[CHAR] Astaria: General Fantasy RP

[The Elvenqueen]

Meliya

Name: Lady Meliya Ardorion of Achyn Vale; often referred to as "Mel" by those who she feels closest to
Physical Description: Tall and slender like many of her race, standing at six foot five inches with well-defined cheekbones and bright ice-blue eyes. Her hair is straw blonde in colour and stops just below her shoulders, with natural curls/waves through it.
Attire:
(apologies for the slightly huge images, Idk how to resize them :$)
"Casual" or otherwise every day attire can be seen in above picture
Armour:


Race: Elf (Wood Elf)
Gender: Female
Age: 861, roughly
Class: Mage
Equipment:

• Bow and quiver (Substituted for a staff, Mel fights using magic-imbued arrows, as she is most skilled in offensive spells, tends to favour cold/ice spells the most of all)
• Dagger (secondary weapon, not often used)
• Pack (for carrying supplies e.g. food, water etc.)
• Can't really be counted as "equipment" per se, but she has a hawk companion (most similar in appearance to our red-tailed hawk) named Ialon, who travels with her. He is used mainly as a scout to fly ahead and scope the area, however he will protect her using his talons should the need arise.
  
  Ialon

  

Bio: Her mother died during her birth due to complications, so Mel knows little of her except that she was a talented markswoman and good with a bow. She was instead raised by her father, who insisted upon keeping her reigned in and under constant guard, as the young she-elf had the same headstrong spirit as her mother and, being the last he had of her, feared Mel may meet a sticky end if she were allowed to pursue the part of a warrior. At first, he intended for her to remain with him in their household and she received the same general education as many non-warrioresque elven maidens, learning of history and politics (though to the politics she paid very little heed as it bored her to death). At 500 years of age it was discovered that Mel had a talent for ice elemental magic when she accidentally froze part of her father's library after getting particularly excited in one of her lessons. After this, her father allowed her to train as a mage and learn to use her talents to her advantage, through her training the she-elf just couldn't seem to get the hang of directing her magic through a staff, and when, in frustration her instructor suggested she try using a different weapon, such as a bow and arrows, they found she was most comfortable fighting with magic this way. When she graduated from her lessons, her father gifted her with her mother's old bow and quiver, which are to this day still with her, and her most prized possessions. After much nagging and persuading, Mel managed to convince her father to allow her to travel and see the world, as she grew tired of the repetitiveness of her life in the Vale and constant skirmishes with the nearby goblins, and this is how we find her currently as she travels to try and meet other races and get to know the wider world better.

May work an encounter with a vampire into the rp at some point to add the vampirism curse in, we shall see how it goes I guess x'D

Personality:
Sarcastic | Untrusting | Loyal | Sharp-tongued/snappy | Compassionate | Sensitive Untrusting of newcomers/strangers, but once she comes to know someone or think of them as a friend you will not find a better or more loyal companion. You stick your neck out for her, she will reciprocate, essentially. Rather sharp-tongued and snappish, which can surprise some given her more lady-like upbringing in her early life; Mel is never short of a sarcastic quip or remark. It's best to learn quickly not to take most of them to heart, she often can't help it, being not a particularly patient individual. Despite being sarcastic a lot of the time, this elf can still be sensitive and compassionate to the plights of others, and is always looking to lend a hand to those in need, even if she has a peculiar way of showing it at times

[Frengo]

Prince Thranok Broadrock of Blackmoor Hold

Physical Description: Thranok is nearly as wide as he is tall; a mountainous mass of fat and muscle. Standing at four and a half feet, and smothered in copious amounts of gleaming mails, he looks like your ordinary perception of a Dwarf warrior. Shoulder length blonde hair, and a well kept neck length beard surround what looks to be an almost permanent scorn.

Race: Dwarf

Gender: Male

Age: 163

Class: Fighter

Equipment:

• Double headed bronze battle axe
• Bronze Short Sword
• Tower Shield (Hooked over his backpack)
• Backpack, containing generic travelling goods (food + water etc)

Bio: Thranok, son of Mountain Lord Thranix Broadrock of Blackmoor Hold, and sixth in line to the Gemstone Throne. Sounds a mighty title, doesn't it?

Alas, being sixth in line to the throne, and possessing five older brothers, means that it is unlikely that Thranok will ever achieve much greatness beyond performing his duties as a royal dignitary. Not that it would be a hard life mind, and one could certainly do worse - but for some of us, a cushioned and sheltered life free of strife and struggle is a life not worth living. Thranok is of such mind, and that's why he has formally resigned his post - against his father's wishes - and set forth into the world with nothing but his axe and a few decades of combat training to his name.

He's a hardy warrior in theory, who has proven himself on the training grounds, but who has not fought that many real enemies. A few goblins met their demise at the wrong end of his axe, that's a given, but beyond this? No. Thranok is a mighty hero in the making, not a mighty hero stalking the world. His future may bring greatness and glory, or it may be a rather short lived tale of misguided ambition and undeserved arrogance.

Time will tell.

Personality: Thranok is an arrogant, overly confident warrior full of boasts. His tales are long and usually untrue, but he is always prepared to back up his bravado with real action. He's the brave amateur that all began as, and the keen idealist that no one ends up as. For Thranok, honour is everything - for now at least.

[abloomingflower]

Name: Taluin Filvendor

Gender: Male

Age: 270s

Class: Rogue

Race: Elf

Physical Description:
Tal's build and body are quite the norm for his race; he is tall and lithe with angular features. Dark brown hair falls to his shoulders in loose locks, and honey colored eyes poke out from underneath his bangs. Alabastor skin covers his toned body, marred only by the occasional scar, such as the one that reaches from his right chin to cheek. He dresses in either his armor or simple clothing, and is almost always carrying his weapons and pack.

Equipment:
-Leather armor
-Simple Longsword w/ Sheathe
-Dirk w/ Sheathe (pictured in appearance reference)

-Backpack

-Rations
-Waterskin
-Bedroll
-Sharpening stone, cloth, and oil
-Skinning knife
-Cooking pot
-Extra small clothes/ x1 Set of simple clothing
-Limited personal First Aid supplies

Personality:
A stern individual, Tal is not known for his warmth or compassion. He is a very reserved man, as having spent much of his time both for hire and on the road has prevented him from forming really long lasting connections. Intelligent, discerning, and prescriptive, Tal is adept at reading a situation and acting accordingly. Generally, he is mild mannered and cautious, but he is approachable, as those traits don't make him less inclined to pleasant conversation than others.

Bio:
Taluin's early memories are of an orphanage deep inside the City of Spires, Dary. Tal was a curious child who often went exploring outside. Eventually, after many attempts to bring him in and keep him failed, the orphanage staff soon gave up on keeping him inside. He grew up in the orphanage but he never lived there for more than a few days at a time after he reached a certain age. He did jobs around the city for different cartels and guilds, giving himself a reputation as a promising youth. He had never lived in an easy place; the orphanage and the city streets both held their own horrors, and Tal learned the harsh truths of vagrant life at an early age.

During his childhood, there was one guild above all others in the city: The Rothen Guild. Named after its brutal, legendary founder of ages ago, the Rothen Guild boasted a force superior in finesse, ability, and honor to many other major factions. In a city near to two large castles known to belong to forces of vampire masters, such a claim was often tested. The guild had a reputation of being above petty murder, and only took on jobs that came from exceptional clients or the city itself. Taluin aspired to be one of the infamous Rothen Riders ever since he had known who they were. He got his chance around the age of 14, when, after he had done a few small things for one of the senior members of the guild, he was offered a chance to join them on a mission they believed he could assist them with. When they were successful, he was offered a place among them.

However, he one of many young minds they took in at that age. After making him believe it was what he wanted, they put him through vigorous training and discipline. He grew reliant on the guild, believing their story of how they were all a giant family who looked out for each other, and like most did not see where this indoctrination was heading. After decades as a member of the guild, he and others discovered the plots of the heads of the guild. The Rothen Guild had once been what it claimed, but had, before Tal had become an apprentice, been infested with the undead servants of the vampire queen from the east. They were slowly working to spread the disease in the guild's ranks to unleash it on the city.

In a blaze of passionate speeches, angry battles, and turning alliances, the Rothen Guild was destroyed in a battle between its last sane members and those already turned against them. Citizens of Dary believe that the guild fell to politics when a new leader came to the head of the faction, but in reality the loss of members was so great that after the whole fiasco was over those who remained just called it quits. Tal, among them, eventually moved on from the city he had called home for more than 50 years, and left to pursue his own life. He has spent his time wander thus far, seeing places he had never visited before.

[corbosiny]

My Hider

Name: Icarus Shadesong
Race: Dwarf

Physical Description: Like your typical dwarf he is quite stocky with broad thick shoulders that have been finely toned from many hard years of working in his fathers forge. His beard his far too short to be braided like most dwarfs and is actually groomed quite close to his face; this being due to safety hazards within the forge(Icarus learned at quite a young age how flammable hair can be). His hair was almost a fine blondish white, quite rare among dwarves, yet the ash and smoke from in the forge has seemed to almost permanently left a layer of soot turning his almost oddly bleached looking hair into a dirty blonde. His eye's are a mix between blue and green and always had a look of inquisitiveness in them, a trait he was told he had received from his mother, a wandering healer. Forging no only requires a steady hand but perfect posture, which has given him the habit of having an almost rigidly stiff back, thus giving him the appearance of being taller than he actually is(despite being only average height for a dwarf). This rigid way of walking contrast with the loose and inquisitive nature he carries himself with.

Gender: Male

Age: 24 (Very young for a dwarf!)

Class: Healer(With a mix of Divination/Conjuration in there)

Equipment: -A large and sturdy two handed forging hammer, used for hammering down thick blocks of metal to flat sheets fast. A little unwieldy in combat since it really isn't made for that purpose, but can pack quite a punch due to its weight.
-Very small craftsman hammer used on small tool working
-Leather smith's gear that provides decent protection from whether elements
-White traveling cloak with family crest emblazoned on the back
-Backpack of supplies like rations, water, small knife, pair of tongs, rope, blanket, and flint + steel.

Bio: Born into a small darven mountain mining clan, his father was one of the few local smithies and his mother was a wandering healer who seemed to work wonders even with little amounts of herbs or potions at her disposal and sometimes was seen talking to what only looked like an empty room of shadows. Her mother had a brief romance with his father, Gruve Stromschlag, and only stayed long enough to give birth to Icarus and then suddenly vanished. She left behind a pile of books with a single note saying: "To my son, the only gift I am able to give you." Icarus spent years in his father's forge repairing much of the local's tools and learning to be quite an adept craftsman, and when he became old enough to read in his spare time gorged himself on the various books his mother had left him. The books were mainly on healing, but occasionally he read one on spirituality and on magical rituals. Icarus used this mew knowledge to assist miners that had been injured during their work in the more dangerous parts of the caverns. Yet he noticed when helping people he could see strange white lights surround those more grievously injured, and on even more rare occasions, voices coming from recently deceased bodies. His clan was a superstitious one; so he kept these events to himself. As time passed and he grew older, these events occurred more often. Once during a sickness outbreak where he was treating a local baker had become so ill his death became inevitable; Icarus saw the white light began floating off the man and almost felt a connection to it. yet he felt a sense of longing from it, a sense of desperation and as if almost by instinct Icarus willed it to remain connected to the body. Icarus felt himself being drained from this "connection" to the light but saw improvement in the man so he continued. The next day, after Icarus had passed out after a few hours of this exertion the man woke up; fully recovered. It was like a miracle, but Icarus did not speak of what he had done for he had a sinking feeling about what it was. Necromancy. Icarus realized what the stories of his mother and her strange talks with shadows and miracle healings were. She was a necromancer, but weren't they supposed to be evil? All she had done.. was help people? Maybe.. just maybe necromancers weren't.. necessarily evil? With this revelation Icarus was frightened, but endeavored to test his new found powers in secret; he began to listen to the voices near the graveyards and hear their moans, he tried to heal his own wounds and scratches from the forge without anything but this "energy", and as he experimented his powers grew. One morning a massive cave in several miners were killed. The clan gathered to mourn their dead and has Icarus arrived he noticed one spirit standing near his wife who was wailing over his body. Without thinking and so distraught by this woman's wails Icarus used his new powers to make the spirit visible to her. She stopped suddenly as the spirit of her dead husband held her for one last time and then with a shimmer disappeared. The clan was shocked by this display of power and immediately turned against Icarus. Only due to his long time of healing their injured did they allow him to gather some of his supplies before being exiled. His own father now looked at him with disgust as he gathered his things. Icarus gathered some tools and one of his mother's cloaks that she had wrapped up the books she left for him and set off into the world. He changed his clan name to shadesong after the stories of his mother talking to shadows, and donned the cloak that had the crest of a phoenix embroidered on the back. Icarus now wanders from town to town doing handy work or healing in exchange for lodging or food and is always in search of a good library to further his studies in his arts over death. Icarus hopes to find his mother and one day found a school for white necromancers that use their influence over life and death for good.

Personality: Icarus us incredibly studious and loves to get his hands on any books, bits of lore, or artifacts he can find. He is a bit wary of talking about his past and abilities due to his foul treatment from those he loves, but deep down is incredibly friendly, loyal, and appreciative of those that can look past his abilities to who he really is. He can get caught up in seeing all the spirits and emotions of those around him or just in one of his newest books so he is considered a bit of a spacey person that gets distracted easily.

[Metronome]

Name: Rowan Blackhoof of Nowhere in Particular
Age: 25
Gender: Male
pecies: Satyr
Classes: Bard

Equipment: Possesses an enchanted pan flute. When played, all who listen are at ease. If played close enough, it can lull a person to sleep.

He carries a bow and arrow with him for safety. While he rarely uses it for violence, he practices with it quite often.

Personality:
Rowan is a gentle creature, as far as satyrs go. His species is known for being trickers and theives, attacking those who travel through their forests and kidnapping young women from villages for their own brutish sport. Of course, in actuality, it's a fairly small part of the population that do these things, but they give the whole species a bad name.

He's peaceful, not caring too much for the wars that pop up between other species. You'd have to twist his arm to get him to give a rat's ass about politics. Rowan would rather spend the day roaming the forest, picking on the occasional traveler, eating berries, and flirting with the wood nymphs.

Other:
Rowan is a vegetarian.

Although he has more human traits than goat, sometimes Rowan will be plagued by the urge to just mindlessly chew on something. Since bubblegum probably doesn't exist in this world, he's found all sorts of creative solutions: sticks, blocks of wood, rubber, or really just about anything.

He quite talented at playing the pan flute.

He enjoys visitors, as long as they come peacefully.

He is a very good climber. His balance is impeccable.

Although not quite as promiscuous as most satyrs are known to be, Rowan isn't likely to turn down a good offer.

Appearance:
Rowan is a full blooded satyr. His human half has olive skin and curly, reddish brown hair. He has a bit more hair than your typical man, his arms sporting shaggy, almost furlike growth near his elbows. His form is muscular, particularly his arms.
He was cursed with a boyish face, which he hides under a trimmed beard and mustache. His goofy, floppy goat ears don't help. He's rather big, standing at nearly 6'1". The horns on his head curl backwards and are very strong.

His goat half is that of a tahr, with long, brown fur and smaller hooves. He's very nimble on his feet, faster than a human, and able to climb and balance uncannily well. As for clothing, Rowan often goes without. With his bottom half so heavily furred, he doesn't really have anything to hide. If he's attending a more proper occasion, he has a couple tunics to pick from in various colors.

History:
When Rowan was a young kid, he lived with his clan in the forests outside of a human village. The two communities lived in tense harmony, not fighting but not particularly enjoying the company. Rowan was always told to keep away from the human village, but curiosity drew him to it. When he was a teenager, he finally crossed the line and ventured into the humans' civilization to see just what they were all about.

When his clan found out, they weren't happy. When Rowan refused their orders to cease and desist, they banished him from their midst. He tried to tell himself that he was better off without them, and moved on. The satyr began his travels, all across the lands. He was taught many different skills from all sorts of creatures: music with elves, baking with dwarfs, drinking with orcs, and, most importantly, archery with centaurs.

In recent years, Rowan has settled down a bit. He's getting to the point in his life were he wants stability. He's spent the last year or so building himself an impressive treehouse home, with gardens of fruit and vegetables to suitable itself. Since he doesn't eat meat, he never has to worry about hunting. Although, he will occasionally brave the city to purchase goods, with his bow and arrow to protect himself.

[Karos]

Name: Mzark Fireheart
Race: Dragonborn
Gender: Male
Age: 7
Class: Paladin
Equipment:
Mithril: Longsword, Shield, and battle plate
Simple Rations (typically bread and some fish, and a flask full of fire whiskey)
A flask of water
Symbol of Bahamut

Bio: Mzark may seem young by human standards but whilst only 7 years old he's already as developed and astute as a human 20 year old. As a boy his parents forced him to study hard, joining the local shrine of Bahamut as an inmate when he was 3. He has studied and learnt much at the shrine, but he is no idle priest, he learnt to wield a blade and was the shrines protector alongside his master. At least until he was sent at the age of 5 on a pilgrimage to search for an ancient lexicon removed from the shrine long ago.

Since that time Mzark has wondered the world, for 2 years he has travelled the world and he is still no closer to his prize. In this time he has learnt much of the world beyond his village, and he has earned himself a fair number of friends and a great deal of gratitude in this time. However, he has also made himself a few enemies in the process.

Personality: Mzark is extremely pious and extremely honourable, Dragonborn and Paladins are this way by nature, one need only think what a combination of the two is like. Loyal, honest, ernest and protective, Mzark is usually quite upfront in his dealings with others.