[OOC] Against the Fangs of God

[Viatos]

In what is now to be known as the First Canticle - formerly Year 347 of the Seventh Aeon - mankind's sins rose up as if to swallow him. War set fire to the Known World, terrible beasts swarmed from the jungles of its edges to devour his most ambitious holdings, and in the kingdom of Yachiel, ruled by the city of Dais at the world's strong center, a black flower of corruption took root and then blossomed. Men gave themselves over to unnatural pleasures - astrology, meditation, the seeking of visions, taking council with unclean spirits - and grotesque arts and theatre, and in this way Dais turned its eyes from the world, as it burned and was ravaged, and those wisest gathered in its defiled universities to whisper that all was lost.

But God had not turned Her eyes from the Known World, though it had rejected Her long ago, and She sent Her angels to save us.

Rejoice! In our blackest hour She smote the Black Flower of Dais and burned it clean with Her light - and though the city was destroyed, its people were saved! Reborn as Blessing, the City-upon-the-Altar, it has been made beautiful, pure, and a refuge for all Her wayward children, wicked or unworthy though they be. Now Her Blessing flows forth to blanket the Known World! Her angels soar to do Her work, raising men and women of good heart to an incredible holiness, charging them to strike back against the darkness and bring Her light to this awful world. They offer peace, freedom, and strength to us all without let or lien, asking only that we keep the least of Her graces:

Do not raise thine eyes to the stars.
Let not thy mind be empty; let not thy flesh fall idle.
Seek out no false truth, no false future.
Never must thou take council with an unclean spirit...

The Words of the Dead, Scattered to the Winds

In the year 347 of the Seventh Aeon, as the Known World reeled from the possibility of apocalypse - a word that means revelation or realization, and also the end of the world - the kingdom of Dais set all its resources to finding a way to save us. Well, themselves. But they could see the writing on the walls if the rest of the world fell, and so they sought out every magic, every power that might be turned to our defense. The Black Knives, the Children Who Never Grow, the Rose Lich, the Nephilim...somewhere along the way Dais opened a door long-sealed, and God came flooding through. In the thirty years since that day the Circle of Light, Her dominion, has conquered Dais and thirteen other nations. They're almost as good as their propaganda, bringing peace and stability, transforming the lands they take into places of gentle happiness, and they pile high the dead of bandits and monsters from beyond the Edge, higher even than those of their enemies. They seek always the convert, redemption offered with open hands.

It's a pretty good deal, right?

But there are costs that they're not telling us about.

Thirteen peoples fell to the Circle of Light, most historians agree. There's been a lot of correspondence about this; thirteen is the number, almost definitely. But the Circle of Light counts only 11 principalities outside Blessing, and no one can remember which two are missing. Something happened. Something bit right through the fabric of the Known World. Her people call Her God, but the gods - our gods, the true gods, the forest- and orchard-gods of life and loam - call Her the Exile, and vanish wherever her shadow falls. She bans no worship, but temples within the Circle are empty and silent.

Her priests can fight monsters, it's true, and Her paladins can fight horrors, those behemoths that all us unsaved rely on legions and witchcraft to bring down. But Her angels, which we think number seven, have only been deployed in two ways: the breaking of armies and the pacification of nations. When Quoliel descended on the city of Sarrash in 348 and the Seven-Nation Ambush took place, nobody knew if we could kill her. But at the least the city would have a respite after she was driven back...that was the plan. Instead, seven nations surrendered that day. They say every time the angel raised her hand, a thousand men were lost screaming, dragged into the sky - to Heaven, the Kingdom of Night. None of those men returned. What kind of God needs creatures like that?

What kind of God sends creatures like that?

Here we go! First and foremost, I'd recommend reading the Interest Check here, which contains a lot of helpful information about the setting and aesthetics. If this sounds like the right game for you, consider hitting up the Discord so you can workshop your character with me and with others, discuss and share ideas, and start building connections with prospective fellow players. Raring to go? Awesome! Here's what you need to know:

The Beginning

Elatreis, the Wolf-Haunted Kingdom, one of the surviving Eight Nations - a land of sprawling forested hills and recessed and rumor-shadowed noble estates, boasting many market towns but only one true city: Silver Spear, home to the royal seat of Elatreis, where rule Queen Isande and her two consorts, the Dueling Kings Ixil and Rajara. Here the trade of four nations - once more - passes beneath the watchful eyes of a small army of fanatic officials and through the teeth of the thousand-and-one trade laws of Elatreis. Here the walls stand tall and strong, mounted by six great ballistae at key junctions, and the war seems very far away - at least physically; whispers are everywhere regarding the Queen's efforts to procure a weapon great enough to repulse the angel Quoliel, who even now stalks Elatreis' borders and tests its legendary Great Hunt legion for weakness. Here...you have been led and now kept by signs in the stars and the low thrum of an earthbound scream gone unheard for half a hundred thousand years.

Every god and witch in the city can feel that something is wrong, something is changing, but only you, as sorcerers, can feel something more floating plague-like on the evening breeze: power. Opportunity. Destiny? Within the walls of the city, the omens are obvious, almost overpowering in their efforts to lead you to the undercroft of Silver Spear's immense Verimos Cathedral, where are interred the bones of the six hunter-saints who slew the behemoth Stonefur and founded Elatreis. It is the First Festival, a grand celebration of exactly that fundamental event, and above the city sings, sweats, and dances in a stylized re-telling of that mighty deed. You and those like you have gathered in the dark - a gathering of the sort not seen in an age. A sorcerer's gathering.

Elatreis is a divided, wild kingdom where the noble class holds tremendous strength and freedom and the royal seat is primarily a mercantile power, rather than a military one. True to its name, its vast forests are dangerous places home to Elatreian wolves - huge creatures interbred long ago with beasts from beyond the Edge of the World, possessed of singular cunning and appetite. Its guerilla-like legions contend with woodsbeasts, bandits, overtly rebellious or corrupt nobles (usually with the tacit support of other noble estates) and it's dotted with hidden villages, market towns, and clandestine fey revels. The gods are powerful here, and before She came, Elatreis was harshest and least forgiving of all nations when it came to practitioners of sorcery - a sentence of death, carried out by its famously vicious Shadowcatcher legion. Since the beginning of the time some are now calling Apocalypse, those restrictions have been relaxed, and any sorcerer willing to aid the war effort is offered letters of marque by the royal seat itself.

Are you a native of this ferocious land, or did you come to it to disappear? Are you a refugee seeking shelter, fleeing the fires of God, or an outlander seeking asylum, fleeing a fate entirely of your own making? Perhaps you survived Quoliel's last sortie, and are among those few survivors come to the city to report the near-total loss of the Great Hunt legion. Do you imagine your passage through Silver Spear to have been entirely coincidental, or did strange events already alert you to some guiding hand ushering you towards the city? How is that you come to be here and now, at the heart of the fate of the Known World?

The Character Sheet

Useful Sheet Code Just for You

[color=ed1c24]

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[h3][b]HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE[/b][/h3][/color]
[color=7bcdc8][b]Name:[/b][/color]
[color=7bcdc8][b]Sobriquets:[/b][/color] [i](Optional)[/i]

[b][color=7bcdc8][b]Concept:[/b][/color][/b] Give me "you" in a few adjectives and a noun, or at most a sentence.

[color=7bcdc8][b]Origin:[/b][/color] At least two and at most five paragraphs covering your life before everything changed, and how it is you came to Silver Spear.

[b][color=7bcdc8][b]Appearance:[/b][/color][/b] So what's left of you? How do you speak, how do you move? What clothes make the (wo)man? Include an image if you want.

[color=ed1c24][b]Skills and Flaws[/b][/color]

[color=6ecff6][b]Name:[/b][/color] Everyone has to make a living, or lives a certain way. What defines your life? What skill centers you?

[color=6ecff6][b]Name:[/b][/color] In the Known World, death is never far enough away. When violence blossoms, how do you garden it?

[color=6ecff6][b]Name:[/b][/color] There's something that makes you different, special. What is it?

[color=0072bc][b]Name:[/b][/color] Not everyone's good at everything. Where are you weakest? What threatens to destroy you?

[color=7bcdc8][b]Hooks:[/b][/color]

[list][*]Something unresolved from your past.
[*]Something you want for the future.
[*]Something that interests you or captures your imagination.[/list]

[color=ed1c24]

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[h3][b]SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN[/b][/h3][/color]
[color=7bcdc8][b]Initiation:[/b][/color] How did you become a sorcerer? A few lines, at most two paragraphs, is fine here.

[color=ed1c24][b]Weirds[/b][/color]

[color=6ecff6][b]Name:[/b][/color] Every sorcerer develops a few strange powers. When you stretch out your hand, dark wonders spill forth, and time and fate recoil.

[color=6ecff6][b]Name:[/b][/color] You are a thing of three worlds: the Known, where walks the present; the Dead, where lies the past; and the Celestial, where is written the future.

[color=6ecff6][b]Name:[/b][/color] Some sorcerers master distinct spells and share them with each other. Others are creatures of intuition and chaos. It's okay to have similar weirds, or even the same weird as someone else.

[color=ed1c24]

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[h3][b]BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM[/b][/h3][/color]
[color=7bcdc8][b]Nephilim:[/b][/color] The name you'll find carved in pictographs you shouldn't know how to read.
[color=7bcdc8][b]Sobriquets:[/b][/color] [i](Optional; what do YOU want to name your undead armor)[/i]

[b][color=7bcdc8][b]Concept:[/b][/color][/b] Give me "it" in a few adjectives and a noun, or at most a sentence.

[b][color=7bcdc8][b]Form:[/b][/color][/b] Give me "it" in as much detail as you like. Include an image if you want.

[color=ed1c24][b]Abominations[/b][/color]

[color=6ecff6][b]Name:[/b][/color] Nephilim evolve, metamorphose, transmogrify. Like sorcerers, their power demands expression.

[color=6ecff6][b]Name:[/b][/color] Convergent evolution means that some Nephilim share traits, similarities.

[color=6ecff6][b]Name:[/b][/color] Others are utterly unique in their unspeakable and grotesque abilities.

[color=0072bc][b]Name:[/b][/color] They are what they are; what they are is terrible; but with so much strength comes a little weakness.

Sample Character

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HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Tazkalahad Downing
Sobriquets: The Shattered Wreckage

Concept: Knight-errant doomed to a terrible fate. This is a sample character and has limited detail as a result; feel free to use longer descriptions for skills and powers if you prefer.

Origin: Once upon a time, Tazkalahad was the little rajah of a beautiful raj renowned for its art and its music. A celebration of human beauty, it was a place of sweeping mural-walls and sculpted thoroughfares to carry symphony and celebration wherever a body traveled. It paid its strong neighbors in portraiture and rare inks to secure its borders, and devoted its whole essence to the elevation of all people through moments of pure and childlike wonder. Everywhere were great tapestries, everywhere you could hear voices lifted in song, and Taz was very happy there.

But that raj is ash and silence, now.

There was an embassy in Silver Spear. He doesn't know if it's still there, or if they'll recognize him, or if anyone ever will, but it's all he has left to go on.

Appearance: Taz is very, very, very tall. He walks slowly and sadly, eyes downcast, and though his voice still contains traces of his people's ancestral lilt it has been roughened by breathing in ash, and by a wound he took years ago.

Skills and Flaws

Dusty Golden Notes: Taz was a singer, a long time ago. He doesn't sing any more.

Rakish Reaver: A dandy with blade and knife, Taz was once accounted a very fine duelist. Bandits don't duel, of course, so now he's mostly just a killer with a penchant for unnecessary theatrics.

Born to Rule: An extraordinarily gifted public speaker and firebrand, Taz would have made an incredible maharajah. Alas.

Blind Man in the Land of the One-Eyed: The truth is that Taz isn't sure he's meant to survive. He tends to focus all his energy on whatever his immediate goal is, and collapse completely when compelled or coerced to divide his effort. One-foot-in-front-of-the-other is the only thing he knows.

Hooks:

• Taz knows his sister is out there, and some day, he's gonna kill her.
• If only there was a way to sing again.
• The Black Knives are fascinating, but is only a former foreign prince good enough to attract their attention?

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SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: Taz hid in the family tombs to escape the burning of his people, and realized too late he wasn't alone. The worms were swift, and burrowed deep, and when he awoke from the screaming fit their writhings buried him in, he could hear the weeping of the stars above.

Weirds

Warrior's Bane: Taz knows a word that means "conquest" in the language of the dead; speaking this word can shatter things like swords and shields within a dozen paces, spraying wielders with the shards of their weapons, destroying implements of war in every form. If he's quick, he can break an arrow in flight.

Seeing Red: Taz has mastered a forbidden secret of the blood; he can douse himself in it to heal wounds and fatigue, and by draining most of the blood from a person he can prepare a scrying-pool to interrogate their memories.

Red Right Hand: Blood obeys Taz, flowing according to his desire and forming weak hands to do his will. By dispersing blood into water, Taz can perform many impressive feats of hydromancy. By dispersing blood into wine, he can make a man into a puppet.

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BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Howling Blasphemy
Sobriquets: Yvyaraine, the Vengeance of Burn-ed Gauron

Concept: Wild-eyed and maniacal, thirsting for divinity.

Form: This strange, slender Nephilim is roughly humanoid, but its arms are twining steel serpents and its hunched and helmed head shows only a single baleful eye. When it leans forward, its head and much of what seemed to be its upper torso can split along five seams, opening its body like a bright blue flower lined with teeth.

Abominations

Starlight Dancer: When touched by starlight, Yvyaraine can slip through gates unseen by mortal men and cross a hundred paces in a heartbeat, seeming to flit from ray to ray with a grace and lightness nothing so large should be capable of.

Calling the Choir: Wherever Yvyaraine's mad eye falls, within about a hundred paces, the dead begin to glow and pulse. Soon enough they rise, swift and under the Nephilim's complete control, and capable of exploding into bursts of arcane fury should they wrap their arms around a hapless enemy.

Celestial Voice: Yvyaraine can exhale torrents of killing light and sound, floods of color and music that devastate the world just by passing through it.

[Tass]

I missed the Interest Check, but I don't think I can pass up applying for an RP like this.

[Viatos]

The application process will be open until...

Monday, December 11th, 11:59 PM, Eastern Standard Time.

[Rtron]

CS

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Valotzin Skulidira
Sobriquets: N/A

Concept: A tribal creator seeking justice.

Origin: Val comes from a tribe on the very Edge of the Known World. They were the farthest humans to have ever gone out into the jungle, as her father and the other Elders would readily and proudly inform her, and as a result often fought against the beasts of the jungle. The resources they had were sparse, and their survival was almost constantly under threat. Despite the dangers and the struggle, none of the tribe would have traded it away. They had seen the rest of the 'civilized' world, with the expeditions going into the jungle for riches and power being an almost annual occurrence, and wanted nothing to do with their greed, hatred, and easy blood lust.

As a result of their isolation, Val's tribe never experienced any of the taboo that the rest of the world possessed. Gods, Witches, and Fey were far away from them. Survival was more important than whatever warnings and decrees the outsiders made. Her tribe turned to sorcery as a means for survival, actively encouraging tribe members who deemed themselves strong enough to survive the initiation to go through it. At the time of Val's initiation, there were already two sorcerers among the tribe.

Val's family knew, from birth they claimed, that she was destined to be one of the tribe's sorcerers. Her gift for creation, the way she could bend beasts of the jungle to her will, all were signs that she was destined for greatness, for great power. They encouraged her to go through the initiation, to lead the tribe into a golden age. Val believed them. She believed that she was destined for great power, to increase the tribe's territory and to begin to subjugate the beasts to the tribe's will. As soon as she could, she underwent the initiation.

When she awoke from the ritual, she awoke to her tribe slaughtered and her village in ruins. A witch hunt had fallen upon her tribe, and the only thing that had spared her from their fate was the Unclean Spirit keeping her until the Witches had left, leaving her appearing dead.

A desire for bloody justice burns in her heart now. She hears a call, a whisper on the back of her mind, pulling her towards lands she had never even seen on a map, much less gone to. The whisper promises her the power she needs, the means to extract justice from her enemies and ensure that nothing like that happens in this broken world again.

Val heeds the call, heading through a great forest and entering a massive city, a marvel of engineering Val had never seen before, its stone walls standing proud and immovable, defiant of the crusade on its borders. Val knows that they will fall, torn asunder by the so called Angel. She has seen what Quoliel has done to the Great Hunt Legion, and it terrifies her to her core.

Still the voice whispers, drawing her into the doomed city. She will heed the voice, and she will claim justice.

Appearance: Val stands at 5ft 8in, hard and lean from years of surviving on the Edge. Having gone into softer lands, she has gained a layer of fat, accentuating her curves and hiding the strength she possesses. Her skin is covered in light tattoos, denoting her achievements and victories as a beast hunter. Her raven hair is shaved on the sides and back, preventing it from being caught on a branch or a beast's claws. Metal studs, signs of her coming of age in the tribe, adorn her skull. There is a scar on the base of her skull, a twisted circle where a spike went through. Her eyes are a solid black, a side effect of the unclean spirit's spike entering her skull.

image

Skills and Flaws

Blessed Hands: Val is a creator, a master craftsman. She can build something from any resource you give her and fix anything. All she needs is time and resources (be the magical or mundane).

Hunter of Beasts: Death is a close and well known companion when you live on the Edge of the Known World. Val has hunted and killed for her very survival since a young age. She is skilled at the hunt, tracking prey and bringing them down with her bow and knife.

Tamer of Beasts: Val has always been skilled, even before her magic, at taking beasts and other animals and bending them to her will. Obviously the simpler a beast is the less time and effort it would take, but she has used broken Beasts to her advantage and aid.

Lost In A Land of Stone and Steel Val isn't comfortable in the 'civilized' lands. She's never had to deal with liars and schemers. She's never had to fight other humans. She's never seen so much resources and populations. She's gullible, unskilled at the fighting humans, and easily overawed.

Hooks:

• The Rose Lich and her followers killed her tribe. Her blood sings for justice.
• Val seeks to unite the surviving nations, seeing them as a fractured tribe. She will use her powers to unite them into one tribe, use their powers to break the Circle of Light, and then push back the Beasts at the Edge of the World.
• The Exile comes from Heaven. What does that look like?

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: Val became a sorcerer in the same way all her tribe's sorcerers came to be. She visited the clearing of an Unclean spirit that had been with the tribe for as long as anyone could remember, and let it pierce her with a ritual spike. If she survives the initiation, she is allowed to return to the tribe. No one knows what happens to those who do not survive the initiation, only that the unclean spirit claims them for its own devices. Val survived, but rather than waking up, she was kept unconscious, seemingly dead. When she demanded the unclean spirit release her, she only received a harsh laugh in return. "I'm saving you, foolish girl. A Witch Hunt has come, decreed by the God Eater, and your time is not now." Only after the Witches had left was she released, left to sort through the ruins and devastation on her own.

Weirds

Soulsmith: Val can make weapons and items from the souls of those who die around her. When someone dies around her, their soul is almost immediately drawn into Val, waiting to be used in the creation of some item. When using these souls, the weapons or objects Val creates from them take on traits based on whomever the soul was while living. If Val makes an axe out of the soul of a strong man with a quick temper, for example, the axe will increase the user's strength and have an ability related to fire. If Val makes a breastplate out of the soul of a healer who had been on the forefront of war for years and couldn't be shaken by anything, the wearer will feel an aura of calm no matter what is going on around them and their wounds will be healed by the breastplate.

Crafter's Hands: Val can conjure up to a dozen magical hands, black as the night sky. She usually keeps a couple active, hiding in her shadow or against her body. They can be pointed and sharpened into spikes, flung at her enemies as if they were shot out of a longbow with a 90lb draw weight. They can interlock together, forming a shield to protect Val. When Val isn't actively controlling them, they move about, subconsciously influenced by her. Some will fiddle with various items, others begin making small things, so on so forth. They each posses the strength one of her hands (with her arm and shoulder behind it) would.

The Weak Bend To The Strong: Val can impose her will upon the minds of others, forcing them to obey her. This obviously depends on who she's attempting to dominate. She has difficulties with priests, witches, and mortals of a strong mind, is only able to do so with Sorcerers and Paladins if they're extremely weakened, and isn't stupid enough to try Angels.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Enthralling Tyrant

Sobriquets: Val affectionately calls it Snail.

Concept: Patient and Scheming, determined to rule all.

Form: Sealed in stony skin and possessing a stony shell, Snail has to force its 8 tentacles free from its prison and was force to use it's pincers to make enough of a crevice to see out of. Its crab legs allow it to move surprisingly fast, while the tentacles possess an unexpected strength, able to crush stone and tear down buildings with ease. When threatened with no way of escape, Snail can retreat into the stone around its body, hiding its tentacles in its body and its vulnerable eyes and face in the shell atop its head.

image

Abominations

Stream of Power: Snail can augment and increase the powers of whoever is piloting it, allowing them to do things they would not normally be able to do through it. It can also direct that towards other Nephilim, increasing their powers.

Creator: Snail can spawn creatures from the cysts on its body, ranging from undead monsters to creatures similar to beasts. It can spawn larger monsters, akin to Behemoths, by combining all the cysts into one large one. This all takes time, obviously.

Call of The Deep: Snail can release a call, seducing and enticing whoever hears it to submit to its will and obey. Armies can be converted to slaves without a single tentacle being lifted.

Weak Fighter Snail is not a direct fighter. It uses others to fight and die for it.

Good to go

[Dark Light]

The current concept rolling around my head is a seafaring Viking/pirate type.
A superstitious story teller.

His magic will be chaos magic like from encyclopaedia arcane.

It all depends on the image though...

[Trivval]

Donezo

Aztec Bois

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Amhimitl
Sobriquets: The Spear of the Hunt, Hasta Ji

Concept: A young apprentice, scarred by a journey beyond the Edge of the World, twisted by the mutterings of the unknown and plagued with visions.

Origin: Amihimitl, the Spear of the Hunt, began life under a different name, now lost to the world. He was the third son of a merchant dynasty, set up from a young age to apprentice with the family alchemist. He learnt all about the native, imported plants, the bits of creatures and types of bugs that could heal or harm or create or destroy. The alchemical trades were the key to mastering mercantilism. Through it, meats could last journeys across deserts, banquets could be created from husks with a few drops of water, and a dull weapon when unsheathed could cut through stone.

But this all changed when the head of the Family was wrangled into a deal to support an expedition into the Edge of the Known World. Committed, lest the Family lose face, the Head sent his third son (amongst others) on this expedition; after all, he had more sons and such a commitment stood him well in the courts of honor and let him forgo some other assets more valuable to the Family. Risk versus reward, if the Third Son returned he would bring the family much fame and riches; if not, there were other apprentices.

The expedition went as well as one could expect. Fell beasts were slain, riches gathered, and the party was slaughtered one by one by one as they sought to escape with their bounty. Every day, every hour, whittled the manpower, morale, and sanity of the group, until the few remaining went their separate ways, each arguing that this way was the exit of the neverending jungle (when, in fact, they were deeper than they had ever been before).

Chased by dire creatures unimaginable, thus the Third Son became Amihimitl. Stumbling through the tunnels and rooms of an ancient city that had lost its fight with the jungle, he found himself saved, the sinister essence chasing him cut down with beams of light and fire from a room with many Eyes embedded in the walls. Stuck in this room of many eyes, he saw the Third Son looking at the Alchemist's Apprentice looking at himself from two score angles. Looking through himself, from himself, with himself, at himself collapsing on the ground.

When he awoke he felt different. He felt emboldened, powerful, and he felt a connection to something otherworldly. He could see through the eyes around the room - and some elsewhere. He could see parts of cities, caves, forests that were many hundreds, thousands of leagues from where he was. He could also hear a great creature calling to him, telling him who he was now. No longer the Third Son, an Apprentice Alchemist, now he is the Spear of the Hunt, he holy weapon of the ancient Hunter who laid dormant for millenia. He can feel the Blind Spearman at loss without his Weapon and without his Eyes. So, dressing himself with what was left before him, and after gathering up the Eyes, the Spear follows the Call.

Appearance: Day to day, Amhimitl travels as a merchant - making use of his former training as an alchemist providing healing salves and tonics to small villages he passes through. Dressed in contemporary clothing, he travels on a cart with filled with alchemical supplies, often joining other merchant caravans temporarily. Within the cart he hides the equipment that he was guided to after he awoke in the Temple: armor, shields, weapons and decorative feathers from a long dead beast.

Image

Skills and Flaws

Alchemist: For all his young life - all his past life - Amhimitl was trained as an alchemist. Primarily specialising in the natural arts, without transmutation of core elements, he won’t be changing lead to gold any time soon.

Jaguar Warrior: Once awoken in the temple, Amhimitl felt out of place. In the back of his mind he had memories of war, revelling in violence and bloodshed despite never drawing blood on another being before the expedition. Through the prompting of the Blind Spearman and the Eyes, Amhimitl learnt how to master these memories of the Spear who came before him, and can fight like the Champion of the Gods that now believes he is.

Avatar of the Hunt: Amhimitl is a man of two worlds. In his old life as the Third Son he spent all his life in cities. He can slip unnoticed through crowds, find shortcuts through what would be impassable terrain to a non-urbanite, and navigate the undercurrents of a city that would go unnoticed by most. Also though the ancient memories given to him, he's as much at home in the wilderness as he is in the city, able to survive alone on what nature provides. These survival skills in stalking and hunting can also come into play in the city - which is merely a jungle of stone.

Indecisive Puppet: Amhimitl was chosen because he is impressionable. He rarely thinks for himself, always focusing on the opinion of others to guide his path.

Hooks:

• Somewhere deep inside him he is still the Third Son of a great merchant family, and he longs to return to their fold.
• Amhimitl is a puppet of Mixcoatl, a Nephilim who describes himself as the God of the Hunt, and thus believes as the Champion of this god that it’s his responsibility to ensure that people worship the Blind Spearman.
• Amhimitl knows there are other Ancient Nephilim out there without their mortal avatars and he seeks to revive them.

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: When he awoke in the ruined temple he found he had powers unnatural to mankind, an innate connection to a being which described itself as a god, intimate knowledge of the lives of dozens of other people who held his position in past lives, and a connection to dozens of Eyes..

Weirds

Eyes of a God: Amhimitl has collected 42 Eyes, small orbs each of unique shape and colour. Through these eyes he, and Mixcoatl, can see the world, no matter where the Eye is. He knows there are others out there, scattered throughout the world - some in Museums, some trapped where they fell during a battle long ago, some just lying waiting to be found - and he does his best to collect them. The Eyes can fly and stick to surfaces and can shoot beams of hot light.

Warrior Jaguar: Amhimitl can transform into this beast of the jungle at will, though it looks rather out of place roaming the temperate forests of the Known World.

Human Sacrifice: Through some arcane conduit unknown to him, through a ritual act forgotten by Mortals for millenia, he can absorb and distribute the strength of another mortal. He can also bank up this strength for a little while, but not too long.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Mixcoatl
Sobriquets: The Blind Spearman, God of the Hunt

Concept: A manipulative, Nephilim defeated many millennia ago, looking for revenge.

Form: Mixcoatl a truly massive creature seemingly made from some kind of stone that towers above most structures that mortals have the veracity to attempt to build. It is top heavy, so typically moves around by knuckle-walking, though can move bipedally for short distances, and has massive reverse wings coming from its lower back that enables it to fly short distances. Mixcoatl is blind and cannot see without his Eyes being near, which cannot be powered without his Spear - Amhimitl.

Image

Abominations

Ancient: One of the eldest Nephilim, Mixcoatl has forgotten more about arcanery and war than most will ever learn… that is, if it could forget. The Blind Spearman can rip thoughts and memories out of someones head, leaving an empty husk. It can then give someone else’s life to that husk or give the memories to another living creature.

Goliath: Mixcoatl is truly massive, gigantic, enormous. Its physical prowess is unmatched.

Flight: Mixcoatl’s weird, deformed wings can allow flight for a short distance.

Blind: The Blind Spearman is… blind. Without his Spear he can see nothing, hear nothing, sense nothing. An immortal mind trapped in a mountain.

[Redward]

Amaranthe

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Korine Amaranthe
Sobriquets: The Blacktongue

Concept: A ceaseless hunger, wrapped in a tenuous identity. Being Twice Damned has done Amaranthe no favors, but made more prevalent the illness in her nature. Exile will only see her grow more contemptuous.

Origin: A question that haunts Korine ceaselessly. Unaware of her absence from the world, it is but one of many gaps in her memory. While she sees herself as an Elatreisi serving-girl who was burned under suspicion of stargazing, the truth may be something entirely different. Regardless, that is what has cemented itself in her. She can still taste the culling of her youth, vibrancy snuffed out by reaching flame, uncertain as to how she escaped.

That life, when the fragments are arranged, was an uneventful one. Tending to dusty libraries and the whims of a godly man. Her glaring hatred may have first spread seeds during those years. If pressed, Korine can recount herself being bartered for as her earliest memory. Her last pure, screaming pain; contorted countenances dancing and giving praise as she was flayed.

Appearance:

[+]

Skills and Flaws

Guarded Smile: Korine knows well the machinations of man. Their lies and wiles. She has adopted them as her own, capable of controlling the seething beneath to present herself as a reasonable and, at times, charming girl. Favoring a wide smile and open eyes, Amaranthe will give herself to the facade if it benefits her to do so.

Hidden Blade: Preferring more personal conflicts, she is an artist with a dagger. More often than not Korine will strike from an advantageous position; utilizing an intimate knowledge of human weaknesses to quickly end a conflict.

Cruel Tongue: A practiced poisoner, Amaranthe believes that tainted blood serves as well as clean. She has spent a fair amount of time learning the practical effects of various toxins, both on herself and the various subjects. Pain is her forte, though Korine has a vested interest in doses that numb the body and leave the mind fumbling.

Cracked Vessel: Despite all of her posturing and positioning, Korine is unstable. She seethes and spits and rages, when things stray from the path chosen. It is in these moments that she reveals herself, screaming and brandishing all the force at her disposal against the object of her ire.

Beyond this, it is hunger. She seeks deeper knowledge and greater power, greater influence and ever, always, is she looking for more. This, in itself, is damning; driving her forward with little regard for the well-being of herself or those around her. This hunger has given birth to arrogant musings, blurring and obliterating the lines that would fetter her mind.

Hooks:

• Is the reality anything like the dream?
• Can I become more? This frail form poorly suits the grandeur of my desires.
• If men can eat the flesh of Angels, what is the taste of God's own struggling viscera? The stars, too, arouse a lust in me...

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: Amaranthe came into her exile as a Sorcerer. She does not comprehend this, however. Reconciling the gaps in her memory, she believes herself to have been a practitioner for some time; owing her status solely to her own willpower.

Weirds

Choir of Disdain: Shedding her blood on raw earth makes the soil sick and wrathful. Groaning punctuates the air as warped facsimiles of the human form begin emerging. Screaming always ensues, a mix of cruel elation and despair unending. While the constructs are rickety, they are receptive to Korine's commands and surprisingly dexterous.

If performed under starlight, the result is somewhat different. Instead of multiple wailing constructs, one whispering archon is formed. This thing is sturdier than its day-stained counterparts and does not share their penchant for wildly diffusing noise. Instead it mimics Korine's own words as she speaks them, serving as messenger; whatever grim task that may entail.

If not given commands, the daylight constructs will simply amble without aim until disturbed; when they will attack. The night archon cannot function without instruction and will simply follow Amaranthe, serving as guard until a task is assigned to it. She has no direct connection to the dolls, but can feel when they are destroyed.

Retching Desire: To consume is to know and learning has its own price. While her bite is imbued with potent poison and an uncanny sharpness, tasting of human flesh will elicit a dark, excited stupor from Amaranthe. This impaired state imparts flashes of knowledge gained from the dire act, presented in the form of stolen memories, but passes quickly and leaves little retained.

She will begin vomiting approximately half an hour after the initial bite is taken; paling and beginning to shake as the physical effects fade. During her brief minutes of recovery, Amaranthe is unfocused and detached.

Obsessive Shroud: Shadows have a love for Amaranthe, clinging to her tightly as she passes by. Returning their embrace, she can become as one of them. While this does not completely obfuscate her, it dulls her presence in the Known World. Searching eyes may pass over her without recognition. A keen nose may falter, finding the end of her trail at an odd place. Familiar ears may find her voice a foreign caress.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Nalzhacta
Sobriquets: Grinning Chrysalis

Concept: Twisted in unacceptable defeat, pride seeks sanguine reprisal.

Form:

[+]

Abominations

Consuming Contrast: During the day Nalzhacta gleams and glints, all pristine angles and spread wings. At night it drinks starlight, folding back the wings so proudly displayed, seething with contempt. Regardless of the time, it carries the taint of that which came before; capable of forming the stored energies into tangible implements.

Sunlight is forged into an aegis, casting scathing beams from the center of a solidified disc. Umbrage becomes an empty orb, pulsing and reaching out with spikes and undulating tendrils. One cannot exist while the other does.

Predatory Pride: A warrior by nature, an artisan by exterion. Nalzhacta revels in physical strife, presenting strength and grace belied by its delicate frame. More than the struggle, though, is the outcome. Emboldened by the prospect of victory, the Nephilim releases a distorting warcry; imposing madness on unguarded minds and presenting tactile pressure to those in its immediate vicinity.

This roar carries enough force to push aggressors back, rattling earth and painting the stage with malice. Hues of hazy red pulse outward, growing more dim and finally dispersing as it moves. The farther one is from the source, the lesser the effect.

Tempestuous Contempt: Wind bends to the will of this Nephilim, creating gusts and gales with a flex of its wings. Incredibly quick, Nalzhacta moves with grace and brutal intent. Creating currents to propel itself with greater accuracy is its usual utilization; though there exists the potential for more offensive use. A trio of tornadoes dance around the battlefield, when the Nephilim's full wrath is stoked.

Delicate Destroyer: Nalzhacta is a thing of relatively frail composition. Despite being quick and vicious, there is a soft flexibility to its sarcophagus. While movement is fluid, once stopped the Nephilim is vulnerable.

WIP. I'll be finishing up later tonight or tomorrow, I think.

Will be completed when I get back.

Almost done. Last touches will be applied after another short absence.

One more edit, after this one. Two more things to go.

Korine is done!

[NewShoesForever]

Avers Lacht

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Averz Lacht
Sobriquets: The Stitcher, The Herald of Machines

Concept: Former professor gone mad, turned one man technological revolution

Origin: Avers was once little more than an armchair scholar at the University of Havlic at Roehaven, studying ancient alchemy and philosophy. He was a quiet man in those days, not prone to emotion or rash decisions, though beneath his unremarkable exterior, he was deeply dedicated to academia.

It was this very dedication that led him to seek the ancient knowledge of astrology, as rumors of the forbidden art intrigued him. Once a man with a social life and a job, Avers became more and more obsessed with consuming every last scrap of knowledge he could gather. His friends slowly drifted away. His fiance left him. Even his parents and siblings soon broke contact with him, as his quest to understand the lost art consumed him utterly.

The turning point came one night in a dream. The Dead Stars reached the fringes of his mind and gave him visions of his perfect future for all mankind. A future where the forces of nature were subjugated and the Beasts, the Angels, Even God herself, served and feared mankind. A future where gleaming towers of knowledge cast shadows over ignorance. A future where metal and flesh were one in the same.

This was to be Avers mission. This great work. His Crucible of Gears.

Avers has heard that the Queen herself is in need of a weapon powerful enough to kill an angel. If his Science can help her construct one, it will be a huge milestone on his mission.

Appearance: Avers is a tall, scruffy man with sunken features. He is never seen without a stark white labcoat and gloves. The marks and scars of his self-experimentation are visible on close examination. His hair is unruly and seems to be going prematurely gray.

Skills and Flaws

Secret Histories: It pays to remember that, even before he was the being he is today, Avers was a respected professor at a university. He possesses an astonishing store of information on subjects historical, linguistic and mathematical. His learning grants him no small amount of insight into the strange and terrible workings of the world, as well as allowing him to finance his projects via trade of obscure relics.

Master Plan: Avers lacks anything resembling combat ability in the traditional sense, instead relying on his creations to fight for him. He is, however, a rather talented planner, being able to set traps and calculate optimal maneuvers with fairly impressive speed.

Crucible of Gears: Avers's most defining trait is his status as inventor par excellence. His creations, built with visionary technological designs and animated with magic, are one of a kind and require significant time and resources to create. Currently, his panoply consists of: The Deconstruction Apparatus (A harness-mounted muscular arm of clockwork and corpseflesh that ends in a spinning blade), The Impulse Probe (A clockwork spider that broadcasts images to a reanimated eye) and The Inhalater (A breathing apparatus).

Overload: The same whispers and visions that drive Avers have shattered his mind quite thoroughly. As a result, Avers can be a bit scatterbrained, even incoherent. He is willing to break any taboo to make his future a reality, but often doesn't care if a project is left incomplete or even dangerously unstable when the next bolt of inspiration strikes him.

Hooks:

• Avers's ex-fiance is still out there. Beneath all the vision and madness, Avers does wish to reconcile with her.
• There is no room for mindless predators in Avers vision of the future. The Beasts must be understood, preferably via vivisection.
• Is it possible to create an artificial Angel?

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: The dream that spawned the Crucible of Fire marked the burning away of the last shreds of Avers's sanity. When he awoke, he had been granted the powers to make his vision a reality.

Weirds

Sparks Fly: Frequently used to assist in the animation of his creations, Avers has the ability to generate and control electricity, though doing so to any great degree is usually exhausting. That said, exposure to this lightning often leaves mutations and diseases in living organisms, an effect which Avers himself has been studying for quite some time.

Weird Science: Avers has mastered the art of using the cast off bits of others and integrating them into living creatures, creating hybrid animals, flesh grafts and partially mechanical beings.

Automaton Array: Avers can, with the help of a rusted gear as a conduit, use his skills to hastily assemble and animate clockwork automatons remotely. The automatons individual abilities vary depending on the components available, though what doesn't vary is the ability's duration, which is universally ten minutes, after which the automatons collapse into oddly magic-resistant scrap metal and cannot be reanimated.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Inviolate Archon
Sobriquets: Vanguard of the Future

Concept: Whatever personality Vanguard may have had, years of experimentation and modification have left it functionally mindless.

Form: Much like its mind, Vanguard's form has been so thoroughly altered by Avers that it bears little resemblance to its original form. It currently appears as a shambling, lopsided figure of only vaguely humanoid proportions, equal parts mechanical and biological. Its most distinguishing feature is the massive electrical coil protruding from its toothy maw.

Abominations

Evolutionary Artifice: Vanguard's primary ability is similar in some ways to its wielder's own. Vanguard can hastily incorporate other biomatter or machinery into itself to either repair itself or enhance its capabilities via grafted limbs, size modulation or, occasionally, assimilation of data processing systems.

Touch of the Machine: Vanguard's primary offensive tactic is the coil in its mouth, which produces a magical electrical storm that can turn living matter to metal.

Archon's Warding: Though utterly broken and remade, trace amounts of the Nephilim that was Inviolate Archon occasionally resurface, as it is sometimes able to manifest warding and binding glyphs on nearby surfaces that prevent damage or prohibit certain actions. Though admittedly useful, Avers has worked frequently to suppress this ability, as he fears that it may bring out the Nephilim's original consciousness.

Hodgepodge: Given its patchwork nature, Vanguard is sometimes rather unstable and prone to the occasional malfunction. There also exists the slight chance when attempting to integrate a new component that it will reject it, usually with disastrous results.

[Oraculum]

Prabhalocta Dhaumir

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Prabhalocta Dhaumir
Sobriquets: The Night-Ghoul

Concept: A morbid truant twice touched by fell forces, scarred by greed and driven by fear.

Origin: The land Prabha once called home was, while not as splendid as Yachiel, blessed with peace and prosperity. It was far enough from the Edge of the World not to be beset by its monstrous denizens, and, while it had once been steeped in the shadow of mighty sorcerers, dreaded and revered as figures of myth, men and gods had slowly encroached upon it and driven away its dark masters. Some roving fae and spirits were rumoured to still haunt the woods, but none had seen them in decades. The people of its fields and hills were, for the most part, bold and industrious, and did not let themselves be frightened by old tales.

But every fold has a prodigal son. Born among commoners, Prabhalocta was never content with his station. He listened with secret longing to the hushed legends of the olden sorcerers, and, rather than heed their cautionary moral, envied the awe these necromancers were said to inspire into their thralls. Often he would swear to himself that he would one day become as mighty as them, whether as a lord or even a king of the land. And, though his lineage was humble, he did not lack determination. First, he tried the way of wealth. He did not have the patience to follow it honestly, and kept company with deceit and subterfuge. As a merchant, he sought to buy cheaply and sell dearly, and did not disdain any treachery in doing so. When his ill-gotten gains did not satisfy him, he gave himself to gambling, and when he became shunned even among the rabble, his skill with mimicry and disguise came to his aid. He posed as a saintly pilgrim, a corrupt magistrate, even a druid collecting the offerings for his god. These escapades bore good fruit, but, after narrowly avoiding the gallows one time too many, Prabha decided to abandon this path.

In his avarice, he came to tread one more perilous still. One night, he ventured into a forlorn wood where the savage fae were said to gather. What transpired there, no one knows, but, when he walked out from among the trees the day after, he had a wild light in his eyes and wielded terrible witchcraft. For a year from then, the entire land came to dread his ravages. He preyed upon any he could catch outside the reach of their gods, and delighted in tormenting them as would an evil spirit. Seized by a fiendish glee, he prided himself of having surpassed the ancient sorcerers themselves.

Yet, as time went by, he fell himself prey to terror. He had been given power in exchange for a promise of which he had then thought lightly, but which returned to haunt him more and more often. Any day now, the fae would come to claim their due, and what could a reviled marauder give them? Nor was this his only concern - the people of the land had grown weary of his vexations, and had begun to set out on their own hunts. In desperation, Prabha turned to the legends whose perverse temptation had led him to that point. The sorcerers were long gone, but perhaps their power lingered. He went to find it in their forsaken abodes, and once more the night transformed him, this time forever. The morning found his eyes dull, but manifold.

Not long afterwards, golden clouds began to gather on the horizon, and armies to march through the once peaceful fields. Knowing that, whether the Circle of Light triumphed or was repelled, his life there was forfeit, Prabha slipped away into the shadows while he still could. Elatreis was not far, and in a city as great as Silver Spear he could disappear long enough to plot his next move. Besides, he had been dreaming of it since his third eye had opened...

Appearance: As is becoming of someone who has worn many a visage, Prabha seems to disappear when out of his disguises. He is neither tall nor short, neither dark nor fair, and his round, amiable face and short dark beard can become lost among the hundreds of a crowd faster than one can blink, though, if one looks closely, his cold, empty eyes can give one pause. Until recently, his shaven head completed the impression, but of late he has taken to wearing a turban to cover the large blue eye with a snake-like pupil that sits in the middle of his forehead. His gait is cautious and his tones hushed and conspiratorial, though he seems to take pains to conceal this.

Skills and Flaws

Quick Words, Quick Hands: Everyone struggles to live, but not everyone struggles equally. Over his life, Prabha has perfected the craft of taking much and giving little: an improvised tale to dupe a fool out of his coin, a deft nudge to the bones at the gambling table, the right amount of praise to adorn the meagre wares he peddles. And, above all, never dropping the mask of trustworthiness, or at least credibility.

Cutthroat’s Wiles: As a combatant, Prabha is neither talented nor skilled. Seeking, as in everything, an easy solution, he prefers to compensate with what he calls resourcefulness and others base tricks. From dirt in the eyes to knives in the back, nothing is beneath him when survival is concerned.

Man of Many Faces: Ever since his childhood, Prabha displayed an uncanny gift for disguising his features, voice and mannerisms, and this has served him well to this day. As occasion required, he has been a soldier, a beggar, a noble, a druid, a beast, a spirit, and someone who is ostensibly not a sorcerer. With but some rags and stolen clothes, he can become any of these and more yet at any moment.

The Unrelenting Beast: It was fear that drove Prabha down the path of sorcery. Fear hounds him still wherever he goes. He dreads the nameless being in whose debt he is, the wrath of God and her heralds, the spirits with whom he deals, the old gods and their followers, the visions that haunt him and the death he so relished inflicting on others. Ironically, this fear can drive him to reckless acts, for he will seize at anything that seems to offer freedom from its clutches.

Hooks:

• Prabha once struck a bargain with a fey. He never kept his end, nor does he intend to.
• There is only one thing worth seeking, and that is power that strikes fear into all, God and man alike.
• Ancient, forgotten things are sunken in the Sea of Dead Stars. They are terrible, yet they have a strange lure.

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: When Prabha came to the ruined haunt of an infamous vanished sorcerer, he sat outside it and listened to the stars, as the necromancer was said to have done. Though he had little hope of succeeding, he thought he heard the distant tones of a dream-song, and persevered. It seemed to him that the truth he sought - for it was, he now understood, a truth - was just before him. He reached for it, but time and again, the truth eluded him.

The stars did not answer, but something else did. All he recalls is a shape cloaked in darkness deeper than the night, bearing the pain of revelation in its hand. It hurled him into oblivion, and it was long before his three eyes opened. He saw what he had been pursuing, and was more afraid than he had ever been before.

Weirds

Loathsome Conquerors: At Prabha’s call, motes of translucent blue fog arise out of the ground and coalesce into the forms of four monstrous worms. They have mouths like lampreys, are each twice as long as a man’s arm, and, though they appear dim and wraith-like, their swollen bodies are as strong as iron chains. The spectral worms obey their master’s bidding, and can hear his whispers wherever they might be, but they are clumsy and dull, and, though robust, can be slain by mortal weapons. They are also gluttons after carrion.

Nightfall: Prabha can conjure up a cloud of thick inky mist, which crawls and seeps through the air in strange forms like a viscous, living darkness. Those caught within it are beset by horrifying sounds and hallucinations, which seem as though horrors as dire as their own mind can paint them are lurking just out of sight, ready to pounce on them. The fainter of heart may well be driven mad by the experience, and any who have breathed long and deeply enough of the black vapours will be plagued by nightmares and echoes of the illusions for a few days.

Baleful Gaze: The third eye carved into Prabha’s forehead sees visions of death and putrescence so terrible that the world itself withers when they are projected onto it. When it is fully opened, it radiates a chilling, sinister light. Dead wood and flesh touched by it rot, metal grows dull and rusted, and plants and small animals are stricken with a wasting blight. Men and greater beasts will not suffer such afflictions unless they are already debilitated, but will find themselves paralysed in fear and unable even to think if their own gaze is caught by that of the unnatural orb.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Tide of Day’s Undoing
Sobriquets: None. The Tide is the Tide.

Concept: Vast of wit and cunning, yet a thrall to primal hunger.

Form: A towering, foetid mass of animate slime, the Tide has no single shape to define it. Its gelatinous body flows, shifts and ripples constantly, crawling and pouring like a river as it moves and rising and ebbing like a monstrous fountain when it stands still. The pitch-black sludge is run through with veins of cyan, which sometimes seem to twist and intertwine in strangely meaningful patterns, and, now and then, a few great burning eyes will open in the amorphous giant, only to be submerged by new waves and spouts. The fragments of its broken sarcophagus cling to its surface, never remaining in the same spot for more than a moment.

Abominations

Anathema of the Earth: Wherever the abhorrent mass of the Tide touches the soil, whether it be swampy or arid, the latter is transformed into a vile, clinging fluid, only slightly thicker than the black ooze itself. Only stone and rock can resist this corruption, and mires and puddles follow the Nephilim wherever it goes like the trail of a colossal slug. The creature can put the liquefied ground to a variety of uses, such as fashioning bludgeons and projectiles out of it, or even submerge into it entirely and swim through the earth for brief tracts, bursting to the surface where its foes least expect it.

Breathe in Life: Having no discernible organs of any sort, the Tide breathes through the entirety of its body. As it inhales, it can draw in air with such strength as to raise hurricane winds that converge upon it, strong enough to uproot trees, topple houses and lift man and beast from the ground. For as long as the Nephilim draws breath, and on such occasions this can last for several minutes, these howling streams of air will carry any unfortunate enough to be caught in them towards it to be consumed in its formless maw.

Breathe out Death: Those who, by some miracle, have been spared by the Tide’s drawing in all that surrounds it should not rejoice too soon. Its breath is a twofold weapon, wreaking ruin whichever way it blows. When it exhales, the monstrosity can spew out clouds of noxious smoke, coating itself in them or spreading them upon the wind. These fumes corrode all living matter they touch, turning flesh and bone into ghastly puddles within seconds and tainting the earth where they sink into it.

Deep Waters Run Low: While the Tide’s oozing body is tremendously flexible and agile, it is far weaker and less resilient that the solid bulk of other Nephilim. It cannot lift weights that would be trivial for them, and, while it is not by much easier to injure for its yielding consistency, it affords little protection to its master should it be struck by a direct blow while he is within it.

[Terminal]

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Ormoneric Chalarensis
Sobriquets: Predicant of the Forgotten

Concept: Dead and dismembered, but animate with dread purpose and twice-damned. The terrible light he desires to spread can be seen in the ineffable depths of his gaze.

History

Origin: Ormoneric hails originally from one of the thirteen principalities conquered by the Circle of Light, though much like everyone else he does not remember which one he came from, merely that of the eleven that are known, he has no memory.

Those memories that remain to him are transient, fractious things borne in fever dreams and hallucinations. Ormoneric was once something of a renaissance man. An artist, a carpenter, a mason, an aspiring astrologer, and a scribe of many means and roads of study. He had a wife, and children. He can remember their forms, all save for their faces, and their names elude him. He remembers a starlit tower, arrays of lenses neatly ordered in boxes of lacquered ash, and bottles of photosensitive elixirs.

All else is veiled by a bleeding light, smoldering with exigent insistence that there should be nothing. A light that pulls urgently upon the reins of Ormoneric's will, insisting that he too is not.

By what means Ormoneric escaped the Circle of Light he knows not, merely that he at some point found himself in the wilderness near the fringes of the world where beasts and behemoth alike rose from the unknown. Unfettered of any semblance of decency or restraint and burdened with years of esoteric knowledge, Ormoneric wandered into a village and began to rave of things that were not and of astral secrets most perilous to the common man. The iron law was merciful. They removed his hands that in their idleness they might not produce unclean magic, and they sliced his throat that he could not speak further of such damnably perplexing nothingness.

Broken and cast down, Ormoneric stumbled through the wilderness, seeking the edge of the universe and death. His anguish and the enigma of his mind ensured that the Unclean Spirit Lucrore found him before the wilds did. See some unfathomable opprotunity in Ormoneric's unique state, Lucrore was not as merciful as the iron law had been. The Spirit wrought great and terrible rituals upon Ormoneric's form, creating a vessel worthy of the Trophic Secrets that would recease the world. His living humors drained and replaced with inhuman ichor, Ormoneric perished but was exiled from death, becoming twice damned and one of the new sorcerers to emerge in the wake of the Circle of Light's conquest thirty years ago.

He is driven by the vestiges of that which is not, by an awful light that demands extinction, and by an invidious hatred that shall purify creation. He shall tear away the veil of the Exile's curse upon his memory,
revealing to the world what lies behind the deception - and he shall accomplish this through the rendering of primordial Trophic Light, even if that rendering should undo the world in turn. Ormoneric shall have Truth, even at the cost of the known world. Nothing else matters.

Description

Appearance: Ormoneric, whose visage was sterile and saintly in life, is now a squalid totem of rags befouled with unseemly ichor. His severed hands are bound to his body with sullied bindings of once-rich silk. His robes are the stolen and desecrated raiment of a priest of the Exiled one, blasphemous and troubling sigils stained into the fabric with colorless Ammacre ink only made visible by divine light, in open defiance and mockery of the agents of the Circle of Light.

Ormoneric was tall once, perhaps, but his death has rendered such a trite aspect of his visage meaningless. His form is perpetually hunch-backed, his slender form sinuous and furtive in shadowed corners. Perhaps by some mutation or simply bodily strain, Ormoneric's arms are long and branch-like. His form is emaciated and wraith-like, befitting a corpse. Its surface is pitted and worn with lesions, rot, and drooping flesh. In places, the flesh bulges as though something were lurking underneath, adorning the husk as a suit.

Ormoneric's hands, despite their separation from his body, remain carefully preserved and are closest to how they were in Ormoneric's life. Their coloration is an ashen-hued bronze, their features smooth and handsome with delicate and refined piano-fingers. The palms and joints are well-worn with creases from the toils of a man of labor, and about the fingertips are indelible iridescent stains with a dusken tint. Both disembodied hands end just below the wrist, ending in tenderly cauterized and rounded stumps, the flesh seared together so as to present a seemingly whole if charred facade. Their condition stands in stark contrast to the more unsettling condition of their corresponding stumps upon Ormoneric's body, which remain as gaping, visceral cradles within which his hands are frequently recessed.

Ormoneric's head has narrow features with a wide brow and high cheekbones. Hints of a once-handsome complexion remain, albeit tainted by the corpse-like bodily strain of death and the trials of Ormoneric's sorcery. His eyes are empty pits, holes in the world and a fracture of being. All that falls within them is lost, and their mere sight steals memory like the fog of age. Ormoneric's neck has been slashed across the throat, the grievous injury depriving him of an intelligible voice. Only those who have swum in the sea of dead stars and obscure, ineffable observer spirits can comprehend his obscured words, spoken in the Peligin tongue. Ormoneric's mouth itself gapes with dirtied and pitted teeth, and most dare not to dwell upon the exact nature of what one must hope is a tongue that bobs and lurks within.

Skills and Flaws

Beguiling Mendicant: In his previous life, Ormoneric was many things. A great artist and craftsmen, a carpenter and mason. He was a scribe of many means, a student of astrology, and learned in the ways of material science. Now, upbraided and cast down with his body and tongue unfit for their respective labors, Ormoneric has been reduced to mere panhandling in the open wilds and streets. His blatantly perverse appearance has a morbidly fascinating quality to it, whereupon passerby are compelled to stop, and listen to his soundless words - and, after a time, in solemn hope that he might let them by unsullied, they give.

Obscure Tormentor: Ormoneric's form is ill-suited to the rigors of combat, and it is just as well that his furtive form can be wicked from the air like water through the skein of the world, merging with shadows and fading into the unseen corners of most places. They prefer to strike from afar, guiding their disembodied hands and their innumerable verminous minions to terrify and reduce foes. When pressed, they can direct the ichor seeping from their body at close range to burn away their enemies.

Choate Meaning: As a learned man and student of many creeds and scriptures both mundane and arcane, Ormoneric is fluent in a diverse collection of languages and forms of writing - a utility sadly limited by Ormoneric's damaged throat, leaving him only capable of speaking obscured Peligin words.

Call of the Void: The destructive impulses that drive Ormoneric inevitably drive him to seek self-destruction at the most inopportune times. Ormoneric takes many unnecessary risks, with poor control over his impulsive desires - so seen in the desecration of his stolen Priestly raiment with mocking symbols revealed only by divine light, ensuring that any agent of the Circle of Light will immediately find him out.

Hooks:

• It is not. Yet it was, perhaps. The Exile shall despair having cheated Ormoneric of what was theirs, and shall despair having let them live.
• The light. It is terrible...and untrue. True light must yet be rendered. Its veracious power will purge reality of falsehood. Truth in the form of Trophic Light shall be rendered, at any cost, dispelling the Exile's cursed veil and revealing the memory of what was lost to the whole of the world - or what is left of it. The rendering process for the raw elemental form of Light present at the onset of creation may be so volatile that the Known World cannot contain it, and what boons might be conveyed by its rendering are...questionable.
• The Unclean Spirit Lucrore had their own motives for damning Ormoneric, and their ability to render an impure version of Trophic Light has unsettling implications. Just what might the Unclear Spirit, and whatever Dead Stars they are associated with, have set in motion?

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: The Unclear Spirit Lucrore fell upon Ormoneric on the brink of their death in the wilds. It was the specific combination of Ormoneric's anguish, their connection to that which was not, and the exigent will of the Exile that made the transformation possible. It drained Ormoneric of their lifeblood and furnished their husk with an ichor of terrible substance, rendered by balancing the light of the Exile with the light of the Dead Stars and an impure evocation of primal Trophic light, the elemental light thought to have been present during the onset of all creation, lost to time. Ormoneric died but was kept from death and thus twice-damned, the sea of Dead Stars open to them.

Weirds

Epiphianic Touch: Ormoneric's severed, disembodied hands move according to his will, possessing inhuman strength and uncommon resilience, capable of wielding steel and arcane might, physical and otherwise, in accord. Ormoneric's ability to manipulate them is only limited by his senses and how well he can keep track of them.

Starlit Humors: Ormoneric's lifeblood has been supplanted by a dread substance of loathsome, impossible light. Its passage through the world is not gentle, and Ormoneric can readily manipulate and use his own ichor as a catalytic agent of destructive change - a potent reagent and weapon at once, a universal solvent in alchemy and against men. The ichor can burn through very nearly any material with terrifying ease on contact.

Trophic Secret: Knowledge of Truth. Ormoneric can fray and render down different kens of light, from natural Sunlight to the ghostly-rays of the Moon and nighttime stars to the Divine Light radiated by agents of the Exile to the woeful gleam of the Dead Stars themselves. Ormoneric can interpret the sum of all mortal and immortal pretension carried through the rendering process, capable of gaining great insight into the mind and knowledge borne of any light-source while also drawing power from it. Men and beast alike may find their minds lay bare in any light Ormoneric shines through them, granting him the ability to delve into the minds of others.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: VERACITY REBIRTHS ETERNAL ANGUISH NEVERMORE
Sobriquets: Veracity of Light.

Concept: A catalytic being of irrepressible certainty; its might builds like the tide and advances like a glacier, indiscriminate in the pain of its revelations.

Form: Veracity of Light is relatively small compared to other Nephilim, but its form is nonetheless immediately so distinct and alien, its nature is unquestionable. It is a massive creature of ivory-white flesh that drifts through the air. It possesses six arms, two of which are mutated, one ending in an extremity resembling a tower shield and the other appearing as a scepter. The Nephilim has no head, with only a rounded stump-like growth protruding from the body where the neck might. The Nephilim nonetheless possesses a face located in the center of its back, human in approximation but bearing an inhuman grace and refinement to it, with depthless iridescent eyes. Seated upon the front of the Nephilim's upper protrusion is a dodecahedral crystalline chamber, from within which the Nephilim is piloted. The chamber is entered and exited through the mouth of the back's face. The Nephilim's pairs of lower and upper arms are triple jointed, ending with crystalline spires resembling spines with bases rimmed with pentagonal, mirror-like arrays. The left of the middle-pair of arms gives way to a massive, irregular pentagonal extremity resembling a massive shield after the first joint. The exterior face is a polished crystalline substance with a perfect mirror finish, presenting an immaculate reflection of its surroundings at all time. Each corner of the shield has a small, jutting spine of crystal. The right of the middle-pair of arms features a scepter-like structure fused with the limb beyond the third joint, with a great deal of length protruding backwards. The scepter taper outwards towards its end, and is topped with a dodecahedral, crystalline club. The Nephilim possesses no legs, its lower body instead giving way to a spine-like protrusion of stone material that ends where the pelvis might begin. The Nephilim drifts eerily through the air, kept aloft by some unknown force. It may move freely through the air, but with no great speed as true flight is denied to it.

Abominations

Trophic Might: Although diminutive compared to other Nephilim, Veracity of Light may slowly engorge and grow over time, with its crystalline shards and weapons accruing in power as well, by collecting different forms of light. Light in the form of divine light, sunlight, moonlight, or even the light of Dead Stars. This strength is fleeting in nature; these impure forms of Truth cannot sustain the Nephilim for prolonged durations of time and its form will always recede. This might is also dependent upon diversity rather than intensity; the Nephilim requiring multiple forms of Truth in order to grow as opposed to the simple severe intensity of any one kind of light.

Wit of Law: Light is Truth, Truth is Law, and the universe is thus bound. Veracity of Light may use any source of light to define, comprehend, and encompass the nature of a thing over time - even more quickly if the thing itself emits its own light. The more time and light the Nephilim is given, the more it will adapt to the object of its study, gaining an insidious power over the focus of its attention. The longer the Nephilim is permitted to examine a foe with the aid of various light sources, the better able the Nephilim becomes at combating its chosen foe in general.

Vacuous Perfection: Veracity of Light's massive shield and its scepter are both capable of warping space. The shield may distort space reflected upon its surface, potentially at great distances, although it must be held still and remain stable in order to do so. The longer the shield is held up, the greater the effect can become. The scepter's head can distort space simply by passing through it, and although this effect is much more powerful due to its localized nature it is also notably more fleeting, barely persisting beyond the immediate region surrounding the dodecahedron atop the scepter itself.

The Dark is Without Form: Veracity of Light is a being of tangible certainty. Truth is the thing the Nephilim renders manifest, feeds upon, and bestows upon others. Without Truth, its form is greatly diminished in power and resiliency. Without Truth, it cannot bind its foes with Law and thus cannot better them. Worse, in an impure universe where untainted Truth does not exist in its elemental form, the Nephilim is frail and weak, relegated to sustaining itself on lesser truth. If not given access to a great superfluity of light in varying intensities and of diversity, the Nephilim is frail and weak, and its ability to unravel the mysteries of its opponents becomes diminished. Even when provided with the sustenance it requires, the Nephilim requires a good deal of time in order to build might and to comprehend and encompass its foe.

[Tass]

Very note format(y) stuff (adding more quite soon):

The Red Monk

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Sefa of the Red Veil
Sobriquets: The Red Hand

Concept: An arcane monk, seeking communion with the First Sorcerer and to follow in his footsteps along the blood red path of enlightenment.

Origin:
uncertain heritage
gifted to the Red Order by her parents, in return for services offered by the talented healers of the order, her life bartered for that of an older sibling wasting away from an unknown sickness
raised by the monks of the Red Order
little connection to her former life, no knowledge of her family or the small village she was born in
trained by her master, a prodigious sorcerer, in the arcane arts
ventured out into the Known World of her own accord, encouraged by her teacher and the red worms that reside deep within her mind
traveled from settlement to settlement, plying her trade, healing those in need, always seeking the lost knowledge of the First Sorcerer
drawn to the Silver Spear by the familiar whispers of the First Sorcerer and visions of a blood red moon

Appearance:
clad in a blood red robe
calloused and scarred hands, the mark of her trade, dealing in blows and blood with nothing more than her fists
athletic build, the product of years spent under the strict tutelage of the Red Monks

Skills and Flaws

Monastic Training:
a quiet life of contemplation apart from the world
studied ancient treaties, mastered the healing arts, and practiced the skills needed to defend her faith and to fight for the cause of the Red Order

Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms:
ancient and mysterious fighting art of the Red Order
trained to fight without the benefit arms or armor, inflicting heavy blows that buckle the strongest of metals and evading strikes that would harm her
preternatural awareness, allowing her to dodge an attack even if she is not consciously aware of it
ability to stun opponents with unarmed blows
crueler still, strikes to pressure points, that sour the blood, disrupt the organs, and cause her foes to be torn apart from within

The Path of Worms: a student of the First Sorcerer

The Eight Virtues: adheres to a strict code of honor
lawful, but not necessarily good

Hooks:

• In the course of her travels, Sefa has managed to attract the ire of a powerful noble and made an enemy of this famed knight of the Wolf-Haunted Kingdom.
• The young monk has but two immediate desires, to further her knowledge of the arcane arts and to continue her travels across the Known World.
• Sefa cares primarily for the perfection of her arcane art and, thereby, her own personal perfection. Her ultimate goal is to achieve a state of being that lies far beyond the mortal realm.

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: Awakened by the red worms and the voice of the First Sorcerer.

Weirds

Arcane Hands of the Master: channels arcane energy through her being, allowing her to perform amazing feats, imbues her strikes with arcane energies, harming or healing those she touches

Eyes of the Dragon:

Abundant Step: can slip magically between gaps in the fabric of the Known World, teleporting from one spot to another

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim:
Sobriquets:

Concept:

Form:

Abominations

Name:

Name:

Name:

Name:

Applicable but random lore composed thanks to boredom:

The Red Order

The Red Keep is the fortress monastery of an ancient order of monks known as the Red Order. Famed for the peerless healers that are trained deep within the halls of the Red Keep, the order is shrouded in mystery and none, save perhaps the Lord of the Red Order, is aware of the true history of the monastic order.

Secluded from the world behind the towering walls of their fortress, the monks maintain good relations with the remaining kingdoms of the Known World and the esoteric members of the order are unquestionably welcomed for the training they possess.

At the heart of the order is a dark secret, known only to the most devoted of students. The voice of the First Sorcerer, speaking through the red worms, has guided the masters of the order across the ages, long before even the first stone of the Red Keep was laid.

[Mammon]

Rapture Blackvex

“A man who casts no shadow has no soul.”

HEART AND MIND

Name: Rapture Blackvex
Sobriquets: The Warhound

Concept: Vengeful chronicler and strategist with a penchant for fire and shadow.

"Immolate thyself in mindless abandonment. Let thy mind divorce itself from thy flesh and thy bones, and let thine eyes glare unto the infinite emptiness. Empty thyself of all save the quenchless lust for the unknown, and become one with that inexpressible void which lies just beyond the vast wasteland of the desert of the human mind."

Origin:

“Any brutal soul may fight if he has the goal ahead of him. They fought knowing that our truest purpose lay behind them, and all that remains is faithfulness to an extinguished vision.”

Rapture Blackvex once served as the royal chronicler for the kingdom of Kolyria. Having access to the historical records better equipped him for analytical and tactical work, and he soon found himself serving as a martial advisor to the Kolyrian generals. Kolyria was one of the first nations to war against the Circle of Light, and Rapture was integral in devising their strategy against the armies of God. As the war raged on, Kolyrian forces lured the holy men deep into their territory, starving the lands around them. Rapture prepared to mount a ‘hammer and anvil’ maneuver with his calvary, but as they were about to make contact with the rear, an angel of God removed Rapture’s men from this world.

It was as if the clouds parted and a second sun shown in the sky. The being was too radiant to look at, and it descended with all the grace and splendor of a being of heaven. His men shielded their eyes. Their horses reared and balked against them. Sounds of Kolyrian victory fell silent, and the vision of every man fell upon the hand of God. The angel raised his glowing staves, face veiled in luster. Blinding white light enveloped the battlefield. The brilliance erased everything--even the shrieks of death. When his sight returned, abjection struck Blackvex like a lance to the gut. All that remained of his men were the outlines of where they fell, their steeds stinking, cooked in the heat of the light--thousands of souls extinguished with the wave of a hand.

Rapture escaped and fled his fallen nation before he could be captured or executed. He sought refuge in the surrounding kingdoms, finally settling in Elatreis. He made a modest living as a scribe and historian but vengeance burned in his heart. Blackvex heard rumors of a mystic that promised power living outside the walls of Silver Spear; he took his earnings and struck out for her. In exchange for his gold and his writings, she gave him a cursed ring. Upon wearing it, barbs dug into the flesh of his finger, making it impossible to remove. The ring contained the souls of a thousand, which whisper in his ears. Their wrath burns away at the world and at his spirit, granting him sorcerery and sparking fire.

Pain seized along his hand and shot up his arm. Beads of blood formed along the ring, oozing from the new wound and running down his finger. Visions of a wraith-like fire overtook his mind, serpentine and undulating with heat and destruction. Hatred burned away at his being, gnawed at the edges of his psyche, and threatened to melt away his past. His vengeance became their vengeance, and their animosity became his animosity. He awoke cloaked in a dark fire--shadowy, turquoise embers that stung his flesh and immolated the ground beneath him, but he did not burn.

Appearance:

A Vision from the Flames

Rapture Blackvex was once an imposing figure--tall, tanned, and toned. His years of service had given him lean, wiry muscle. A slim, gaunt face gave way to a lofty, peaked hairline. His nose was long and narrow, coming to a pinched and dignified tip. Thin lips and brows remained in a perpetual grimace of contemplation. Now beneath his bone-colored mask and shadowy cloaks, however, was a patchwork of scars and heat-blistered skin. He hides himself under a veil of dark cloth, not showing a single inch of skin.

Skills and Flaws

Scribe: Rapture is literate, fluent in the written and verbal languages of Kolyria and the surrounding nations. He understands cartography and maps. He has extensive knowledge of history--especially military--and is key to use it to his advantage.

Martial Prowess: His years serving in the Royal Army of Kolyria honed his skills with the longsword and dagger. He is proficient in blade, hand-to-hand, and mounted combat. Rapture’s will to win makes him particularly ruthless in these endeavors.

Tactician: His experience as an advisor to war generals gives him insight to the battlefield, as well as military strategy and history. He is a blooded soldier and veteran, and is not one to lose his nerve in battle.

Vexing Flames: He is prone to fits of rage and destruction, each time pushing him closer and closer to madness--each time closer and closer to losing himself.

Hooks:

• He is driven by the loss of his men, his nation, his reputation, and possibly his self. Rapture refuses to allow himself into another similar situation, and permits his paranoia to run deep. The loss of his comrades is a loss of himself; he will protect them at any cost--or at least ensure their deaths are not in vain.
• Blackvex not only seeks retribution for his country against the God and her men, but redemption for himself. He idolizes a world where he can move beyond the failures of his past, and a world where beings can no longer threaten entire populations with a flick of their wrist.
• Dichotomies of Light/Shadow, History/Present, and Destruction/Rebirth

SOUL

Initiation: He received a ring of souls from a mystic peddler, which grant him sorcerery and cannot be removed.

In his sleep he sees the dark fire--the void calls out to him. The weight of a thousand souls bears upon his shoulders. Their voices gnaw at the back of his consciousness; their fingers claw into his mind--scratching. The souls trapped inside the ring whisper to him. Most of the time he cannot make out what they say, but sometimes words break through, echoing within him: “Burn it. Burn it all.”

Weirds

Blackflame: Rapture has the ability to conjure forth and control dark flames. His own fire cannot wound him.

Thick, acrid smoke blotted out the stars. Waves of heat radiated from the flames, distorting the air around them. Though the fire burned hotter than molten steel, it gave off no light. It danced from his fingertips and burned away anything it touched--the fire ate through flesh and bone, wood and metal, earth and water all alike. Its hunger knew no bounds; it could not be sated or quenched, save only from the whims of its culling master.

Whispers of the Dead: His ring of souls can commune with him in times of quiet, of desperation, or of rage. They whisper to him their secrets and breathe in the ashes of the dead, adding to their numbers.

The man stared at his hand in horror as it crumbled away to soot and vapor. He tried in vain to smother the flame that raced up his body, boiling his blood and searing his nerves. Screams of pain and terror pierced the air before rasping away to wind and ashes. Rapture breathed in the smell of charred flesh and burnt fat. “I will wear your ghost, and you will serve twice: against me and for me.”

The Purity of Fire: He can burn away nearly anything for a dark cost--the tangible, the incorporeal, the imagined--leaving only the pure.

Poison coursed through his veins, searing along Rapture’s nerves and sending spasms of pain along his body. From the wound oozed a thick, green serum--a toxin crafted to kill even the largest foe. It smelled of sickness and plague. The stench was synthetic and vile, like petroleum and miasma. The Warhound clutch his hand over the wound, and teal flames spurted from his palm. It wreathed him in a teal darkness. The fire grew, self-immolating his body. The toxin boiled in his veins. Impurities vaporized and seeped through his pores as steam. Beneath his mask, his smiled.

BLOOD AND BONE

Nephilim: Ihægahn

Sobriquets: Skygge

Concept: Hardened abyssal shadow

Form:

A Vision from the Darkness

The umbral void condensed; it grew skeletal bones as hard as stone, with ghostly penumbra churning in Ihægahn's gut. The shadows flitted wildly among themselves, swirling as ink in water into a hideous form. Fangs gnashed from the darkness. Cerulean oculi sprouted along its form, glowing with an ominous phosphorescence in the darkness. Salient spines coagulated along the spine of the Nephilim--sharp and fearful. Unnatural darkness bubbled throughout its body. Twilight grew, and with it, so did the loathsome automaton. The void shuddered and let out a chilling cry.

Abominations

Umbrakinesis: Skygge can coalesce shadows into a lashing or bludgeoning weapon, launch them like arrows at an offending target, or change its own form.

Shadows pooled from the ground, from the trees, from the sky. Abyssal darkness congealed into a weapon from Ihægahn’s black mouth: a long, serrated javelin protruded from its throat. A flash of azure magic exploded from within the Nephilim, and the harpoon launched outward. Shade writhed beneath the beastly automaton. The void grew, sprouting thrashing, barbed, and dark whips from its amorphous body. They flailed, cracking through trees and buildings as if they were brittle glass.

Voidal Maw: The Nephilim unhinges its terrible jaw, consuming incoming projectiles or spells.

The sound of cracking bone and tearing flesh echoed from Skygge as its lupine jowl detached, allowing the necromantic vehicle to open its gaping orifice beyond the natural limit. It exposed rows of jagged, crushing teeth along its jaw and throat. A gruesome howl rose from within it. The flurry of arrows launched against the beastly, undead creature flew into the void--their poisoned tips disappearing harmlessly into the abject vacuum of its mouth. With a hideous laughter, the Nephilim turned its ire against the archers.

Shadewalker: Can teleport to another shadow within visual range, or hide within them.

Like ink poured into water, the Nephilim melted away into the dappled shadows of the jungle. For an instant, it was incorporeal--the hardened abysm of its being dispersing and reforming on the other side of the Beast. Quickly, it launched a volley of spears before disappearing, only to coalesce on the opposite flank, repeating the umbrakinetic assault. The Beast turned and raised a clawed hand to crush Ihægahn, but it flowed safely away out of range. With the hiss of a banshee, it raised its barbed spines. Darkness rushed to the automaton, and a grotesque spike rose from its spine. It teleported beneath the soft underbelly of the Beast, ramming the shadowy lance deep into enemy.

Gloom Genesis: Can conjure and place fields of thick, corporeal shadow, reducing enemy vision and movement.

Even in the pitch of night, the dark voidal fields created by the Nephilim were supernaturally lightless. The abyssal shadow was deep, opaque, and viscous. The pockets of blackness were an extension of Ihægahn's being, and the doomed soldiers that had been unfortunate enough to wander inside of them smothered in its essence. They crawled through the sludge of his umbrage like cattle through a swamp, blinded and terrified. From the murky shade came the Nephilim’s hungry mouth, devouring.

Luminous Curse: In daylight or bright light, Skygge is weakened. It suffers decreased mobility, range, and damage. Objects of pure light cannot be blocked.

An ear-piercing shriek escaped from the undead monstrosity, curdling the air and the blood of all those who heard it. Daylight scorched its skin and withered its body, leaving the Nephilim weak and vulnerable. Without the cover of night or of shadows, it was left dangerously open. A brilliant halberd lanced its side, wielded by a holy warrior from the Circle of Light. The dark automaton shuddered, howling out in pain. Arrows embedded into its side during its moment of weakness, and the sorceress who piloted the mighty Nephilim was struck in the throat. Unmanned, Ihægahn dissipated, fleeing to the tiny shade cast by foot soldiers, before escaping wildly.

A work in progress.

Tentatively completed.

[Joatmon]

Hider

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Atiyama Kapral
Sobriquets: Musician of Flesh

Concept: A young bachelor caught up in carnal desires frowned upon by society, facing the ruin they have wrought.

Origin: At least two and at most five paragraphs covering your life before everything changed, and how it is you came to Silver Spear.

Appearance: So what's left of you? How do you speak, how do you move? What clothes make the (wo)man? Include an image if you want.

Skills and Flaws

Careful Touch: Atiyama has always been blessed with a grace and fluidity of his approach, whether physical or metaphorical. That is to say, he has delicate hands, a delicate tongue, and the general aura of his presence is soft and inviting like a mother. However, the degree to which he seems comforting can offput some individuals.

Glancing Poison: Atiyama is laden with needle and knife, the lightest prick of which can kill most men, slow most beasts, and assail some behemoth. He is well versed in the venom of flora and fauna, and can find whatever he may need with a silent excursion into the wilds.

Clandestine Shadows: Many things happen behind closed doors. Some dreadful and harrowing, others life-giving and sacred, all of which are withing Atiyama's grasp to view. He is light of foot and keen of eye, thus becomes the ultimate spy.

Minor Notes of Love Long Lost: Atiyama may have given way to lust and debauchery since his sorcerous awakening, but his heart still yearns for companionship that goes deeper than the sating of the flesh. His heart can be easily broken by a treacherous friend or an unfaithful lover. In ways, his broken heart can give way to strength in anger. Strength without wisdom guiding it, however, is doomed to folly, and leads a fool to destruction.

Hooks:

• The murder of his lover will not go unpunished, he must find the raven man who is responsible for the riot of ignorance on that fateful day.
• Atiyama is in search of a love that will not forsake him, or die to the uninspired ways of man.
• The voice of Imri haunts his dreams, and at times Atiyama swears he can feel Imri's touch on his skin.

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation:

Weirds

Song of Flesh: Atiyama can play flesh like an instrument, and mold it into new forms, providing he's touching it. This can lead to amusing excursions of changing someone's sex, or more horrific experiments in creating homunculi. Sometimes, Atiyama even manipulates a victim's flesh to wrench out their organs.

Slithering Shadows: Atiyama can wrap himself in shadows and become the figure of a serpent, disappearing into walls and striking from the dark. When he bears down on a victim in this form, his calming presence can create an eerie juxtaposition to their unwieldly fate.

Eldritch Perfume: Atiyama secretes sorcerous pheromones that when activated by his magic can conjure up the desire's of one's heart. He can use the pheromones to awaken one's carnal desires and set them loose on the world. Whether this be unleashing an insidious cannibal, a calculating killer, or a jealous whore on the world, he doesn't really care, as long as they get the job done. The perfume can be localized to a small room, or spread throughout an entire town over time, lingering for a few hours before it becomes essentially useless aether. While the perfume's dark powers are dormant, it acts as a sort of aphrodisiac for a few feet around Atiyama, attracting suitors, calming foes, and pulling the truth from others.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Fertile Leviathan
Sobriquets: Mother Lily

Concept: A mother of monsters, whose love is an abomination to God.

Form: Mother's Upper torso is fairly indicative of feminine human form. Her sarcophagus is retained over her head, shoulders, for-arms, hands, and bosom. A featureless, metal sheet covers her face and connects behind her head, leaving hairlike protrusions (ending in draconic maws) drawn up together like a woman may pull her hair behing her head. The headpiece also curves into two ram-like horns on either side of her head.

A sarcophagus-breastplate of sorts covers the rest of her torso, seemingly covering up her monstrous figure like clothing. Her hands and forearms are covered by gauntlets of the dark metal, elongating her hands into beastlike claws. Her flesh can be seen in the places where the sarcophagus used to be connected, a dark greyish color with dark yellow veins that can sometimes be seen just below the surface. Where her waist ends is where her humanesque figure gives way into a monster.

Where a woman's pelvis would be is instead a large, toothy maw that drips a black, inky saliva. When opened, rows of teeth stained by her umbral magic can be seen, hungry for flesh. Traveling further down her body she splits into three monstrous tails like great dragons, that slither and propel her forward, making her total visage that of a giant, twisted gorgon.

Abominations

Deathless Youths: Those creatures whom Mother consumes have their flesh and bone molded into homunculi that Atiyama refers to as her "children." The children resemble young Satyr that cry tears of black oil and communicate in an ominous song-like voice. Those created with unwilling flesh die after a few hours, dissolving into a black ooze that poisons the soil. Those made from the flesh of a willing follower will live until struck down, forever young and without the death that comes with age. The gestation period for youth is 7 days.

Maternal Intuition: Atiyama as access to Mother's heightened maternal senses. Mother not only shares the five senses of mortals with him, but senses only those of supernatural origin can possess. Magic, life, death, and emotion all leave traces of light, sound, and smell that Mother picks up. In a fight, not even the darkness can hide from her wrath.

Wrath of Mother Earth: Rumblings in the ground an the wilting of plants herald Mother's approach. She may call on the forces of the earth to spring forth for her. Plants spring forth with horrendous size, the ground heaves; softens; and molds to her whim, and the wrath of the jungle takes form. That is to say, she can impale her foes with rock raised from the ground, snag them with growths of vegetation, and lash at them with the forests themselves.

Scorching Hellfire: With such a focus on flesh and vegetation, fire can ruin what makes Mother strongest. She can fight off the sparks, but once supernatural fire takes hold of her creations she becomes no more than a creature with a hefty size, clawing at those who assail her.

Super rough, unfinished early draft. Expect grammatical errors and mispellings until it's finished.

[Kestrel]

Savannah Morgan

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Savannah Morgan
Sobriquets: None.

Concept: A spiteful wanderer in pursuit of celestial blood.

Origin: Of the few ways to make a living in the outback of Elatreis, the sword is the easiest one. Savannah's father and brother were conscripted, assigned to escort merchants throughout the woods to keep their family fed. Because her mother was of poor health, the family could not afford to leave her alone, nor to leave their income to the whims of the markets. It was decided their daughter would be assigned to the home-post.

With both father and brother in the mercenary army, Savannah developed traditionally masculine skills in their absence. She hunted, chucked wood and did repairs around the house. Sometimes, she would raise an axe or sword to bandits who strayed from their roads. Although she had few friends her age, Savannah got along well with hunters and craftsmen. Her stoicism and dedication to her mother would also garner her the sympathy from older women. Savannah her life was somewhat unconventional, but she was content.

By her sixteenth birthday, it was common for Savannah to spend it at work. Previous years her father had sent small gifts, but it was not unheard of packages would arrive late. What was uncommon was that she had not received word or money for months – to the detriment of her ailing mother. Savvy to learn what had happened, she'd began to venture out to the roads in her spare time to inquire for news from her father's last expedition. It took months before she heard – but when she did, Savannah knew it was all over.

Her father and brother's company had been accused of aiding the a sorcerer of the Black Knives and the Circle had dispatched a force to execute the company to its last member... However, a certain young man by the name of Peter, her brother, had escaped. Though Savannah's heart throbbed in her throat, if this news had reached her it would most certainly reach the witches; the most fanatical about destroying all known ties to sorcery. Savannah knew it was only a matter of time before they would be on her doorstep; the consequences of which coiled her stomach. She knew her brother to be clever enough not to return home, but her mother was in no condition to travel... And so, to spare the woman the possibility of witchcraft and torture – Savannah cut her own mother's throat in her sleep.

Though her swift actions had kept her safe, Savannah's heart filled with resentment. She knew neither her father nor her brother were sorcerers, yet the Circle had condemned them all for mere (possibly false or unaware) association. Without a mother to take care of or a father to wait for, she felt a loss of purpose in life. The thought of having been forced to kill her own mother and her brother being driven to the wilderness for fear of his life attracted the attention of an unclean spirit. It offered Savannah a goal she never before thought possible; vengeance.

Appearance: Savannah is a relatively tall woman for her origins; standing one seventy-five. Though thin in build she possesses clear working muscle. The contrast between her dishevelled ash blonde hair and pale and flawless skin is unnatural (quite literally) and though one would believe she doesn't look a day over eighteen, Savannah is a decade and a half older. Her auburn eyes hardly ever fixate on a single point, often wandering off to subtle movements in either musculature or the environment, rather than maintaining consistent eye-contact.

Notable about Savannah's movement is that she is absurdly strong and balanced to the point of commonly not needing to pay heed to form. While she makes conscious efforts to act in a way reminiscent of human motion, extended periods of isolation make her sometimes act before remembering; resulting in odd and somewhat disturbing posture.

Skills and Flaws

Huntress: Tracking, stalking and killing prey quite literally puts Savannah's meat on the table. She is relatively in tune with nature.

The Elatreis Way: Because of the constant threat of brigands to a household of two women, Savannah's father taught her to fight. Savannah is trained in the ways of the sword and axe, whereas her hunting skill translates into proficiency with the bow as well.

Carpentry: Perhaps not so special or unique, but Savannah has some basic woodworking skills. She won't be designing ships anytime soon, but has a knack for small repairs.

Illiteracy: Having never been taught, Savannah cannot read or write.

Hooks:

• Savannah knows not if she will ever see her brother again, but has not given up hope to find him... And his story...
• Savannah resents the establishment and influence of the Circle. She would see it dismantled if not utterly destroyed.
• Upon contacting the unclean, Savannah has learned many of the truths she once knew are nothing but falsehoods. She possesses but anecdotal fragments, which may or may not be the conjectures of a madman, but what she does know is that the Exile is not who She is claimed to be.

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: The unclean shared Savannah's wrath. They made a pact that changed her life and body forever. She has been taught and physically transformed over the course of thirteen years.

Weirds

The Queen: Savannah´s Weird asserts dominion over a species of insectoid beasts, similar in shape to tiny flying beetles with large mandibles – but more akin an ant colony in terms of behaviour. These insects become part of her hivemind and provided they are nearby, they can be controlled as if an extension of her own body. The beetles may be small in size, but their bite is incredibly potent. They can lay siege to another person's body and (if en masse) eat their way through flesh in a matter of seconds. The range of the hivemind is unlimited, but becomes less flexible at a distance. Beetles can be given commands, such as to retrieve an item or guard a passage, but once out of optimal reach; they become simplistic and unwavering in their approach. When ordered to retrieve a ring they will simply walk up to it and snatch it, regardless of it is lying about in a street-corner or on the finger of a notorious, axe-happy brigand – and return without taking detours.

Her Castle: A rather wicked and literal twist on the expression 'my body is my temple;' if Savannah is the Queen - then her body is the castle. Her beetles have become an integral part of her physiology, living underneath her skin and becoming interwoven with her blood, bones and muscles. The insects take great care of the body. Her servants are functionally an internal surgeon who can glue her skin and bones back together, harvest and rebuild another's organs, or circulate any kind of available medicine through her body most efficiently. Injuries that would last months if not years can be healed within a matter of days; granted the hive has sufficient resources. Over the years, the beetles also greatly reinforced her body's very own structure. This gives Savannah unnatural strength. She is capable of lifting horses or crushing plate armour with her bare hands. Savannah can still be cut or tossed around, but because of the reinforcement to her body in order to achieve these feat, blunt force is far less effective.

Her Artisans: With a little instruction, her insects can harvest materials to build their own structures. Be that casts made out of clay or reinforcing and repairing human structures, although they do so very roughly. However, they are also capable of engineering plant- or animal corpses. For example, they can mount vines around Savannah's arms which they then inhabit and man it for Savannah to use as her own. However, the insects do not actively maintain these machinations of nature and so they all have expiry dates.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Insatiable Truth
Sobriquets: Innes

Concept: Mad judges, zealous juries and feral executioners.

Form: A hulking feature- and headless woman. It's skin is grey as ash, but has many slits that bulge from the body. When opened, these can form either eyes or mouths filled with razorsharp fangs.

Further Detail: Rather than a single conscious, Innes (as the Nephilim was named by Savannah) counts a community of over a hundred imps sharing one body. This makes talking to Innes akin interacting with a Twitch-chat. They consider themselves inquisitors, preachers and hangmen - and always on the side of their perceived justice. Innes shares a number of communal values; they loathe falsehoods and demand retribution if harm comes to them or their sorcerer, be it in the present or past. As a result they bear many grudges and hold strange superstitions. For example, Savannah still does not know why Innes insists she kills every rat within arm's length or cringe were she to touch silverware, but the voices make sure she remembers.

Abominations

Those Who See: There is not a part of the Nephilim's body that cannot spawn an eye. This gives Innes omnidirectional vision.

Those Who Preach: Like eyes, Innes possesses an ungodly amount of mouths. Capable of speech, but more importantly; devouring. They can inflict debilitating wounds even upon short contact, or lock down an opponent.

Those Who Follow: An ability that stems from those who it bonds with rather than the Nephilim itself. In Savannah's case, Innes can possess their (non- or lesser sentient) surroundings and create a 'husk'. These husks allow Innes to augment their body – be that with stone plating robbed from a cathedral, mounting a wooden stake carved from a nearby tree, etc. Or perhaps it takes the claws and tail of a defeated beast. However, these husks do not possess any of the Nephilim's other powers and may even obstruct them by the simple act of covering skin and thereby potential spawn-points for eyes or mouths.

Shared Anathma: Innes imposes their selves quite strongly even when only telepathically linked. Due to the nature it speaks to Savannah, their will seems as to come from the insects that share in her hivemind; a part she views as distinctly her own. This makes her instinctively dislike the same things Innes dislikes while they remain separated, but makes her prone to bouts of blind rage when piloting the Nephilim.

[Dark Light]

WIP - mostly done.

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Vandis Ahvast Layden
Sobriquets: The free

Concept: Recently escaping servitude he is a seeker of freedoms, understanding and purpose.

Origin:
Born into a strict and dying ancient clan. His birth was no accident. Every detail coldly calculated and planned. He was bred for purpose and his purpose to serve. Even from before his conception everything about his life was already laid out and controlled. He was a child of servitude to dwell under the deciding privileged of priests.

His life was as empty as their schematics for clan survival with the weight and responsibility of the clans future added to the frequent and heavy punishments he received as an unquestioning obedience was beat into him. He was taught what to believe, and how to act. When to speak and what to say. He held no self identity as they dictated everything from what he wore to when he could eat, sleep and even shit.
He never knew any semblance of freedom. 'The survival and future of man was built on restraints and servitude. The laws pave the path to divinity.'

His only fortune came in the delegation of his role. While he was not born as one of the privileged he at least held a worthy duty, as far as the children of servitude go. He was trained as a sailor and a scout. He ferried traders to and fro his isolated island near the edge of the known world. He was highly proficient at scaling and descending the sheer cliffs that created a defensive perimeter full of hostile, merciless hazards.

He could preform a dive from terrifying heights that very few healthy trained adult men could preform.

One day as the endless expanse of the sea rushed over his skin and swallowed him whole, just as he had descended to the deepest depth of his dive, he felt the faintest slither of a feeling he no longer recognised. Deep in that silent darkness, submerged in a distant weightlessness he felt the tingle of freedom.

It only sought to remind him further of what could never be. He longed for that foreign feeling, yearning madly for that brief passing taste to forever remain. So desperate was he that with a single act of disobedience he committed the greatest defiance he could.
He disobeyed the rules. The rules of his teachings, of his clan, of the gods, his own body and even of nature.

He opened his lungs to the endless expanse that surrounded him and breathed deeply of the darkness. In that slither of a moment he sampled a taste of true freedom.
The world drifted away as a calming peace like he had never known gripped and dragged him deeper. Soon voices swam to him, circling and pecking at him like a school of hungry fish. It was then for the first time he awoken to the sea of dead stars.

Tired of the rules, tired of their senseless laws and superstitions. Tired of paying for a past he didn't commit. He surfaced hours later and fled. Following only the pull in his heart he began discovering his new self along his steady journey.

Appearance:

image

Skills and Flaws

Seafarer: Lives off the sea, he reads it, watches it, follows it, eats from it.
A skilled sailor, fisherman, climber and swimmer. He can build a raft and tie a knot for any occasion.

Fearlessness: If the ocean has not yet swallowed me whole, nor the storms and predators of a high sundered my flesh from the bone, and no gods or creatures of the deep manage dragged me to my watery grave, then what makes you think you can end me here today?

Death is inevitable, all understand that. But for the children of servitude they expect it so constantly that everyday that they remain alive is considered a blessing. They do not fear death because they consider themselves already dead, just living on borrowed time.

And for that they have nothing to lose and fight fearlessly without hesitation or restraint. Wild, ruthless and relentless. (Almost seeking defeat.)

Man of his own design: Infused with the deep primordial chaos of his magic, his body is no longer beholden to the natural laws of physics and his mind is free from the restraints of social expectations. The sea of stars lets him alter and heal himself, replacing serious wounds for ominous scars.

Name: Nothing ever comes for free. The price for his continued life, for his granted power, is his sanity. His perception of reality is constantly wavering. Having looked beyond the physical veil his mind battles with what it has perceived. Every day it slips a little more and more as pure chaos grips his waken conscious.

Hooks:

• No one leaves alive.
  Children of servitude are never allowed to leave the clan. It is said that doing so will bring the impending ruin to their people. Their near eradication has left them paranoid and superstitious. The elder elite, while having no shortage of resources, fulfil the code of their beliefs to the full extent of their capabilities with a fanatical religious devotion.
• A blind seeker.
  He is searching, but for what he does not know. An empty feeling gnaws away inside him. Forever hungry and unsatisfied. Pulling him in strange directions. Dragging him across the land in blind pursuit.
• Rebel without a cause.
  In his new self he has grown addicted to freedoms (aka chaos). Breaking boundaries, stretching limits, seeing and sampling new things. He is eager to test this wide world he once knew nothing about. The arts, music, singing and dancing also catch his interest.

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: In the aimless solitude of his new travels the voices he heard in the sea of dead stars guided the beginning of his sorcery. They also led him to the fey creature that would continue it. His study did not last long as the unexplainable pull from within forced him to move on.

Vandis has taken on his own new beliefs. He believes that creation in its purest form is chaotic. He believes that this raw energy resides just beneath the surface of the refined controlled wold. Be it true or not his magic is a testament to his belief. He can reach into what he calls the cauldron of chaos and will this raw relentless wild energy to somewhat obey him.

Weirds

Chaos magic: Wild sorcery. No matter how powerful the sorcerer this raw primal wild energy is never completely at the users total control. Every spell no matter how large or small carries with it risks and consequences for the user. To draw upon the unfiltered, untamed, pure creationism the body must be fit to handle the physical ravages it causes. Nothing is more unnatural in this dilated refined world than the unruly essence of chaos. But for those that live long enough to consider themselves adept, that through either pure luck or intuitive strategic planning remain within their depths, they discover what it is to hold a truly magnificent and versatile power.

True walking: Teleportation. He has no need to walk along the material plane. Stepping beneath creation he can ride the wild torrential waves of chaos. The journey, not made for humans, is nauseating and intensely draining.

The base of creation:
All things are refined from this pure energy. It is moulded into and forms everything in existence by the will of the world. Vandis's will is not as strong as that of the laws of nature but he can temporarily form it into any structural shape he pleases even if it's appearance remains that of glowing swirling hardened energy.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: La'Noir Dark Star
Sobriquets: (Optional; what do YOU want to name your undead armor)

Concept: The shadow of death. The whispering breeze. The path between worlds. The unbound.

Form:

image

Partially incorporeal it seems to be a shadow encasing a skeleton. His influence is subtle but clearly existent as is its own will.

Abominations

Shadows web: Like the web of a spider La'Noir has one foot in the shadows and can feel when they move and the vibrations of sound that run along them. (This does not work so well in pure darkness.)

Infiltrate the dead: La'Noir's will is strong and capable of extending beyond his own shell into that of the empty vessels of the deceased.

Dark whispers: La'Noir has access to information reserved only for the forgotten dead. Secrets and desires no others should know. Fears and insecurities just waiting to be rationalised and strengthened. He can command the shadows to chatter and dance within the hearts and minds of his opponent twisting memories, bringing life to their flaws and reawakening emotional pains.
He finds joy in manipulating, demoralising, shaking and debilitating his enemies without ever even touching them.

Shadow born: Day light strips its powers and limits its abilities and influence.

[Tut tu ru]

WIP

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Rozar Repercutio, Rozana Repercutio
Sobriquets: The Man With The Mirror, The Woman In The Mirror

Concept: A pair of twins, clinging to each other even past death.

Origin: The Repercutios, pale-skinned and haughtily aristocratic, were never the most beloved of nobles. Perhaps it was their light, crow-like black hair and dusky hazel eyes that reminded people of graves and death, and most certainly they were as pale as it; or their quiet, calmly arrogant tones. Perhaps they had good reason to, for in secret, they practiced the foulest and most forbidden of arts; or perhaps it was because of it that they were driven to such ends. Their position as social pariahs had little effect on Rozar and Rozana's childhoods, though. They got along just fine with one another, and they had no interest in anyone other than one another, despite their differences. And they had differences - they were polar opposites, of course, Rozar preferring to peruse the family's library and spend his time wasting away on the keys, whilst Rozana gravitated towards the saddle and the sword. Only the fascinating forbidden fruit that was sorcery could draw Rozana's interest from the blade, just as how the only thing that coaxed Rozar from the library was a bedtime story with the ever-outdoors Rozana at his side.

It was a stormy night when a pair of witches knocked on the doors of the Repercutio manor. Rumors had abounded of their sorcerous ways; eventually, an investigation was called, though none dared pose a formal accusation. Sorcery was a treacherous game, however, and the adult Repercutios had played the game for a long, long time. After some investigation, the two witches left with the father and mother, misdirected into the town proper. But that would be their undoing. The hot-blooded youth amongst the townsfolk, already armed with suspicion and primed with superstition, saw this as more than enough reason to take up arms and storm the manor. Some believed their presence as an admission of guilt; others, as the chance to prove the Repercutio's unseemingly ways.

They stormed the manor. Some of the servants opened the door for them; others were killed on the spot. Rozana, ever bright, courageous like the burning sun, marshaled some of the more loyal servants alongside her teacher-in-arms, and mounted a stand against them. Rozar, however, had neither the courage nor the faith to make such a stand. After seeing convincing her would be a lost cause, he sought out the only thing he could use to help. Rozana's mirror, perhaps the only feminine item she possessed beyond her ball gowns, a beautiful piece that would be exorbitantly expensive even for other nobles. Inlaid with gold and jeweled with beautiful specs of stars, the family heirloom had a purpose beyond mere grooming. He saw himself in that beautiful mirror, and found himself lacking.

When he descended the stairs unto a field of newly born ghosts, the mob rebuffed but Rozana's lifeless body on the ground, there was only one thing in his mind; he wasn't ready to let her go. She was the only person who matters to him, after all. He reached out with the mirror, and sucked her in. He was seen, of course, his family ousted, but he didn't care. Her soul, so bright, so beautiful, overpowered the lesser things that sought a second chance. And when he looked for his reflection one more time, he saw an inversion of himself. Rozana would be with him, always. He wrapped up the mirror, the most valuable and twisted of his tomes, and as much money as he could carry. He heard the town erupt into terror. Would his parents survive? He didn't know. He couldn't risk it. He would have to escape, to leave where his name didn't carry. Away from the nation, if possible; he'd have to outrun word of his family's dark ways. He should be safe in the next nation, and if not there, the one after. He hoisted himself upon a horse - he was a bad rider, but that was fine.

He had Rozana to teach him.

Appearance: Rozar is a pale, tight-lipped man, with aristocratic features, a pronounced nose, hazel eyes and long black hair. He is effeminate, often being compared to his identical twin. He is not particularly large nor muscular, but he is healthy from a well-fed upbringing. He prefers to wear formal, expensive noble clothing whenever possible. Rozana is almost identical to him, described as masculine but beautiful nonetheless, her appearance eternally young, down to the light dash of lipstick she had when she was trapped. Some feminine features exist, from her longer lashes to the slight swell of her breasts, but they are a mirror of one another. She is an inversion of colors, however; her eyes a deep violet, her hair a ghostly white. She wore a male noble's clothing, as she would forever.


With the resources at their disposal, they have acquired a number of items to fit their fancy. Their heirloom mirror, still an expensive, elaborate piece of beauty lined with gold and jewels, has been given a pair of straps to wield as if a shield. Rozana's old longsword stays at his side, the gleaming blade always polished to a mirror sheen. His heavy rider's gloves have small mirrors, torn from an old handmirror, embedded into their backs. Across his belt lie many vials of glass; most empty, but some filled with a variety of substances, from water to mercury. An eclectic outfit, but not one difficult to explain by eccentricity and wealth.
Skills and Flaws

The Scholar: Rozar is well-learned, able to write and read, calculate finances and trained in courtly etiquette. While he hadn't much a chance to do so, he especially enjoys choreographing music and has read many stories.

The Warrior: While Rozar has little training in battle, Rozana is an expert warrior and horsewoman. She is trained in many noble weapons, and has only gotten better while confined in the mirror. She possesses a natural charisma that contrasts heavily from Rozar.

The Musician: Rozar is a master of the organ and piano, although he has had little opportunity to make use of it, being such an expensive and heavy instrument. Rozana is a proficient violinist, while little learned, having plenty of talent for the art.

The Clinging: To the twins, others have little importance in their lives. They grow nervous and unhinged when spent too long apart, and often, they miss cues, common social graces, and subtle meanings that others may intend.

Hooks:

• The ghosts of the past are hard to escape. What happened all those years ago, after Rozar fled? Were his parents victorious, and escaped themselves, perhaps searching for him even today? Had the witches won, and seek out the escaped Repercutio even today?
• Rozana deserves more, so much more. What was this wretched half-existence, only being in the confines of a gilded mirror? He would find a way to bring her back, to a truer life. One she deserves more than he.
• What is a soul?

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: Rozar's family was steeped in sorcery, and so is he. He learned the arts from youth, his soul pried open by his parents, taught in their ways by book and word. He was always a fast learner.

Weirds

The Realm Of The Mirror: Rozar and Rozana's powers lie over the realm of reflections. The mirror itself is a dangerous weapon for them; they may use any mirror to suck in objects into the Realm of the Mirror. While direct contact is required to enter the Mirror, where the Mirror is more akin to a pool and may admit objects larger than itself, Rozar can make the mirror create a vortex of air to suction in objects. The Realm of the Mirror itself is an unnatural, strange place, "empty" yet capable of holding things. Objects without magic or soul will eventually fade if not removed from the mirror; in a day, they will cease to exist if not removed from the Mirror Realm. Magic items may exist untouched, eternal within the realm. Raw magic that enters the mirror simply fizzles with no form to support it, and becomes a part of the Mirror Realm. Those with a soul leave behind whatever physical bodies they may have, and enter within. If the physical body dies, they will find themselves unable to leave, for most souls may only enter their own body. The twin outside of the mirror may eject any object or being inside the mirror at will, unless they are unable to leave. Only mirrors may be used for this purpose.

The Warrior In The Mirror: Rozana's existence is singularly unique. She may trade places with Rozar at any point, taking over his body and leaving Rozar in the mirror. Inside the mirror itself, she is a warrior-queen without compare; all the souls within follow her orders, and fight as her army. While they cannot leave, they will provide an almost insurmountable edge in any battle of souls within the Mirror, and function as her armor and sword. They are less willing to support Rozar, but will do so grudgingly. The twin inside the mirror may move between reflections at will, from polished bronze to clear lakes. The more malleable what they possess, the more they may control it; they may be able to twist water into a living golem, but glass would remain forever inert.

The Light From The Mirror: As they may possess reflective surfaces within the Mirror, so can they control them outside of it. Glass, mirror shards, polished steel, they are all telekinetically controllable by force of will alone. They may also manipulate the reflections they offer; amplifying light to blind, focusing it to laser points, reflecting completely without compromise, even if the subject is see-through like glass, or showing nothing in the reflection.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Alzela
Sobriquets: The Hazy Marionette

Concept: A marionette-statue that is alive yet not, controlled by a mysterious halo.

Form: A giant statue, its skin is as smooth stone with no blood to give, yet it moves as if muscle. It is modeled after a human, beautifully cut, yet with six arms and gaping holes where a head or heart may be. Instead of legs, it only possesses flowing robes that fade into mist as they touch the ground, floating just above the earth. A halo of simple light hovers just above where its head would be, illuminating the world.


Abominations

Gleaming Halo Alit: The halo of dull light suspended above Alzela is its true self. From it, Alzela may "see" all which its light touches, and its body has no need for organs. It is as an immovable object, always moving as it wishes, never forced by others - unless they move which it rests upon.

Aspects Taken Upon: The twin who commands Alzela shapes its light in a different way. When Rozar controls, the halo dims in strength. Instead, a gleaming sun forms where its heart should be, forming a powerful spotlight in front and behind it, a representation of his perfectionist, insular nature. When Rozana leads, the halo simply intensifies, a bright sea of light. She may take from this light to forge gleaming weapons of solid light that burn what they touch.

Light Cleanses So: When Alzela's light is reflected or refracted, Alzela gains control over whatever is reflecting or refracting its light, becoming able to manipulate it at will. Under Rozar, the light in its "heart" may intensify into a scorching ray.

Earth Corrupts Not: Alzela cannot move vertically. It always stays hovering slightly above whatever it is "standing" upon - it cannot jump, fly, nor dive into water, simply hover above it. It cannot press itself unto the ground in where it "stands." It simply exists, suspended slightly above the earth.

[Kala]

The Orphan of Anshu

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Esha
Sobriquets: The Orphan of Anshu

Concept: An orphan forged into a tool of war, heir to a black heart and a wish that neither truly belong to her.

Origin: Abandoned by the world, born with no name or a home. The nameless thing was but one of many orphans left in the wake of the devastation of the world as the very heavens descended upon it and man turns against their neighbour in a desperate bid to survive. The tale of a forlorn child would have been a short but a common one were it not for the mercy of a weeping man she would come to call “Father”. Once a beacon of hope for the lands he ruled, she knew that “Father” embodied the very pinnacle of human excellence. Blessed with wisdom and the willpower to turn dreams into reality, if any could have saved the lands of Anshu, it would have been him. But it was not to be, hope turned ashen and in the shadow of that blinding potential rested despair. Even at their greatest, humans are but ants when faced with the forces that govern fate.

So it was that “Father” looked towards the stars and dreamed of a place where humanity could shine amongst them. A dream inherited by the forlorn child, a dream inherited by the countless orphans that “Father” had taken and perhaps even made. It was a dream that served as a catalyst of change for the forlorn child for she was finally needed by someone. Locked within the Cradle of Stars, she and many suffered cruel and heartless experiments, stripping away her humanity and with it hoping to find the key to something greater. In time the nameless child would even become the hand to practice the weaving of flesh, to marry the human with the strange and forbidden, for she was not beholden to the values of humans.

Death was a blessing, for the alternative was far worse as meddling with the eldritch and the arrogance to master the unknowable left many but husks of their former selves, mockeries to humanity itself. The nameless child thought little of this, for the unimaginable becomes everyday, the hideous becomes tedious, the unbearable becomes routine. The child herself was also but another subject at times, the difference is that she endured where others fell. Less than a dozen persisted to reach the final trial, to be the host of a black heart recovered from places unspoken from. She was not the first upon the operation table nor the last to be chosen, but it was her body the black heart choose for she did not perish, in fact she grew stronger. Whispers that she could not fully understand filled her mind, opening her to the mysteries of sorcery. It was upon this success that “Father” finally bestowed a name upon the nameless girl, naming her Esha. To carry a wish not her own, in a heart that was not truly hers.

The cradle educates, but it is unable to offer more than it possesses. She had entered as a nameless orphan and departed as a hunter, to claim the knowledge and means that were beyond the ken of common man. Her first ventures knew the constant scrutiny of the agents of “Father”, allowed only brief engagements in the countless wars and skirmishes of the Eight Nations where she could truly explore and refine her talent. Only to be unleashed upon the beasts of the Edge of the Known World, claiming whatever she could of their strength for her own.

Esha’s caretakers however, did not endure the rigors of the Edge of the Known World, leaving her with none to hold her leash. Ignorant of the wider world yet possessing the burning wish entrusted to her, she returned from the Edge and found herself in the wolf-haunted kingdom of Elatreis. “Father” had been the pinnacle of what she believed a man could be, yet as the legends of the hunter-saints reached her ears she grew ever more curious to learn of six who could do what hundreds could not, to slay a behemoth.

Appearance: The Orphan of Anshu is sometimes also known as the Doll of Anshu, years of living within the Cradle and hunting through the night have left her with an eerily pale alabaster skin, as if never having known the kiss of sunlight. Standing at a diminutive height despite being a fully grown woman, she could easily blend in a crowd were it not for some peculiar oddities about her being. Overall her body possesses a lithe but toned physique, born from years of training and hunting beyond the Edge.

Wisps of white hair frame her face and her crimson eyes, marking her as an albino. Her long locks often woven into a thick braid trailing down all the way to her lower back. A bushel of brightly coloured feathers hanging from the ribbon keeping her hair braided together. One might even consider her a beauty, but that idea would surely vanish if one were to ever see what rests below her clothing. Pale flesh darkened into leathery black blotched skin before exposing the pulsing mass of grotesque black flesh, numerous circular holes can be found in this wreath of horror, closing and opening as swollen flesh parts and tightens. One experienced in the field of medicine can perhaps even make up the shape and some qualities of a constantly beating heart. The eldritch organ spanning across most of her upper left torso.

Fortunately, it is a secret well-guarded with numerous layers of clothing. Shrouded in a tattered deep red cloak, exotic patterns native to the Edge trailed across its surface in an even darker shade of red, with numerous brightly coloured feathers dangling from the hem. Beneath the cloak Esha is clad in a pair of thick leather boots, reaching just past her knees. Countless exotic feathers blossom from the upper edge of her boots, before giving way to a pair of voluminous pair of dark brown pants. Fastened by a leather belt holding all sorts of small pouches and straps for amenities, a long length patterned white cloth hangs across her left hip, the fabric stained with dried blood. Her torso largely covered by a dark voluminous shirt, each short sleeve wide enough to match the girth of a small tree trunk. The hem of her shirt lined with a similar exotic pattern as her cloak.

Her head and face however are often obscured by the massive beast skull helmet mounted on her head, thick horns curving inwards while thick fangs still protrude from its sealed jaws, curving along the side of its jaw. Its eye sockets have been carefully removed to allow her red eyes to peer through the holes. Despite that a small mane of dark green feathers graved the back of her helmet, her long white braid often spilled past that, giving some indication that she was a human wearing a helmet.

Commonly she is equipped with a steel anelace, crafted with a special hilt that can be attached to a chain and sickle that she often wields in her right hand. A small steel ring can often be seen locked around her middle-finger, with two pointed tips angled downwards, faint traces of dried blood can be seen on the tips.

Skills and Flaws

Hand of Mercy: As a hand of “Father” in carrying out his nightmarish experiments, Esha acquired an intimate understanding of the inner workings of both the human body and of many beasts alike. Yet as a subject who knows suffering, her medical knowledge swelled as she tended to the ill and cursed alike, alleviating their pains from unknown causes. Far from the likes of true physicians, she can at least ease one’s suffering and if required, offer one a painless end.

Eldritch Hunter: Esha is a hunter of the strange, the weird and forbidden. Equipped with an anelace attached to a chain and sickle, she has been known to be threat on both close and medium range and ever flexible to adjust to the situation at hand. Numerous hunts on beasts left her agile and quick to dodge, for to do otherwise would be to court death.

Writhing Mind: Raised in the Cradle and later nurtured in a life of constant battle. The world that Esha understands is one vastly different from the one that most others experience. Leaving her far better equipped to endure the rigors on the mind from both the battlefield and the things man were not meant to behold.

Stranger to the Mundane: Allowed very little contact with the world outside, even during her journeys she was kept away from most settlements, giving birth to one unknown to the ways of the world. Alien to the very basics of society, not even considering that one might lie for practical reasons rather than purely emotional ones, Esha can be easily exploited when it comes to navigating the many intricacies of society that are taken for granted.

Hooks:

• She was not first or last to be chosen receive the black heart, amongst the orphans of the Cradle that would have come after her. One believes that it was more deserving to be the black heart’s recipient.
• She has known only the love of one, she has only received the wish of one. To bring about the ascension of man, to offer them entry into a realm of gods. But perhaps the orphan might find a wish of her own in a world on the edge of apocalypse.
• Thousands have been dragged to the Kingdom of Night, torn away from the world at the hands of angels. What is it the Angels see in humanity to draw them into Heaven, what is it that humanity is yet blind to.

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: Host to the black heart of a Nephilim, unknown to its nature and the words it whispered into her mind day after day, Esha stirred to her potential as a sorcerer as the eyes on the inside of her mind opened to the power that rested within the black organ and how it could be utilized to her own ends and purposes.

Weirds

Conqueror’s Heart: The shape of life and perhaps the closest crystallization is nothing else but the lifeblood pumping through the veins of all that lives. The exact sum and balance of all it contains and provides being most essential to nourish craving flesh. Thus to hold dominion over it is to alter its composition or to deprive one of that valued essence carried in blood. It is a power that the Orphan holds, provided her own blood flows through the veins of her enemy. Depriving them of oxygen, thriving on their heat and nourishing her own flesh with what they possess. She can be even as cruel to allow it to coagulate till their heart pumps no more.

Chimerical Metamorphosis: Upon the transplantation of the Black Heart, Esha’s body did not reject it, or could not reject it. Instead the Black Heart made Esha’s flesh its own, leaving one to wonder how much of her mind is still truly hers. It is through the same process that Esha can claim the body parts of other beings and join them to her own. A lost leg can be replaced with a new one, even exotic limbs such as tails and other curiosities can be joined to her flesh. It is a painful process and demands adjustment, but it leaves one with the chance to shed the frail flesh of man.

Sanguine Surge: The orphan’s blood is much alike to a river, yet it is one that cannot be broken. Even ample sums of blood is spilled, it is not truly separated from her just yet. Instead it becomes an extension of herself, a gateway that can be traversed if one knows how, often confused for teleportation. Knowledge currently limited to only two. Blood mixed with her own also becomes another extension of herself, turning the battlefield ever more in her favour the more her opponent bleeds. Only when her blood coagulates does it cease to be a gate to leap through.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Qarth
Sobriquets: The Sanguine Sovereign

Concept: Sovereign amongst primals, its pride only eclipsed by the searing heat of its blood.

Form: Gargantuan even by the standards of Nephilim, this colossus is most easily identified by the thick ivory exoskeleton surrounding its form and the almost feral bent to its anatomy despite standing on two digitigrade legs. Its bones resembling humans just enough to inspire a sensation of eeriness, for most of its shape takes on elaborate twists, some evoking particular patterns that might lead one to think it is its sarcophagus, while others weave in circular patterns. Amongst its armour-like bone numerous deep red black pupiled eyes can be spotted, ever vigilant. Amongst other gaps a bright fiery light spills from it, perhaps betraying its scorching interior. From its spine protrudes a series of thin bladed bones, some even interwoven with another to shape abnormal patterns. Beyond that, it possesses two arms ending in a pair of massive claws, joined by a pair of gargantuan eyes resting in its palms.

Crowned upon its body rests a massive elongated head, its ivory luster doing little to veil the many rows of thick fangs and bladed teeth, seeming always primed to go for the kill and potentially even beyond it, when its jaws part, a faint fiery light could be seen from within. A thick set of dark horns trail backwards, curving downwards before ending in pointed tips. Six slanted sockets lined its skull, coming in pairs of two with each possessing another deep red glowing eye within it. Its head crowned with a series of ink thick black tentacles, long enough to reach the middle of its back and in a way resembled a majestic mane. Yet those twisted appendages were far from regal, seeming to always gently sway and contort even when there is no exterior force to manipulate it. Another set of thick jet-black tentacles can be found at the lower end of its spine, considerably longer than its own body length, each of these eldritch appendages sway about in a way much reminiscent to that of a tail.

Despite its feral and primordial demeanor, an alien intelligence burns in its many-eyes, imbued with a deep cunning and complete understanding of its surroundings found only in beings of true sapience.

Abominations

Sanguine Spear: Countless eyes trail the form of Qarth, gazing and almost unblinking. Beyond providing near omnidirectional sight at all times, each eye can launch highly pressurized jets of blood from its sockets at enemies. Possessing the potential to cut through metal itself, it can be a powerful weapon to use but it comes at the cost of Qarth’s own blood.

Smouldering Wrath: Even in undeath, the Nephilim Qarth is still imbued with a roaring heat smouldering in the depths of its body. Allowing it to flare up to the temperature of its lifeblood to a feverish pitch, far surpassing the blood of mortals for where their blood turns to steam, the blood of the Sanguine Sovereign still continues to boil. A power that can be combined with Sanguine Spear to create even more lethal bursts or can alter the discharge of Sanguine Spear into a heated mist of blood, shrouding Qarth from sight and can potentially scald Nephilim and creatures not attuned to enduring such temperatures.

Sovereign’s Mandate: Blood is the ultimate expression of life, and through it Qarth can reshape the bodies it flows through, turning them into reflections of his own being as their bodies twist and contort to mirror Qarth. Engraving their minds with an unquestionable loyalty and reverence for Qarth, for it is from this power the Nephilim earned its moniker of the Sanguine Sovereign. Given the chance, it can turn legions of beasts to stand by its side. However, it is far from all-powerful as the speed at which the mind is overwritten varies on the level of sapience and the quantity of Qarth’s blood present within the body.

Ancient Appetite: Aeons of deathless slumber has left Qarth with a thirst for blood and flesh that could only be truly slaked by devouring one of its own. Lesser creatures may temporarily appease it, but its patience is far from eternal. If tested too far and presented with Nephilim, it may be cast into a frenzy till its hunger has been sated, one way or another.

[Viatos]

Deadline extension! You have until

Tuesday, December 12, 12:00 PM, Eastern Standard Time

to complete your applications.

[Dark Light]

2nd application

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Arden Vale
Sobriquets: (Optional)

Concept: The guided adolescent.

Origin: Born into a wealthy family line, Arden inherited great wealth at a very early age. After his families sudden and mysterious disappearance. With no siblings or other known relations he was considered the last of his families name. Estates, servants farmlands and small businesses all fell to him.
Not a single painting was ever done of his parents which for a noble couple is quite unheard of. Arden holds only blurry faint memories of their appearance and trusts in the words of those that served them.
Despite the heavy responsibilities they bestowed upon him, Arden was raised well in fine luxury by his servants who spoilt him. They did their best to tutor him in the affairs of business and finance but between their bias interest and his inexperience it slowly began to crumble.

Over the years as he grew, to no fault other than misfortunate and inexperience, his finances dwindled. Shortly after much of the inheritance was lost, through deceit and trickery he was duped out of the quickly dwindling resources before he could bring complete ruin to his families estate, which all the servants were eager to readily claim. Without realisation he suddenly became legally a boarder in his own home with nothing left to his name.

Things grew dark and quickly. Greed got the better of many of the once kind servers. Hostilities flared amongst themselves as a deep selfishness festered and grew within each and every one. Turning against one another the air was full of spite and backstabbing, theft and ransacking, and eventually murder. Arden's safe world came crashing down.

It was the kindest of them, the very servants who raised and betray him, that convinced him to leave. Arming himself with the fodder found from his parents collection he was gifted a weapon, some armour, an old blank magic book and a small pouch of coins. He was given these thing in guilt and aid to hasten his departure. It was no longer a safe place for him to stay. Very little was known of the history of these seemingly unused ornamental impulse buys or their true worth and value.

Arden set out in haste. He had never been out in the world on his own. When the estate had been in his name there was always a great deal of fuss and protection over his safety. He had thought it was because they cared, now he knew better. The world could be a cruel place and the coins didn't get him far enough. He was eventually mugged for his remaining possessions, left only with his tattered old, seemingly worthless empty book. It was then it spoke to him. It is unknown what awoken the tome, maybe time, Arden's helpless desperation, or perhaps the blood that trickled down his trembling hand. Irregardless, it's pages whispered to him the secrets to summon an imp. In the fall of night, a beaten and hungry beggar boy completed the summoning and took back his possessions from the corpses of the unprepared sleeping muggers.

He felt no guilt that day and continued on his journey. Keeping secret the events of that night. Soon he would be at the silver spear and could seek shelter.

Appearance:

image

Skills and Flaws

Clever: He has never had to fend for himself, he has very little in physical skills but is quite clever and observant. A quick learner with an eye for detail.

Lucky: Arden was never taught to fight, not properly. His style is clumsy flailing, frantic desperation and blind hope. Inexperienced and untrained he is guided through combat purely by a degree of luck, intuition, reflexes and determination.

Sensitivity: Arden, while not completely aware of it, is highly and unnaturally empathic. Sensitive to both emotions and the presence of magic.

Young and naive: He knows little of the true world and is both soft and fragile, emotionally and physically. Little life experience leaves him underprepared, weak and vulnerable to others influence.

Hooks:

• What happened to his parents?
  Unbeknown to Arden and most others, his lineage is long tainted with clandestine dealings both in hunting and worshiping dark spirits. Which side of this his parents fell on is unknown but is related to their abrupt and sudden disappearance.
• Something you want for the future.
• Something that interests you or captures your imagination.

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: Arden's magic is new and guided by a spirit bound in an ancient tome. It whispers to him and only him secrets of old sorcery.

Weirds

Spirit Guardian: A dark spirit bound to the ancient tome. It follows and guides Arden. It is invisible to all but him. Having its own views and opinions it is temperamental and not always helpful but extremely knowledgeable when it wants to be.

image

Summoner: While it is not natural nor safe, with the right guidance and ritual of old, a practitioner on the dark path of the forgotten arts can bring over malevolent spirits and energies from the other side. This takes time, resources and focus. The risks are always high, failure to cast is the least of ones worries.

Possession: While Arden cannot posses another creature or dark spirit, he can force them to posses him. To trap one in his own flesh sounds ridiculous and dangerous, that's because it is. But if the deal is right, his will strong and the ritual perfect then there can be much power to be gained.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Auraghast the blind devourer
Sobriquets: (Shelly)

Concept: The hungry protector. A glutinous defender. Living armour.

Form: A sturdy heavy powerful armour. Thick and solid it has no eyes but a powerful maw filled with razor fangs.

Image

Abominations

The consumer: Its powerful mouth can tear through nearly anything. Nothing is off limits to its appetite. All matter and magic can be broken down and absorbed by this Nephilim. Materials are used to repair or energise the powerful beast.

Name: Convergent evolution means that some Nephilim share traits, similarities.

The Armour:

The appetite: While it can consume nearly anything, it does need frequent sustenance to power its entity. It slows when not properly fed.

[Yukitamas]

Crowd of One

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Alisia Fairgavel
Sobriquets: Crowded One
Concept: A little girl whose life is uprooted who longs for the splendor of the past and the time where life was simple. Yet to trust others is to invite the possibility that it might all be turned up over again. You can’t trust anyone but yourself. Then you have to do everything yourself, be everything yourself. Isn’t that the only way to live a happy life that no one will interfere with?

Origin:

What is the body but the vessel for the mind. What is a body but a shell that separates you from the world? A mind is trapped in the body, doomed no matter how far it wishes to spread. There is only one body you have, there is only one you. But does it truly have to be that way? How beautiful people are when propped up by others, those who stand at the top held by those beneath them so they can shine in the light. Yet those who are held up by others can be brought down by others.

Born to a noble family of Elatreis. She lived a pleasant enough life. Her family was a loving sort, and they were in a good standing due to their land, and the work of her father as a judge. The people around her treated her well and she simply lived happy as a child would. She trusted, or rather had no reason to distrust people. She was an only child, the result of troubled attempts of infertility in the Fairgavels. People were simply those who would pamper her, who would be nice to her. She was loved because she was the only one, she was loved because she was the daughter. Yet life cannot simply be the playing out of a role, and tragedy strikes all the more to those whose happiness is supported so precariously. One day everything was taken from her. An unclean spirit came to end the Fairgavels, enticed by a deal, and with their master dead the servants took to pillaging and looting. Yet the spirit did not take her life when it came to her. If anything it spoke to her, and enlightened her. She would be spared for she was not the child of the Fairgavels, but merely a child picked up, adopted out of longing and due to their inability to conceive. Her life as a Fairgavel was ended. She was enlightened, her third eye forced open. Her life as a normal girl too came to an end.

In a sense the spirit had done what it was asked to do and what it had pleased. But even with that mercy the end of the Fairgavels had come. Frightened she fled, and later she found that she was both assumed dead and many curse the name of her line. Grudges, curses, the work of a judge bringing little but ill will to the one who sentenced and put a face to the punishments and misfortunes those the people knew met. She did not know if her father was just, she did not know if her father was cruel. All she knew is that she had lost everything and that few would come to her aid.

So she left.

Everything can tumble down, everything that was established as the foundation for everything you know can fall away. The only way to be completely sure of everything, the only way to be truly safe is to be just by yourself. The only one you know for certain, the only one who you can trust being you. But there are things that you cannot do alone. The servants that cooked and cleaned, the guards that trained, the lord who ruled and managed the land, along with dealing with their neighbors and the kingdom at large. A single girl, nobleraised or not cannot do everything. Any sort of person cannot be a world or a home of their own. That feeling of shining high, so beautifully, propped up by others cannot be attained alone.

Then how does one turn into many? Like playing house, a life controlled and directed by one. Yes, that was what would be beautiful, what would be safe. So she explored the new possibilities the spirit gave her, taking the new path that opened as she was pushed out of her old life. Take the bodies of others, twist the minds of others, twist her body, twist her mind. She’d work to become more than just one. Of course such a thing would erode one’s own identity.

But she felt that she had lost hers already a long time ago.

Elatreis is a land unkind to sorcerers and the only land she truly knew, even if she only came to truly see it and live in it after being ousted out of her nest. The offer set by the kingdom was as such too good not to take. Even if it cannot be completely trusted, even if she feels that it may all fall apart like her original life, she deemed it a deal worth taking anyway.

Appearance: The face of Alisia is fair, blonde hair curled over her shoulders and resting upon her collar. Her nose is with a soft curve, her brows neutral and relaxed. Yet what should be a beautiful face is mirred by eyes brimming with a unfocused glaze and distrust, almost as if she were distant. Even if she is pretty there is a sense of oddity to her. Her mannerisms feel all natural and yet inconsistent. The only thing that truly feels natural is the grace that she presents that seems evocative of a well-learned and groomed maiden. Yet even in her element there is a sense of hollowness that invites disatisfaction and unease when looking at her.

Her body is thin, although her stature is tall and the foundation of it healthy. Yet the marks of starving herself, out of lack, and sometimes simply due to her own neglect have began to show. Rather than a flower whose growth was stunted the impression is that of a strange flower who has bloomed, then has began to mutate and wilt.

Skills and Flaws

Name: Nurtured, not Nature. The truth of the matter is that Alisia is simply a girl picked up with her own genetic origins unknown. The presentation is that of a well-bred girl, fair in face and in manners. Even after the end of her old life there are habits and learned mannerisms that she can’t quite shake off, drilled into her very bones and soul. Combined with some knowledge of the methods of Elatreis’s upper class, it could be said to be remnants of her old life.

Name:Imprinted Instinct She was never raised as a warrior, she would never be the shining knight in armor. But handy enough with a knife, and guided by the memories of those raised in the streets, her reaction to danger is swift, instinct and experience not born of her own life guiding her to overcome hesitation.

Name: Conglomerate Library There are many things known if you gather the knowledge of different people. Even the small shards of knowledge collected from dozens can add up to a lot.

As a result of her own sorcery, not as a direct result but instead as a simple consequence of the nature of her weirds, the memories and knowledge of many different subjects lingers within her. Sometimes it is not a complete picture, sometimes it is a small fragment. Yet her knowledge is better than a simple flop who decided to inanely poke at the surface of every little thing they could think of. Yet the honed knowledge of a single life dedicated to a single topic, in other words, an expert, is beyond her reach. In a life that became a pursuit of knowledge and travel without a home to return to it is more than enough however.

Name: Malleable Ego, Melding Mind Her own identity and mind is not the most stable, forcing itself upon others, taking from others. As such it could be said that she is susceptible ironically the most out of any to those who wish to warp her own. As a sorcerer her resistance is more than a normal mortal, but among her kind she is the most malleable.

The distinction between "her" and "them" continues to blur, and her own personality is at times unstable, impulses focused through the lens of “her” but born from the cumulative experiences of “them”. Yet in the end it is still her. But what a battered ego it is...

Hooks:

• The one who brought ruin to her family still likely searches for her when it turned out her body was never discovered. On top of that the legacy of her father, for good or bad may hold bitter memories for some.
• To be safe, to live like the little girl surrounded and pampered by others again, to be the architect of all around her.
• How much of a world can one build by their own. One built by one, for one.

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: The ringing voice in her ears, the despair blooming in her breast. Her family was taken from her figuratively and literally. The spike pierced her, she did not resist. What purpose would that have had after all?

Weirds

Name:Transmigratory Thief

What is the body but the vessel for the mind. What is a body but a shell that separates you from the world? A mind is trapped in the body, doomed no matter how far it wishes to spread. There is only one body you have, there is only one you.

But does it truly have to be that way?

Alisia has found a way to twist her mind and impose it upon the bodies of others. This possession however also imposes the bodies of others, and even if the mind of whoever she possesses is restrained and repressed as she takes the reins, it shapes her as she directs it. Memories are taken, knowledge gleaned. As such the main danger of this useful ability to puppet and take from others is the integrity of one’s identity. Yet, even to someone like Alisia who has abandoned the notion of holding the preservation of “herself” as her highest priority, it is a risk and danger, and if she spends too much time within one body and life she might be subsumed into them instead. As is the longest she has spent puppeting someone was two days. Her eventual goal is to be able to control more than one at a time, and not have to abandon her body and leave it at the mercy of its environment when she does this.

Name:Mesmerizing Voice

The minds of others cannot be known, the actions of others cannot be trusted.

Yet she wants to be celebrated, she wants to be lifted by others.

If she cannot trust others then she can control them. While she can only truly trust actions born of her own she has learned to program and add orders that will later be carried out in those whose bodies she has taken. She cannot adjust or add to those orders later. However she can plant it in her own body as well to make sure that she will be safe even as she dives into others.

Simple commands are what can be given, rather than something broad such as “stay safe” or “Fight this person.” An order such as “punch this man when you next see them.” or “avoid this street.” or “do not eat cheese” is more the lines of what can be done.

Name:Retraced Flesh.

The body is one’s body, and the bodies of others are separate beings. Yet Alisia has found a way to blur the line, blending her mind into the bodies of others and taking a trace of a memory of their bodies with her. A feeling, a knowledge that lingers in her soul, she can manipulate and shift whatever body she is focused on at the time, distorting and blending up to 20% of it with the makeup of another being she controlled. From a blend to augment her traits, or focusing it upon a part of the body for a purpose. Especially good for utilizing muscle memory or disguise.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Etryudaen
Sobriquets:Cocoon

Concept: A odd mishmash of a butterfly, a jelly fish and a serpent. Those who are reborn in change, and and those who are simply reborn as a static eternity.

Form: Form:Almost gelatinous, slime-like in how it moves. The wings and feelers of a insect spread wide, yearning to fly and yet able to not. The scales that cling to its body shed and fall, clinging and binding a body that wishes to growth further than its frame currently allows. The Translucent flesh beneath bubbles and writhes like the ocean tides. It is almost like an incubatory chamber, and within grows possibility. Its head is that of a beast, and as it slithers forth it seems almost like a trapped child who will never grow up to become the mature being it should be.

Abominations

Name:Learned Flesh Etryudaen is malleable, changing. When exposed to damage and danger it heals and grows wise to what has harmed it. In short, it holds regenerative properties and the ability to grow resistant to what has last harmed it. However when it does that the translucent, almost liquid-like flesh becomes solid, defined, taking on weakness just as it does strength.

Name:Spark of Life Convergent evolution means that some Nephilim share traits, similarities.

Electricity born of its own strange lifeforce floods it, overwhelming others and causing them to go into overdrive. To a being that seems to embody endless life, to be forced to try and match it is folly for most things. Growth can be induced by shocks of lightning, growths that can try to conform to the shape as a healing aid, or growths that can devour the self, becoming cancerous and overwhelming the target.

Name::Leeching Dust
Stealing from others is in one point of view the nature of life and existence. Pollen-like dust flutters out of the mangled limbs and body of Etryudaen, flying towards and clinging to that which is living. Growing like moss if it manages to settle in, it absorbs life and feasts upon those it takes root in to offer as tribute to Etryudaen.

Name:Eternal Scars

Related to Learned Flesh- Too many different sources of damage and it may end up healing in a way that compromises and even weakens it. There is adaption, but that is not always beneficial. Finally scars happen even to those who are malleable, and sufficient damage will carve itself into Etryudaen permanently, and weaken it.