to do his bidding. Some of his summons are combat-focused, while others provide supportive and utility-based benefits. And some of them are just for fun, like a floating talking teacup. He also possesses other support-based magic that allows him to heal others, create protective forcefields, and put others to sleep. With his summoning magic, he can also conjure up a pair of butterfly-shaped wings on his back, allowing him to fly (until he runs out of mana). He also drains mana the longer his summons are out. Stronger summons require more mana to maintain, and therefore, he cannot keep them out as long as weaker ones.
Hope is also good at baking, cooking, singing, swimming, and painting. He also has the uncanny skill to fall asleep anywhere and in the strangest positions.
Mas Bagus Storyteller
Member
Seen
13 hrs ago
@VitaVitaAR
Thanks for letting me know that. Best of luck to you and everyone participating.
Thanks for letting me know that. Best of luck to you and everyone participating.
1x Thank
Psychic Loser The Worst Psychic
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
Name:
Morianne, The Troubadour
Age:
65
Gender:
Female
Race:
Wood Elf
Appearance:
Like most elves, Morianne is fair of skin and lithe in build. Despite her age, she is youthful in appearance, allowing her to better blend and participate in human society. Her pink hair is styled into a short bob. Her eyes glow a vibrant amber hue. She is average in height, being roughly 5'8" (173cm).
Morianne wears fairly revealing and ostentatious clothing, over which she wears a green cloak. Additionally, her armor is light and sparse. Her signature "weapon," is a bright red, double-strung lute decorated with an iron skull on the base. She has personally dubbed this lute "The Kill Meister."
Personality:
Morianne is best described as, well, a bitch to put it lightly. Her Elven heritage and experience has given her the cynicism, bluntness, and wisdom of age with all the quick temper and hot-headedness of youth. Like a bitter grandmother, she's always ready to dish out unwarranted remarks and criticism. Even if such comments regularly get her into fights, she'll always deliver since she takes odd joy in causing such trouble. In Morianne's own words, "Nothing makes a better song than a fight."
Morianne is also highly dedicated to her musical craft, going so far to take her lute anywhere and everywhere, practicality be damned. She'll die before she's seen without it. The goddesses only know what fury could be unleashed if someone other than her did so much as touch the thing.
She's made her life's goal to be the best and most legendary bard in all the land. And knowing her stubbornness, she'll either succeed or die trying. Giving up is not an option.
Brief Background:
Morianne, like many Wood Elves, hails from Velt. It was here she spent much of her early life. Her father was a renowned warrior within the community. So naturally, it was expected that his daughter would follow in his footsteps. However, Morianne showed little promise in Wood Elf traditions. She even seemed to lack magical talents, making her little better than a guest inside her own home. Her parents and colleagues grew to despise her for her lack of talent, dubbing her "Human Girl."
Dissatisfied with her lot in life, Morianne looked to music as an escape from her reality. She was fascinated with all its intricacies and its unique power to bring people of all types together. During her teenage years, she taught herself how to play the lute, hoping it would finally win her the approval of her family and peers. She even went out of her way to organize a concert to show her skill.
Perhaps it was simply the crowd's presence or how she felt in the moment, but the performance wasn't very good, in fact, she was awful. One particular comment that stuck with Morianne was that her playing "Sounded like scraping nails on a plate. Typical Human Girl." That night, she ran off. If she was just a worthless human, then perhaps she would be welcomed among them.
Morianne soon found herself in some human village homeless and begging for scraps. She played her lute and sang for whoever would listen. One rainy day, Morianne had seemingly had it all and simply decided to play her lute until her hands had been rendered bloody stumps. Though something about this performance was different. She was still terrible, but a crowd of humans had started to gather around her.
"She's a witch!" one child exclaimed. Another comment noted something about "dancing lights."
The clamoring had continued for some time, but Morianne paid them no mind until a man's voice had cut through the crowd.
"You, Elf Girl! Where did you learn to play like that?"
Morianne looked up to the man to deliver some snarky comment, but as she met the man's gaze, she realized that small balls of light had formed around her, dancing in accordance to her emotional playing.
The man then introduced himself as Thrash, a "Bard'' who claimed that he knew how to hone Morianne's talent for this unique magical art. Desperate and starved, Morianne took up the offer without question. Even if Thrash's claims were false, anything was better than hunger.
Fortunately, Thrash had been telling the truth and Morianne soon found herself under the bard's tutelage. Under Thrash's guidance, Morianne learned proper music technique and became more proficient with magic. However, their time together was brief, as Morianne, being an Elf, would eventually outlive the only person who was willing to accept her. His final gift to her, a custom-made lute made to Morianne's personal tastes. Since the passing of her teacher, Morianne has wandered the earth to grow her talents and sing in memory of her teacher.
Currently, Morianne has found herself among the ranks of the Iron Rose Knights, a role she had taken up during the War of The Red Flag. It was unplanned bend in her path as a wandering Bard. Even now, Morianne couldn't possibly explain how it came to be. Perhaps it was simply a desire to help the refugees whose circumstances reminded her of her childhood. Regardless of her reasoning, Morianne has enjoyed her time amongst the knights so far, even if she knows that even this too, like her old mentor, will come to pass.
Equipment:
- Hide Armor - Simple enough. Morianne has a preference for lighter equipment and tools due to her…less than traditional skills as an Iron Rose Knight.
- Cloak - A useful clothing item to combat the cold. It kinda smells. Maybe Morianne wouldn't need it if she wore normal clothes.
- Rope - An important traveling item. Never leave without it.
- Alchemy Bag - Used to hold herbs for basic medicinal purposes.
- The Kill Meister - Morianne's unique lute. It's designed specifically to grab attention. While it may seem magical in nature, it's actually not enchanted in any way. Morianne just has weird tastes.
Skills:
- Basic Swordplay - Morianne is more comfortable singing spells and cheering on from the back. That being said, she isn't completely useless in a fight and knows just enough about swords to hold her own.
- Basic Medicinal Knowledge - Anyone who's traveled long enough knows how to treat simple sickness and injury.
- Basic Survival Skill - Comes with being a Wood Elf.
- Bard Magic - Morianne's unique brand of spell casting. She's quite skilled with this particular art and has quite the range and versatility. Here are a few notable spells she possesses:
- Basic Charm Spell - Exactly what you'd think it is. It's not exactly useful for dealing with multiple people though. Besides, Morianne prefers starting fights. So this skill is basically useless to her.
- Sow Discord Spell - A wild spell that causes equally wild reactions from its targets. It's likened to inflicting temporary madness or…listening to music in a genre you really don't like. This is a popular spell to use.
- Rally Strength Spell - Ever seen a particularly strong athlete? Try making them stronger. That's what this does. It only ever works on one person at a time though.
- Summon Spectral Sword - A spell that creates swords of pure mana. It can be used to either summon three weaker swords or one decent sword for the caster to use. These swords typically don't last too long and shatter once the mana has been drained from them.
© 2007-2024