[OOC] The Scarlet Masks

[BingTheWing]

Still Accepting



Roleplay Theme:



The Royal Castle of Westbell, 1460 AR, ten years ago

"Who in Sev's name are you?"
Those six words were soft yet grating, reverberating throughout the entire royal chamber. In the middle, one could see a bloodied blonde-haired man. He looked like he had once been of regal pride and standing, but that was no more. Numerous bloody cuts adorned his face. His royal garments had been torn and bloodstained. But despite his wounds, the man still attempted to bear a semblance of rage. Meanwhile, a taller man with black hair, an eyepatch and a cruel right eye paced around his apparent captive. Iron-clad men wielding swords and crossbows surrounded the two. A flaming red insignia of a burning sword adorned their hauberks. Finally, the tall man spoke.
"I am Captain Xypher Dragonmaw, leader of the Fireblade Mercenary Company, your highness." The man cackled. "Is there anything else you wish to know?"
"YES!" The king lashed out in his chains. If looks could kill, every single soul in the room would have faced a fate worse than death. "Why? Why?" The king attempted to gesture around to the damage in the room. "Why have you done this?"
"Well.. you see, your highness. Or Stardale." The tall man chuckled at his insolent remark. "Your city of Westbell seemed ever so vulnerable, and the numbers of the FMC was at that time enough to rival a nation." The man smiled a sadistic smile, a savage streak to his toothy grin. "I thought - well, there's a big juicy fruit in the tree, and it happened to fall down in front of me. What else was there to do, Stardale?"
"Do NOT call me by my name, Dragonmaw." The man violently coughed out blood. "By the looks of it, you can't just seem to leave anything alone."
"Oh, dear, oh, dear. Our King Stardale looks like he's getting mad." The man took on a mocking baby-voice. "Now TELL ME where your son is, and I might just consider giving you a swifter death."
"You will never get it by mortal means, Dragonmaw." The king put on a last, desperate face of pure hatred. "Pry it from my cold, dead mouth if you want."
"All right. Now, guards. Take him away. I just can't stand the sight of a bloodied skull compressed into little, itty bitty tiny pieces."
"YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME! YOU HEAR ME? NEVE-" The king disappeared underneath the dungeons, howling and screaming in desperation.

Then all was silent for a while.

"Loyal friends, family, countrymen! Say goodbye to ol' King Stardale. I'm afraid he has left this world... by tragic means. Now, say hello to the new Grand Overlord Dragonmaw! I am your new ruler and leader in these dark times. You will obey my every command. You will grovel at my feet. Oh, by the way. Anyone who finds the prince will earn coin beyond number: and possibly earn the chance of becoming my heir. That's all for today. Remember: long live Dragonmaw!"

---

Interest Check

Welcome to The Scarlet Masks, a casual character-run roleplay set in the dark medieval fantasy/steampunk city of Westbell! Overlord Dragonmaw has usurped control over the once-booming city of Westbell. You are allied, part of (recommended) or completely against (not recommended) the rebel organization known as the Scarlet Masks, a group dedicated to overthrowing Dragonmaw and restoring order in Westbell. Now, some basic info about the world:

-Magic will be uncommon, but not rare. Like as common as child prodigies. I will be limiting arcane users to at most three - not including myself.

-Divine magic and Templars exist, too. The Holy Order of Sev secretly resents Dragonmaw and smuggle supplies over to the Masks.

-This is a medieval fantasy steampunk world. There will only be humans. But if you are part of some obscure hidden race, PM me and we can talk about it.

Now, for rules. We've all been through this before. Read or you will not be accepted.

rules

1. Actually, just basic stuff. No godmod, power play, anything above PG-13 take to PMs, don't be a dick, no excessive swearing (but light is ok) etc, etc. This is low-mid casual, so try and at least squeeze in one decent paragraph at the least. And please, be respectful to each other. I'm new to GMing and don't want to put up with some sh!t the first time round.

2. I'm not too strict, but I'll add some more things here if necessary.

3. Put 'I am one of them' in the Other part of your CS if you read all of this.

CS:

Name:
Alias:
Age:
Gender: (no bigenders, please)
Appearance: (picture or written)
Personality:
Skills:
Bio: (at least two decent paragraphs)
Weapons: (no guns)
Other:

And please, read the Interest Check. It has some pretty important lore that you shouldn't miss.

[Rtron]

Name: Hector

Alias: As Hector is not a part of the Scarlet Masks (as soon as Dragonmaw is dead he’s planning on getting the hell out of the city), he sees no reason why he should use a fake name with them. In addition to that, he is one of the more easily spotted members. His distinctively foreign accent, his garb, and the tattoos on his face all serve to make him easily describable and easily sought out should Fireblade Mercs ever get their hands on another member of the Masks. But, if pressed, he will begrudgingly give the alias of ‘Rahksa’ far preferring to simply call himself by his name.

Age: 44

Gender: Male

Appearance:


His eyes are a dark gray, his hair is black, kept cut short. He stands at 5ft 6in. Starting on his lower eyelids are two red tattoos that extend to his cheek bones. They follow a straight line down, ending in tear drops.

Personality: Hector has been a mercenary most of his life. He can be crude, vulgar, violent, and merciless. In fact, those first three words have been used to describe him more than once. That being said, his fellow mercenaries have often mocked him for being ‘soft’. He won’t kill women, or children. He can often be seen giving almost all of his pay to the beggars and poor of whatever city or town they happen to be in. Several times he has let a beaten opponent live, rather than killing them. His loyalty stretches only so far. He was well known for disobeying an order if it went against what he believed was right.

He’s also hard to shake if he’s decided you need to die and he has to hunt you down. That’s why he’s in Westbell. He couldn’t give a less of a damn about the city itself, or Stardale and his son. Hector has decided Dragonmaw needs to die, and he’s followed the man across the land to see that the tyrant does die.

Skills:

-Archer: Hector has spent most of his life as an archer in the Fireblade Mercenary company. He’s a good shot.

-Unlimited arrows: Hector can create his own arrows, as seen in his appearance. However, other than the fact that they’re magically created, they act exactly like regular arrows.

-Smoke: Hector can turn himself into smoke for a few seconds, and move it. He doesn’t particularly like to do this, because the feeling of having his entire being go from solid to smoke and then back again leaves him queasy.

-Scout: Being an archer, Hector has typically avoided the frontlines. In fact, he’s never been in an actual battle between two armies without watching it from an archer’s distance and firing arrows. In return for this, he was often sent to do reconnaissance, sabotage, assassination, or whatever the captain felt needed to be done. So he’s had quite a bit of experience not only avoiding getting caught and stabbed to death by angry guards, but finding the enemy before they find him.

-Dirty Fighter: Just because he’s never been on the frontlines, doesn’t mean he hasn’t been in an up close and personal fight with an enemy or enemies. He knows how to use his dagger against a variety of weapons, and uses anything and everything he can to win. Dust in the eyes, kick between the legs, throwing rotten fruit in the eyes, etc. If possible, however, he prefers to run.

Bio:

Hector was born into the Fireblade Mercenary company, the son of a camp follower. His father was unknown, and no one man came forward to claim him. Rather, those of them that were so incline communally took care of him. It’s the only life he’s ever known, the only family he’s ever had. And it would have continued to be that way until the day he died, if not for Dragonmaw. What decided his path as an archer wasn’t personal choice, rather, it became clear at the age of 5 that he could create arrows. Why waste that talent on being a knight, or wielding a musket? Thus the Captain of that time decided that Hector should be squired, or apprenticed, to one of the last archers in the company. And that’s how Hector’s training, and habits later on, began. His mentor was an old Mercenary veteran. The oldest in the company, in fact. He was everything Hector is today. Crass, crude, and violent, but Hector loved him none the less. He was more of a father to him than any of the others.

Hector derived not only his skills from the man, but his moral code. Honor agreements, but not if they break your code. Don’t kill women and children, and spare the beaten opponent if you can. Hector took all of these lessons and more from the man. By the time the man died (in combat, as he had loudly and often proclaimed as the way he wanted to go), Hector had learned what he needed to learn, and the rest was just refining his skills. He was 14 at the time. Old enough to be considered a man and a soldier in the company. The Captain who had put Hector with his mentor was still in charge, and Hector followed him because his father figure had. He saw no reason why he shouldn’t, and after all, it was the only family he knew. He killed his first man a week later, and participated in his first battle a month after that.

The next twenty years of Hector’s life passed this way. He followed the Captain from one contract to the next, and for one noble or the other. Fighting opponents for a cause he couldn’t have cared less about. They were typically all the same. Petty feuds, land clashes, resource wars. As long as they didn’t break his code, Hector did anything and everything asked of him. Ten years ago, that all changed. The old Captain died in a battle, as did his chosen successor. Dragonmaw stepped up to claim the position, and no one opposed him. The men still whisper that their deaths weren’t natural by products of combat. That Dragonmaw and his followers killed them. When Dragonmaw took charge, everything about the company changed.

They were a mercenary company, so honor was something they had very little of. But they still had a code, and they held by it. At least, until Dragonmaw came. The Fireblades went from an average trustable mercenary company, to a company that would change sides in a heartbeat if enough gold was offered. What little morals they had as a whole were thrown away. More and more, they became hired thugs, rather than hired soldiers. Hector was odd in his own moral codes, but even those who didn’t have his code, who only fought for the money, began to mutter about how things were better under the old captain. Before they became too problematic, Dragonmaw decided to deal with them.

He gathered all those, Hector included, who were displeased with the way he ran things on a road with cliffs on either side. He said only one thing. “I have heard of your concerns, your complaints. I have considered them. And to them, I can only say….die.” Then the arrows began to fall. It was a bloodbath. No man but Hector escaped, and that was only because he was the closest to the end of the road, turned into smoke, and bolted before anyone noticed that he was gone and not among the dead. Hector promised vengeance for the dead. He promised blood. For ten years, he has been following and hunting Dragonmaw, looking for an opportunity to end the bastard’s life.

In Westbell, he’s found his golden opportunity to make good on his promises.

Weapons: His bow, his knife. That’s about it.

Other:

-Hector likes to smoke. He has a pouch with his pipe and tobacco on him at all times.

-Hector disdains technology in favor of the simpler things. No pistols or the like for him!

-I am one of them. Or, rather, Hector is.

[BingTheWing]

Wooah. Impressive application. Enough to rival mine. Accepted, of course.

[Rtron]

BingTheWing said
Enough to rival mine.

Hmmmm. *Draws greatsword*. There can be only one!!

Bing said Accepted, of course.

Cool! Thank you.

[BingTheWing]

CS:

Name: Aurelius 'Aurel' Restrovil II
Alias: Falcon
Age: 36
Gender: Male
Appearance:



(Dark and purple cloak, and purple mask)

Personality: Aurel is a single-minded, determined individual who aims for no more nor any less than to kill Dragonmaw and put King Stardale's son back on the throne. He is often ruthless and calculating - only to his foes, that is. He values comrades very highly. They are the only thing he has left in this world. He is of noble blood and can often be seen as spoilt and aloof. He's still adjusting to rough living as a rebel, and one of the reasons why he loathes Dragonmaw is because of the dismal living conditions. He plans to make the Masks a secret security organization after Stardale's son is on the throne - but he hasn't gone into much detail about it. Aurel proudly presents himself as a tactical, level-headed individual who shows no remorse after killing anyone who is allied with Dragonmaw, hiding the broken man inside.
Skills:

Arcane Affinity: Aurel was one of the uncommon children who was born with a strong talent for magic. He is one of the most potent mages in Westbell, whom Dragonmaw is desperately trying to seek out.

Sword Proficiency: Aurel spent quite some time as a noble dueling. He is a menace with any long blade.

Intimidation: Aurel has a lanky frame, but while he isn't adept at anything else other than swords, he can usually frighten an ordinary guardsman if words are chosen correctly enough.

Tactical Fighter: Aurel's grandfather was a military general. He has inherited the Restrovil trait of always having the right strategy up his sleeve.

Bio: Aurel was born to a wealthy noble house, prosperous in overseas trade. He was spoilt and pampered by his parents, who loved him very much. He was one of the rare ones who had formal schooling, and had a knack for numbers and words. His father often actually hired the Fireblades to escort his merchant vessels, back when Dragonmaw was not there. His parents were also very religious, and they donated handsome sums of gold to the Holy Order of Sev. Aurel was the eldest among seven boys, two of which were Templars and the rest merchants continuing their father's trade. Aurel considered going to military school, which his father gladly supported and had a tutor to train him in the art of the sword. His deadliness with the blade and the affinity for the arcane led him to become the perfect fighter. His magic rod was specially forged for him, under order of his father.

When Aurel was 26 years of age, Dragonmaw came. He first raised the fee to hire his men to an outrageous price, which led to Aurel Sr. to forfeit the safety of his ships. The amount of ships lost to pirates rose ever higher, and soon the family went bankrupt. Just as Dragonmaw launched his coup. Amidst the panic in the streets, Aurel's family managed to get a ship out of Westbell. Aurel couldn't run fast enough, and sure enough the ship closed on him. He later learned that the voyage was ill-fated - a Fireblade ship mowed it down. Aurel was forced to fight his way out of downtown Westbell, and took refuge behind a stack of crates in an abandoned warehouse. He - unluckily for him - survived the ordeal. He overheard Dragonmaw's mocking speech being transmitted via 'speaker-phone', which angered him but he knew he could not do anything. He was nearly arrested on his first day back out of the warehouse. Lost, cold and alone, Aurel took the warehouse as his home.

One day, two years into Dragonmaw's yoke, Aurel had finally had enough. His parents were gone, his siblings were missing, etc, etc. He had heard rumors that the prince was alive - a tempting thought, but just rumors. He dug up a scarlet scarf that his parents had given him. He donned it, and proudly declared to himself that he would hunt down Dragonmaw and his associates. And so was the founding of the Scarlet Masks, and the induction of its first member. The old warehouse was now named One - the site of the founding of the masks and its present headquarters. For the last eight years, Aurel has been finding and recruiting new members with similar aims - to take on Dragonmaw and kill him.

Weapons: Shortsword, Magic Rod

Other: I am one of them

[BingTheWing]

@BingTheWing - accepted!

[Pathfinder]

If your still taking, than I have a CS in the works. It'll be done by tomorrow night. But first sleep is calling my name.

[BingTheWing]

Always always always taking.

Until a certain point, of course.

[Metronome]

Name: Sir Isam Hajjar
Age: 41
Gender: Male

Personality: Isam was favored by the good king for his loyalty and determination. His body could be broken, but his spirit could not. Isam is a courageous man, more than willing to risk his own life in the name of his duty. He has a strong sense of commitment to those he trusts; Isam isn't one to leave a friend hanging. When needed be, Isam can be firm and maybe even harsh to his friends. The words 'tough love' come to mind. But he can also be soft and caring when he knows they need it most.

Skills:

Swordsmanship: Isam is proficient with several different kinds of blades. His custom broadsword is his personal favorite, with the old king's crest embedded in the brass coated handle.

Archery: While not the best at your typical bow and arrow, Isam is mean with a crossbow. He used it many times while in the king's army.

Horseback: Isam is a skilled rider, having won many jousting competitions, and the occasional challenge from his fellow knights. His shorter stature gives him an advantage on the back of a horse.

Weapons:
His sword
His crossbow
An ornate dagger. It was a gift.

Country of origin

Isam hails from the far land of Sudal, once known mostly for it's deserts and silk trades. Sudalians were once proud people, with a prosperous kingdom and technology that rivaled almost every other nation. The desert nation had a steel grip on the silk market. If a woman had a dress of Sudalian silk, then everyone knew she was very well to do. They exported other fabrics as well: their sheep were known for the softest wool, and their leather couldn't be beat.

Sudal was dependent, however, on the large river that ran through its country. The river, the Rihs, was their main water source, method of shipment, an energy source, and the lifeblood of the entire nation. So, naturally, when an outside nation wanted to take over, the river was the first target. Sudal got into a spat with a neighboring nation, Quirek. Quirek's efforts to take over the land were easily thwarted until they dumped poisons into the river. Thousands of Sudalians were poisoned, and almost all of them died. With the Sudalian's numbers dwindling, Quirek practically waltzed in and took the nation like candy from a child. The remaining Sudalians were forced to join them, or else be captured and sold into slavery. As Sudal fell, its success fell with it. With the great minds of the nation dead, the Quirekan king drove the nation straight into the ground.

Appearance:

Isam has dark, medium brown skin. His hair is almost shoulder length, is black, and has many curls. If brushed, his hair can take on a silky texture. But who has time for that? Isam's eyes are a dark brown. He sports facial hair most of the time, and even when he shaves it, it grows back quickly. He stands at 5'6" with a muscular build. When it comes to clothing, Isam used to enjoy soft and loose shirts and pants made of Sudalian wool. Most of his clothing were gifts from the king and his fellow knights, as he owned literally nothing when he first came to the castle. Now, he'll take just about anything he can get. Isam isn't a very picky man.
It doesn't really have to do with his appearance, but it's worth mentioning that Isam has a Sudalian accent. For a real world example, it's pretty much an Arabic accent.


History:

Isam was born and raised in Sudal. His father was one of the king's guardsmen, and his mother was a maid in the palace. So, naturally, when Isam grew up, he became a castle guardsmen as well. He only worked alongside his father for a couple years before the man retired. He had old and creaking bones, and he couldn't wear the heavy armor anymore. Isam quickly became one of the favorites, his skill and loyalty earning him the trust of the king.

When the nation fell under attack, Isam fought valiantly to defend his king and his people. But, like many of the other Sudalians, he finally fell when the river was poisoned. Isam only had a little of the water, but it made him very sick. He may have been too ill to stop his land from being ravaged, but he refused to give in to the Quireks. When Sudal was absorbed into the Quirekan king's power, and the king ordered the old palace guards to follow him, many refused. Some ran, some fought to the death, and some were captured. Isam, too sick and weak to fight, was captured.

Those who were captured were sold into slavery. By the time Isam got over his illness, he had been shipped halfway across the world. The slave traders were traveling across the nations, selling their slaves as they went. They knew that slavery was illegal in King Stardale's land, but they rather cut through it than go around it. Sure enough, they were caught by Stardale's men.

The slaves and their traders were taken back to Westbell to face the king. By this time, the traders only had three slaves left: Isam and a couple other men from Sudal. The king had the traders jailed, and told the slaves that they could go free. Isam, however, informed the king, rather sadly, that he had nowhere to go free to. He talked with the king for a while, and was impressed by the king's willingness to actually spend time talking to a slave. He told Stardale about his nation, how it had fallen and how he had refused to serve the man that took it. He informed the king that he had once been a palace guard, and that he had skills that could help the king's army, if the man would let him.

King Stardale accepted Isam's offer. Isam joined the king's army at the lowest rank, but quickly climbed the rungs. Unlike other new recruits, he had prior experience. He could already wield a sword and ride a horse into battle. And, just like with the old king of Sudal, Isam quickly grew in the Stardale's favor. After a few years, he became the king's most trusted knight. Isam never forgot how the king had saved him from a life in chains, and his loyalty to Stardale's family proved it. He was chosen to help train the king's son several times.

Isam lived a good life in the castle. He fell in love with one of the castle's maids, and eventually married her. While he rarely bought things for himself, Isam loved to spoil his wife with simple gifts. A new pair of shoes here, a bundle of colorful flowers there. He was a romantic at heart.

His happy life, however, was taken away when Dragonmaw's men moved into the kingdom. Isam fought tooth and nail defending his king, and was willing to die doing so. But the king had a plan for him. When it became clear that Stardale would die, he sent his son into hiding. The only man he trusted with prince's location was Isam, who was to go find the prince once the fury had died down and fight to return him to power. However, one of Dragonmaw's men heard the king telling Isam this plan.

Isam was captured before he could leave the castle. Dragonmaw's men drug him down into the dungeon to try and pry the prince's location out of him. His wife begged Dragonmaw for her husband's life, afraid that they would kill him. She was nine months pregnant, and could give birth to her child any day. She pleaded that the child wouldn't have to be raised without a father. But when Dragonmaw's men dismissed her, and she refused to leave, she was struck in the head with a club and killed.

Isam sat in that dungeon for two years, living through daily torture and hell. They had taken everything from him: his armor, his family, his joy, but they couldn't take his spirit. Isam would escape yet, and when he did, he would find the prince and do as the good king had last instructed: put him on the throne.

[TheMusketMan]

-WIP- Just reserving a spot

EDIT: Can't participate sorry.

[Pathfinder]

"Make no mistake, if I wasn't in a pact than I would be doing the exact same thing I am now. Just without as much conviction."

Name: Kharn
Alias: Archaeon

Age: 32

Gender: Male

Appearance: Being from the far north, Kharn has the features typical of them. A strong jaw, piercing eyes, and a body stronger than stone. Standing 6'7 and built like an ox, Kharn is the very picture of the savage northman. However he is anything but. All things considered, he would be handsome if not for several glaring factors. For starters, Kharn lacks the flowing locks known to his people as he shaves it as a sign of shame. Secondly, he has too many scars for any to consider dashing and many of them are just horrible looking. Finally, the most blatant disfigurement is the change.

The gods of the north are fickle beings and they do not care if their gifts bring suffering. As is the case with Kharn. When he was gifted with his armor it changed him, body and soul. Kharn's body is black as coals, with glowing sigils of chaos branded into his skin. His eyes burn with an internal fire that seems to bore into your souls should he look at you and his teeth have become sharp and deadly. Even his breath has been corrupted as it changes into a reddish mist when he exhales heavily. However this is nothing compared to the claim he has upon his soul.

Personality: Kharn used to be a northman. He was loud, boisterous, and brutal. However he is still like this in many ways, he isn't like his old self. Now his is a slave to his commitments to the gods. Anything from killing a man to laying with a woman is a carefully thought out tribute to the gods. He may be a loud, boisterous barbarian but it is a front to his simple genius and philosophies.

Skills:

Sword & Shield: While Kharn is an adept swordsman in general, his favorite use of the sword is when it is paired with his massive shield which in turn can be on offensive weapon as much as it is a defensive one.

Horseback:

Dorghar

The north man and the horse are synonymous with each other. There is no Kharn without Dorghar and visa versa. The two have been together since Kharn was but a teen and has fallowed him into the pact, they even have similar changes.

Gifts from the Gods: As per the pact, Kharn is a champion of Chaos undivided. As such he has small bonuses from each god.

Angron: God of battle, skulls, and honor. His gift to Kharn is a resistance to magic and strength. However as he is not a full champion of Angron his gifts are diminished. The resistance only lasts against mid to weak magic and the strength is only slightly better than what it would be normally.

Mortarion: God of death, pain, and compassion. His gift to Kharn is an absence of pain, just as long as he deals it to others. However he falls under the usual problem of not feeling pain, underestimating injuries.

Magnus: God of magic, change, and truth. His gift to Kharn is the knowledge of tongues. With a glance, Kharn can read, speak, and understand all languages. Even long forgotten ones. However encoded messages escape him.

Fulgrim: God of sensations, pleasure, and love. His gift to Kharn is a boost to the senses. Every one of his five senses has been boosted and as such he feels everything much greater. In theory it doesn't sound all that great, but in action it has worked wonders. Several times in his life he has been saved by assassination attempts from feeling disturbances in the air. However for the most part he only enjoys the drink and women.

Crippling Overspecialization: Besides the skills presented, Kharn is very limited in what he can do. He has a good sense of puzzles and is actually quiet smart, but being a warrior has made him rely on his body rather than his mind. Plus his northman upbringing has taken away things like proper etiquette or manners that would be acceptable in most establishments outside of a tavern. Kharn know's this and just keeps the facade of "brutish northman no know how do!" just for the simplicity it brings.

Bio: Kharn came into this world from one of the center tribes of the far north, a sort of no mans land were your allegiance was to all the gods and not just one. However when he was born something odd happened, his mother died. When a child kills his mother it is shown as an important omen, for better or for worse Kharn was going to do something great. The omen seemed to come true as whatever he fought, he fought to the death and as you can see he has won every time. Eventually, he found that his tribal life was boring and that he needed a new challenge.

Travelling to the very heart of the north Kharn took upon the trials to reach the top of Kar'Monog, the tallest mountain of the north and where the gods judge the worthy. When Kharn made it to the peak, he summoned the gods with the mighty bell that lay on its summit. When the gods answered, they found themselves impressed that a lone man would come to commune with them and decided to humor the mortal with their challenges.

Angron sent forth the headsmen, a great daemon knight and his trial, to do battle with Kharn. During the trial, Kharn was taken to his limits as a warrior. The headsmen fought with a speed and strangth that bellied his size, giving Kharn many honorable scars that would remind him of this battle. However after many hours, the battle was won. Kharn stood above the corpse of the headsmen as it faded into dust. Along with gaining the favor of Angron, Kharn was gifted with "Skulltaker".

Next came Mortarion's trail, fortitude. Plucking a fruit form his garden of plagues, Mortarion told Kharn to eat. With the first bite Kharn fell to his knees as disease ravaged his body and rot claimed his limbs. Gazing in horror as his arms fell to the ground, Kharn felt despair claim him before he realized the meaning of the trail. The greatest insult to a disease is to be ignored. Struggling to his feet, Kharn took a deep and ragged breath before yelling into the very face of death himself. Relief crashed into him like a wagon as his body came back to him, even better than before as it was now completely healed. Giving a jovial laugh Mortarion gave Kharn a spiritual pat on the back with his pact sealed and his gift given, the shield "Zaire".

Magnus' trial came soon after. It was fairly simple, in theory. Get through the maze, that was it. However it was much more difficult than anyone could realize. The maze turned and changed with ever moment. When you went one direction you found yourself moving in five, then 10, then 20, on and on until you went mad. However after what felt like years, Kharn found the answer to the puzzle. Standing as still as stone, Kharn willed the puzzle to move for him and so it did. In a flash, Kharn found himself laying on his back and suffering from heavy dehydration. Apparently he had been in his dream state for several days, but it mattered not. He had made it through the maze. His gift was the pact and the armor "Twisted Aegis".

Finally came Fulgrim's challenge. Kharn found himself transported to Fulgrim's realm, a place of pleasure and temptations. Like Magnus' trail it was easy in theory, just walk down the trail. However on either side of the trail lay treasures unending. Mountains of gold and gems, ripe for the taking. Kharn almost made the mistake of grabbing a small coin before remembering his place, this was a trial and not a charity. Moving forward, Kharn found the temptations ever more harder to ignore. Woman of unimaginable beauty, food and wine of divine flavor, the roar of crowds as they chanted your name in a zealous frenzy, and finally the peace of letting go and settling down. By the end, Kharn was a gibbering mess of pent up feelings and emotions that was about ready to explode. With but a gentle hum, Flugrim eased the pressure off Kharn's mind as he passed the gates into the real world. With his trail done, Kharn gained his pact and the changing of his body to its current state.

Finished with the trials, Kharn became the first champion of chaos undivided. A warrior of all but a master of none, gaining all of the strengths but none of the weaknesses of his fellow champions. Traveling down Kar'Monog clad in his gifts, Kharn realized that the north had no more challenges for him to take on. Feeling saddened by this fact, he instead traveled south in a hope to find more adventure before taking his own warband. As he went farther south, Kharn met many more people and killed just as much. Quickly, he decided that he liked the south far more than the north and decided to stay.

Eventually, whispers of a rebellion found their way towards Kharn's ears. Intrigued, he sought out these rumors until he found the source. Soon after he joined the Scarlet Masks after a showing off of his abilities. However he did have one condition. Should he kill a worthy opponent, than Kharn gets to keep the skull.

Weapons:

Skull Taker: A large, ornate sword that has seen more battles than Kharn is likely to see in two lifetimes. Skull Taker was forged by Angron himself, a gift to those he deems worthy to wield it. As long as Kharn lives and serves Angron proudly, the blade will not fail him.

Zaire: A heavy shield adorned with spikes, the shield was crafted by Mortarion to protect those strong enough to ward off death while still reminding them of its weight. Zaire is extremely heavy and with the addition of his armor, makes Kharn not only a large target but a slow one. Due to the pact with Angron the shield is a little more wieldy but still ways him down considerably.

Twisted Aegis: Kharn's old set of plate twisted by Magnus' magic. What once was a plain set of plate armor has been turned into a mockery of logic and common sense. While it is true that it is odd, it funtions exactly the same as his old set. In fact, there is no difference magically to his old set. It is just a suit of plate armor. However the eyes unnerve those who gaze too long into them.

Other: I am one of them

[Rtron]

So, on one side we have the mercenary and the Chaos worshipping Warhammer death machine Northman, and on the other, the noble and the knight.

We're going to tear each other apart. XD

[Pathfinder]

I was hoping it wasn't too obvious. I guess I failed, oh well. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[Rtron]

XD. Subtlety would have been improved if you had avoided using Daemon Prince names for the Gods and Kharn for your character. :P

[Apokalipse]

WIP

Name: Daia
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Appearance:

Personality:
Daia is a woman of greed who steals and thieves all that she can get her hands on. She cares for nobody but herself, willing to go to the extremes to ensure her life is safe. However, she values her gold more than she values her life and worships extravagance more than she would a god. Daia prefers subtlety when it comes to her dealings and is a woman of manipulative stealth. She is careful where she steps and uses all assets to benefit herself.
Skills:
Trident: Daia is skilled with a trident and has excellent aim for when she throws the three-pronged weapon.
Stealth: She is a stealthy woman who makes no sound when sneaking. She knows exactly where to step and how to step. The day she is caught is the day she is a man.
Lockpicking: Due to her life as a thief, she spends most of her day picking the locks of vaults and has grown quite well at doing so.
Pickpocketing: Many purses have been robbed because of her developed skill.

Bio:
Weapons:

[Rtron]

Apokalipse said
The day she is caught is the day she is a man.

Oh, she and Hector are going to get along famously. By which I mean, they're probably gonna try and strangle each other.

[Apokalipse]

Rtron said
Oh, she and Hector are going to get along famously. By which I mean, they're probably gonna try and strangle each other.

That's always a healthy relationship XD Man, this is gonna be fun.

[Metronome]

What's up with people not having last names?

[Rtron]

Apokalipse said
That's always a healthy relationship XD Man, this is gonna be fun.

That it is. That it is.

Metronome said
What's up with people not having last names?

Well, for me it's just habit. My characters are never going to be referred to by their last name, so why put one? If you want an IC reason, Hector's a bastard (and before you go making any snide remarks, the fatherless kind). The only last name he can lay claim to is his mother's, and he would have been mocked mercilessly for having a whore's last name.

[Metronome]

So I have an idea for a strange little magic man. I already passed the idea by Bing. Hopefully it turns out okay.

Name: Fikri Searoby
Age: 27
Gender: Male

Personality: Fikri is a slippery little serpent. He's tricky, cunning, and has a silver tongue. But does that mean he's a bad guy? Fikri may be selfish at times, but he's not completely incapable of caring for other people. He can be greedy, yes, but most people are. His loyalty flip-flops depending on his mood, and he likes to keep his options open, but he could be a good man if he wanted to be. Despite being the slimy thief that he is, Fikri can actually be a good friend to those he likes. The hard part is figuring out if he really likes you, or if he's just faking.

Skills: Fikri has a wide range of skills, some stranger than the typical set.

Thievery and cunning: Fikri almost can't help himself when he sees something he likes. He's an impulsive thief, and more often than not, it's the stealing he gets the thrill out of. Once he actually has whatever it is that he stole, it kind of loses it's fun. He often turns around it sells it. Fikri does this by sneaking in and out of the city to smuggle his stolen goods. The people inside the city, being completely cut off from the outside world, are willing to pay more than most. His knowledge of the city and wily ways allow him to slither in and out undetected.

Magic? Fikri is no good at "hocus pocus turn you into a frog" type magic, but he seems to have a strange little ability that follows him around. Fikri is empathic, meaning he is very attuned to other people's feelings. It's stronger when the person trusts him. Fikri often uses this ability to his advantage because, well, that's just the kind of guy he is. If he isn't careful, the people who trust him may start spilling their emotional baggage all over him. For whatever reason, his presence seems to bring comfort to others, whether they be strangers or friends. This often opens the floodgates to other people's emotions and feelings, which they feel impulsed to talk to him about, and then he as to sit there and listen to them. He's like an unwilling therapist.

Weapons:
This smancy dagger that he probably stole.

Appearance:

Fikri stands at 5'8" and has a lean build. His skin is a dark olive tone, and his eyes are brown. His hair is a light brown with a wavy texture, but is often covered by his headwear. Fikri loves loose fitting and comfortable clothes. He also has a thing for bracelets, anklets, and rings. Fikri doesn't own a single pair of shoes, and he doesn't particularly want to.


History:

Fikri was born in Quirek, the desert nation that took over Sudal. His father was a gypsy con artist, and his mother was some gullible woman dumb enough to sleep with him. She never really cared for Fikri, who was more or less a mistake. So, when Fikri deemed himself old enough, which was around the ripe ol' age of fifteen, he left home to find a more interesting life.

Funny enough, he found the gypsy caravan that his father traveled with. Fikri had never really known his father before then, but seeing as the man looked almost identical to him, he was able to figure it out. He thought that his father would want nothing to do with him, but he was surprised when the man approached him to ask about his mother. When the man found out that Fikri was indeed his son, he grinned, laughed, and asked Fikri what the hell he was doing there.

The two grew closer over time. Fikri's father taught him how to con, steal, and lie. Fikri's abilities made him very proficient at gaining people's trust. Once he'd learned enough to fend for himself, Fikri decided to leave the caravan. It was nice getting acquainted to his father and all, but Fikri had a sneaking suspicion that the man was using him for his abilities alone. When Fikri went solo, he remained in the Westbell area. He was around to see the city's capture, and, naturally, began to use it to his advantage.