[CHAR] House Of Rejects

[Cerces22]

Name: Thortan Masters
Age: 268 (roughly 27 human)
Race: Dark Elf
Description/picture (if you want): vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/forgotte…
Powers: Controls Shadow magic exclusively, said to be the strongest shadow mage alive.
Weapons(if any): Thortan favors daggers, his body is covered in them, though not all are seen. His signature weapons are dual short swords that are able to collapse into the hilt.
History: Said to be the last Dark Elf queens right hand in the war with humans, he slayed close to a thousand enemies in battle. When the queen went into hiding near the end, she sent him away to try and protect others. He his a very humble man, some would call him eccentric at times. He enjoys having fun and is patiently awaiting the queen to summon him once again to do battle and restore balance on the world. Not much else is known about Thortan, he likes to keep his past close to the chest. He opened the House of Rejects to give sanctuary to those in need, no matter the race, he is always accepting.

[Lady Nex]

Name: Elizabeth Howard

Age: Unknown (Part of the mystery!)

Race: 'Gifted' human

Description

A healthy, radiant complexion and brilliant emerald irises make for a pleasant first-glance at the woman. Though the lack of sun-starved, pale skin may leave one wondering if the woman isn't from some sunbathed region. The smooth accent rolling from her tongue indicates otherwise, though it is difficult to place.

Keen features add to the intensity of her gaze; high cheekbones and a sharp jawline furthering the appearance of ferocity that goes well beyond the woman's underlying wolfish nature.

Raven locks fall to her lower back--assuming the woman has actually let them loose. It's more often she's seen with her hair twisted into a careful knot or a neat ponytail.

The result of ceaseless, almost obsessive, training is difficult to conceal behind any given attire. Her thick frame is undoubtedly more muscle than fat--though it offers a contrast to the sharpness of her visage if one takes the time to note the curvature of her figure.

Few scars are visible on her form, though on the occasion they are it would seem the woman bears very few. Faint lines cross her chest diagonally, similar lines replicating the effect on her upper back. Nicks and slender markings are scattered over her flesh here or there, the lines having grown so faint it is difficult to take note of them at all.

She exudes confidence bordering on a cocky attitude. Every graceful step is taken with a sureness, a sense that the woman is never second-guessing where she's headed; even if it's simply to slip inside a tavern for an evening drink.

Powers

Elizabeth has an unusual set of powers. While she is known for her excellence in studying shadow oriented magics, her origin leaves her with the additional benefit of her God's blessing; sharp eyesight, a sensitive sense of smell, and a pair of canines that seem almost out of place though they are relatively small. Her athletic abilities are increased as a result of this blessing. (See history for further explanation!). She has training in acrobatics, necessary medicine (field medic), and maintains the ability to utilize materials to create curious little trinkets littered with magic that produced unusual results.

Weaponry and Equipment

Throughout Elizbeth's form the glint of steel is noticeable.

- A total of 10 throwing blades rest at her thighs, three strapped to the outer thighs, two to the inner thighs. This protects those vital arteries as well as provides additional weapons!

- Two daggers are sheathed at her hips, carrying a curious, deep violet glow.

- The inside of her boots are lined with much smaller blades, far too small to be adequate weapons in combat. Each was coated with a carefully crafted poison.

- A flintlocke bearing ornate designs, elven in nature, remains holstered toward the back of her belt.

- A bag clearly impacted by magic carries far more than it should.

- Though her pauldrons are small in appearance, clever tinkering has lead to their lining... tubing that connects one pauldron to a canister concealed in the other. When activated it releases a gaseous neurotoxin.

- Hidden beneath her leather bracers is a spring activated blade (Assassin's Creed style yes, sue me!).

History

South of the primary human Kingdom of Peilos rests the much smaller, secluded Kingdom of Lyceum (lie-see-uhm). The walled in region is tucked away on the southern coast, buried in a sea of pines and everpresent fog. The constant rain makes it a least favorite destination on any tourists lists, and if that didn't scare off the average traveler, the stories very well might. The Lycians (lie-see-ahn) were a separate community of humans, defected from their primary peoples thousands of years prior to the culmination of the great war between the elves and the humans. Though it began as a religious community, the dedication of their priests brought them the gift of their god. He was known simply as 'the great wolf'. If he had a name, no one spoke it, and the rumors that trickled from the once open city were twisted and altered over time. The humans there had been granted exceptional strength and speed, their grace no less benefited from the blessing though they become a brutal foe. The grin of a Lycian offered a showcase of pearly white, deadly teeth. The signature of these "creatures" as they were now deemed, was the brilliant yellow coloration of their eyes.

Elizabeth overtly was nothing particularly special. With a heavy hood to hide her features, none would know she carried any such blessing. Dark leathers constantly adorned her form, the woman's choice of accessory always the glint of steel. She was but a simple traveler if she was allowed to keep that hood on. This comfort did not last.

In the beginning she was known only within the walls of her own home. An accomplished assassin, rising through the heavily corrupted ranks of her city. Having separated themselves with thick stone walls and heavy iron gates, the citizens of the region had become reclusive, and ultimately infighting had begun. Their newfound immortality (or so it is rumored) lead to the realization that none would pass on to allow another to inherit title, to work along the ladder of nobility through not only achievement but the death of others. Assassination was more than a carefully concealed profession within these walls, it was a lifeblood. The very essence of the city. It's recent history was bathed in blood.

It was no surprise then that during the war a curious letter found itself on Elizabeth's desk, a sophisticated loopy script detailing the events of the greater world beyond those gates, and the need for someone as talented as her. She left the safety of her walls, of the towering pines and constant storm clouds, only to find herself ostracized.

While her work in the war had earned her heavy praise from her allies, her enemies were far less keen, and those bright yellow eyes made it clear she was not 'pure' in her humanity. Her home likewise had turned, shutting their gates in the interest of maintaining their reclusive status, naming Elizabeth nothing short of a traitor to their tiny nation.

[Doc Doctor]

Zande Khanda

Name: Zande Khanda
Epithet: The Vulture
Age: 32
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 195 pounds
Boxing Reach: 84.5 in
Race: Human

Weapons and Equipment- Two three kilo bearded sparth axes with snap button sheathes for fast access, a weighted serrated knife with a foot long blade, two seven inch steel karambit knives, three seven steel inch throwing knives, a blowgun and eight darts with inland taipan venom, three one-ounce leather pouches of spitting cobra venom, rubber soled boots with three eight inch steel claws on each foot, steel chestplate, large paldrons with protruding spikes that can stop and snag bladed weapons, steel shinguards, underclothing made from dragonhide (like an extremely tough form of steel chainmail with no gaps), a trained pet vulture acting as a spotter, a black steel war mask in the shape of a flat, ghoulish skull, and reinforced fingerless iron gauntlets imbedded with cast iron bird skulls.


(The axes "Hot Steppa", slang for Free Criminal, & "Jancro", slang for Vulture)

Appearance- Zande is a tall, lean man whose musculature is best likened to that of a starved jaguar. The dense, tube-like muscles adorning his long arms and legs allow him to exude a great air of physical prowess despite his wiry look. Unwashed dreadlocks hang over lurid, amber eyes whilst high cheekbones accentuate his abnormal jaw muscles, the feral aspect pushed even further by his sharpened teeth and fingernails. He wears the skulls of recent victims upon his belt and is never without his clawed boots and tribal mask. A skull and crossbones is sewn upon his cloak.

Physical Abilities/Skills- Zande's untamed strength is far greater than his appearance would suggest, albeit reasonably less than that of a formidable professional weightlifter. He can bench 350 and run twenty-five miles per hour on average. His most impressive traits consist of his incredible biting and striking power. He hits like a lumberjack on PCP, and never neglects to train his jaws by chewing through blocks of wood and chunks of rubber, rendering him capable of chomping through an unhusked coconut in seconds. As he was raised a jungle wildman, he can scurry up and down obstacles with contemptuous ease and move with a silent swiftness comparable to his native brethren.

He's able to throw all of his weapons with tremendous speed, force, and accuracy.

Personality~ Despite appearing as an unabashed murderer 24/7, Zande comes off surprisingly chill. He'll greet strangers with nods and smiles, share food and drink on a whim, and help out passersby who seem in need. He affords everyone his good humor and generosity- even his victims, although his generosity doesn't extend to letting them live. He prefers to make friends with those he hunts, as Zande is actually emotionally sensitive beneath his harsh exterior.

He takes rejection badly, can't stand being the brunt of insults, is prone to nightmares over innocuously silly things (he has an incredible phobia of cats), and in general sways between being a relaxed, cold-blooded manhunter, and a manic depressive schizophrenic depending on how others treat him.

In battle, he blooms with a black passion which transmogrifies him into the killing machine that he is, a demon-brained predator who relentlessly chases down his prey. His psychotic rushdowns are legendary for both the consistency of their success and for their ability to force most opponents into a defensive lock, the threat of his wild axes preventing them from counterattacking or fleeing, bullying and grinding hapless opponents right into the ground until their shield and willpower crumples beneath the onslaught.

Background- In the darkest depths of a savage jungle wilderness, shrouded in dread Congo mysteries beneath a sky of eternal blackness, there existed a tribe of maneaters. One would think that there would be no bottom amidst the depths of their depravity. Yet, a young boy native to this landscape of monsters found it. The word "bloodthirsty" is often thrown about. However, no other description of Zande holds so true. He was exiled from his village for exceptional reasons and became a freelance mercenary and bandit leader, feared across the land. He's a cannibal and a headhunter, who seeks to further his reputation by collecting the skulls of formidable opponents. What about the rest you say? All the bloody details of his life? Nay. He has accomplished many feats, but a story like that of Zande's is monotonous in its repetition. He travels, he trains, he kills, he sleeps. Why worry about the details, bwana?


Looking out from the entrance to Zande's lair. The inside is remarkably large, yet with so little elbow room.

Theme Music-

[Faerah]

Character Sheet

Name: Ophelia (Lia for short) Estrellas
Age: 74
Race: Desert Elf
Description/picture (if you want) Lia can be described as an Arabian Nightmare, her tanned skinned scorched by the sun stand in stark relief of her red tattoo's that cover her arms and legs in harsh geometric lines, dispersed with swirling ivy that trails its way to the center of Lia's body, coming to stop at a solid ring around her belly button. Her face was tattooed in the same way, but here it added a softness to her face that her hard lean body lacked. Years of training in the hot desert sun had left little softness in Lia, but she did mourn the loss of that gentle femininity some days, and was known for brief fits of compassion and caring. Her eyes were a striking tiger's eye color, Honey, sunflower and fresh packed earth mixing into her iris' causing a riot before fading into black at the center and outskirts of her eyes. Her long jet black hair fell to her bottom, and was tied into two long braids skillfully wrapped in cloth of different bright colors. At the Manor, Lia typically wears skinny jeans, doc martins and a simple tight white guinea tea. The angry red hue of her tattoos make themselves known through the thin stretched fabric, and Lia felt a zing of pride. Her plump lips wear constantly being tugged into her mouth by her lip ring, keeping them a bright natural red color. Standing at 5'9, Lia felt easy and confident in her own skin.
[/img]goo.gl/images/asEoGm[/img]
Powers: Fire wielding, some proficiency with air and earth wielding.
Weapons(if any): Throwing knives held by a leather hilt, 2 9mm hand guns strapped to each thigh and a rudimentary throwing spear blessed by her desert elf tribe. True ability uknown.
History: Lia was born and bread in the desert of Marrakesh near Iberia to a small tribe of Desert Elves who had lived peacefully for years with other nomadic beings, humans who made their life on the desert and those who were searching for relief from the manmade world. Their tribe had lived happily, training each generation to be warriors, lovers, and protectors. Keeping ancient customs alive, Lia had an old soul that spoke of generations of ancestors. But she also had a temper. Her powers for fire wielding were too vast, too much for the small unnamed tribe to help her wield any longer. Soon they became wary of her, stopping conversation as she entered the room, declining invitations for hunting or trading trips, so she went alone. She became bitter, the fire in her veins nothing in comparison to the fire the burned white hot in her eyes. With her spine rigid, she walked into her Grandmother's dwelling, a small hastily built hut her tribe erects during the sand storm season for each of its elders. The rest of the village sleeps together huddled into one giant yurt filled with furs and hides, pillows in bright colors and the smell of Shisha strong in the air. Her grandmother was Lia's only living relative, and had been ill for a long time. As elves dont typically age at the same rate as humans, Lia's grandmother must be impossibly old. The millennia lumbering slowly on as Tal's body weighed down and became creased with age. Lia looked at Tal and told her that she needed to leave and discover more help in wielding her impossibly large and growing skill. Tal easily let Lia go, understanding her granddaughters need for something more than nomadic customs and its predictability. Though Lia still kept the sands of Marrakech in her veins, her fire needed something more, and she let that flame at the center of her belly lead her towards the House of Rejects.
Odds and ends: (Want to add something not here??)
Lia has been in the technological world for about a year by the time she finally reaches the doors of the House. While she is basically fluent in pop culture and technology, there are sometimes small and glaring gaps in her knowledge. When angered she turns back into the angry desert nomad, and her fire has been growing steadily after every usage, making it difficult to master one level of power before being driven deeper into the molten core that holds her fire. Over the year she has discovered her basic affinity for Air, Earth and water wielding and has become proficient in wielding them together, but her fire continues to be uncooperative.

[Lazerus1]

Name: Florence Demanier
Age: 178 (roughly 19 human)
Race: High Elf
Description/picture (if you want): m.imgur.com/3pwrYr9

Powers: Specializes in magical nullification. Is capable of erasing magics within 15 meters of himself. If someone has magical abilities adapted from their bloodline they will still be usable (heightened smell or vision, etc.).
Due to he difficulty in wielding his nullification magic he has no other magical aptitude.
Close quarters weapons expert, goes hand in hand with his nullification powers.
Weapons(if any): never carries more than one weapon, a long dagger made from the finest dwarven metal and craftsmanship. He refuses to use any other weapon in combat, and will resort to his fists if he drops or loses his dagger.

History: When Florence was only 90 years old his family was taken by humans. His parents were slaughtered in front of his eyes. Florence and his younger sister were forced to into a small elven labor camp, until Florence's nullification ability was discovered. The king's men took his younger sister and held her as a hostage while Florence trained and was forced to hunt down enemies of Pelios. He thought that his sister would only be killed if he refused a mission. The kings men had actually already killed him but he has no idea. For the past 80 years he has been a pawn of the king.

He has been forced to hunt down and execute Elven Leadership across all the lands. While he hates ever bit of the work because he Is forced to kill his own kind, he is one of the best assassins in the land. His ability to infiltrate and find his target is second to none. He once killed an elven water priest so perfectly that the priest's people thought he had died peacefully in his sleep. Florence's latest mission is to find a Dark Elf of legend ,named Thortan Masters. Surprisingly enough, Mr. Masters just sent Florence an invitation.