Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by DrowsyPangolin
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DrowsyPangolin

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There exists a plane between life and death, a haven where the lost souls of the departed may seek repentance and absolution for their earthly sins. This realm serves as a means of passing on for those who are bound by the failings of their mortal lives. It's inhabitants are numerous and diverse, with people from all walks of life and even different time periods being drawn to it. Some find their way there quickly, while others spend aeons wandering through the endless void as a spirit. Regardless, these spirits eventually find their way to the Grey Plains, and to the city that rests in their center. The city of Lambrecht, a single drop of gold in a sea of grey, serves as a beacon, a light in the darkness for wandering souls. This city is the domain of the Archangel Argyle, the overseer for the purification of these vagrant spirits. For centuries he has ruled over the realm, giving purpose to the wanderers who find their way into his domain. His method of purification serves a dual purpose, however. The Archangel tasks the inhabitants of his realm with the hunting of demons, abominations created from the turbulent souls of those who have lost all hope. These former humans, having rejected redemption, become consumed by their own darkness, wreaking havoc on an untold scale. The only way such monstrosities could ever hope to find peace is through their utter destruction. Thus, those seeking redemption fight not only to purify their fallen brothers, but to find a purpose and prevent themselves from sharing the same grisly fate. In the rift between life and death, one must always seek the light, or risk being consumed by the darkness that surrounds them.
Welcome to the thread! As you probably got from the intro, this thread is set in a sort of purgatory, watched over by an archangel. The player characters are human souls, who have found their way to this place. To seek redemption for their earthly sins, they must hunt demons, which are the result of human souls who have lost themselves and become corrupted.
Rules:

1: No overpowered characters. Magic is prevalent, but be respectful of other players when considering your abilities.

2: No autohitting/godmodding. Again, be respectful.

3: Please let me know if you're going to be gone for a long period of time. I understand that real life obviously comes first, but if you let me know we can avoid freezing people.

4: Unless otherwise stated, dying sends you back to Lambrecht. Dying also generally will lower your Spirit Clarity.

5: You can't start with clear or black Spirit Clarity. Clear souls will not maintain their form in Lambrecht, and demons obviously won't be welcomed with open arms.
Spirit Clarity:

Spirit clarity is the meter used to determine how close an individual is to achieving redemption. Performing one's duties brightens the shade, while extreme negative emotions tend to darken it. A person's Spirit Clarity will sometimes appear as a visible aura around them, usually upon changing color. Demons and Angels are capable of seeing a person's Soul Clarity at any given time.

Clear: A clear soul is one that has achieved redemption, and thus may pass on in peace.

White

Gold

Green

Crimson

Violet

Black: A soul that has darkened completely will become black, twisting the human spirit into a demon. Once a person reaches black Spirit Clarity, they cannot be purified unless they are destroyed.
Bio Format:

Name:

Age(At time of death):

Gender:

Appearance:

Personality:

Weapons:

Abilities:

History:

Spirit Clarity(Upon Entry):
Character List:
Drowsy Pangolin- Domino Stross, Annabel Trist
Sightles- Arsen Carue
Epsir- Vivian Lenitz
My Bios:

Name: Domino Stross

Age(At time of death): 21

Gender: Male

Appearance: Domino has somewhat of an aura of self-importance around him. He stands only slightly above average height, but carries himself as if he were a giant. He is of average build, and has dark tan skin, with bright pink eyes. His hair is long and a bit wavy, but he keeps it well-combed. He has strong facial features and always seems to be wearing an unshakeable smirk. A small scar runs from the corner of his mouth onto his cheek.

Domino's clothing appears expensive, like something an aristocrat might wear. His head is covered by a top hat made of black felt with a bright crimson band. He also wears a long, collared, trench coat made of a thick black fabric with a row of golden buttons running down the front. His coat functions well for concealing weaponry. Beneath the coat, he wears a bright red dress shirt and a black silken vest, also bearing golden buttons. His trousers are black and easy to maneuver in. In addition to this garb, he wears a pair of expensive-looking black boots. His right wrist has a thick metal bracer that runs from the base of his hand to his elbow. A chain is attached to the bracer, and seemingly is coiled within the armguard, allowing it to be extended by some sort of clockwork machinery.

Personality: Domino maintains a sense of cockiness and self-superiority despite his death. He is a bit of a show-off, always seeking to make any situation into a show. His arrogance can make others weary, but his charismatic personality sometimes serves to draw others to him. Beneath his armor of pride and arrogance, he has many regrets. He feels he was used in his life, and has some guilt about the actions he committed. He keeps all this well beneath the surface, however.

Weapons: Domino's primary weapon is a pendulum-shaped axe. The weapon is usually kept concealed within his coat, and is small enough to use with one hand. The handle and the blade itself seem to be made of steel, giving the weapon a bit of heft. A ring is attached at the base of the handle allowing the weapon to be linked to a chain, giving the wielder range. The unique shape of the weapon's blade allows it to be used to hook opponents and pull them towards the user.

In addition to his axe, Domino carries a wide assortment of knives, most of which are small double-edged throwing knives. The weapons have no hilts, being forged from individual bits of steel. They are balanced well and can be used very quickly. In addition to the throwing knives, Domino carries a pair of steel combat knives. The weapons have hilts made of a strange composite material that seems quite resilient. The weapons are single-edged and generally used as a melee alternative to the axe.

Abilities: Domino has the ability to become and manipulate smoke. He can temporarily cause his body to disintegrate into a cloud of smoke before re-materializing seconds later. This gives him an exceptional amount of mobility. In addition, he can create and manipulate smoke from his body, allowing him to deny the vision of his enemies. His ability to dematerialize serves as a sort of short-range teleportation, serving as an escape in unfavorable situations. He can also use this ability on anything he is touching, allowing him to transport his allies with him.

History: Domino was raised from an early age to be a hired assassin for the government of his homeland. He was taken off the streets, given a weapon, and taught how to kill in the most efficient way possible. He quickly became quite skilled at his job, and became infamous for his confident attitude, often putting himself in overly difficult situations just to prove his strength. Unfortunately for Domino, his position as a hired blade became known to the general public. In an effort to save face, the government of his homeland set to work in dismantling their network of assassins, having them eliminate each other one by one. Domino was one of the last two assassins. He was sent to kill his last surviving comrade. He was successful, but was surprised when his superiors betrayed him, setting off a firebomb in the building he was in. He lay crushed beneath a support beam, realizing he had been used as he choked to death on the smoke that filled the room. His spirit now has found it's way to Lambrecht, held back from the afterlife by his anger at being used for such atrocities only to be betrayed.

Spirit Clarity(Upon Entry): Green
Name: Annabel Trist

Age(At time of death): 22

Gender: Female

Appearance: Annabel has a surprisingly slight build for her strength. She is slightly shorter than average height with thin but muscular limbs. She has a very pale complexion and deep blue eyes. Her hair is a golden blonde, and is usually kept in two tight braids bound with crimson ribbons. She has soft facial features, and always appears to be lost in thought.

Annabel's first piece of clothing is a hooded coat made of a deep maroon fabric. The coat is thick and warm. The interior is lined with white wool, which extends to the outer edges of the garment. The coat fastens with a row of black buttons. Around her neck, Annabel wears a white scarf. Beneath the coat, Annabel wears a simple outfit consisting of a long-sleeved shirt made of white silk, a black leather vest that fastens with a row of silver buttons, and a pair of tight-fitting black trousers. On her feet, she wears boots made of soft leather. The shoes have a slight heel and tend to clack when she walks. Annabel also wears a pair of gloves made from a similar leather.

Personality: Annabel is usually quiet and a bit reserved. She is not unfriendly, per-say, more so she often gets consumed in her own thoughts. She helps others when she can, seeming to genuinely seek repentance for her sins. There is a certain sadness about her, though she tries to conceal it. Beneath her quiet surface there is a tumultuous cloud of guilt, frustration, and strife. Though this weight wears her down, she constantly strives to overcome it and escape the demons that destroyed her life.

Weapons: Annabel's sole weapon is a large cleaver-esque sword. The blade, referred to as the Great Razor, was a ceremonial weapon passed down through the family line of Esterl's executioners. Despite her death, the weapon still seems to haunt her, following her into the afterlife as a constant reminder of her sins. It is a heavy weapon, and is nearly as tall as it's wielder when measured from tip to pommel. The blade of the weapon is rather thin, but quite large in surface area, giving it a style of wielding more in common with an axe than a sword. The weapon has a square tip, lacking any sort of point, with a long slightly curving edge. The weapon itself seems to be made of steel or a similar metal, though it seems to have darkened slightly, giving it a gunmetal-grey hue. The entire weapon is one piece, with it's hilt being wrapped in a bright crimson fabric. The hilt is long, encouraging two-handed use by its owner, and ends in a square pommel. The weapon is often kept in a sheathe of soft leather that Annabel keeps slung over her shoulder. It is surprising that such a small woman could wield the weapon at all, much less use it effectively.

The reason the weapon followed Annabel into death is unknown, but it seems to carry an odd aura about it, perhaps tainted by the numerous lives it ended. When a person wields it, their mind seems to be flooded by the voices of these unfortunate souls. It would seem the weapon followed Annabel as a sort of punishment. A visible reminder of the atrocities she committed in life.



Abilities: Annabel's ability stems from the pent up frustration and guilt she has carried for so long. In times of extreme danger, she can use these feelings, turning her regret into a burning rage. This ability greatly increases her physical strength and speed, as well as quickly healing any wounds she may have received. It is, however, a double-edged sword. To make use of her ability, Annabel must use her own soul as fuel, and the more she uses her ability, the darker her Spirit Clarity becomes. If she were to use it recklessly, she would quickly drive herself to become a demon, and thus it is important that she only use it in the most extreme of circumstances. When she makes use of her ability, an aura consistent with the color of her Spirit Clarity emanates from her body and her sword. When this power flows into her blade, it produces wounds that bear a curse, making them extremely difficult to heal or mend. In addition, the voices that seem to haunt the blade become louder in the user's mind during use.

History: Annabel was born the daughter of an executioner. She knew from an early age that one day she would inherit her father's position, as was the way of the land. Despite this, her father tried his best to give her a normal life as much as he could, sheltering her from the horrors that were unavoidable in his line of work. He taught her the basics, but he never allowed the girl to witness his executions, planning to wait until she was old enough to handle the reality of such things. Unfortunately, his plans failed, as he became deathly ill when Annabel was still quite young. At the age of fourteen, the girl was forced to take over as the state executioner. The horrors of what she had to do scarred the young girl's mind, and for years her dreams were haunted by the desperate cries of the condemned. Eventually, the burden of guilt broke the young woman, and she took her own life. Her soul, still tormented by guilt, eventually found it's way to Lambrecht.

Spirit Clarity(Upon Entry): Crimson
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by Sightles
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Sightles

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Name: Arsen Carue

Age(At time of death): 24

Gender: Male

Appearance: Arsen bears many scars and deformities from his time serving in war. Arsen has many plates of metal bolted to places on his body where his skin is missing, leading him to look half-man, and half-machine. Arsen's eyes are deep and possess a very somber look, the look of a man who has seen too many atrocities in his short life. Arsen's eyes conduct a deep, and almost 'meaningful' blue, which helps place a softer look on his hard and chiseled face. One of the metal pieces bolted to his skin covers a good portion of his right face, from cheek bone to trachea. Arsen is a clean shaven man, with a shaggy 'carpet-like' head of black hair. In the ruffles of his shaggy, slightly curly hair, he possesses some very visible strands of silvered hair. Arsen's skin is that of a very pale man, as if he had never seen the light of day almost. Besides the bolted pieces of metal adorning Arsen's exposing flesh, he also wears very loose fitting clothes, along with a snow white cloak that is obviously too wide and a hair too tall for the 6'4'', 220lb man, that he often uses to cover his entire being, except his head. One of the more notable, and instantly recognizable features on Arsen is the fact he is missing his left hand, covered with a white cloth bandage, accompanied by a missing right ear. Along with these deformities are burn scars that cover the, otherwise unblemished, left side of his face, leaving a small spot of skin where his hair does not grow, his left shoulder, and stretches down far enough to the wrist of his left missing hand. Another deformity that would be instantly recognized, if it was shown, is his lack of any leg underneath his right knee. In it's place is a amalgamation of scrap pieces of flesh, and metal, that forms a limb that can at least pass as a normal human limb while it is clothed. Despite all of his injuries, Arsen never limps, nor does he ache enough to warrant a pained expression.

Weapons: Arsen carries a black and gold adorned sheath on his side, within it holds the sword he has used since he was 15. What once would be considered an expertly made and fine crafted piece of weaponry, is now nothing more than a blunted and chipped piece of long metal, bearing as many scars and deformities as it's wielder. The hilt of the sword has obviously been kept in some sort of maintenance, as it still shines somewhat. The silver gilded hilt is adorned with wore out runes, and marks from the society that Arsen once fought for.

Abilities: Arsen possesses a ability few possess, and much less see. During combat, Arsen has been known to enter an almost zen-like state of being, cutting down opponents left and right with the fluidity of a river. Even more amazing is Arsen's ability to shrug off attacks during his zen-like state. In the rare chance he is hit while he moves in his swift, constant motion, he simply rolls with the hit, and even embraces it, as it appears. Arsen never received any type of training to unlock this ability, it appears to simply be natural.

Personality: Arsen is a stoic figure that rarely speaks, unless spoken directly too. A solider through and through, Arsen rallies behind strong-minded individuals, and heeds their commands without hesitation. Loyalty has always been Arsen's best quality, along with his honesty. While 'honorable' would be an adjective that would describe Arsen, disciplined would be a much better one. Instead of having these qualities come naturally to him based on a good moral compass, they were instead beated and molded into Arsen at a young age, in an attempt to make him a invaluable warrior. Arsen hardly ever leaves the shell of his warrior mind, and prefers to allow others do the thinking and talking, while he handles the hard labor. At times, Arsen's stoicism and reservedness may come across as a deep seated depression that Arsen is desperately attempting to bury, which is shown often through is carefully chosen words.

History: Arsen started training for the military at the young age of 14, at the behest of his jingoist-minded father. Arsen started his first deployment at 16, fighting with veteran front-line units most of the time, due to his amazing innate skill with combat. Arsen does not remember the name of his nation, the name of his family, or the name of the people he fought, and fought alongside. Arsen does know that he fought many battles, and earned many scars. Arsen can remember spending long days, or even weeks, on an operating table, before going back onto the battlefield, only to visit the same surgical table after the battle had been won. Arsen never allowed himself time to rest, soldiering on like the way he was taught his whole life. An expert duelist in combat, and an even better offensive juggernaut, Arsen, however, lacked a mind for commanding and leading men into battle. Arsen remembers the last years of his life as somewhat miserable ones. His once perfected battlefield techniques had turned sloppy, but only on purpose. Arsen found himself flinging himself harder and harder at enemies, and more and more into unwinnable situations that he often managed to prevail, or managed to be saved from by doctors. Arsen tried desperately to find the end of his life on the battlefield, but his soldiering mindset, and his seemingly inability to die for long, kept him from the permanent death he so wished for. The last things Arsen remembers is a particularly grueling battle that he had seemingly won single-handedly for his country. Upon returning to base, Arsen remembers returning to the barracks, but remembers nothing else. Now in a limbo, Arsen not only seeks to pass on so that he may finally rest, but he wishes also to learn how he died so that he may reach some peace in his mind

Spirit Clarity(Upon Entry): Green
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by DrowsyPangolin
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Accepted. Welcome to the thread!
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by Epsir
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Epsir

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Name: Vivian Lenitz
Age: 21
Gender: Female

Race: Human

Appearance: Vivian is 168cm (5'6") tall, an unimposing height for someone with a very slight build. She is dainty and thin, looking frail and brittle even under heavy clothing. Though her life could in no way be called leisurely, she never saw manual labor in fulfilling her role. Her skin is light, coldly colored and quite pale but otherwise healthy. It is clear and smooth, free of distinguishing marks and scars. Vivian's face is girly, shaped with a soft jawline and gentle features. Her eyes are an unnatural and bright gemstone blue, the color of cold waters. Their shape is round, never drooping but gripped by a deep-rooted sadness that permeates any expression she happens to be wearing. Her nose is tiny and pointed, usually colored only by two small blemishes of irritation caused by her glasses. Her lips are much the same, childishly small and frowning. Vivian's hair is a glossless slate black, and almost always tousled. Long, messy bangs obscure most of her forehead down to her eyebrows. Behind, her hair reaches down to the nape of her neck, and further in a few rogue strands. Vivian carries herself meekly, with a low head and a peculiarly shuffling stride that makes her easy to identify.

Vivian is stuck in the garments of her office. The first of which is a sleeveless blue jumper dress. It is an overgarment, made of sturdy cloth and quite rugged for a clerical uniform. Another difference from common religious garb is its complete lack of an emblem. It is double breasted, decorated down the front solely by two rows of black buttons, ten in total, spanning from the waist to just below her collarbones, where the body of the dress ends and its shoulder straps begin. The garment is tightened over her lower ribs by a black belt, partly integral to the dress, passing under the third row of buttons. The dress ends at her knees, fitting around her legs with little excess, but not so tightly as to prohibit mobility. Underneath, she wears a white shirt, utterly simple and without pattern. It is buttoned up the front, again with black fastenings, and similarly cuffed at the end of its full length sleeves. It has a high collar that obscures her throat even when folded. Her legs and feet are covered by tights, opaque and black colored, which run up to her hips. For footwear, Vivian has appropriated a set of brown leather shoes, rounded toed and high ankled with a very slight heel. Around her shoulders, she wears a long, wide scarf dyed pale blue. It is typically tightly wound, piled high and obscuring her jaw if not her lower face when she's keeping her head low. Both tails of the scarf hang over her left shoulder, one going down her front and other other her back. Less clothing and more essential to her being, she carries a pair of glasses. They are a thin wire framed set with rectangular lenses rimmed only along their bottom halves.

Weapons: None. Vivian has seen and handled a wide variety of weapons, but only for the purpose of moving and storing them. She has a rudimentary understanding of martial concepts gained from close proximity to soldiers and officers for most of her life.

Personality: Vivian is a quiet, kindly mannered person. She embodies charity, born with a disposition towards altruism that manifested in her career as a priestess. She finds satisfaction in helping the needy and placing others above her, and her fixation on this might even be seen as egotistical to some. Something that separates her from the idealized view of the cleric is Vivian's understanding that saving people is more or less outside of her capabilities, instead, she is content to serve as an indiscriminate helping hand. Paired with her free-floating ideology is a monumental patience. Never one to speak first, she is always ready to sit, wait, and understand her way through a difficult situation. Stemming from her primary quality of patience, Vivian has a distaste for hasty people, finding them to be usually wasteful or unreasonable. She isn't particularly confident in any of what she does, dueling with the fear that her good will towards others is not genuine and a gradually diminishing self-respect. Emotion often comes to her without context, and her lack of memories makes it hard to understand even her own feelings, much less the strange world she now inhabits. Every timeless day is spent in a stupor that she has yet to decide the identity of, between shame and regret. Feelings held for memories that come only in jagged, mismatched pieces. Patient as she is, the lack of answers is wearing her down, making her brittle, and an animal part of her knows it.

Ability: The chains used to kill Vivian manifest first as ether, intangible but visible as the blackened chain solidifies. They flail around, attempting to seek out a target, and react only to things they can feed on. Vivian herself is simultaneously bound by the chains, and the entity works to kill both parties as it feeds. Given her constitution, and also the preference of the chains, Vivian is assured to die first in any exchange done this way, rendering the chains inoperable and limp following her expiration. The rusted, battered spans of heavy, thick chains seem to have a mind of their own, appearing inconsistently and defying Vivian often when she wills them to disappear. Even before the chains assume their historic positions on Vivian, the ligature marks once made around her throat begin to bruise and bleed when the chains become active. The pain of this invisible force strangling the life out of her is only intensified when the real chains are worked into the grooves. They are only slightly stronger than their steel construction would suggest, held together by a lingering malevolence that warms the steel links to the touch and commands the bindings to consume. When broken, the metal bleeds and sings out in shrill voiced, erratic melodies as it slowly works to morph and mend itself. Upon destruction, they disappear and become dormant, only to reawaken days later, hungrier and more active than before. Vivian believes that she is slowly developing an understanding of the chain's song, which continues in her mind even when the links are unbroken.

History: Vivian was born into a troubled country, and she lived in a small town in the country's rural lands. As a child, the state of the world didn't concern her or the other town children. They played at the town's river, and found entertainment their own way while worry filled their homes. She herself grew up destitute, and poverty drove her to seek shelter and employment with the local church. With no real love for preaching, Vivian became fixated on the spiritual help she could deliver through tangible means. She became a clerk, and life was stable. The troubles of the nation slowly turned to violence, and over the course of her adolescence she watched the land descend into war. The fighting was always far off, an abstraction that only served to inspire terror and propaganda. To Vivian in particular, it was a series of words and numbers prescribing the delivery of relief supplies to the surrounding areas. The fighting continued to simmer over the horizon, and before she suspected it she was an adult. She was no longer a clerk, but a slightly larger child in charge of the other children following the same path through life. Soldiers now came and went through their little town, pitching camp on its outskirts to rest before they set off to the front lines. The wounded were marched back for processing and recuperation, usually within the walls of the church and sometimes piled on makeshift beds spilling out onto the town green. It was helping, but it was bleak labor. The majority of her time was spent comforting the dying. Somewhere along the line, Vivian found herself dissatisfied with her work and its futility. She wanted to leave and go her own way, not for disdain of the church but a desire for freedom she'd never felt in her youth. Whatever she was doing was not working, for her and the people dependent on her, and the only thing on her mind was lashing out and experimenting in the hopes of finding her way. Before the young cleric could scrounge up the courage to become a wanderer, the long fought war had reached her home. The town was razed in the fighting, and the war moved on. Vivian remembers very little of her life, especially its end. Pleasure at feeling warm blood on her hands, without the ability to recall whose. Excitement at being hunted through the streets, with a confidence that feels utterly alien. Soldiers, or maybe just looters apprehending her. Everyone else was already dead, out in a ditch or butchered in the church's foyer. No matter what placations she sputtered out they kept circling her, shouting the word over and over again. She was wrapped in chains, pulled tighter and tighter until even breathing became impossible. "Butcher," they cried, and threw her to the river as the town burned. She awoke with a scattered mind in a strange world, footprints behind her and a golden city before her.

Spirit Clarity: Crimson
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by DrowsyPangolin
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Accepted! Welcome aboard.
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