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[Delta44]

Retainer of Daemon Blood

❰ FEMALE ⟡ EARLY - MID 20s ⟡ DARK KNIGHT ❱

_{T I T L E S}

The Dark Knight of Kron-Nesis; The Strongest Knight in the Realm; Guardian of Princess Azymn.

_{R A C E}

Halfling; daemon-human.

_{T R A I N I N G}

Maryvale has received extensive training from the Grand Marshal of Kron-Nesis, both in the way of her sword as well as her darkflame magic powers. Though not a practitioner of darkflame himself, the Grand Marshal is a user of light magic, therefore perfectly countering Maryvale and allowing her to never go overboard. The Dark Knight has received this training much of her life and has since become a master of darkflame magic and her sword, Dark Vibrance.

_{E Q U I P M E N T}

Dark Vibrance

Maryvale's sword personally crafted for her by royal blacksmiths. It is made of a heavy black material found deep within the mountains of Kelnore, making it a very rare resource. This resource has incredibly high magic conductivity, allowing one to channel magic through the sword itself, as well as nullify magic which comes in contact with it. The added weight allows the blade to strike harder and cut deeper, however Maryvale needs to remain in top condition to use it effectively. Her fighting style revolves around its top-heavy blade, often slashing in an arc. The blade is said to be nearly indestructible.

◈ Dark Armour:
Maryvale's armour isn't as special as her blade: it's an alloy of the same dark material her blade uses and steel (mainly steel). While this slightly strengthens the armour, as well as gives it a slight tolerance to her body's exertion of magic, the extra weight makes her heavier, and ultimately slower. It also doesn't do much to stop incoming magical attacks. The helmet is always worn in public.

◈ Earrings:
Earrings which Maryvale never seems to remove. They're enchanted with a spell which changes her eye color to blue, as well as helps hide her daemon heritage. They're of simple design, made of silver surrounding a small gemstone in the middle, which changes from blue to red when she puts them on.

◈ Journal:
Maryvale's journal helps her keep track of locations, creatures, and memories. Not being particularly intelligent and often forgetful has lead to its prolonged use. It is simple by design with a worn, red leather cover with a large 'M' printed on the front. Most of the handwriting inside is atrocious.

_{S P E L L S K I L L S}

◈ Darkflame:
An incredibly powerful and violent magic, darkflame magic is virtually never found in humans. Even by daemon and demon standards, this blood-related magic is steeped in legend, said to be used by ancient demonic royals. Inherited from one of her parents, Maryvale yields this magic with a gifted potency. With the help of her sword she can use it to send waves of arcing purple fire at her enemies, scorching and charring any who get in the way, able to turn some to ash with enough intensity. However, the magic isn't without its drawbacks.
Darkflame causes physical harm to those who wield it. Unless you're a pure-blooded daemon, you will be hurt whenever you use it, and Maryvale is no exception. Her armour and half-blood ancestry help weaken this slightly, however the injuries are still notable, especially when she uses high-intensity magic. Like some magic it also drains her stamina with use, so she also tires while sustaining injury.

_{O T H E R S K I L L S}

◈ Perceptive:
The Dark Knight has a strong sixth sense. If something is up she will often feel that something is wrong, though won't be able to tell if someone has an arrow aimed at her back. She's oddly good at puzzles despite her lack of intelligence.

◈ Intimidation:
With so much infamy, it is only natural that Maryvale would need the intimidating skills to back that up, and she certainly does. She conveys much of that intimidation through her body language and tone, which she is something of a master of using. It has come in handy once or twice before.

_{W E A K N E S S E S}

◈ Forgetful:
For as great a combatant as The Dark Knight is, she is awfully inept out of combat. The first of the long list of failures is her inability to retain knowledge. This forgetfulness is pretty severe, and healers for the royal family suspect it is a form of amnesia. Some speculate it is due to injury, though others believe it could be due to her heritage. Regardless, her forgetfulness is so severe that if she didn't have her journal to remember things, she would be halfway to The Unknown North by now.

◈ Illiterate:
Maryvale cannot read or write very well. Though she speaks mostly alright, only fumbling with certain words, she has a complete lack of literacy skills, and is unable to complete tasks which require extensive reading or writing. Her tutor is non other than princess Azymn herself, however even she finds Maryvale's lack of reading and writing skills a challenge.

◈ Intelligence:
While not entirely stupid, Maryvale shows a fair bit of incompetence. She fails at understanding complex subjects and has a fairly simple mindset. Before she had her journal she would get lost constantly, and she relies heavily on other people when it comes to direction, social interaction, and strategy.

◈ Light and Ice:
The two hard-counters to Maryvale's otherwise unbeatable power are those skilled in ice and light magic. Light magic essentially nullifies her power completely, and skilled ice users can overcome the intense heat of darkflame and rid it when the ice melts. Though she has trained to fight opponents with these very magics, she is still at a disadvantage when facing an enemy using either or both of these magics.

_{A F F I L I A T I O N}

Kron-Nesis; Royal Family of Kron-Nesis; Princess Azymn; Grand Marshal Lenius.

_{P E R S O N A L I T Y}

Stoic and serious, Maryvale is a woman of few words. She has been raised since her youth to be obedient, to take orders, to be a soldier, and has found only recently a voice for herself. The Dark Knight has a fondness for animals, often enjoying their company over people, as well as gardening, surprisingly. She has an utmost respect for the princess which she serves under, and considerably less respect (though respect nonetheless) for the remainder of the royal family. She reveres the Grand Marshal of Kron-Nesis as a father-figure as well as a savior, for he was the one who brought her out of slavery and into the realm of kings.

She can be rather secretive, particularly about her identity outside of the royal family and those within the castle. She's passionately sympathetic for people, a trait she picked up from Azymn, and likes to assist those in need where possible. Despite this passion, she isn't a member of the Order of the Radiant Sun, largely due to her lack of faith in general. In combat, she's merciless, and will not hesitate to deal with threats that face the princess. Her incredible combat prowess has made her a threatening presence, even intimidating, and leaves many-a-wrongdoer on-edge when she's around.

_{H I S T O R Y}

Maryvale's story begins young. She has no memory of her parents, and no real memory of her childhood. She knows she was taken in by strangers, but was left in the streets to fend for herself. The city of Dou didn't take well to beggars, thieves and poor. Maryvale, being a mix of all three, was an outcast. She was caught by the city guard when she was seven, and made to serve for a week. She had nobody to fall back on after her arrest, if there was anyone before. She resigned herself to fate, giving up on life, starving in the backstreets of Dou. There was no God who could save her. No person willing to care.

No one... save the Grand Marshal of Kron-Nesis.
Fate had been kind to her the day they met. The Grand Marshal had lost his only daughter to illness months ago, a daughter so like his wife and unlike his two sons, who looked more like him. Maryvale had a striking resemblance to his deceased daughter. He couldn't help but feel as though he had been guided to her. It was only by chance that they had met, but it was a chance that turned Maryvale's life around completely.

She was thus named Maryvale, and became the daughter of Grand Marshal Lenius. While his sons held noble blood, Maryvale was not allowed to pursue the luxuries of nobility with her brothers. She had been adopted, after all. Not to mention the nobles of Kron-Nesis would never accept one of impure blood -- a halfling daemon child at that -- to become a noble, even if she had been adopted by the Grand Marshal himself. Therefore, the only true way to show her worth as noble blood would be to have her become a knight.
And bribe the Court Wizard of Kron-Nesis.
Once Maryvale had unlocked her magic potential, Lenius used this to win over the Court Wizard. She admitted herself to the Court Wizard's personal study on rare magic (along with a bit of gold) in exchange for earrings which changed her eye color from red to blue, and minimized (though not completely hid) her daemonic aura. The gold would help him keep quiet.

Now able to become a knight without being scrutinized, Maryvale worked hard in her early years. Despite the reluctance of the royal family, Maryvale proved her usefulness as a potential bodyguard and retainer. During those early teenage years she could defeat rookie members of the city guard and noble children of the same age as herself, not to mention she had held off assassins long enough to save the life of Princess Azymn.
It was another case of luck at play, placing Maryvale in the right place at the right time. Just when the princess was to meet with death, Maryvale had interrupted. She only managed to kill one of the assassins, and was severely injured in the fight, but lasted long enough for the guards to arrive and apprehend the remaining assassins. Practically at death's door herself, she was rushed to the closest temple.

Throughout her recovery, Azymn would visit, bringing with her flowers. The two would plant them, watch them grow, and then pass away. After awhile it began to upset Maryvale that the flowers would simply pass away. So, Azymn taught her gardening, and how to take care of her own, long-lasting flowers. For the remainder of her recovery, as well as afterward in the early hours of the morning, the two would practice gardening when they could. For some reason, Maryvale began to adopt traits from Azymn around this point, as though trying to imitate her. Their bond grew incredibly close during this time, to the point where Maryvale even admitted she was not human, however their positions made it hard for them to continue seeing one-another.

And then she was told by Lenius that they were having dinner with the king.
The Grand Marshal had planned around the princess and his daughter's relationship, taking advantage of it to help advance Maryvale's status and promote her further in the eyes of the royal family. It certainly surprised the king that Maryvale was the one who saved his daughter. That was a kindness which deserved at least some kind of reward.
And her reward was an opportunity.
She was set to keep up with unrealistic standards: Be the best knight in the kingdom in return for the position of royal retainer of princess Azymn. It was an impossible uphill battle, but not one that Maryvale would give in to easily. She continuously improved for years, dedicating almost her entire life to being the absolute best combatant in Kron-Nesis. Many with more experience knocked her down, beating her again and again. But Maryvale kept improving.

By her twentieth year, Maryvale is the strongest knight in Kron-Nesis - a feat which shocks even the Grand Marshal. Though certainly not the youngest to hold that title, she is the youngest (and one of the first) women to hold it. After several years of dedication to combat, Maryvale has finally become royal retainer to princess Azymn, her most trusted and closest friend.

Ever since, all Maryvale has done is continue to improve. While she has very little real-world combat experience, she has shown promise in the little bouts she has been a part of. Maryvale is content with her life of servitude, and eternally grateful to the princess as well as the Grand Marshal. She continues to be Azymn's retainer, and will protect the princess with her life.
However, it is rumored that the king isn't particularly fond of Maryvale, and is being encouraged by the nobility of Kron-Nesis to get rid of her.

_{T H E M E S}

◈ Main Theme:


◈ Combat:

[Torack]

Logan Thetch

Logan Thetch

Age:

32

Gender:

Male

Race:

Human

Training:

He was trained in swordsmanship by Sir Willam the Fierce and in archery and magic by Vorix Null

Equipment:

• Hide and chain armour
• Bastard sword
• Longbow
• A talisman around his neck which helps muffle his movement
• A purple scarf around his neck
• Snow-bear pelt cloak

Spell Skills:

Veering

Logan can take over his eagle companion's mind or share it to command it to do things for him. He can also see through its eyes and use any of its many other senses. However, to do this he must be in a relaxed state and in a calm, secluded area.

Other Skills:

Logan is uncannily silent despite his size, has quick reflexes, and is strongly in tune with his intuition so much so that he can tell when he's being followed or tracked without having to look over his shoulder.

Affiliation:

The Hunter's Guild

Personality:
Hard. Even for a northman, Logan is rather brusque and to the point. When he talks, if he talks, he uses the least amount of words possible, which makes others see him as somewhat dull, but the opposite is true since living a portion of his youth relying solely on surviving has made him cunning and a sharp thinker, although he does tend to take his sweet time making a decision if he can get away with it. He's also a very curt individual, rarely refusing requests from others and not at all unkind.

He's a simple man with simple tastes. He only uses and buys what he needs, nothing more and nothing less. Extravagance, although it isn't foreign to him, is something he cannot seem to wrap his mind around and sees it as odd and a little childish.

History:
Logan was born to a noble family in the Northern Alliance, and despite being a noble, life was still harsh and cold but he did have the benefit of having a knight train him in combat and horse-riding from a young age, along with other benefits like tutors who would teach him literacy, diplomacy, and other skills needed to be a statesman.
But life was far from comfortable in the north even though he came from one of the oldest Houses of the Northern Alliance, and although they did have their own castle, it was cold and dreary within its walls and in the night they were filled with awful howls that would keep him awake and terrified, reminding him of the endless ghost stories his caretaker would tell him during the day.

At the age of thirteen, only a few months from his Nameday and the day he would take his rite of passage, his father decided that they would visit his uncle from his mother's side in the ancestral home of the Fjoren Family where Logan's rite of passage would take place. In the middle of their journey they were hit with a sudden, massive blizzard that almost instantly shattered their columns. Logan was thrown off his horse and in an effort to find his parents and siblings ended up getting himself lost. He wandered in hopes that he would eventually run into one of his house guards or someone he knew for what seemed like days until the blizzard finally subsided. Lost, he found himself in the middle of a dense forest with no food, no water, and only the most basic of survival skills. Wandering a bit longer in shock, he found himself a small cave only a few meters away from a nearby stream.

Almost a year in that cave had hardened him better than any rite of passage could have. He'd crafted himself a crude bow and expanded on what little hunting knowledge he had had before; it had taken practice over a long period of time, but he eventually went from sleeping most nights with an empty stomach to sleeping almost every night with a full one. He learned which berries to pick from by observing animals and soon had turned the little cave into his home.

Until a bear cub wandered into his cave. Seeing the opportunity for food, he tried killing it when he heard the roar of a larger, angrier bear just outside that came in response to the panicked sounds from the cub. Dropping the cub Logan watched as the mother bear walked into his cave and instantly attacked him. Leaving everything he had behind, he managed to escape the mother bear through sheer luck alone and ran until his legs gave out. Then ran again the next day. On the third, when he was satisfied that he'd managed to get as far away as he could from the bear, he began looking for somewhere else to live and came upon a larger cave on the side of a mountain that gave him a great view of the forest below and the game within.

He had rebuilt the new cave into another home when a small fledgling eagle fell in front of the cave's entrance during a week where game was particularly scarce. Something about the small creature sparked pity in him however and he decided that he'd feed and take care of the tiny bird, and through that some sort of small connection had been made between him and the eagle that seemed to get stronger every day, a connection that became so strong in a short few months that he found he could actually communicate with his companion, although rather crudely. He explored that skill further and in several more months found he could use his companion to make hunting easier.

It was on one of his hunting trips that he ran into a half-elf that was passing through the forest. The first sentient being he'd seen ever since getting lost and although it was awkward at first, Logan was soon conversing with the half-elf and sharing her camp. They talked and traveled together for days and Logan learned the half-elf, Vorix, was a hunter that had been hired to look for him or his remains. He also learned that she had a companion much like him, but a tiger instead of an eagle, and when he broached that subject she began teaching him how to become one with his companion or to use its stronger senses to his advantage.

By the time they reached civilization once more, several months later, he had learned everything he could from Vorix and the bond between him and his eagle, Sorin, had grown stronger. He then allowed the half-elf to present him to his father and a feast was held for his return; although he was trained to be a noble practically from childbirth, his time in the forest had made transitioning back into civilian life a challenge and rather awkward. Many in his father's court saw him as unrefined and rough, even for a northman, verging on savagery despite how hard he tried to be civil. It was only his mother that truly accepted him for what he had become and he found that he would spend most of his time in her company, sharing his experiences with her and even telling her of his strange connection with Sorin the Eagle. In a short time they had become closer than they had ever been and those couple years in her company are among his fondest memories.

His mother fell ill soon after, and in the end, when she breathed her last, he decided noble life was no longer for him. He took the scarf his mother wore the day he was lost in the forest and after saying farewell to the rest of his family, he rode down south into the Grand Kingdom where he joined the Hunter's Guild. After several years in the guild, he was invited into a sub-group of the guild that dealt with hunting down dangerous and rare monsters. And although the jobs were extraordinarily risky, they came with incredible rewards and he soon found himself with too much coin than he cared to have and decided setting up a permanent residence in the capitol of the Grand Kingdom in the form of a small estate.

[vietmyke]

Juni Arren

Name Juni Arren
Titles N/A
Age 19
Race Gnome

Training

• Magitech Tinker - Naturally inventive and highly creative, Juni is mostly self-taught in this field, but received an education in magical and mundane physics by the esteemed Praela Nox, a prominent professor from Protectorate Mages Academy.
• Thieve's guild protege - A relatively new member to the Thieves Guild, Juni has been trained in some of the more... subtle ways of life.

Equipment: A thief and tinker's lifestyles don't tend to mix well together, as thieves like to stay light on their feet, while inventors like to stand around workshops. In his short life, Juni has been able to come up with a happy medium.

• Magitech Daggers - A pair of otherwise plain looking dagger hilts- aside from the small crystal shard embedded into the handle. Powered by magical ether within the crystals, the hilts can create short blades of arcane energy. Capable of quickly melting and cutting through untreated steel, stone and wood alike- tougher materials require a bit more time, and more magically resistant materials are, well, more resistant.
• Magitech Crossbow - A small, hand sized crossbow constructed from a combination of wood and steel- lacking a bow and string, with a small crystal embedded into the handle. The crossbow launches bolts with spell-runes inscribed on them, powered by magical ether within the crystal to fuel the spell.
• Magitech Cloak - A small, hand sized contraption with a sizable crystal embedded in its center. Upon activation, the contraption creates an invisibility spell that conceals the user. Not quite as effective or efficient as a traditional invisibility spell, the cloak only renders the user mostly invisible- at most a shimmer in the air. A slight blur can still be noticed when one moves, and it does not block out sounds.
• Leather Longcoat - A thick, tough leather duster. Its got pockets, padding, and a hood.
• Thieves' kit - A small leather case with the essential thieves tools: a small file, a set of lockpicks, a small mirror mounted on a metal handle, a set of narrow-bladed scissors, and a pair of pliers.
• Tinker's pack - a portable magitech tinker's workshop, stripped down to its most vital components. a few glass phials, small amounts of reagents, tools, and a small ether condenser fit into a small leather pack worn at the small of the back.
• Tinker's Goggles - Goggles used by all manner of inventors. Various lenses can be popped in and out of the sockets to provide all manner of vision, from magnification to a blast shroud that prevents experiments gone wrong from destroying one's eyes.
• Tinker's Workshop - Not a piece of equipment Juni carries with him, but back at the Thieves' Guild hideout, Juni has setup a small workshop. Though a small setup, it contains a variety of half completed experiments and contraptions, both magical and non-magical, alongside a full-sized ether condenser.

Spell skills

• Magical Theorist - While not possessing of considerably powerful magic himself, Juni's understanding of magical forumlae and processes are something to be astounded by. Intuition and logic supplemented by a bit of luck and deduction allow him to breakdown even the most complicated spells to their basic components to be combined and used in later experiments.
• Basic Magical Prowess - Possessing a modicum of magical talent, Juni is able of casting simple spells and charms. Among other abilities, Juni is able to create small flames for light, lift small objects, and dull the pain (but not heal or remove the source) of smaller injuries. (Prestidigitation in d&d terms)

Other skills

• Prodigious - Incredibly intelligent and eager to learn, Juni readily and quickly absorbs new information, and can learn the theoretics of various skills fairly quickly- though often lacks in the physical application of such skills.

Affiliation Thieves' Guild

Personality
Earnest and eager, Juni is a light-hearted and friendly soul, always ready with a snarky joke or an unwarranted comment. Earnest and clever, if a bit stubborn and headstrong, Juni is a kind-hearted and jovial little gnome that seems to have nary a care in the world. Underneath his carefree persona lies an innate brilliance, a highly intuitive and calculative mind. Highly perceptive and logical, Juni shows an almost insatiable appetite for knowledge and learning of any kind, be it scholarly or practical and will often rattle on endlessly about whatever is currently on his mind- even if no one else is around. Juni posses an uncanny talent for all things mechanical, magical, or some combination of the two. He learns fast and has incredible memory recall. A kinesthetic learner by heart, Juni is inventive yet practical and does best his best when he's in the thick of things, working through problems with his hands. A tinkerer at heart and by trade, Juni often busies himself by fiddling with equipment and rarely likes to sit still for too long.

History
A child prodigy born to a pair of lower class gnomish laborers, Juni's ingenuity shone early at a young age. Though he was born with very little, his parents, amazed by his small displays of brilliance, vowed to provide a good future for their son. They lived in the sprawling underground slums of the Darakeene Protectorate Capitol- the slums, or the undercity as its denizens referred to it as was built from the spaced out tunnel and cave network underneath the magnificent Capitol, where its overcrowded and poor denizens toiled endlessly to maintain the craftwork city above them. Overcrowded, crime-ridden, and choked in pollution, in his parent's eyes, the undercity was no place for their son's budding intellect. They toiled through long factory hours and worked in dangerous conditions in order to forge a path for their son to have opportunities in the upper city of Darakeene.

Juni witnessed his parents aging beyond their years, trying to make ends meet with small wages while their handmade factory goods were sold to wealthy Darakeeni for exorbitant profits, profits they'd never see thanks to the greedy Factoryworld overseers and their shrewd buyers. Adventurous, rich and young Darakeeni wandered down to the Undercity Promenade for good, cheap times, or deep to the Underbelly to indulge in 'everything goes' type clubs. All the while spitting on its denizens. Juni concluded that his parents' vision of him living a good life in the privilege-filled City was one he didn't share.

Here in the Undercity, where his parents only saw the oppressive layers of choking pollution and a blight of criminality, Juni looked beyond and discovered a dynamic city overflowing with energy and potential. It was a hotbed of pure innovation, a melting pot of faraway cultures, immigrants united by a single desire to pioneer the future. The scrappers, the alchemists, the horticulturalists that tended to the nutrimoss. These, and so many more, were the heart and soul of the city- Capitol and the Undercity combined. They were resourceful, resilient, and industrious. They built a thriving culture out of hopelessness and flourished where others would have perished. The spirit of the undercity was what drove Juni to learn and build as he did making confangled contraptions and dabbling with magical arts.

While exploring a recently destroyed Undercity Laboratory for parts, Juni incidentally came across an injured and trapped Praela Nox, a researcher and professor at the Protectorate Mages Academy in the upper city. Saving and eventually befriending the somewhat shady professor, Praela Nox eventually offered Juni the education and opportunities that his parents had dreamed of him having. While he himself was not necessarily sold on the idea of becoming an upper-crust snoot, the opportunity to learn from such a man was a hard offer to pass up.

Moving out of the Undercity and up into Capitol proper, Juni began his education in the Protectorate Mage's Academy at an uncharacteristically young age. Despite his young age, Juni excelled in classes rated for young adults several years his senior. While his family was happy that Juni was receiving the education and potential opportunities the felt he deserved, Juni couldn't help but feel trapped. The education he received was certainly enlightening and useful, but the school, the people, the city were all restricting. They discouraged ingenuity and required him to fit into set paths and molds.

When Juni felt he could learn no more without sacrificing his freedom, he abandoned the school, absconding with whatever materials he could carry with him. He returned to the Undercity, where he would eventually make contact with and join the local branch of the Thieves' Guild, where his talents and size could be put to use. Along with a small crew from the Thieves' Guild, Juni was relocated to Tarantis, the Capitol of the Grand Kingdom of Kron-Nesis- where profit was plentiful.

Juni has been with the Thieves' Guild for a little less than two years now, and is content enough with his position for the time being, the Guild allowing him freedom to do what he wants, and means to acquire materials he requires for his next big invention.

[Girlie1Bomba]

Mercaidi Kin'Myla

Mercaidi Kin'Myla

of the Shir-Lalancanne

Friends call her Mercie. Guildmembers call her Wicked.

~Titles:

Wicked One of the Underhanded (alter-ego), Dark Star as acrobat/actor, Ghost Watcher as scout.

~Age:

97

~Race:

Mixed blood: Dark Elf, Night Dwarf and human.

~Training:

• Mentored by Eldest sister Pashae as Scout: weather reader, climber, stealth, survival, flora/fauna recognition.
• Mentored by Eldest brother Daestimane as Soul: hunter, tracker, trapper, pathfinder
• Trained by ShamanMother Miir as Spiritualist: rituals, Communing, reading/sign recognition, seeing/soothesaying, Shadows and Mists.
• Mentored by Circus performer Volante the Wicked Serpent as acrobat/actor
• Trained by former Gladiator Noeflitos as swordfighter/dirty tactics
• Mentored by former GuildMother Ashalra as assassin/toxin crafter.
• Trained by Underhanded teammates as 'Guild' member: streetwise/blackmarket/negotiate contracts/appraise goods/craft weapons.

As Wicked One

~Equipment:

• Linferre-Atuol - The StarBlazer Bow – a most prized and powerful item. Once mastered, the user will never again have the need to purchase another arrow ever again. The power of the stars and suns above have been harnessed and a missile of energy will fire forth from the bow. Mercie only will ever use the power in dire situations. For not only is it fatiguing after prolonged use, but she does need anymore reason for others to chase her down, kill her and steal her stuff.
• Shadow Waker Cloak – This is an assassin's dream. The device is actually the upper part with the drawstrings; the flowing cloth can be of any material. Once activated, Mercie may 'fade' in to darkness. The shadows are like commanded waters of the abyss to her. Mercie may ‘swim’ through complete dark in any direction. Also she makes no sound in low light situations. But if activated for too long, ‘things’ from the other side of that liquid abyss notice her and will try to claim her for their own and she will be forever trapped in the dark. She may take up to two others with her… if they dare.
• ‘Wicked One’ light-weight armour – this is her signature look when she dons the persona of Wicked One, the Archer. Once activated, this enchanted armour sprouts like a fast growing flower, covering her entire body, including face. It increases her bulk height and weight but minimally. Mercie is still allowed quite a lot of motion for the armour is made with light-weight flexible mithril plates that are still strong enough to deflect weapon blows without breaking. And the truth of it is, is that she wears it all the time. It is actually hidden in her bodice. She will only use it when she needs the persona; she wants to protect her alter-ego afterall.
• Four ‘throw-weighted’ daggers
• Durable, utility serrated edged knife used as a off hand weapon.
• Short sword with hidden poison spike in pommel.
• Multiple arrow heads for specialty uses. i.e. Armour piercer, shattering, hollowed for toxin delivery, whistling etc.
• Skull, bone, claw, feather, hair 'trinkets' and other ritual casting devices in her kit.
• Black leather travelling/fighting ensemble: includes jacket, battle skirt, boots and archer gloves.
• Regular clothes, cloak and travelling shoes

~Spell skills:

Communing with spirits of Shadows and Mists. Shadow travel: See Shadow Waker Cloak

~Other skills:

See training above

~Affiliation:

Assassin’s Guild

~Personality

Quiet, Calm yet Intense - Time has burdened her with hard choices and hard living. Gone are the days of blind ambition and pride to prove others wrong. But then again, gone are the big smiles, hearty laughs and random acts of hugging. The mix-blood now rarely says much unless necessary. So jaded is she that she rarely jump scares or gives up a surprised face. A dragon could be roaring in her face and the ground sinking around her and the woman would still keep razor sharp attention upon what she does. Mercie has nerves of steel, a heart of stone, yet eyes of fire. There is a slow burning intensity for such a small thing that even a look from her may sear your soul. But such a look is actually part and parcel of her now; she seems to bore holes in anything she stares at because she is taking in as much info as possible.

Cynical and Clinical- Being used and getting burned so many times has made her never take things at surface level. She always looks for the ‘how’ and ‘why’ answers to things and always questions authority. That is not to say she will not try anything once. She is adventurous enough. In fact, she takes all her various forms of training seriously and has strict training and ritual regiments and each time she does something, she does it by the book: crisp, clean and complete. This tends to lead her to want get things done right; she will do it herself. But when it comes to team play she knows she must relent for she has learned first hand about strength in numbers and benefits of a reliable teammate. Oh, and do note, however, that it is never out of the question for Mercie to get down and dirty. In fact, you best be served to expect to deal with some of her changeups.

Sharp Mind and Keen Senses – Unless she is trancing or executing a ritual, one will rarely find Mercie daydreaming or spacing out. Aloof as she may seem, it does not mean she is ignoring you; undoubtedly, she caught what you said and is just contemplating your words. Again she pays attention to details and her mind is constantly thinking. Mix that In with keen senses and a quiet disposition and you have a trouble sensor. Be prepared for her to suddenly or violently burst into action. Word to the wise then; in those moments when she is absolutely still and in utter silence? Watch those amber eyes. If they are open, it means she is still processing what she has picked up on. If they are closed, it means something is about to happen but lightning fast.

~Quirks

Mercie is quiet and calm with that oh-so-edgelord-me appeal about her, but she also cannot help but sneak in a practical joke or two. Most likely these go undetected since none will expect this from the mix-blood but it is not unknown for her to leave precariously balanced buckets of water above slightly ajar doors. Oh and the sharp tongue-in-cheek comments she lays upon those of authority in the Church? Those spout up everyso often. And do watch out for the faces she makes behind their backs.

Mostly a night owl, if she has to be up early in the day, expect her to be rather gruff and grumpy. Coffee or the like will definitely put you on her good side. Speaking of good side… she can get a bit offput and even insulted by outright rude or disrespectful folk. Expect that mean streak to come rushing out at the offender with blood red rage. And speaking of blood… she is a killer through and through. Do know that if she says she will kill you, this is no joke nor idle threat. She will go out of her way to kill you. If her weapon is out, she means for it to drink before she sheaths it.

~History

She never knew her true birthparents, but the spirits of Mists that she often spoke to, hinted to her that her parents were an unlikely pair of halflings. One parent was an offspring of a suberranean Dark Elf and a human slave, and the other, an offspring of a Night Dwarf and a human priestess.

They also showed her the youthful faces of human scouts that had found her. They had also shown her as a little screaming bundle of joy amidst a pair of broken and bloodied corpses. They had also shown her receiving judgement before the Shir-Lalancanne elders. The foundling was deemed to be an innocent being worthy to be 'absolved of the evils done by her fore-fathers.'

And so in the Great Valley of the mountain range that bordered Estorna and Vesh, the Shir-Lalancanne Clan named the absolved spawn: Mercaidi Kin’Myla which literally translated as 'The Saved Devil-girl.' Much disdain and contempt was given to such a mixed breed mongrel monster, but as it was, any foundling taken to camp before the Elders must be raised as their own. And so they did raise her, and very, very well one might say. For although Mercie did not have the towering height nor the musclebound body of her Sisters and Brothers that raised her, she had the nimbleness and body awareness of her underground ancestry. She was a natural hider, expert climber and but oh, was she ever deadly accurate with the bow.

The mongrel girl took to Miir, the MotherShaman, as Miir would soon take to the mongrel girl. This foundling was growing at a much slower rate than what the Shir-Lalacanne Clan was used to but Mercie's expertise in ‘Communing,’ the act of whispering to spirits, was eerily surpassing any that had gone before her at her youthful stage of life. Perhaps it was already in her blood to be attuned to spirits but the spirits of the Shadows and Mists took to her rather easily. Too easily in fact.

~~~

Much alarm was raised by the Shamans of the Clan. And so soon enough the MotherShaman decreed that Mercie receive no more Communing training, for further training would only end up in doom for the clan. And thusly, Miir cut herself off from Mercaidi.

Just when she thought they had finally accepted her, this dagger was thrust into her heart. Oh, but too much pride and ambition the youthful Mercie held in heart; that dagger could not kill such things. And so willfully, the mixed-blooded girl furthered her Communing upon a dangerous path; alone. And what she learned was all much too much for any youth. And as the years passed, she finally succumbed to the power she attempted to wield. Being a raw and non-properly attuned Lone Spiritualist, one day held her trance too long, and she was taken on a shadowy trip to ‘the other side.’

When that fateful journey ended, she found herself awakening at the Cave of Wise Bear, No’Rilee. Mercie had no recollection of what had transpired, but oh, the bodies...

There were 7 in total. And two of them were her beloved brother Daestimane and her beloved sister Pashae. The blood of her clansfolk showered her in misery and shame. And to make matters worse, they had blamed her for such foul murder. Mercaidi did the only thing she could do; she fled her heart and home, never to return again.

~~~

Far from her families home she ran, far away and into the territory of Estorna. For almost 2 decades she laid low, living off the land and earning a mystique as the 'Ghost Watcher'; she who watched out for the weary traveller and protected them from bandit and beast alike. And then came the day that would forever change her life.

The wolves pressed in on the lost traveller and Mercaidi fought them off and shot the wolves dead. The Ghost Watcher had saved the man’s life, but she was badly injured and would no longer be able to fend for herself alone out here. But the man she had saved was none other than famous acrobat and performer Volante the Wicked Serpent. This man would not leave his saviour out here to die alone.

To reciprocate her heroic act, the acrobat took her back to the Circus and they nursed her back to health. And soon enough she took to this travelling life and found she had a knack for doing athletic acting. Mercie graciously allowed Volante to take her under his wing. She blossomed as a performer and so he made her officially part of the travelling Circus of Mirth and Wonder's acrobatic troupe by annointing her The Dark Star. She truly was happy to have a family that wanted her and loved her for who she was and did not judge her because of her bloodline.

~~~

But then came the day Missus Falionis, ‘The Blind Seer’ told her that it was coming. Puzzled and bewildered, Mercie merely shrugged it off. But the sounds of the drums… The beat and pattern was unmistakeable. At first she thought it was her mind playing tricks on her but more and more occurrences of that hypnotic rhythm found her. Most of the time she heard the drums when alone. And loudest when it was dark.

She should have Communed, but alas, that life was behind her and as such, speaking with the spirits was out of the question to her. Big mistake. It finally came calling and found Mercie. It was none other than Ol’ Wise Bear herself, Ro’Nilee. The gigantic ursine beast tore through her dreams like a razor through a sleeping babe’s neck. When all was said and done, Mercie was alone in Shadows and Mist, standing nose to nose with the immense murder machine.

“You will continue to flee and flee and flee, foundling. But the past will not rest. It will still call to you, even if you will not listen. Family after family, run then. A façade for another façade you will see. You came to my dwelling for enlightenment. You did not listen. You did not want to hear my words. I warned you of the trade; you knew the cost of the bargain. And here it is in full. You can no longer run from our pact.

You asked for power greater than the MotherShaman. Well, then here it is in Names: Plaisire, Draevyni and Ki’Drahs. Power greater than your MotherShaman. You will learn who murdered your siblings. You will avenge them. Then you will come home to avenge your betrayals. I will be waiting for you when you are ready, foundling… you will be ready too.”

The slash from the great claws of Ol’ Wise Bear tore off half her face and exposed fully her left eye. Such horrible trauma to her face, oh, yet no onlooker would be any the wiser. It was a spiritual attack, not a physical one. Only in reflection could Mercie see what Ro'Nilee had done to her face; only the mirrors to her soul could see such ugliness.

~~~

Over the next few weeks she mulled it over and finally came to a decision. It was spring when she began packing her things. Once more she would flee. But before she left, Volante, her rival, mentor and friend caught her as she was about to leave her Circus family behind. Only several words she needed to utter; “It’s time to go. Not a single arms length from you and yet I already feel tired of running.” He hugged her then and kissed her forehead. He had already seen the signs; so many had he seen upon the path of the tormented runaway. Volante actually thought she would stay but alas, he was wrong... as he always was. He let her go, but not before dropping a couple of names. She left for good and wandered the years till she found her way to a secluded and complete recluse couple on a homestead in the Vesh borders.

They took her in and for a year she earned her keep as a farmhand. Again, she was loved and well received. That was until the day she mentioned the three names that No’Rilee the Ol’ Wise Bear had said to her. All things changed right then and there. Of course, they knew of the names. But if Mercie wanted to know what those names meant, then she must trust the old couple and follow their every word. Then and only then would she be given the keys to unlock said names.

The training she received was gruelling and pushed her to her limits. Several times, she nearly died by accident or was nearly killed outright. The old couple were not the jolly homesteaders they seemed to be. No, instead the wife was finally revealed as former GuildMother, Arahlsha and the husband was former Gladiator, Noeflitos.

One name would lead to the next they said. And so now they were training her to deal with the first name; Plaisire. As soon as they deemed her ready, she was introduced to a secret membership of assassins known as The Underhanded. These were the masked group that took jobs from those in ‘positions of high prestige and power, yet wanted to keep their hands clean of dirty work.' And so over the years, she earned her keep as an accomplished assassin. So very pleased with her progress, her surrogate parents and patrons bestowed her powerful gifts in recognition of her mastery. From mother Arahlsha, Mercie was bestowed the bow; Linferre Atuoll and the Shadow Waker Cloak of Arahlsha. From father Noeflitos, she received his re-fit warrior armour made of Dwarven mithril. The set was re-fashioned to fit her new persona: The Wicked One, Archer of the Underhanded. These were gifts worthy of 'taking care of their old friend,' Plaisire.

Again the years passed until she finally knew that it was time to move on. She was Communing again, but it did not take speaking with spirits of Shadows and Mists to know that she was on the right path. A single glance Mercie cast into the mirror and she saw the ghostly image of her mauled face staring back at her. It was healing.

It was time to go.

Mercie now finds herself in Bradles Worth, a port town located on Lake Victorine that serves as border between Vesh and Emonvale. Soon she will find a boat to take her north and closer to her goal. Plaisire resides just outside thte Barrows and the Necromancer is her first true stepping-stone to redemption. Mercaidi will claim his Name.

[Bishop]

Unnamed Demon of Greed

<sub>M A L E / Y E A R 0

R A C E</sub>

Halfling - daemon-human.

_{T R A I N I N G}

None

_{E Q U I P M E N T}

Common clothes and shoes

_{S P E L L S K I L L S}

None

_{O T H E R S K I L L S}

◈ Essence Reaver:
An ability which consumes the target corpse whole. It disintegrates it into an essence which he can then process, learning and obtaining the skills and a little bit of the physical traits from the target, when it was alive. The corpse must be fresh to achieve the maximum effect. The consuming is instant but the processing takes time, a sleep like state. Same with the amount of powers and traits gained. At higher levels the time of the processing state is considerably reduced and the powers, of the target corpse's abilities when it was alive, gained come at full effect. When consuming a target, depending on how long ago it was killed, some memories and feeling may slip in and mix with his own. This state doesn't last long.

_{A F F I L I A T I O N}

Born in the Archclericy of Valon

_{P E R S O N A L I T Y}

Still in it's developing stages. There are 2 pure drives that push him forward, greed which he feels towards all things, envy which he feels towards people more talented/stronger than him which also helps to further strengthen the desire of greed so in the end it amounts to one, and curiosity. Curiosity to explore, find and process every ability, power and knowledge in this world. To fuel those desires he has cast aside every human instinct and behavior that would hold him down.

_{H I S T O R Y}

No one knew how, when where or why it happened. But the once young, cheerful and beautiful mother had gotten terribly ill. Now, on her final hours, lying on her deathbed, her relatives gathered around her with the doctor closest of them all. He gave the grim news that the baby wouldn't survive, it was too soon. That was the last straw that was keeping her alive and breathing, with that gone she succumbed into darkness. And from that darkness got out the reason of her misfortune. Black tendrils pierced out from her belly, emerging slowly as if they were creeping spider legs. Everyone fell silent and still in pure horror of that abyssal image. For a full minute no one dared to breathe or release their breath. The ambient light had considerably faded and a sickening aura permeated the mansion. Everything was at a standstill, like a black and white motion picture until a loud breathing sound ruined the net of silence...

In that one second, a single red eye opened in the middle of the thickest tendril, then, everything went black...
No traces were found of any of the inhabitants.
It was as if they had vanished into thin air.
Not even a trace of blood left behind.

_{T H E M E S}

◈ Main Theme:

[ShwiggityShwah]

Pox

Name: Pox, Surgeon Prince of the Apothecaries



"Wait, don't let the mask fool you! I'm actually really nice! Really! I can prove it!

Age 29

Race Human

Training:
Pox's expertise is specifically in the realms of the medical arts. Healing Magic, Enhancement Drugs, Curing Potions, Medical Devices and Techniques, all are taught, practiced, refined, and utilized. Indeed, the Apothecary Guilds believes itself the pinnacle of modern doctoring. Having a brilliant natural and progressive mind himself, Pox is essentially a poster boy to this ideal. Pox can perform open heart surgery amidst a heated battle, aboard the deck of a ship in a squall, and cure the cabin boys case of leprosy. There is a reason why he is to become the next master of his Guild.

Equipment:
Apothecary Encounter Suit - This is the uniform of a true Apothecary of the Guild. These enchanted leathers riddled with attachments, hinges, and tubes allow for its wearing to work in any fundamentally toxic environment, rending them immune to the effects of gas, spores, and other foulness. Additionally, the suit actually pierces the wearers skin with tubes that circulate the blood through various enchantments and filters, which flushes the system constantly, rending the wearer immune to hostile poisons and diseases. Indeed certain entrance ports allow the wearer to freely inject other drugs for enhancement and healing, but other methods simply fail. Most amazingly is that the suit repairs itself after damage, though this is mostly for the convenience and safety of their wards. The bird mask is part of the suit and can be opened slightly for eating purposes.
The Apothecary's Martial Arms - Apothecaries are expected to get into dangerous situations, and sometimes the best way to keep their clients from harm is to remove it. Darts, Simple fire, smoke, or choking Grenades, and Knives are their main defenses. Light, fast, and capable of being poisoned if need be. Pox himself keeps a crossbow (15 Bolts) as well, for long distance problems.
Field Surgeon Pack - Sutures, Bandages, Scalpels, Salves, Disinfectants, and Leeches. Everything the bleeding body needs!
Alchemists Kit - For all your chemistry and potion making needs.
Collection of Various Vials - Indeed, among the multitude of colors are enhancement drugs, healing salves, euphorics, pain killers, and poisons a plenty. He keeps a book on him that contains the recipes but by now, he knows most of them by heart. Alchemy research are one of his passtimes.
Camping Gear - Lanterns, rope, tent, and a bed sack. Its a real wonder how he's able to move around.

Spell skills
Pox's magic is centered almost exclusively into the purview of Life, Enchantment, Entropy, and Death as the spells that deal with biology and chemistry touch on these magical disciplines. He can heal at a distance, curing light wounds and drawing poison from a victims pores, but actually potions and medical techniques are necessary for more mortal injuries, with magic coming to help the wound heal quicker once the victim is stabilized. Indeed, he is more likely to use alchemy and his mind for problem solving than any simple trick. Indeed he is actually quite brilliant when it simply pertains to factual knowledge. He has always been curious, and always eager to see how things work which has served him well in the past.

Offensive magics are always in the form of afflictions and diseases that are liken to symptoms of sickness, some of them being quite supernatural. Poisonous Cloud, Spell of Weakness, Strike of the Blind, Belly of Maggots, to just name a few. All of these spells are designed to not be permanent, and only effect a certain area. Pox is no fan of collateral damage.

He also knows a useful arcana spell of telekinesis. Without a nurse to aid him, he sometimes needs to do several small things at once. There are no excuses for being too slow and not having help when lives are on the line.

Other skills
Additionally as actual, formal training, Pox is expected to lead the Apothecaries one day when he comes of age, and part of his job functions are to act as mediators to nobility. Pox is expected to uphold any culture mannerisms and social protocols. Despite his monstrous attire, he can kneel and flatter, and rub elbows with the upper echelons of society. In fact, Pox enjoys this facet of his life the most, as he's a regular social butterfly.

Affiliation: Apothecary Guild

Personality
Pox is a man of contradiction, much like his Guild but there is something about him that remains genuine. He wants to bring some light back into this dark world. He flatters, he encourages, he studies and shares, brining a sense of child like wonder with him. He loves to laugh and loves to bring cheer and loves to always learn. His curious mind will allow for nothing else. At the same time however, his look and position as an untouchable makes that quite difficult and he is evasive at best when it comes to questions about himself or the Apothecaries. Indeed, he gets quite chatty when the conversation goes somewhere he'd rather it didn't, a tell tale sign that he's hiding something. His words are so prepared and reflexive that there is almost something uncanny about them, something unsettling. He can't help but sometimes giving into Gallows humor, considering how he is surrounded by pain and death for most of his life. Gotta stay positive in the face of horror.

History
It is not quite known where The Apothecaries, the Vultures, call home. They commonly wander from the Crow King's Lands of the broken Nyrae but with the wars, the bloodshed, the curse of undeath, these beings always somehow are close at hand, praying on the survivors that need their potions and their healing arts. The Apothecaries are terrifying images of plague and death, with rumors abound of what they hide behind their bird like masks and what goes on in their charnal houses, but they always come bearing the greatest of gifts. A life saved, and pain spared. For this reason, they are accepted, even sought after, but always kept at arms length, and the Apothecary like it no other way.

Apothecaries exist as researchers, provisioners of magical substances, undertakers, and most importantly, hired doctors for the wealthy, and quarantiners for outbreaks of plague and disease. Their skills are second to none and many a noble felt the assassins touch but walked the next day, with nary a worry save the Apothecary's growing bill. They are open, but secretive, dodging questions and neither accepting nor rejecting any accusation against them. The imagination can be a powerful deterrent. They have grown in such power that they have their own code and structure of social order. This is where Pox comes in.

Born within the Guild, he was trained from a young age to become an Apothecary, and due to his particular talent and eagerness to please his parents, was chosen to become heir to the Guild, a position always reserved for the most capable of their number. The Guild could not ask for a better student. He would never ask more than once for anything he didn't want to do, and he would never make the same mistake twice, under the consequence of traumatizing pain. Such was the effectiveness under the tutelage of the Guilds Master Chirurgeon Typhon. For the Guild, there was no such thing as special treatment, even for nobles; only special training.

Through grit, intellect, and various chemical enhancements (and dependencies) he managed to live up to the lofty expectations of his family and guild, with the forgivable side effect of OCD, Neurosis, and potentially self harming phobias when when it came to the details and success. The ends always justified the means afterall, and the Apothecaries always did have a results first mentality. And with that, his final test had just begun, a decade long quest as a fully fledged Apothecary out in the field. He was expected to gain clients, acquire fame, favors and fortune, uncover arcane secrets, and come home to take his mantle as leader of the Guild with years of experience under his belt.

However while he is only a few years into his task, the Apothecaries would be remiss to find out just how unlike them Pox really is. Out from under their cruel thumb, Pox had learned just how effective a caring bit of bedside compassion could work more wonders than any draught or pancea. Pox learned to love people. Helping them, healing them, always willing to surround himself with those that may look upon him with fear and always trying to show them that there is nothing to fear. Still, he is an Apothecary, and thus still has a task to do and secrets to keep, thus as eccentric and opens he seems, Pox will avoid things about himself or his Guild, dodging the question or coming up with an explanation that seems a little too practiced to be taken at face value. There is no way he could abandon his own family... could he? The more he speaks, he teaches, he discovers, he becomes painfully more aware of just how isolated he is from the rest of the world, a world he can only see through lenses, and touch through thick leathers. His own kind only wants expectations from him, and the rest of the world wants him far far away. What is the poor prince to do?

Keep smiling. Everything will be okay if he just keeps working at it... Just keep smiling.

[pandapolio]

Zakhul

Name Zakhul
Titles Beast of Balcoth
Age older than he can remember
Race Daemon
Training The battlefield is the best educator in the art of war one can find. Zakhul has fought in many a battle throughout his life. Experience has grown his skills with very little legitimate training. For a few years he had a swordsman train him in the basics, but he in no way achieved mastery of swordsmanship.
Equipment

-simple clothing: Simple riding clothes that are nothing special. Higher quality than what a peasant would wear, but nowhere near what a noble would wear.
-sword: A simple sword made of quality materials.
-scrolls: A few scrolls for writing.
-feather pen: A pen for writing on said scrolls.

Spell Skills

-Illusion magic: Zakhul utilizes illusion magic to change the placement of his attacks by just a few inches, mostly geared to messing up their timing. He also uses the magic to disguise his more demonic features.

Other skills

-Hand to hand combat: He is an expert in hand to hand combat, preferring to fight barehanded than with a weapon.
-Good Situational awareness: He is very good at keeping track of everything on the battlefield after he has noticed it. This allows him to stay away from environmental hazards and stay wary of foes outside of his vision.

Weaknesses

-Incredibly lazy: He is unwilling to put effort into nearly anything, unless the incentives are high.
-Overconfident: Years of not being killed has made Zakhul believe he is somewhat indestructible.
-Slightly insane: Imprisoning his mind has broken it slightly causing him to become slightly insane.

Affiliation his pillow(his one true friend)
Personality All Zakhul wants in life is to do nothing and be entertained. Of course that is not how life works, so he often misses any entertaining event he hoped to see. Zakhul is often calm and unguarded when he speaks. He doesn't understand why he should try and lie about things, because who could harm him. More likely to toy with an enemy than kill them instantly he can be seen as cruel. The more accurate description is that he doesn't want the excitement to leave. He often spares his defeated enemies in exchange for a favor, hoping they will become entertaining once again.
History
Zakhul is one of the ancient demons that were summoned when the harvester reigned. He was a ferocious fighter that utilized incredibly quick movement and illusion magic to overwhelm and confuse his enemies. While not quite royalty he was held in high regard by the other Daemons he interacted with.

After the crucible Zakhul had been caught on the outside of the barrier, having his mind freed from the harvester. Unsure of where to go he attempted to find a safe place to get his bearings and learn what happened. He came upon an abandoned fortress that appeared to have fallen into disrepair only a few decades ago. Exploring the fortress he made his way to the lords chambers and looked upon the bed. On looking at the bed a wave of exhaustion overcame him and he stumbled forward. Collapsing to the ground Zakhul could feel his eyelids shutting on their own, as if some force was forcing them closed.

He slept for many years before being woken up by a party of adventures looting his hidden castle. After driving the adventures away he decided to go see how the world had changed.

Leaving his castle he used minor illusion magic to disguise his daemonic features and set out into the world. He spent many years just wandering around the world, spending nights in any dry place he could find. He observed and tested the people of this planet, trying to learn more about them. He began to see the puny mortals he had terrorized in a new light and became fascinated by them. To him their multifaceted nature was extremely interesting to him, because of the one sidedness of daemons.

Zakhul began to start interacting with the humans more closely, moving into a village as a “trader” and becoming part of a community. After a few years he would leave and find a new town to stay in for a while. He continued like this for a while before he started to notice changes in him. He had lost his lust for power and felt more comfortable in his human form. He felt different than before he started this journey, more...less. He felt less “all powerful”, more mortal. He knew he was still as powerful, but he had begun thinking like a human after lifetimes among the creatures.

This realization shocked his mind, that he was becoming something he had previously viewed as weak and pathetic. That he no longer truly felt like a daemon. The worst part though is that he now viewed his past actions through the morals and viewpoints of humans. Fleeing to his hidden home he tried to reconcile what he had done with his new conscience. Unable to do that he imprisoned his mind, creating the detached creature that exists today.

[Claw2k11]

Illayrion Myriavin

Illyarion Myriavin

_{T I T L E S}
The Raven King, The Swordmaster

_{A G E}
128

_{R A C E}
Elf

_{T R A I N I N G}
Illyarion has lived more than a hundred years of conflict as a mercenary leader, fighting in battles on the entire length of the continent. As a result, he has become a complete expert with his sword and dagger, and while he is not as good with ranged weapons, he has learned a few offensive spells to cover him in that regard.

_{E Q U I P M E N T}

◈ Shadoweaver: His most prized possession and an artifact passed on from father to son for as long as his house has existed. This magic sword is utterly unbreakable and so sharp that it is able to cut through regular steel unhindered, at least in the hands of those part of house Myriavin.

◈ The Raven King's Armor: Another prized possession of his house, though this armor has a rather exquisite look, it offers only slightly more protection than a regular suit of steel armor. However, unlike a suit of steel armor, this armor weighs practically nothing.

◈ Dark Blade: Unlike his main weapon and armor, this black-bladed intricately decorated dagger is nothing special, serving only as a regular steel dagger and a show of his former station.

_{S P E L L S K I L L S}

◈Arcane Bolt: A simple bolt of magical energy slightly more effective than a regular crossbow bolt.
◈Arcane Lance: The upgraded version of the arcane bolt, this magical projectile is much stronger, able to pierce most armors, however due to it's energy cost, one must cast it only when sure that he is able to hit.
◈Ravenbrand: For an hour every day, he is able to brand either an weapon or an armor with a magical mark. When on a weapon, it makes said weapon much lighter and much sharper, while on an armor of any sort, it makes the armor tougher than it already is and much lighter.
◈Raven's Call: A sort of magic unique to the Myriavin bloodline, it allows the user of the magic to sprout large black raven wings that allows the user to fly at will.

_{O T H E R S K I L L S}

◈Social Etiquette: Though with only minor holdings at the moment, Illayrion is still a noble and he acts like one anytime he is court. This allows him to navigate the court of Kron-Nesis with ease and without any repercussions.
◈Inspiring Leader: Illayrion has led troops for a long time, he has fought alongside them, he has eaten with them, he has slept alongside them and that earned him the respect of the men under his command, he is able to inspire the men under his command to do great deeds and to push themselves beyond their limits.
◈Agile Fighter: Illayrion knows that one must always move when fighting and as a result of that, he has become a quick fighter, always on the move and always quick to end a battle.

_{A F F I L I A T I O N}
Kron-Nesis; Grand Marshal Lenius

_{P E R S O N A L I T Y}
Illayrion is a man of few words, rarely speaking out of his own initiative unless he definitely has to and even then, he speaks only enough for him to convey his idea or to get his point across. However, even if he is not a very social person, he likes having friends, even if he does not go out of his way to make them. Even when he talks to someone he has never met, he will always greet anyone he meets with a courteous smile, be they a lowly peasant or a king.

However, when it comes to respect, so far he has only shown any semblance of true respect to only two people. The first of them is Grand Marshal Lenius of Kron-Nesis himself, as thanks to his influence, he was able to appoint the elven mercenary leader as a lord of a medium sized plot of land situated on the borders with the Darakeene Protectorate and finally be settled once again after spending more than a century as a mercenary leader. The second person he has shown respect to is the young daughter Maryvale, who was able to earn herself the title as strongest knight of Kron-Nesis in only ten years, something which deserved his respect.

_{H I S T O R Y}
Illayrion was at first born to the great noble family of Myriavin within the royal courts of Curael Endir, however, he was unable to enjoy the intricacies of the court too much as only two months after he became the head of the house at the age of 20, as due to an unfortunate escalation with one of the rival noble houses, he is banished from the country and removed as the head of the house in favor of his uncle. However, before he leaves, he is able to take his family's heirlooms, the magic sword Shadoweaver and the Raven King's Armor.

With no other prospect, the young exiled noble decides to sell his services as a hired blade throughout the continent. At first, not many people were willing to hire a single mercenary with no real-life experience on the battlefield, but... as the years passed, he was able to garner enough experience and money to form his own band of mercenaries, the Band of the Raven. With his new men at his back, Illayrion began to get himself involved in actual wars, though after deliberation with his men, as he did not want to get them killed.

As the years, then the decades passed, Illaryrion participated in many petty conflicts around the world, however, the worst of them was the civil wars of Nyrae... and he had signed himself with none other than the Crow King himself. On the side of this cruel king, he was forced to participate in the most cruel battles of the civil war, the one who haunts him to the day was the destruction of the once great metropolis of the Barrows and the slaughter he and his men were forced to do.

After that day, most of his men left the band of the Raven, saying that they had earned enough money to live the rest of their lives in comfort and had seen enough bloodshed to them for the rest of their lives. The few that remained pleaded with Illayrion to break his contract with the Crow King. After a few more days of deliberation, he and his remaining men riding for a full day and night without pause, for they knew what would happen if the King of Nyrae caught them.

Thankfully, he was able to ride without any intervention on part of the Crow King and reached one of the few places he had yet to visit, the Kingdom of Kron-Nesis. There, he and his men were hired not by the king, but by the new Grand Marshal of the country, as he had heard of Illayrion's skill in both leading men and fighting them. During the time there, he had won a few several minor skirmishes against the Protectorate and while he did not expect it, it seems that those skirmishes were what made Lenius to use his position to appoint him as a lord of a plot of land that had belonged to a previously disgraced lord.

With that, Illayrion and his men had found themselves a new place to call as home. This deed alone made the elf consider the Grand Marshal as his greatest friend and the Grand Marshal had found himself his staunchest ally.

[Denduris]

Soulseer of Vesh

_{A G E}

He is eighteen years of age.

_{R A C E}

Human, with the meek heavily diluted blood of a deity coursing through his veins, as his mother before him, as her father before her.

_{A P P E A R A N C E}

Standing at five feet three inches, Uriel's skin is as pale white as it could be, a direct result of his cloistered background. His raven-colored hair reaches down to his shoulders, the lack of knots or outlying strands speaking well of his attentiveness to personal details. A catching detail that many citizens of Telduria would note as worrying is the color of his eyes; a pure and untouched gold, practically unseen in this day and age, beyond some representatives of the Archclericy. More perceptive citizenry would take note of his hands, being uncalloused, shaking with anxiety, and being smooth to sight, not dissimilar to nobility.

His shoulders are held high, and his head is held low in public, his eyes finding something of interest on the ground. Much like the common folk around him shuffling through the rain to get to their occupation of choice, he attempts to gather himself in much the same way to varying degrees of success. His posture remains weak, speaking ill of his confidence. He is lightweight, not a perceptible trace of fat on his body, his metabolism showing itself as a strength, rather then a weakness. As a result, Uriel is rather lithe.

_{T R A I N I N G}

◈ Penmanship: Uriel has an extremely refined grasp of the matters of the written word, able to handwrite succinct letters thanks to the variety of tutors that educated him in his youth. His skill in calligraphy allows his quill to dance across the pages with a flick of the wrist, demonstrating his mastery of the art with incredible ease.

◈ Etiquette: The scholar, when prompted to introduce himself or if he is speaking up of his own volition, demonstrates a remarkable aptitude for respecting nobility and those of high social standing. With his humble nature, this tends to extend so far as to the individuals he respects, bowing to them as he would nobility.

_{E Q U I P M E N T}

◈ Travel Outfit: His outfit consists of an airy beige long-sleeve shirt, unassuming gray long pants, and brown leather knee-length boots, further insulating his lower legs. A toolbelt runs around his waist, keeping his pants anchored in place, carrying such things as extra ink, back-up quills, and fine leather laces for his boots. A well-hidden sheath is attached to the left of the belt buckle, hiding his sharpened steel dagger with the aid of his dark gray cloak, which hangs off of his shoulders and goes down to his knees. The hood on the linen cloak allows him to hide his face, and most importantly, his eyes.

◈ Satchel: A brown shoulderbag with a thin strap, this bag contains a variety of miscellaneous items of various importance to Uriel. It ranges from a quill made from a raven feather, a small pack of rations enough to last him to the next village, a small razor fit for shaving, a wooden plate, and finally, to a pack of blank parchment fit for letters.

◈ Journal: A dark-brown leather bound journal, filled with the scripture of Uriel's telltale calligraphy. In it, are the thoughts of an insecure young man beginning on the long journey to the Court of the Stars. It has a strong scent of lavender.

_{S P E L L S K I L L S}

He knows no spells, as he has never had a tutor proficient in the arts of magic to teach him. Priests from the Archclericy weren't allowed in their household or near him, which prevented him from learning the various ways to heal a person in the holy arts that would otherwise be taught in the Archclericy of Valon itself.

_{O T H E R S K I L L S}

◈ Soulseer: Uriel, by virtue of his ancient bloodline, has access to a divine ability that allows him to see in to another persons eyes, and witness their innate nature; their fundamental alignment towards the world. Requiring a degree of focus, to be physically near the individual he is reading, and for their eyes to be locked on one another, this is commonly used by Uriel to see how well-meaning and trustworthy an individual is. A trait that had arisen upon further use of this divine gift is the perception to sense what their intent is towards the user themselves.

_{A F F I L I A T I O N S}

◈ Aethyn Family: The Aethyns go back generations in the region of Vesh, having settled there before it had become a Kingdom. They are considered the old guard, and have some weight when it comes to matters in the immediate community that need to be resolved. The family at large want for nothing, and are presently satisfied with their lot in life, not discontent to work the fertile land of Vesh for the needs of the surrounding kingdoms like their fellow man, earning them a great deal of respect.

Their heritage is kept quiet to the rest of the world, and as the many scions of the Aethyn family have shown themselves to be responsible, their gold eyes don't provoke fear to the people in Vesh as compared to that of the daemons. The pedigree of the family can be traced as far back as their time in Urland, famed as powerful warriors and dispensers of peace, before their migration to Vesh. There is no discernible record of a coupling with a grand deity of either legend or obscure origin.

In recent events, the family has a tenuous relationship with representatives of the Archclericy, not allowing them near. This is due to the meddling of Abigail, who was a staunch believer in one of their religions, The Radiant Sun, until the birth of her child Uriel. It is unknown why she carries such animosity for those in the faith of Nicarious.

_{P E R S O N A L I T Y}

Uriel can be described as a remarkably humble young man, a romanticist, and provincial, in no small part due to how he was raised. Intelligent and highly focused on his work, he is the very picture of a scholar. The most recent scion to the Aethyn family, and the youngest child of his two parents Abigail and Gareth, he is coveted and held precious to the family. When it comes to doing much else then reading, researching, or inscribing a letter to one of his cousins outside of Vesh, you'd be hard pressed to get him to be productive through orders unless it benefits him. Undisciplined, yet containing self-control in his own right, he is always willing to see reason in almost any circumstances.

His weaker personality traits come to light when pressured to do anything of substance with a time imposed upon him, as his overthinking becomes his bane and causes him to crumble. While this is nullified with time and experience on a given task, he is hard-wired to overthink his set of circumstances, perhaps leading to him questioning more then he should on what would normally be something straightforward and simple. Not to mention, his complete and utter fear of any kind of combat, despite his training with the lesson imparted by Ethelia four years back.

As he has no experience in defending himself, others, or having many chances to operate independent from the reaches of his family, he lacks confidence and backbone in situations where he would desire it most.

_{H I S T O R Y}

Uriel was born to Abigail Aethyn and Gareth Ulsher, two loving parents in the nation of Vesh, a kingdom of agriculture. The years he was raised from a toddler were almost tranquil as they had the experience from raising their child Aron to calm their nerves. Through hard and diligent work, his parents had given him the gifts of a carefree upper-class education, starting when he was eight. The finest tutors came from far and wide to visit the young child and impart on him significant lessons, his studies ranged from history, to fine etiquette, to penmanship, to a variety of different subjects. These assignments were pressured on him at a young age, their teaching having an almost polarizing effect on his personality at the time.

The six years of academic pressure were released when the clock turned on his life and he became fourteen, his parents unable to keep up with the rising costs of high-class tutoring with their wages. Uriel's studies did not end with his teachers as one may expect, rather, it continued in full confidence with the support his parents could give. He became eccentric as his child-like lodgings became his study, and his rampant desire for knowledge became evident as his passion. From reading of the lavish history of Telduria, to the glorious battles lead by Urland, the Dragon Princes to the northeast, the erudite young scholar spent years of his life in the pages of his books.

The potential ability his parents discussed with him in the past never registered to him until the rare moment he found himself outside, amongst the citizenry at his parents behest. What little work he was able to do was lessened by the fact that he knew next to nobody who toiled alongside him, and became plagued with his newfound anxiety as there was no way to accurately predict the human nature of his colleagues. His issues were salved when he made friends with Sophia Dreiden, who looked him in the eyes as she would an equal, and shook his hand. He had come to realize his divine gift in that moment, granting him intense insight in to the beauty of another persons outlook and drives, even her friendly intentions towards him. His tormented nerves settled in that moment, and they became fast friends, sending letters to one another to this day.

As he became more engaged in life outside of the family household, so too did that come with a price. A bodyguard followed him whenever he went out to the market, to the rare visit to his brother Aron in the militia, and before long, it was inevitable that he'd share a bond with his protector. For the next four years, Ethelia Carasiva was the tempered shield that kept him confident in public, knowing she wouldn't let anything happen to him. He had witnessed her inner alignment before long, and with this comforting knowledge in mind, they became trusted friends. To Uriel, she had become a kind caretaker, the one he never felt he had, encouraging his curiosity and interests when she could. Before long, she had to be removed out of his service according to the ancient family contract that put her there to begin with, which tore the young man up. No contact in any measure was provided, and he never saw her again.

After Ethelia left his service, Uriel became downcast and withdrew to his studies. As time whittled on for the young man, he found his books to be unwelcoming, pushing him away from the passion he had devoted himself to. They were the same subjects he had read through the years, the tepid 'popular' titles he had acquired from the market, and they didn't excite him as they did in the past. The thought came to him to expand his horizons; to go on a trip to find himself. He could feel resolve welling up within him as he stood from his childhood study and went to get everything together; for his long journey to Ithell!

_{T H E M E S}

◈ Main Theme:

_{A U T H O R'S N O T E S}

On the Subject of Permission, Soulseer, and Such Things
My fellow writers, I wouldn't worry about this ability. I will never use it on any of your characters without your sole permission, and I will always ask before implying any usage of it to prevent any unnecessary drama or stress coming from its use.

The Whimsical Nature of Early Strength
It's my belief that, when your character starts off strong, it makes everything lesser in a way. While this character Uriel is underwhelming by nature, this makes everything that much more enriching. When everybody is special, nobody is, and rarely do our fellow writers take on the effort of portraying a genuine civilian. Innocent, scared when raising a blade, and relatively defenseless, Uriel is my attempt at breaking stereotypes over time. Everything of substance that he shall learn from here on out, shall be in the roleplay amongst you, my friends. His alignment, his drives, and even his very personality may change out in the world of Telduria.

See you there.

[sly13]

Aldon Athan

Name: Aldon AthanTitles: Lord of the night/ Blood King

Age: (appears early 30’s late 20’s) Actually countless eons

Race Vampire- (was Human)

My Hider

Training:
Trained to be an expert swordsman before being turned. After he became a vampire he was taught more advanced skills that complimented his newfound speed and strength along with the secrets of magic.

Equipment

My Hider

Void sword- Aldons custom made sword “void” is a work of art that took decades to create. It is acurtly named as it has the strange ability to absorb magic and store it within. TO most this sword would be absolutely useless as it weighs an incredible amount and is nearly impossible to lift to a normal man. Lucky though because of Aldons Vampiric strength he is able to wield it as if were light as a feather.

Black leather outfit with hat- As shown in the above picture Aldon wears his black garb almost everywhere he goes regardless of the situation. For one it is because he prefers to look his best at all times but in the rare cases he is about with the masses of common folk he protected from the sunlight.

Magic Portal Pendant- This pendant is linked to a portal with in the castle of Aldon and allows for the wearer to travel back to the castle at any time. Because it is only a simple pendant and was one of the first magical items created by Aldon it is only able to be used once a month before recharging and he must be within a reasonable distance to be used properly.

Spell skills
Blood magic- Aldon can use both his own and others blood to abilify his other magical abilities. Of course his being immortal any magic combined with his blood has a greater effect than that of a human or other race.

Summoning- Aldon with his long life span has come to studying the evil art of necromancy. With his great power he is able to conjure and army of the undead provided he has the body’s or skeletons to use.

Fire- While one of his lesser used abilities Aldon can conjure an manipulate fire in both offensive and defensive manners. Being a vampire however in this regard means Aldon will hurt himself as well when using any kind of fire magic.

Teleportation- When this ability is in use a beam of hellfire erupts from the ground and flies into the sky which is visible for many miles. Once Aldon has left the spot he was once standing the beam slowly closes in circumference until it is completely gone. This ability allows Aldon to travel about half way across the continent . He rarely uses it though as it lets out a large amount of his vampiric aura and is easy to recognize. on top of this Using this drains Aldon powers to substantial amount which usually leads to him feeding soon after.

Bat form- as stereotypical as it is Aldon can transform into a bat or a swarm of bats to move more easily.


Other skills

Compel- THough he rarely uses it Aldon can compel another person to do as he wishes with nothing more than eye contact. This however by far Aldons weakest ability as a Vampire. Because of this the most he can do is have the victim forget certain events or make them to basic task. If the individual were to be put in danger the person will break out of the spell.

Affiliation
NA. Just his own castle which is found in the Arcadian sea.

Personality
Aldon is a very calm and collected person. He is always analyzing everything to its fullest extent. He is a very calculated fighter who exploits all of his opponents weaknesses and tries to end any fight he finds himself in fast and efficiently.

Even though he is calculated and generally very calm he is angered by the mistreatment if innocent people. While he knows he isn’t the best role model and he for sure doesn’t have a clear conscious, he follows a strict set of rules when conducting himself around others.

History

Most of what you would read in the ancient text or textbooks in a school Aldon has seen firsthand. Aldon was there during the first great wars where the titans of the world for the first time tested each others might. It was on those battlefields that Aldon was given what to some is a gift and to others is a curse. How or why he gained this is lost to all but himself. Being one of the first cases of this new occurrence he thought nothing of it. However as time passed people around began to see changes in him. For the early years he was unable to walk in sunlight at all and never seemed to age. Because of this the people believed he had signed a contract with one of the many demons that plagued the world. Fearing for his life after yet another mystery, known as the night of the blood throne, he fled to a island not far off the coast and built his castle Blutmond.

Here Aldon stayed for many years learning all he could about his new self and all its gifts and curses. He completely through himself into the work and any and all magical artifacts or text that could help him. For a time he hated what he now was. A immortal breaching the basic laws of nature, he had become what he and many of the humans fought against in the beginning years of most nations.

After a few lifetimes for most humans he gave up on the idea of a cure and began to go mad. He saw the inferiority of mortals and began to see himself above them. He saw how corrupt the nation's of man had become and how the beast followed suit. Believing it was his duty to cast judgment so he did and believed them to be unworthy. While not openly, he began to wage wars against the kingdoms of man and beast alike. He saluted hundreds of thousands of people during these dark times. He had learned how to give people the vampiric plague and create more like him. These new vampires however were different from him. They cared for nothing more than killing. They began rampage throughout many of the country’s. At this growing threat from creatures of the night people began to openly challenge them as Hunters in what those from that time called the night wars. Seeing how men and women would stand and fight creatures far stronger than themselves with no hope of winning restored his faith in the humanity he had condemned. Many of the vampires were killed by hunters though a few including Aldon managed to survive. Aldon fled back to his castle now with the title of “king of the night”.

That was last time Aldon was seen openly in a large scale. He for the most part, stayed in his castle from then on only traveling across the world to keep up on the events of the world. Many of the common folk have even forgot about him. The lasting prices of him in the history books are the legends of the Great War he started or the horror story’s tell their parents to scare them from wandering off alone at night.

Other
Theme Song:

[Klomster]

Toradeen Folgamer

Name: Toradeen Folgamer.

Titles: Archmage of the hollow light communion, Magelord, Mayor of Brellt, Scourge of Camden, vanquisher of the bonewyrm, terror of war, slayer of Darakenes, wraith of fools pass, king of the will'o'wisp.

Age: 98

Race: Human
People suspect some sort of half-breed nature, but no proof has ever been found for that case. But it is obvious that humans should not normally have this sort of magic potential.

Training: When it comes to magic, there are few secrets that are not known to Toradeen, with an extensive knowledge of all types of magic and a fantastic skill at many types of magic focusing primarily on pure magic. He has training and is the leading master when it comes to transforming magic energies from one to another, capable of creating a wide range of effects with basically the same type of magical energy.
On top of this he was a capable staff fighter, trained by the hollow light communion.
While all the basics are things he has had training in, he has also studied and self taught and even invented techniques himself.

Equipment: Carrying a gnarly smooth sturdy ironwood staff and a Shillelagh of magically hardened wood.
His robes are heavy wool with many adornments of lighter blue embroideries, he carries a book on his belt and has a dagger on his side. His torso is protected by a plate cuirass which doesn't show much beneath the cloak.
On his belt he has two daggers that are sewn shut to their scabbards, the reason for them is unknown for most but skilled demonologists will see that they are the binding foci of his deamon servants.
He has many necklaces, chains and brooches enchanted with magic that dulls pain and reinvigorates the body.

He rides in a black wagon drawn by grey horses, the lanterns glow brightly blue and leave a trail of light as they move. The wagon has no driver but still moves as it needs to.
The wagons storage is loaded with magic grimoires, scrolls, tablets, trinkets, magical materials and items.

Only visible on close physical examination

Beneath his collarbones, he has implanted two magical orbs. They are said to be fallen astral stars and shine with magical light, they seethe with magical power and can store mana, adding to Toradeens already vast source of mana. However they leak power and they will need to be refilled from time to time.
A time consuming but rather simple task.
In truth they are simply mana storage matrices built by Toradeen in his younger days, the misconception comes from them becoming known to some after the battle against his equals.

Followers: At his side he has two bound deamons who work as his bodyguards.

Picture

Toradeen lured them into a pentagram, overpowered them with magic and enslaved them in suits of armour. Their form is hazy and they smolder with hellfire.
Their two handed swords felling embers and their steel-cutting edges also burn the flesh.
The hellknights are comparable to elite human swordsmen of various nations in skill, but they carry literal deamon forged armour and weapons, they will only perish if their armour is destroyed.
They require no food, no water. They only serve their master.
An existence of pure anguish for them.
In his dreams Toradeen often must fight their wills, since they constantly try to escape their imprisonment.
Taking their chance when they perceive him to be weak.
They have not succeeded yet.

A single will'o'wisp seems to live within his robes. Toradeen at times command it simple tasks.
It cannot do much but can confuse mortals and attack with weak lightning.
It is one of the few things in existence that willingly come near Toradeen.

Spell skills: Grandmaster of magical essence channeling, master elementalist, master astral mage, master enchanter, expert demonologist (focusing on binding and banishing), adept nature mage, novice blood mage, novice necromancer.

Other skills: A great skill at library searching and keeping, high intelligence and situational awareness, monstrous arcane knowledge and a broad knowledge of history and archeology. He also has good geographic knowledge and is a novice cartographer.
Unbeknownst to most, he can cook an excellent venison steak.

Drawbacks: With great power comes great responsibility.
Haunted past. 'His power is legendary, he can slaughter armies, slay dragons, he has no empathy, no soul, a machine of war.'
Everyone who has heard the stories fear him, the looming magical might makes everyone uneasy, magical creatures don't trust his vast magical power and his sad angry demeanor even manages to scare off the kind naive children.
He is truly alone.
Time takes its toll. In his youth he was a fit battlemage of unequaled potential. His physique was similar to the most well trained knight. That was fifty years ago.
Magical backfires, rheumatism, constant battle, scars, numerous magical experiments, pulsing mana ebbs within him and the odd migraine leaves him in constant pain. He has trouble moving and uses both his staff and cane to support himself.
In truth he is in somewhat good shape for a ninety year old nearing a hundred, but that doesn't mean he is vigorous.
The only thing sharp on him is his mind, and surely it is beginning to falter as well.
Magic is not the answer. Gone are the days where he solved all his problems with magic.
Since magic only creates pain, he chose not to do it.
At least that is the case when he does it...
Cursed. He never seems to be able to help anyone, the people instinctively revile him and the will'o'wisp is always an omen of doom.
While he actually can help people, in his mind it seems to always turn out for the worse.
Arcane studies has proven that there is some form of curse upon him, if it is his body or his soul is not certain, but some sort of cosmic law is doubtlessly here to make his life misery.

Affiliation: The hollow light communion. (On poor terms but Toradeen Folgamer is still technically part of the communion.)
An communion of mages, focusing on magical studies away from affiliations. They however see the wars of the nations as a great proving ground and many hollow light mages work as mercenaries.
The communion has its base in its wizards tower in the northern region of Kron-Nesis.
The communion has poor relations with the wizards guild, the guild feels the communion encroaches on their monopoly, while the communion claims it belongs to all (and most certainly them.)

Personality: A bitter old man, angry outwards but sad inwards.
Would lash out more on those around him if it wasn't for the fruitlessness of it all.
He is working his darndest to be more than his past, but time and time again it seems the world only wants the scourge, so he falls back in his old boots.

History: Toradeen Folgamer was born to some unknown parents. No one knows who, he was left on a busy street in a town, all alone abandoned because he felt weird.
No one dared go near the crying baby, for its presence was dreadful.
But fortunes had it that Toradeen Korak walked by, a mage of the hollow light communion, whom recognized the odd sensation of raw power that emanated from the poor baby.
He had never felt such a presence, at least not from someone of such a young age. He knew no one else would take the baby so he took it for his own. Cared for him, told him his past, gave him his family name and named him Folgamer.
Meaning 'Power', Folgamer was brought up with the singular motive to make as much of the potential he held.

Trained to be strong, fast, intelligent, quick witted and polite, He was to be a tool of war, of income for the communion. Someone who could give demands to guilds and orders, whom could strike down those who would demand from the communion.
Folgamer was an enthusiastic youth, he had a spring in his stride and was thankful for the opportunity the communion was giving him.
He would be the most potent weapon, his enemies would fear him, those around him would respect him.

He fought in wars, slew monsters, brought down the necromantically resurrected bones of a dragon, he fought armies and while not alone, he did the most damage.

Young Toradeen Folgamer

Eventually he took to the field in blindfolds, just to test himself, none could stop him, he was an avatar of magic!
He had now become the perfect tool of war.
There was however one who could stop him. Himself.

It was during a battle, he took the field as usual and sundered the foes before him, the village was supposed to have been empty, he ripped the souls from their bodies, used them to channel more magic and death.
The small village was now dead, a few had managed to get away, it was how he wanted, he worked hard to let just a select few enemies get away to spread the word about him. To spread his legend.
As he walked through the streets however he noticed the corpses, they were not of soldiers, but civilians.

It was there he noticed it. He had succeeded and now he realized the prize of success.
He was the most powerful wizard, all feared him. None dared even get close, his allies cowered in fear outside the village, he had slain innocents and soldiers more easily than the wind rustled the leaves above.
If there had been leaves, all life energies of the place had been drained to fuel the carnage, the dead showed only terror and agony in their tortured faces revealing the last of their lives.
This was Camden, it was no more. Never again would life return.

He realized that when everyone looked at him as he had wandered proudly forth to fight their foes, they did not show appreciation or respect, it was sheer horror, disgust and revulsion.
They didn't avoid him out of coy admiration, they were terrified. He had become the terror of war, he thought he would be thrilled when he reached his goal of becoming the most feared mage of all time. This was....

It took a long time before he reached a conclusion on that last question. He slew more, rained fire upon fortresses, shook the walls of cities, snuffed rebellions.
More and more it was obvious, only one thing now got near him on its own volition unless they had business with him. A single will'o'wisp.
It danced across his fingers, up his arms and around his head. He assumed it fed on the mana that overflowed from him.
During the crow war he reached the epiphany.
He had done his best, he tried to save the village, blew up scores of infantry, he had won the day.
As he approached the townspeople they cowered and hid their young, he wondered why they reacted so, he had saved them. They only replied 'monster'. He called out that he did this to save them, they responded that hollow light did nothing for others, only themselves.
He got angry, shouted, he asked for their gratitude, their praise, anything.
The mayor of the town then moved up to Folgamer and shouted the following.
-"Look around you, the dead litter the streets, dozens of homes destroyed, the druid tells us the source of the water in the well was torn asunder so the well will dry. You want us to thank you? Give you praise? Well hear your reward, you are now mayor of Brellt! We are leaving this accursed place, everything you touch is cursed and so is this land. King of will'o'wisp, the omen of doom."
At the end the wisp had exited Toradeen's robe, the people walked away and he knew.
He would do this no longer.

It didn't take many weeks before the communion took notice, their mightiest asset would not be lost. Several mages was sent, including Toradeen Korak, to coax him to follow the communions of the hollow light.
The plead turned to heated words, heated words to an argument, argument to a fight. Fires is said to have draped the sky, stars rained down to smite those on the ground.
It was here he slew his own father along with another and sent the rest packing with wounded limbs and magical scars.

Following this he created his bodyguards, left the communion and began to search anew.
He had already found how to be the mightiest warmage, he never wanted that again. Now he sought to solve his questions with magic.
Years passed and it seemed he could never find the answer in magic.
He began to despair, his body had grown old without him noticing, he had lost his prime, he was a weapon no more.
Good....

Currently he is leaving Kron-Nesis to go to Ithell. Since magic seems to grow only pain, perhaps another way is the answer?
But first an old acquaintance of his had asked for a favor, Toradeen would hear the old grand marshall out. The last time he did a favor for him he became the wraith of fools pass. So this time will probably be no different...
Or so he thought.

youtube.com/watch?v=TAQMJZeYSe8

Secret stuff

Everyone is free to read this section, but do know that the stuff in here is extra secret. People will not just know this. But feel free to suggest story hooks which play upon them.

Deamon foci: His two daggers are deamon foci, a demonologist could sense it and things with spirit sight can see it.
The hellknights and the daggers are linked with essence. Their purpose is simple, the one who holds the dagger, holds control over the bound deamon.
There is one dagger for each hellknight.
The easiest way to defeat the knights is to break the dagger, it looks really magical, but in truth they are somewhat brittle compared to steel. Similar to hardened steel which hasn't been normalized.
While a hammer or a good rock would be needed to break one, as the dagger would break the deamon inside would be released. Probably turning upon the one who imprisoned it.

Fools pass: The battle for fools pass was an ordeal where Toradeen used a bit of wit, preparation and later utter force to decimate an approaching army from the Darakene protectorate.
After trying to make them turn home, Toradeen was attacked and he executed his plan. Explosive runes triggered landslides, during the confusion he went into full combat stance and ripped souls from their bodies to fuel the essence wind gusts which melted the mind of those that didn't have enough magical resistance.
It was a terrible ordeal and the last battle Toradeen fought.

The will'o'wisps: Toradeen has a strange connection to the will'o'wisps, they appear often after he's used magic to any greater extent, seemingly to feed upon the remnant energies or the despair, no one really knows.
What is known however is that if Toradeen uses a lot of mana, the will'o'wisps will appear, sometimes in vast numbers. During the battle of fools pass, hundreds of them danced across the battlefield.

[Strange Rodent]

Nar Zalaam

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Nar Zalaam, Pyromancer Maestro

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Titles: Some call him "The Wandering Pyromancer", though this isn't formal.
Age: He stopped counting at 28, as he had better things to do. He looks mid to late forties.
Species: Human

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Equipment:

The Book of Ishamel

A book which details the life of a legendary pyromancer named Ishamel. Through study and understanding, one may distill spells from its pages. The longer the passage, the more powerful the spell.

It is bound in fairly plain looking leather, with vellum pages. It's not written in one singular hand, or using one pen. Rather, it's many different styles, languages, inks, and content. The only similarity they bear is how poetic they are. Even the non-poem writings possess a certain unmistakable fluency and descriptiveness.

Some passages relate to Ishamel's relationship with the deep, however. Nar has developed some theories around this. He's named it "Low Fire", and he thinks it will burn far below 0C, and it will come from despair. The first is obvious, but generally pyromancy feeds off the stronger emotions like anger or love. Despair is strong, but in all the wrong ways, and could potentially fuel a freezing flame from deep within one's soul.

Wandering Kit A backpack full of things Nar could use on a long trek. It's a rather extensive list, due to just how long he's spent developing it.
Quarterstaff A cheap, durable, and deadly weapon for when pyromancy is impractical. It's ~9' long, 1" wide, and 1 1/2" thick piece of oak. He has been trained in it by peasants in exchange for money while he traveled, and is quite handy with it. Of course, he will prefer to use pyromancy where possible. The weapon itself is easily capable of shattering bones, so long as there isn't steel in the way. Because of this, he uses it mainly in defense from wild animals.
Robes These robes are more of an amalgamation of different fashions from around the world than one particular piece of clothing. They're relatively short, only going to knee height. Of course, he has some very sturdy boots and pants under it. It's mostly optimised for practicality.

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Spell skills:

Pyromancy: This shouldn't come as a surprise. While his life has been a cluster of different events, pyromancy has been the singular constant. After his duel with the knight, there has never been a moment in his life where pyromancy hasn't been there for him. Strangely, he hasn't become consumed by the power it offers, as so many are.

His pyromancy comes in two main varieties, which he has named Ishamel and Nar. Very creative.
Ishamel tends to be very focused and efficient. At times it almost feels like it's holding back. The fire burns intensely hot, and is conjured by speaking words from the Book of Ishamel while contemplating your understanding of them.
On the other hand, Nar tends to be much more wild, but still far more focused than most pyromancy. It always feels like it's being held back, and can easily be identified and separated from most pyromancy. It tends to blow things up a bit.

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Other skills:
Study: If there was something he would put his skill at pyromancy down to, it would be this. He has become very skilled at finding the right information for the job at hand, whether this be in a library, book, situation, or person.
Traveling: One might not consider this a skill. Nar would beg to differ. If one can travel as much as he has within the time he has, it definitely is a skill. He is accustomed to using a map and compass, packing light, walking (so much walking), sailing, and learning local languages and dialects to a level that allows survival. Even finding forest food when none other is available.
Communication: He is very used to communicating his ideas to others and understanding what others are trying to say. He has Taught many people and been taught by many people, and that is the root of this skill. He learns and teaches quickly as a result of this.

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Training:
Nar has been trained by uncountable tutors in the art of pyromancy to such a degree that those who are beholding it are spellbound (not by rule, for obvious reasons). Chief among those tutors are the Old Man and the Book of Ishamel. He can weave firestorms the size of warships, or place a singular point of super hot fire exactly where it needs to be.

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Affiliation: He isn't affiliated with any order, religion, or country in particular. Although, he has a notable distaste for the inelegance of the Order of Fire. He is of the belief that they don't know how to properly control themselves. He agrees with some of their ideology, but not their practice.

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Personality: Nar has a personality that is brimming with a youthful curiosity, though it has been tempered by age. To elaborate, he will pursue anything and everything that interests him with an utmost dedication, but use the wisdom he's gathered over the years to guide himself.

He tends to find himself lost in contemplation of fire when he has a spare moment, especially when there is fire present. Campfires aren't for sharing stories, singing, or cooking. They're for discovering anything at all about the nature of fire. Because of this he has a very deep understanding of his art, and how it affects other objects. He also tends to let of a contemplative air, which most people find quite contrary to his standing as a maestro pyromancer. He also performs startlingly well under pressure, only losing a little bit of control. On the flip side, this 'zoning out' can cause him to miss some important things. While he will generally pick up on loud noises or large movements, he may miss smaller details. This isn't helped by his age, either.

He loves a good jest, and will often give cryptic answers to questions for shits and gigs. Even if they could be answered in a few concise sentences. He's also able to find the funny viewpoint on a given situation in a slightly absurdist manner. This has led to some people feeling alienated by him laughing at their suffering, but he's not really of a mind to care about that.

He views mistakes as learning opportunities, although some of the mistakes he's made have really ruined some people's lives, and he struggles to move past that. He will actively try to reduce collateral as thoroughly as he possibly can. Although, if he is unable to do this he suffers a guilty streak, causing him to run from the problem. He knows he shouldn't run from it, but this only serves to cause more guilt.

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History
He usually starts his story with the day his gift unveiled itself, so I'll do that. He was the eldest sibling in an upper class merchant family, and he had mistakenly offended a Knight. He must've been having a bad day, because he challenged Nar to a duel. The knight was wearing plate mail, and Nar was wearing no armour. The knight had a sword, and Nar was lucky to have a stick. Nar wouldn't take this without a fight, however. Within seconds he was bested, and as naturally as breathing, his rage rose out of his fist, and became fire. By the end of the fight, the knight had a cheek melted off, and Nar had some nasty cuts.

The surge of power interested Nar. He'd never experienced anything quite like this. He spent the next five years studying everything on pyromancy he could get his hands on. When he ran out of reading material, he watched fires and studied the emotions it brought. Every pyromancer that came through Kron Nesis was hired to tutor Nar, and by nineteen he had made a small name for himself as a young scholar of his art.

All too soon, he had exhausted his resources on pyromancy. The teachers had no more time, the books only said so much, and his hearth fire was evoking the same emotions over and over and over. He figured the best way forward was to travel the world, and collect some piece of knowledge from each area. And so he set off with a sum of money, some clothes, and some food. He headed north out of Tarantis, towards Vesh. Unfortunately, he was never much of a spendthrift and had spent most of his money by the time he reached Vesh. He decided he'd work in the farmhouses along the way for food and board.

In one farm, he met an elderly couple and their thirteen children. The youngest was called Fiona, and was the same age as Nar. She cared for her parents while all the other siblings worked in the fields, kitchens, or forests. Nar decided to stay longer here, as he had nowhere better to be. On top of that, he was interested in Fiona. He hadn't been interested in something this way since he discovered pyromancy six years ago, and in the small amount of time in a day when they were both free, Nar and Fiona grew closer. It took longer than Nar would've liked, but they became lovers.

One night, when they were... doing their deed in the forest, Nar's pyromancy reared its ugly head. From his pores poured fire instead of sweat. He didn't feel the heat, and only noticed when Fiona began to scream in pain. She had blackened skin all over, and some of it was smoking. He carried her to her parents farm, put her on the doorstep, and ran. His guilt was stronger than his love in every way, and his will was stronger than his muscles. He kept running until he passed out.

He woke up in a wagon, covered in blankets, but shivering. He was deathly sick, and drifted in and out of consciousness all the way to Urland, where he soon found out he was to be sold off as a slave on the black market. It was his first major scale pyromancing, and it went wonderfully. He had managed to burn everybody around him to death within seconds. As an added bonus, he was able to mitigate property damage to some faint blackening. After about a month in Urland, he met an Ithell Scholar who specialised in the study of the stars. This scholar was carrying a certain book that Nar had assumed nonexistent until now. The Book of Ishamel. After a few days of hopeless pestering, Nar managed to get him drunk enough to wager it against the entire Zalaam family fortune in a game of dice. Fortunately, lady luck was smiling on him that day, and he won by a narrow 12 points. He was finally in possession of the most rare book on pyromancy in history. He spends the next few years holed up in Urland, doing nothing but studying The Book of Ishamel. The insights he gains are impressive, and he makes a significant name for himself. People had begun to actively seek him out as a tutor. This proved useful to him, because he was able to legally earn money through pyromancy.

The student that impressed him most was a young human named Tetheras Pessoa. He had something that Nar could only describe as a gift. Teth had a huge amount of raw power he could tap in to, but not too much control. They spent a few months in Urland before shipping out to Ithell at the behest of the mages guild. During these months, and on the way there, Teth developed his grasp on pyromancy so quickly that Nar was almost ready to name him an equal. They had daily sparring sessions aboard the ship, and while Nar still managed to win most of them, Teth would consistently slip through Nars defenses. The sparring made the captain nervous, but they were both confident enough to quell flames before they did any significant damage to anything.

Nar noticed that over time, Teth would grow more reckless. He was growing more aggressive as time wore on, but Nar thought nothing of it. In hindsight, this was a very bad idea. As it turned out, there is an affliction that plagues skilled, yet uneducated pyromancers: Fire fever. It causes the afflicted to become increasingly more power hungry. It drives them to burn everything around them, just to watch the beauteous flames. Nar had never faced it before, so he didn't know to look out for it.

After four months in Ithell, they had both learned much. Nar had refined his pyromancy to heights he hadn't dreamed of, and Teth had never been far behind him. One day, not entirely out of the blue, Teth was found burning a supply ship from Urland. As Teth's mentor, Nar was asked to deal with the situation. So Nar went down to the docks. He forced the fire Teth had started to die down, to which Teth responded with more fire. Naturally, this led to a fight. Teth had totally forsaken his defense, though. This made it incredibly easy for Nar. With one hand he warded the flames from the dock, and with the other he fired off a beam of intensely hot fire. He meant only to his Teth's arm, but alas, Teth was moving too much and took it straight into the gut.

He wasn't happy with himself, naturally. If he caught this earlier on, he could've saved Teth. Instead, Teth was dead by his hand. As he is accustomed to doing, he ran from his problems. He made a brief announcement of his departure before stealing a rowboat and heading north. And so the next leg in his journey saw him hopelessly lost at sea. This was a period of massive growth for his mind (which he credits in part to sunstroke). He had several revelations while lying in a tiny rowboat, clutching the Book of Ishamel. The most profound being Low Fire. He hypothesised on the existence of a third flame type based on Ishamel's relationship with the night. When he had nothing better to do he would sit and think on despair, and how it would power a flame. The days saw nothing but him, the Book, and the sun. The nights saw something quite different, though. The stars were eyes to see his elaborate displays of exquisite firecraft. Bolts of flame licked wavering strokes around the boat, boiling any water that happened to come into contact with it. Perhaps most strangely, words rang through the air.

This is how he was seen by a small fishing town who lived on a coast in the north. They sent a longboat to pick him up, and he was taken in. They nurtured him back to health out of the kindness of their hearts (to this day, Nar has not forgotten their kindness. He means to pay them back in full next time he finds himself even remotely close to the north). When he had returned to health, an old man who wore a blindfold and a raven feather cloak showed up in the village. Nobody knew who he was, but he was asking for Nar.

The old man turned out to be an old fire wizard from the far north. He allegedly had family ties to Ishamel, and felt the Book's presence. He brought Nar to his homestead, and taught him the north's take on pyromancy. They spent every spare hour studying the Book: at first as teacher and student, and after time as equals. Nar has no idea how long he spent there, but it was long enough. On the last day Nar was there, the Old Man removed his blindfold to reveal a completely melted face and scalp. He told Nar to be careful with fire, and make sure it doesn't consume him as it does so many others. (I can't do justice to how profound this was to Nar. He had never seen under the blindfold before, and it had just seemed to go unnoticed after a certain point.).

The Old Man, after revealing his face and warning Nar of the internal danger of fire, requested that he deliver a package to Curael Endir, in Illvandrin. The journey there was cold, long, and somewhat boring, so I'll skip over it. When he arrived at the forest entrance he got chills. He'd heard of how the forest will attack those who enter if they mean harm, and he was entirely unsure about how it'd react to his pyromancy. Much to his relief, it held no objections. He'd never seen such a magnificent forest, and spent the first few days getting lost in its beauty, before stumbling across a scorched area. It was here he realised that while fire can be destructive, it is also a natural force. It's only a problem because humans make it one.

In Curael Endir he was treated as an outsider, which he wasn't used to. Finding the person he had to deliver the package to took weeks of constant detective work, but when he found him it turned out to be another student of the Old Man. The package was just a few rocks, but the other student knew what was really going on. Nar had been sent as eyes for the Old Man, so he might check up on his student (It was only now that Nar knew the Old Man could see through others' eyes. Perhaps he was more than a pyromancer?). Nar spent as little time here as he could get away with. There was something that kept him on edge.

Next, his travels brought him westward. He planned on going through the archclericy, and through Eamonvale. His goal was to get to the Darkeene Protectorate. Of course, something surpassing odd happened on the way. Due to a battle he'd heard of, he gave the Fool's Pass a wide berth. This turned out to be much more wise than he could've anticipated. As he looked upon it all he could see were magical storms, melting the souls out of those who were caught in it. Even at this distance, Nar felt a slight pressure from it. He had no doubt he could protect himself from it for a few minutes, but there was no way he would last longer than that. The sheer power on display made him realise just how close he had come to death. The amount of wasted magic did bother him, though. Whoever created that storm was taking out the army, sure, but he was doing it in a way that would wipe out thousands of civilians. He felt hollow as he wondered if Fiona died from this, or from Nar's burns. The image of the storm haunts him to this day. He wonders if that type of magic could offer some insights on Low Fire, based on the utter despair he could feel within the storm, much like how you feel the charged air in a thunderstorm.

With a newfound lust for Low Fire, he traveled south to the Darkeene Protectorate. He was fully aware that they had very few mages there, but he wanted the opinion of a scientist. He figured that finding out the physical requirements would help immensely. Unfortunately, the scientists had nothing groundbreaking to say. Doubtless they helped, just not as much as Nar had hoped. Slightly disappointed, he made his way back east through the war torn mountains. He didn't have much to fear from soldiers. Humans burn.

And now we catch up with the present, where he has made his way back to Kron-Nesis. Further still, into Tarantis. The first thing he sees is two knights duking it out in what Nar assumes to be an honour duel.

Theme: Burn the Witch, by Radiohead