Yep that's perfectly fine
Name: Adrian van Erhenst
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Appearance:
(Please ignore the watermark, I've pulled this from deviantart)
Affinity: Gravity
Spells:
Personality: A playboy by all accounts, Adrian has and knows how to use his silver tongue to get what he wants. Coupled with his total disregard for the feelings of others, especially those of females. Always in a seemingly mischievous mood, Adrian almost becomes a different person when things get serious, though he prefers and actively tries to deescalate potentially dangerous situations. Completely selfish, untrustworthy and honorless individual who enjoys being the center of attention, Adrian is extremely loyal to his true friends. Unfortunately for most of Adrian's acquaintances, very few have earned Adrian's true friendship. And deep down inside, Adrian is just looking for true love and friendship, that one thing he never had.
Background: Born a 4th son to rather minor noble, Adrian's life opportunities seemed rather bleak. As the youngest brother, he always got the short end of a stick, moreso that his brothers were just better at nearly everything, except fencing and charisma. His parents, only concerned with the next heir and the battlefield achievements of their three eldest sons, never payed much attention to the fourth. While Adrian's brothers were marrying beautiful foreign princesses, fighting in glorious battles and getting their own fiefs, Adrian roamed the land, courting ladies in other courts, only to leave them heartbroken, starting petty duels and generally being an annoyance.
The noble drama that he caused, however, aided his family, and as such, his father left him to do his thing, even encouraged it. And with a little guidance, Adrian became a sort of spy. Happy to finally gain some approval from his father, Adrian continued to sow drama and break hearts amongst other noble courts, which earned him quite a lot of enemies and challenges to a duel, which he always won. Eventually, even assassins started coming after him, which actually nearly succeeded. Coming back to his home for safety, he learned that his family officially disowned him, and that he was nothing than a tool for his father, ready to be discarded. Left without a home, in a world full of enemies, Adrian accidently discovered the power he has, which saved his life from a band of hired thugs who ambushed him. With nothing but clothes on his back and his trusty rapier, the ex-noble joined a band of mercenaries, where he refined his mastery over his new powers. As useful to his unit as he was, many others with similar powers began popping around the world, and so, he was sent away.
But Adrian did not resist that. In fact, he liked the idea. A group of exiles, starting anew, in a foreign land where nobody will disturb them. A chance to start again. Of course, he was wrong about the "undisturbed" part.
Skills: Non-Magical:
Likes and Dislikes: There is nothing Adrian enjoys more than lulling people into doing what he wants, and seducing pretty females is one of those applications, or making someone look like a fool while in an argument. However, there is nothing more annoying than those serious, honorable types, which Adrian generally tries to avoid, or just make them look like a fool to others.
Description of Magic: Adrian's power, first and foremost, requires line of sight. Verbal Component means that Adrian has to say the name of the spell, as he found it easier to use them when he named them. Somatic requires a specific gesture, sometimes it has to be sustained to maintain the spell, such as "directing" the object with hand motion during telekinesis. Channeling means that Adrian has to stay very focused to maintain the spell, though he can do other things meanwhile, as long as his main focus is on the maintaining the spell. Breaking his concentration, or casting another spell will break the channel. Moreover, some of his spell can be made stronger by reducing their area of effect, or vice versa. Due to the nature of Adrian's magic, Adrian's true weapon is the environment, which he loves to use against his opponents.
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Appearance:
(Please ignore the watermark, I've pulled this from deviantart)
Affinity: Gravity
Spells:
- Weight of the World (Instant Cast, Somatic Component, Verbal Component) - Increases the force of gravity in an area. Though meant to mainly slow down and tire out pursuers, in some places it can have a devastating effect.
- Feathergrace (Instant Cast, Somatic Component, Verbal Component) - Decreases the force of gravity in an area. Mainly used to perform normally impossible acrobatics, soften falls and generally make impossible escapes. Though there are opportunities to use this to a much more lethal effect.
- Force Barrier (Sustained Somatic Component, Channeling) - Creates a bubble of protection which deflects gravity-affected projectiles away. Projectiles launched from within the bubble are not affected. The barrier itself is rather frail, and can't last long under constant assault. Moreso, anything heavy will straight up shatter it, or just walking through it. Potentially could be mastered to not only deflect, but redirect projectiles back at their origins.
- Force Redirection (Somatic Component, Verbal Component, Channeling)-Changes the direction of gravity in a small area. Can only be directed towards surfaces. If no surface other than ground is present, Redirection can be used to suspend objects mid-air temporary. Especially useful in bypassing environmental hazards, traps or to temporary halt and confuse opponents.
- Telekinesis (Sustained Somatic Component, Channeling)-The power to manipulate the position of objects with one's mind, and hand gestures. The reach of telekinesis is limited to Adrian's line of sight. Heavier objects are much harder to move, and living beings even harder. While telekinesis can be used to easily move a rather large rock, one that you would need to be quite strong to effortlessly carry around, it could barely move a cat, as erratic movement makes it much harder to "grasp" objects. Stopping objects in motion and/or changing their directions is also much harder than moving an initially stationary object.
Personality: A playboy by all accounts, Adrian has and knows how to use his silver tongue to get what he wants. Coupled with his total disregard for the feelings of others, especially those of females. Always in a seemingly mischievous mood, Adrian almost becomes a different person when things get serious, though he prefers and actively tries to deescalate potentially dangerous situations. Completely selfish, untrustworthy and honorless individual who enjoys being the center of attention, Adrian is extremely loyal to his true friends. Unfortunately for most of Adrian's acquaintances, very few have earned Adrian's true friendship. And deep down inside, Adrian is just looking for true love and friendship, that one thing he never had.
Background: Born a 4th son to rather minor noble, Adrian's life opportunities seemed rather bleak. As the youngest brother, he always got the short end of a stick, moreso that his brothers were just better at nearly everything, except fencing and charisma. His parents, only concerned with the next heir and the battlefield achievements of their three eldest sons, never payed much attention to the fourth. While Adrian's brothers were marrying beautiful foreign princesses, fighting in glorious battles and getting their own fiefs, Adrian roamed the land, courting ladies in other courts, only to leave them heartbroken, starting petty duels and generally being an annoyance.
The noble drama that he caused, however, aided his family, and as such, his father left him to do his thing, even encouraged it. And with a little guidance, Adrian became a sort of spy. Happy to finally gain some approval from his father, Adrian continued to sow drama and break hearts amongst other noble courts, which earned him quite a lot of enemies and challenges to a duel, which he always won. Eventually, even assassins started coming after him, which actually nearly succeeded. Coming back to his home for safety, he learned that his family officially disowned him, and that he was nothing than a tool for his father, ready to be discarded. Left without a home, in a world full of enemies, Adrian accidently discovered the power he has, which saved his life from a band of hired thugs who ambushed him. With nothing but clothes on his back and his trusty rapier, the ex-noble joined a band of mercenaries, where he refined his mastery over his new powers. As useful to his unit as he was, many others with similar powers began popping around the world, and so, he was sent away.
But Adrian did not resist that. In fact, he liked the idea. A group of exiles, starting anew, in a foreign land where nobody will disturb them. A chance to start again. Of course, he was wrong about the "undisturbed" part.
Skills: Non-Magical:
- Duelist - Adrian is very proficient in one on one combat, with a variety of weapons. If armed with a rapier, however, there are few who could best Adrian in a straight-up duel, regardless of Adrian's opponent's weapons. His dueling expertise only works well against a single opponent, and requires plenty of open space.
- Silver tongue - Adrian is very charismatic. While effective on some, his slyness and chatter will just annoy and agitate others.
Likes and Dislikes: There is nothing Adrian enjoys more than lulling people into doing what he wants, and seducing pretty females is one of those applications, or making someone look like a fool while in an argument. However, there is nothing more annoying than those serious, honorable types, which Adrian generally tries to avoid, or just make them look like a fool to others.
Description of Magic: Adrian's power, first and foremost, requires line of sight. Verbal Component means that Adrian has to say the name of the spell, as he found it easier to use them when he named them. Somatic requires a specific gesture, sometimes it has to be sustained to maintain the spell, such as "directing" the object with hand motion during telekinesis. Channeling means that Adrian has to stay very focused to maintain the spell, though he can do other things meanwhile, as long as his main focus is on the maintaining the spell. Breaking his concentration, or casting another spell will break the channel. Moreover, some of his spell can be made stronger by reducing their area of effect, or vice versa. Due to the nature of Adrian's magic, Adrian's true weapon is the environment, which he loves to use against his opponents.
Hopefully I'll have duckman up by today
SillyGoy Goius Sillius
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
Name: Tiberum Ein Habsurg
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Appearance:
Tiberum Ein Habsurg is barefaced, and likes to keep it that way. He has moderately full lips, a rather rounded chin, and unpronounced cheekbones. Short, naturally wavy hair of chestnut brown is neatly trimmed at the extremities so as not to interfere with the fit of his helm. His body is lean but muscular, and his chest sports a nasty, jagged scar that starts just over his heart and ends at his bellybutton. He is considered by his peers as effeminate in that he has barely any chest or limb hair, and his skin is quite pale. Yet, he is firmly secure in his manhood, as described by the piercing, predatory stare of his eyes of dark brown, as he waits patiently for that one opportune moment, when his foe’s defenses are at their weakest, and he can sink his flaming blade through their heart, wherever the organ may be.
On Ractem, he dons his mercenary uniform: a red padded gambeson hugs tightly his person, under which he dons a simple cloth shirt without the layer of a chainmail shirt to separate the two garments, because the article was taken away from him. An arming cap and mail coif secures the fit of a steel helm with a nose guard. The authorities having basically looted him, he was allowed only the lightest of his weapons and armor as he departed, spending money on a brand-new hauberk, great helm, surcoat, broadsword, a crossbow and its bolts, all for nothing. His feet are wrapped in leather sandals he liberated at the Battle of the Magnicot from its previous owner. With such a light loadout, he is understandably displeased, for how in Kajuss' name was a gambeson going to protect him?!
Outside of combat, in an atmosphere of complete peace, he can be seen wearing a simple cloth shirt and pants, with a lucky charm made of pewter pinned close to his breast. But whether fighting or simply drinking or otherwise, he always keeps with him his utility belt, with its straps holding useful pockets and places for things to be put into, including two scabbards, one for his dagger and the other for his sword, and several general-use pouches.
The long scabbard is loose, vacant and vestigial when he arrives at Ractem, with only the short dagger's seeing use.
Tiberum Ein Habsurg, age 27, wearing a cloak over his gambeson in the cold Jermanian winter as a mercenary.
Affinity: Elemental Magic
Spells:
Personality:
Tiberum Ein Habsurg is a simple man who holds simple convictions. He fights for his Gods, for his Country, for his King, and of course, for himself. Being a soldier, he is stereotypically fond of drink. His philosophies are down-to-earth and mostly practical, with his moral compass being very ready to disappear if, say, a dire situation appears, wherein the only way to survive is to do the unthinkable and pick the most disgusting of choices. He does not “get” art, though he praises humanist artists for portraying the human body in such a realistic manner with oil and brush: a craft so fine that his weary, calloused hands cannot possibly take up and learn.
He is rather withdrawn in social events and is not inclined to speak at length about anything, save for the few topics that interest him greatly. However, this changes greatly while in combat, with him shaking viciously in rage, his tongue uttering the foulest of curses and his lungs heaving with every breath to convey them with amazing strength.
He is reasonably friendly and patient and will listen to a person's problems, sometimes giving advice, but at other times only pretending to care so as not to look impolite.
Tiberum is not very opinionated, and if he respects his commander, then that commander’s morals will be his own, because he trusts them. He is an inborn follower, even if he inspired his friends and comrades from the front with acts of valour.
He is also very pious to the gods Kajuss and Grindall, and goes to mass every Holy Day, even if he doesn’t necessarily follow the moral tenets preached the day after.
Background:
Tiberum Ein Habsurg was born to two villager peasant farmers in the northern kingdom of En. However, he was delivered into a tumultuous era: bandits and deserters of extremely displeased soldiers from armies disbanded after a series of wars roamed the roads and the countryside, and traded coin with travelers in exchange for the guarantee of their continued existence. His childhood was relatively normal until a years-long famine forced him, his family, and the bulk of his community to abandon their home and migrate elsewhere. Families with lineages dating back to the first settlers of the land left the village one by one, and the young Tiberum’s own was one of the last to leave, in a caravan headed for the rich fields surrounding the capital of Great Londen.
Bandits, of course, happened upon Tiberum. Yet, these bandits were different in that they did not extract a toll from them, rather, attacking directly without so much as a word of warning. Those with arms fought, but these bandits were skilled indeed, some of whom were even former soldiers in service to the crown. Tiber ran, hid in the nearby forest and quivered as a scared boy like him should until the ugly sounds of fighting had died down, at which point he waited two hours to be confident enough to walk to the wreckage of his looted caravan.
People died within his village, yes, but those were peaceful deaths. These were not. Open wounds wept blood which pooled into viscous muddy puddles slowly draining into the soil that drank eagerly. Eyes were open, yet they were glazed and lifeless. Bodies lay contorted in different positions, most of which looked uncomfortable and unnatural. When Tiber came among the bodies of his parents and two sisters, he wept until the night.
He was found at the caravan wreckage by a detachment of troops moving from Great Londen to York. The man in charge took pity and let Tiber stay with them until they reached their destination, where the eleven-year-old was then given to a Church-run orphanage. There, he would receive a proper education, learning how to read the Gospel, write the alphabet, and other lessons, until he was sixteen, when the local captain of the guard was volunteering recruits for the new war and picked Tiber.
Those who refused to go were, of course, executed and made an example of at the central square. Thus, Tiber had no choice but to go along. Buying his own weapons and armor with what little money he had, he reported to the militia training grounds for two months of training and drilling while the state mustered up its forces. He stabbed at straw targets with the spear, but liberated a broadsword from the corpse of a comrade who had died in an unfortunate accident whilst training, and practiced with that was well.
Eventually came the baptism by fire: Tiber was assigned to a regiment of spearmen and his very first action saw him bashing shields and parrying spears with Frank soldiers. He perspired and was assaulted by fatigue, but, carried on by the spirit of his fellows, Tiber fought on, and he saw himself living through the Battle of Agrincarte. He helped himself to the spoils of war: gold, new weapons and armor and equipment -- so many useful things, for personal use, or for selling.
He fought for the rest of the Ten Years’ War as a loyal soldier to the Crown of En. Promoted to sergeant at age twenty-two, he took to using his broadsword as an inspirational tool, to wave above the heads of his fellows while he stood on top of a rock and yelled something uplifting. He also took a liking to the sword immediately, being less of a hassle to carry than a spear with its scabbard, and being versatile with both a stabbing point and a cutting edge.
The Ten Years’ War, ending on the eve of his 26th birthday, saw no victor and was ultimately a bloody stalemate, but, at the very end of it, Tiber saw a rise in prestige and prominence, however small: he was assigned into the elite bodyguard unit of a captain, a knight, a noble. He was taught how to ride and care for a steed, and how to fight while mounted on one. His duties had become light in this new time of uneasy peace, and he was left with many hours in the day to simply think. And think, he did, of things he could have done to change myriad outcomes.
He had made a great many friendships throughout his so-far ten-year career as a soldier. Many of those men whom he remembered always as happy faces wearing stupid, drunken grins around the campfire, were lost. Some were taken away without him even knowing, plucked by an arrow or a crossbow bolt during a charge. Others, he saw fell, and held in his arms, surrounded by the two’s comrades as everyone watched the man fade away. The fires of war, with their constant activities, were gone now, and without distraction, Tiberum Ein Habsurg had thought and regretted.
His mind in a state of restlessness, he began to have night terrors. Spears tipped with blood thrusted and jabbed in his dreams whereupon an colosseum of displeased spectators, each individual face familiar, spectated an ashamed Tiber. There were screams and there were sobs, but the anguish always pointed out to Tiberum. He blamed himself. He didn’t take this well, and, suddenly, he set aflame his bedroom.
The first two times, the candle was blamed. The third time had him interrogated. The fourth time had him imprisoned. The fifth time killed his cell partner, which only worsened it, and when the seventh came, the Archbishop of En himself came to to Tiber, performing an exorcism, which had no effect. His own captain, ashamed and blamed by others for Tiber’s accidental damages to lives and property, ordered to have him executed, with the members of his bodyguard, Tiber’s former comrades, watching the spectacle.
He was gagged, blindfolded, chained, and handcuffed and brought to the central square of Great Londen itself to be hanged, then beheaded. When they had taken off the bag and the blindfold so he could see the jeering crowd, so he could hear the Archbishop himself speak ill of him, calling him monster, witch and demon, something snapped inside of him: he literally exploded in rage, melting off his chains and bands. This shocked the crowd enough that he was able to run through the city streets -- naked, mind you -- to procure a horse at the gate stables and ride away for his life.
The next two years had him serving in a band of mercenaries, honing his new fire magicks. He could cast the primordial power from his hands, his weapon, basically any part of his immediate extremities. However, he was still loyal to the Crown of En, despite the circumstances, and moved south, where he could kill unfamiliar Jermanians instead of his Enlandern countrymen.
Yet, he found out he wasn’t alone. People with strange powers akin to his own were popping up and the air of taverns was being filled with numerous stories about them. Seeking comradeship and a new cause to fill the void left by his state's banishment of him, Tiberum Ein Habsurg found himself at Ractem after bankrupting himself on new weapons and armor -- most of which, to his massive frustration and annoyance, taken away from him. As he was sent off, he was allowed only cloth garments, a gambeson, a dagger, and a helmet. But, once on Ractem, he breathed in the air, found it cool and soothing, and then said, in a voice that was neither too high nor too low:
"This is good."
Short version: Tiberum Ein Habsurg is a peasant soldier suffering from survivor’s guilt sent away because he kept burning his bedroom and killed quite a few innocents.
Skills, Non-Magical:
Likes and Dislikes:
Tiberum, although simple, can fully appreciate the dewy mornings of spring and autumn, the raunchy, boisterous laughter and conversation of friends around the campfire, slugging ale and whatever alcohol they had managed to scrounge up with gusto, and, of course, seeing the enemy either dead or driven before him and his companions. There isn’t much he doesn’t like, but one thing that gets on his nerves is the arrogance of aristocrats when at peace. Nobles would drink and pat your back in war, but would be cold as winter iron when the documents were signed and people no longer had the right to kill other people. Tiberum despises such deceitful personalities.
Description of Magic:
Tiberum’s flavor of magic reflects very well his style of fighting and personality: crude, quick, and unfancy. As he thinks, so does he create, and from the very thin air, he summons flames as blue as the expanse of the ocean, which, in a short time, becomes a bright orange as the essence of the flame is mixed with impurities in the air. He literally demands that there be fire where he wills, and the world impossibly bends itself so, though he is limited only to spells concerning fire. The strength of his spells are tied heavily to his will and resolve, and if he loses the spirit to fight, either by exhaustion, fear, or some other reason, then his magic will be pathetic and laughable. But it takes a lot to unnerve a veteran of the Ten Years’ War, and though he has had his moments of weakness, Tiber has proven himself a tough nut to crack.
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Appearance:
Tiberum Ein Habsurg is barefaced, and likes to keep it that way. He has moderately full lips, a rather rounded chin, and unpronounced cheekbones. Short, naturally wavy hair of chestnut brown is neatly trimmed at the extremities so as not to interfere with the fit of his helm. His body is lean but muscular, and his chest sports a nasty, jagged scar that starts just over his heart and ends at his bellybutton. He is considered by his peers as effeminate in that he has barely any chest or limb hair, and his skin is quite pale. Yet, he is firmly secure in his manhood, as described by the piercing, predatory stare of his eyes of dark brown, as he waits patiently for that one opportune moment, when his foe’s defenses are at their weakest, and he can sink his flaming blade through their heart, wherever the organ may be.
On Ractem, he dons his mercenary uniform: a red padded gambeson hugs tightly his person, under which he dons a simple cloth shirt without the layer of a chainmail shirt to separate the two garments, because the article was taken away from him. An arming cap and mail coif secures the fit of a steel helm with a nose guard. The authorities having basically looted him, he was allowed only the lightest of his weapons and armor as he departed, spending money on a brand-new hauberk, great helm, surcoat, broadsword, a crossbow and its bolts, all for nothing. His feet are wrapped in leather sandals he liberated at the Battle of the Magnicot from its previous owner. With such a light loadout, he is understandably displeased, for how in Kajuss' name was a gambeson going to protect him?!
Outside of combat, in an atmosphere of complete peace, he can be seen wearing a simple cloth shirt and pants, with a lucky charm made of pewter pinned close to his breast. But whether fighting or simply drinking or otherwise, he always keeps with him his utility belt, with its straps holding useful pockets and places for things to be put into, including two scabbards, one for his dagger and the other for his sword, and several general-use pouches.
The long scabbard is loose, vacant and vestigial when he arrives at Ractem, with only the short dagger's seeing use.
Tiberum Ein Habsurg, age 27, wearing a cloak over his gambeson in the cold Jermanian winter as a mercenary.
Affinity: Elemental Magic
Spells:
- The Gods Will It!: Tiberum musters up his personal courage and magic for a flaming charge that will bring him to a foe no farther than ten meters away from him instantly, wreathing his target, and anything around it, in flames. He will shout either a battlecry or an insult during this move.
- Ethereal Protection: Tiberum wreathes himself in flames which actively lick and lash at any opponent close enough to engage in melee with him.
- Fireball: Tiberum thrusts either of his arms with an open palm to unleash a fast-flying ball of clinging fire about the size of a full-grown man’s fist.
- Crescent of Fire: Tiberum slashes at the air, unleashing a heavy crescent of flame which will naturally arc down due to gravity after some distance and keep burning on the ground for a good while.
- DIE!: Tiberum musters as much hatred as he can to unleash a lightning-quick, point-black attack with the effect of a bomb. Either his weapon or his hands or feet will touch the enemy, and a specific section of the unfortunate victim shall be consigned to a great weight of fiery magic, concentrated into a single point, in a timespan of less than a second, which will expand outwards faster than the blink of an eye with great rapidity. Tiber, after this attack, will generally be tired and thus less combat effective.
Personality:
Tiberum Ein Habsurg is a simple man who holds simple convictions. He fights for his Gods, for his Country, for his King, and of course, for himself. Being a soldier, he is stereotypically fond of drink. His philosophies are down-to-earth and mostly practical, with his moral compass being very ready to disappear if, say, a dire situation appears, wherein the only way to survive is to do the unthinkable and pick the most disgusting of choices. He does not “get” art, though he praises humanist artists for portraying the human body in such a realistic manner with oil and brush: a craft so fine that his weary, calloused hands cannot possibly take up and learn.
He is rather withdrawn in social events and is not inclined to speak at length about anything, save for the few topics that interest him greatly. However, this changes greatly while in combat, with him shaking viciously in rage, his tongue uttering the foulest of curses and his lungs heaving with every breath to convey them with amazing strength.
He is reasonably friendly and patient and will listen to a person's problems, sometimes giving advice, but at other times only pretending to care so as not to look impolite.
Tiberum is not very opinionated, and if he respects his commander, then that commander’s morals will be his own, because he trusts them. He is an inborn follower, even if he inspired his friends and comrades from the front with acts of valour.
He is also very pious to the gods Kajuss and Grindall, and goes to mass every Holy Day, even if he doesn’t necessarily follow the moral tenets preached the day after.
Background:
Tiberum Ein Habsurg was born to two villager peasant farmers in the northern kingdom of En. However, he was delivered into a tumultuous era: bandits and deserters of extremely displeased soldiers from armies disbanded after a series of wars roamed the roads and the countryside, and traded coin with travelers in exchange for the guarantee of their continued existence. His childhood was relatively normal until a years-long famine forced him, his family, and the bulk of his community to abandon their home and migrate elsewhere. Families with lineages dating back to the first settlers of the land left the village one by one, and the young Tiberum’s own was one of the last to leave, in a caravan headed for the rich fields surrounding the capital of Great Londen.
Bandits, of course, happened upon Tiberum. Yet, these bandits were different in that they did not extract a toll from them, rather, attacking directly without so much as a word of warning. Those with arms fought, but these bandits were skilled indeed, some of whom were even former soldiers in service to the crown. Tiber ran, hid in the nearby forest and quivered as a scared boy like him should until the ugly sounds of fighting had died down, at which point he waited two hours to be confident enough to walk to the wreckage of his looted caravan.
People died within his village, yes, but those were peaceful deaths. These were not. Open wounds wept blood which pooled into viscous muddy puddles slowly draining into the soil that drank eagerly. Eyes were open, yet they were glazed and lifeless. Bodies lay contorted in different positions, most of which looked uncomfortable and unnatural. When Tiber came among the bodies of his parents and two sisters, he wept until the night.
He was found at the caravan wreckage by a detachment of troops moving from Great Londen to York. The man in charge took pity and let Tiber stay with them until they reached their destination, where the eleven-year-old was then given to a Church-run orphanage. There, he would receive a proper education, learning how to read the Gospel, write the alphabet, and other lessons, until he was sixteen, when the local captain of the guard was volunteering recruits for the new war and picked Tiber.
Those who refused to go were, of course, executed and made an example of at the central square. Thus, Tiber had no choice but to go along. Buying his own weapons and armor with what little money he had, he reported to the militia training grounds for two months of training and drilling while the state mustered up its forces. He stabbed at straw targets with the spear, but liberated a broadsword from the corpse of a comrade who had died in an unfortunate accident whilst training, and practiced with that was well.
Eventually came the baptism by fire: Tiber was assigned to a regiment of spearmen and his very first action saw him bashing shields and parrying spears with Frank soldiers. He perspired and was assaulted by fatigue, but, carried on by the spirit of his fellows, Tiber fought on, and he saw himself living through the Battle of Agrincarte. He helped himself to the spoils of war: gold, new weapons and armor and equipment -- so many useful things, for personal use, or for selling.
He fought for the rest of the Ten Years’ War as a loyal soldier to the Crown of En. Promoted to sergeant at age twenty-two, he took to using his broadsword as an inspirational tool, to wave above the heads of his fellows while he stood on top of a rock and yelled something uplifting. He also took a liking to the sword immediately, being less of a hassle to carry than a spear with its scabbard, and being versatile with both a stabbing point and a cutting edge.
The Ten Years’ War, ending on the eve of his 26th birthday, saw no victor and was ultimately a bloody stalemate, but, at the very end of it, Tiber saw a rise in prestige and prominence, however small: he was assigned into the elite bodyguard unit of a captain, a knight, a noble. He was taught how to ride and care for a steed, and how to fight while mounted on one. His duties had become light in this new time of uneasy peace, and he was left with many hours in the day to simply think. And think, he did, of things he could have done to change myriad outcomes.
He had made a great many friendships throughout his so-far ten-year career as a soldier. Many of those men whom he remembered always as happy faces wearing stupid, drunken grins around the campfire, were lost. Some were taken away without him even knowing, plucked by an arrow or a crossbow bolt during a charge. Others, he saw fell, and held in his arms, surrounded by the two’s comrades as everyone watched the man fade away. The fires of war, with their constant activities, were gone now, and without distraction, Tiberum Ein Habsurg had thought and regretted.
His mind in a state of restlessness, he began to have night terrors. Spears tipped with blood thrusted and jabbed in his dreams whereupon an colosseum of displeased spectators, each individual face familiar, spectated an ashamed Tiber. There were screams and there were sobs, but the anguish always pointed out to Tiberum. He blamed himself. He didn’t take this well, and, suddenly, he set aflame his bedroom.
The first two times, the candle was blamed. The third time had him interrogated. The fourth time had him imprisoned. The fifth time killed his cell partner, which only worsened it, and when the seventh came, the Archbishop of En himself came to to Tiber, performing an exorcism, which had no effect. His own captain, ashamed and blamed by others for Tiber’s accidental damages to lives and property, ordered to have him executed, with the members of his bodyguard, Tiber’s former comrades, watching the spectacle.
He was gagged, blindfolded, chained, and handcuffed and brought to the central square of Great Londen itself to be hanged, then beheaded. When they had taken off the bag and the blindfold so he could see the jeering crowd, so he could hear the Archbishop himself speak ill of him, calling him monster, witch and demon, something snapped inside of him: he literally exploded in rage, melting off his chains and bands. This shocked the crowd enough that he was able to run through the city streets -- naked, mind you -- to procure a horse at the gate stables and ride away for his life.
The next two years had him serving in a band of mercenaries, honing his new fire magicks. He could cast the primordial power from his hands, his weapon, basically any part of his immediate extremities. However, he was still loyal to the Crown of En, despite the circumstances, and moved south, where he could kill unfamiliar Jermanians instead of his Enlandern countrymen.
Yet, he found out he wasn’t alone. People with strange powers akin to his own were popping up and the air of taverns was being filled with numerous stories about them. Seeking comradeship and a new cause to fill the void left by his state's banishment of him, Tiberum Ein Habsurg found himself at Ractem after bankrupting himself on new weapons and armor -- most of which, to his massive frustration and annoyance, taken away from him. As he was sent off, he was allowed only cloth garments, a gambeson, a dagger, and a helmet. But, once on Ractem, he breathed in the air, found it cool and soothing, and then said, in a voice that was neither too high nor too low:
"This is good."
Short version: Tiberum Ein Habsurg is a peasant soldier suffering from survivor’s guilt sent away because he kept burning his bedroom and killed quite a few innocents.
Skills, Non-Magical:
- Bash and Slash: Tiberum Ein Habsurg is a veteran of several campaigns and is very proficient with using a sword and a shield together.
- Use the Pointy End, the Pointy End!: Tiberum Ein Habsurg is a veteran of several campaigns and is comfortable with a spear in his hands.
- Marksman Apprentice: Tiberum Ein Habsurg has seen the use of both the bow and the crossbow and has knowledge pertaining to such weapons, though he is only decent in their operation.
- Siege Operator: Tiberum Ein Habsurg has operated catapults and ballistae and knows how to handle such weapons, though their construction remains a mystery to him.
- Living Off The Land: Tiberum Ein Habsurg is a veteran of several campaigns and has learned to forage and hunt.
- Rider: Tiberum Ein Habsurg has had mounted training and is able to control a horse well enough to fight on it, but inexperience makes this awkward.
Likes and Dislikes:
Tiberum, although simple, can fully appreciate the dewy mornings of spring and autumn, the raunchy, boisterous laughter and conversation of friends around the campfire, slugging ale and whatever alcohol they had managed to scrounge up with gusto, and, of course, seeing the enemy either dead or driven before him and his companions. There isn’t much he doesn’t like, but one thing that gets on his nerves is the arrogance of aristocrats when at peace. Nobles would drink and pat your back in war, but would be cold as winter iron when the documents were signed and people no longer had the right to kill other people. Tiberum despises such deceitful personalities.
Description of Magic:
Tiberum’s flavor of magic reflects very well his style of fighting and personality: crude, quick, and unfancy. As he thinks, so does he create, and from the very thin air, he summons flames as blue as the expanse of the ocean, which, in a short time, becomes a bright orange as the essence of the flame is mixed with impurities in the air. He literally demands that there be fire where he wills, and the world impossibly bends itself so, though he is limited only to spells concerning fire. The strength of his spells are tied heavily to his will and resolve, and if he loses the spirit to fight, either by exhaustion, fear, or some other reason, then his magic will be pathetic and laughable. But it takes a lot to unnerve a veteran of the Ten Years’ War, and though he has had his moments of weakness, Tiber has proven himself a tough nut to crack.
Forsythe Graf von Kaffeetrinken
Member
Seen
2 hrs ago
@Adrian: To be quite honest i didn't think it possible but it'd seem to me you managed to make the gravity work Laue ;-P I feel there's gonna be some competition with Greed there >:D
@Tiberium: You might wanna put the TL;DR version on the beginning, it kinda loses it'S point to find it after i've read through all that xD I feel like you're kinda wasting a spell slot with the "DIE!" - in any normal RP you aren't allowed to do anything so crippling to a PC without the owner's agreement, and if they agree you can do it with a sword just as well, without leaving your guy tired. Just a personal opinion tho.I love the detail of the character, but come on... Enland and Londen? xD
@Tiberium: You might wanna put the TL;DR version on the beginning, it kinda loses it'S point to find it after i've read through all that xD I feel like you're kinda wasting a spell slot with the "DIE!" - in any normal RP you aren't allowed to do anything so crippling to a PC without the owner's agreement, and if they agree you can do it with a sword just as well, without leaving your guy tired. Just a personal opinion tho.I love the detail of the character, but come on... Enland and Londen? xD
OP
Gargoyle said
*Note that weapons will generally not be available, since there has never been any need on Ractem. Whatever weapons you have are what you are able to create on the island, or formed via magic.
*Cough*
It's fine to have weapon based skills, but don't expect them to be very useful.
HellsGardenKeeper
Member
Offline since relaunch
Name:
Rita Venor
Gender:
Female
Age:
22
Affinity:
Illusions
Spells:
- Tricksters Kiss-
- Fools Wish-
- Devils Advocate-
- Silent Shade-
- Down the Rabbit Hole-
A simple illusion spell creating obstacles and items that aren't really there, varying from gold to large intricate creations.
Allows Rita a small glimpse of someone's desires whether she over hears it or not allowing her to place the idea it exist or to show it to the person generally leading them around to obtain what it is they seek.
Allows her to create an illusion of her prey that effectively mimicked them and copied their motions, it's more or less meant to confuse and deteriorate her enemies moral. Mainly used in the presence of a pool of water or the reflective surface.
A simple spell that muffles both Rita's presence and any sound she exhibits making it easier for her to sneak around or just go unnoticed.
A hit-and-miss spell, something new she's trying to learn, involving making the target think they're walking through a passage to another world, whether it be a fluffy magical sparkle land or a dark ghastly place she still doesn't have quite enough control to determine it often leaving it up to chance if the spell decides to work.
Personality:
Generally Rita is laid back and rather down to earth, she likes to laugh and have a good time trying not to take things completely serious, only becoming serious either when she sees something that upsets her odd sense of morality, feeling no shame with killing someone if it means her own view on life is preserved, still slightly naive to all the ways of the world she might sometimes come across as too eager and willing to help if she thinks the cause is the right thing. Curious about a lot of things regretting the years she wasted acting as an errand boy to a bunch of self glorified thugs, also causing her to have a diversion and distaste towards most military figured she often just takes all the scrolls and books she can find.
Background:
Growing up in a darker rural part of the capital city, so over run by criminals and petty gangs they had to erect a patrol guard to keep the Lower Quarter in line and help dispel the unrest brewing towards the capital. The third daughter in a family of five children, several of them adopted by the poor shoe cobbler and his wife, Rita and her siblings often spent most of their days begging and stealing food, money, small gifts, whatever it was the could find to feed themselves and help their parents out with the heavy taxes levied against them.
Living on the streets Rita found that it was a lot easier to pose as a boy, keeping her hair cut short and in a page boy style drifting away from her siblings and their thieving ways having gained a illustrious view of the patrolman seeing them save a young woman from a drunkard wanting to have a little fun, not seeing afterwards as they sent the man away they had each taken turns with the young woman, she never realized it to years later she saw the same beautiful woman sitting begging for coin.
But long before that Rita began hanging around their stables running errands and messages for them, following after them like a lost little puppy until they actually started calling her "Pup, run along and do this pup, oi! Pup go fetch this or go fetch that." She never realized how cruel and demeaning they were towards her.
But it wasn't until she began to grow into her sex that it became harder and harder to get the guards to accept her even going so far as to apply making it through basic training and regiment before they kicked her out laughing saying if that if she wanted a job from them that she could just come back later and lay on her back in the stables and wait for them making lewd gestures.
Furious and angry with herself Rita stalked the streets wandering where ever her feet decided to take her growling softly as she began to see more and more wrong doings by the same men she help in such high regard.
The more she noticed the more a strange serene feeling swirled within her, it was running into that same female and finding out since she was soiled she was doomed to a cursed life that the dam snapped and a surge of magic and power flowed through her, acting as if almost possessed she let the magic guide her back to their station house running a hand across the cheek of one of the guards reaching out showing him a vision of his wife in side the building taking turns with his fellow guards, before moving on her eyes completely unfocused as two more started screaming about fires and spiders crawling everywhere giggling softly Rita turned on her heel twirling a simple quarter staff leaving a realm of confusion and chaos behind her heading out to find a new purpose in life.
Skills: Non-Magical
Likes and Dislikes:
As a general rule Rita dislikes and doesn't trust people, besides that she finds strict honorable types rather boring and dull, going out of her way to use her gifts to trick and allude them into being foolish, that's not to say she doesn't care for company of others, but would rather be left alone with her thoughts and illusions. She also has a weakness for pretty gems having rarely seen them.
Description of Magic:
Rita's magic works primarily off the fact her victims aren't in suspect that they're under an illusion, often casting them from a shadow or a hiding spot having worked her casting area over small 75 foot radius from her person. However once some realizes they're under the effects of a spell their power and strength weaken considerably more or less deteriorating into a battle of will, or long enough for Rita to get close enough in to accomplish what she set out to do often switching to her simple spells casting more of them faster, yes it drains her stamina and strength just as quickly however the bombardment of illusions generally helps her keep control of the situation.
OP
@Forscythe: Accepted, but as Maho progresses I may request for you make changes to the spell tree.
@Laue: Accepted.
@SillyGoy: It seems that you didn't read the note I wrote at the bottom of the first post :O. I will allow you a small, crude dagger but no swords. Remember, you were exiled onto an island because people fear you. Why would they allow you near any weapons?
I know I didn't explicitly say it, but the religion system here is different than in real life. Here, they worship two gods: Kajuss, god of Farnea, and Grindall, god of the Beyond.
Apart from those two things, everything else is great :).
@HellsGardenKeeper: The only real problem I see is that a lot of your spells are far too general to be considered appropriate for this early stage of the RP. Fools wish and Silent Shade are perfectly fine, but the rest you will have to limit to simple illusions. No fiery pits of hell, but a simple plain would be fine. No large, intricate creations, but simple or small things would be fine. You cannot bend what people believe to be true, unless it is something not close, or trivial to them. For example, you couldn't make someone believe that suicide is something that they should do, but convincing them that you are their long lost sister would be fine.
Apart from that (and the quarter staff, a thing you do not have on the island), everything checks out.
After editing, drop a post and I will accept you. I was planning on writing the OoC today, but unfortunately Chicago feels like it's been trapped within a volcano, and I may die of heat stroke tonight. I'll be home early from school tomorrow, so expect it to be up then :D.
@Laue: Accepted.
@SillyGoy: It seems that you didn't read the note I wrote at the bottom of the first post :O. I will allow you a small, crude dagger but no swords. Remember, you were exiled onto an island because people fear you. Why would they allow you near any weapons?
I know I didn't explicitly say it, but the religion system here is different than in real life. Here, they worship two gods: Kajuss, god of Farnea, and Grindall, god of the Beyond.
Apart from those two things, everything else is great :).
@HellsGardenKeeper: The only real problem I see is that a lot of your spells are far too general to be considered appropriate for this early stage of the RP. Fools wish and Silent Shade are perfectly fine, but the rest you will have to limit to simple illusions. No fiery pits of hell, but a simple plain would be fine. No large, intricate creations, but simple or small things would be fine. You cannot bend what people believe to be true, unless it is something not close, or trivial to them. For example, you couldn't make someone believe that suicide is something that they should do, but convincing them that you are their long lost sister would be fine.
Apart from that (and the quarter staff, a thing you do not have on the island), everything checks out.
After editing, drop a post and I will accept you. I was planning on writing the OoC today, but unfortunately Chicago feels like it's been trapped within a volcano, and I may die of heat stroke tonight. I'll be home early from school tomorrow, so expect it to be up then :D.
SillyGoy Goius Sillius
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
@Forsythe:
Well, this is going to be my first RP in this wonderful place so I made that spell assuming that we would be up against non-player-controlled characters. Like, say, a party of heroes. It does seem rather... dull, though. Advised by the GM, I'll make changes to it.
@Gargyole:
Edited my post to adhere to equipment restrictions. Tiberum will arrive at Ractem with only a very light loadout.
Regarding religion: do I have to edit the stuff about the archbishop entirely and have the discovery of his powers handled by some other means, or do I just plop in that Tiber-Dibber, like everyone else, worships Kajuss and Grindall?
Well, this is going to be my first RP in this wonderful place so I made that spell assuming that we would be up against non-player-controlled characters. Like, say, a party of heroes. It does seem rather... dull, though. Advised by the GM, I'll make changes to it.
@Gargyole:
Edited my post to adhere to equipment restrictions. Tiberum will arrive at Ractem with only a very light loadout.
Regarding religion: do I have to edit the stuff about the archbishop entirely and have the discovery of his powers handled by some other means, or do I just plop in that Tiber-Dibber, like everyone else, worships Kajuss and Grindall?
WinterNightSky
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
I'm now working on my CS
Considering the weapon restriction, does Adrian get to keep his rapier?
OP
Regarding religion: do I have to edit the stuff about the archbishop entirely and have the discovery of his powers handled by some other means, or do I just plop in that Tiber-Dibber, like everyone else, worships Kajuss and Grindall?
That's fine, you can leave it be.
Accepted~
Laue said
Considering the weapon restriction, does Adrian get to keep his rapier?
Nope. Better find a very pointy stick if you're intent on him having Rapier Mastery.
HellsGardenKeeper
Member
Offline since relaunch
Apologies~
I had the easiest time with everything else, just the spells gave me a little trouble~
Any better?
I had the easiest time with everything else, just the spells gave me a little trouble~
Any better?
Gargoyle said
Nope. Better find a very pointy stick if you're intent on him having Rapier Mastery.
Well, I'll better rework it a bit so he's not completely helpless alone.
Rapier Mastery changed to Duelist.
SillyGoy Goius Sillius
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
So, when will the ball be rolling?
OP
Is there still room for new members? :3
OP
Yep, just bring up a character sheet :)
WinterNightSky
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
WinterNightSky said The fight can be long enough till she runs out of energy(electricity) which means she'll have to recharge again(Through any source of electricity such as outlets, wires, etc.)
You should be aware that this takes place in a medieval sort of setting so no fancy electrical wiring here.
© 2007-2024